Why not rather be wronged?

We've all been there. We tried to be as honorable as possible, then someone else cut-corners, cheated, lied about something, and they won out. We ended up with the short straw.

Maybe we have proof that we were done wrong. Maybe we just have very deep suspicions. But we feel, somehow, some injustice has been committed against us.

Small things, most of them, but not always.

When things like this happen, you know the feeling. It bubbles up from the gut. A heat spreads across the brow. It might even keep us awake at night.

And the first thing we usually do is plan our defense, if not our vengeance.

We start drafting little "speeches" in our minds. We rehearse our confrontation. We might start drafting a devastating e-mail. Some of us post all about it on social media so we can rally a support-system, people whose opinions can help justify our reaction.

We have been wronged. Everyone has, at one time or another, been wronged.

And there are times when we should defend ourselves. But more often than not, the moment we rise up in righteous indignation, it bears sour spiritual fruit.

Paul understood all of this. He knew how it felt to be wronged. So did the people he was writing to in Corinth, where believers were dragging one another before pagan magistrates over property and money. So, he addressed it, and posed a stinging question: "In fact, to have lawsuits at all with one another is already a defeat for you. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be defrauded?” (1 Corinthians 6:7).

Notice the word Paul uses for “defeat.” In Greek it is hēttēma, a loss, a diminishment, a falling short. He is not saying the Corinthians might lose their cases. In the courts, it's irrelevant. Because in what really matters, they already lost.

Before any verdict is determined, the very posture they've taken has become a greater loss than any they might suffer in court.

The moment they decided that getting their due mattered more than their witness, or even their fellow brother or sister, or even the unbelievers involved, they've given up something of greater significance than any kind of civil "victory" could protect.

That doesn't mean no wrong was committed against them. But winning the worldly victory comes at a spiritual cost with far graver consequences at stake.

Anyone who has ever struggled to get over a resentment knows this. For years, sometimes, we let a person who wronged us at some point in time live in our minds with free rent. We allow one harm done against us continue to harm us, at the cost of our peace, our serenity.

This is the "hidden cost" when we choose retaliation.

When someone cheats me of a hundred dollars, I have lost a hundred dollars. When I respond with contempt, slander, cold vengeance, or a well-aimed humiliation, I have lost something that cannot be recovered at a bank: a measure of my own likeness to Christ.

The first loss was done to me. The second I do to myself.

Not to mention, we're not innocent. Maybe we're not "wrong" in the immediate situation, but if we're truly honest about the entire course of our lives, are we totally blameless? Probably not.

Paul says as much in the very next verse: "But you yourselves wrong and defraud—and believers at that" (1 Corinthians 6:8). And more than that, the temptation to "justify" all sorts of evil in the name of "getting our due" is great. Too great for most of us to resist. "Well, they cheated... so if I have to cheat to repair the damage they did..."

Why does this happen? Why does our quest for "justice" so often lead us into sin?

Because the desire for justice, which is genuinely good, is almost never pure when it concerns ourselves.

Mixed into it are wounded pride, fear of how we look before other people. And there's a fear lurking behind all of it: if we don't defend ourselves, who will?

Our “righteous” indignation is usually mixed. There may be a real sense of moral "rightness" involved, but there's a great deal of self involved, too. We feel disrespected, slighted, our pride is wounded, our reputation impacted.

And linked to all of this is a lack of faith. Sitting in the rubble of a situation gone wrong, we think something irrecoverable has been lost. We do not rest in God, we do not trust Him to redeem the situation. We believe our security depends on "winning."

Does justice not matter? Of course it does. But Jesus taught that justice is not something we're called to seize for ourselves: "But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well" (Matthew 5:39-40).

It is striking that Paul’s examples in Corinth and Jesus’ examples in Galilee overlap so closely: lawsuits, garments, property. These are all very practical, real-world situations. They are not abstractions. They are the ordinary "slights" we all endure, at some level. And each of these occasions is a kind of crossroads: to trust in God to secure ultimate justice, or trust only our own "grasping" at justice, to seize it for ourselves.

Jesus did not merely teach this. He demonstrated it.

Peter, who had once drawn a sword in a garden, later wrote of his Master: "When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly" (1 Peter 2:23).

That final phrase is the key. Jesus could absorb injustice without retaliating not because he was indifferent to justice, but because he knew justice was in good hands. He did not need to balance the scales himself. His Father was still in charge. He would balance all things out at the proper time.

This is what Paul means when he tells the Romans, "Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord’" (Romans 12:19).

Every time I try to vindicate myself, I am basically telling God that I do not trust him to see, to remember, or to act. Every time I let a wrong go unanswered, I am making an act of faith that he will make all things right.

None of this means that Christians must never seek legal remedy, never report abuse, or protect the vulnerable. Paul himself appealed to Caesar. The Scriptures are full of commands to defend the widow and the orphan.

The question is not whether justice may ever be pursued, but what is happening in the heart while we pursue it. Am I seeking to restore what is right, or to make someone pay? Would I be content if the wrong were quietly corrected? Or are we also focused on seeing the other person humiliated and exposed? Is this really about protecting the vulnerable, or is it about protecting the ego?

Paul had nothing to lose by appealing to Caesar. He did not sacrifice any degree of holiness or righteousness to make the appeal. There were no "souls" in the balance who would be scandalized by his appeal. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's a very different situation than what happened in Corinth.

Most conflicts are more complicated. The perspective of the other party is rarely villainous. They aren't likely sitting in a lair, petting their cat, and reveling in how evil they are. We might believe we suffered injustice, but the other party probably doesn't see it that way. And when they see us, as believers, attacking to "win," using all the same strategies the rest of the world uses, how will that impact their perception of the Gospel? Still more, even if the other party knows they did wrong, what witness might we make by showing mercy?

So how might we live this?

First, don't react quickly. Take your time to really consider the entire situation. Proverbs says, "Do not say, ‘I will repay evil’; wait for the LORD, and he will help you" (Proverbs 20:22). Give yourself a day before you send the message, make the call, or respond at all. Most of these situations are not as urgent as they "feel." .

Second, name honestly what you have actually lost. Often it is far smaller than the energy we are prepared to spend recovering it. A few dollars, a bit of credit, a parking space. Ask whether these are worth the condition of your soul.

Third, pray for the one who wronged you. Pray for them before you respond. I don't mean to pray that they get "caught" or even that God "fix" the situation in our favor. Pray that God would bless them. This is nearly impossible to do at the same time we're nursing vengeance, or our wounded pride. That's precisely why it works.

Finally, consider the possibility that being wronged, borne quietly, may be one of the few places in daily life where we can truly imitate Christ. He had every right, and he let it go. "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good" (Romans 12:21). The one who can absorb a wrong without reacting in kind has not lost. He has won the only victory that matters.