Sometimes I'm in the car, perhaps driving a few kilometres an hour too fast, and I get caught by a speed camera. My first thought is annoyance. At myself, at the hidden camera. But then a second thought often follows: gratitude. I’m grateful that this rule exists. And countless others. I’m grateful for a country where the law of the strongest, the fastest, or the most reckless doesn’t prevail.
Here in Switzerland, we live in an incredible state of peace and order. We can rely on contracts generally being honoured, on traffic lights turning green, and on being able to sleep soundly at night. None of this is to be taken for granted. It's the result of a constitutional state, a society that has agreed on common rules to curb the chaos of lawlessness. For this, we cannot be grateful enough.
And yet, sometimes a feeling gnaws at me. A quiet suspicion that grows louder the closer I look. The feeling that while the rules apply to everyone, they weren't made by everyone.
What I've Noticed
I’ve spoken with people who have been involved in legal battles for years. Small tradesmen against huge corporations. They were in the right, everyone knew it, but they never got justice. Because the opponent had more money for better lawyers, because they could drag out the proceedings until the smaller party ran out of steam and funds. Being in the right and getting justice are two very different things. I learned that the hard way.
In Switzerland, we have an ingenious system. Direct democracy, the two chambers, the search for consensus – it's a blessing. It gives us citizens a voice that is sought in vain elsewhere in the world. And yet: when a vote is approaching, I see the massive billboards of financially powerful associations, the elaborate campaigns, the paid advertisements. The battle for public opinion is often won with money.
There’s constant pushing and shoving in the Federal Palace. It's called lobbying. It sounds harmless, but often it means that interest groups with significant money and influence shape laws to benefit themselves. And in the end, we all abide by rules that may not serve the common good, but rather the interests of a small but loud and potent minority. The big players always seem to find a way to slip through the net, while the smaller ones get tangled.
And Then Came the Moment
This realisation can be bitter. Cynical, even. You see the injustice, the fine cracks in the foundation of our wonderful country, and you feel powerless. You want to cry out about the injustice, that money and power often count for more than truth and decency. You see how corporations privatise profits and socialise losses, and you wonder how foolish they truly think we are.
The Bible is full of such observations. The prophets of the Old Testament were not gentle preachers, but men who pointed out the wounds in society. They looked closely at where justice was perverted.
“Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless.” (Isaiah 10:1-2 NIV)
These words are thousands of years old, yet they sound as if they were written for this morning's newspaper. This shows me: the problem is not the system alone. The problem is the human heart. Greed, selfishness, the urge to gain an advantage at the expense of others.
So Where Does Hope Lie?
If the problem is so deeply rooted, the solution cannot simply be another change in law or a new political party. Don't misunderstand me, I am grateful for every integral politician and every clever initiative. We should and must get involved where we can. But my deepest hope does not lie in the Federal Palace in Bern.
My hope has a name: Jesus Christ. He came as the small, the inconspicuous. Born in a stable, not a palace. Raised as a carpenter's son. He had no political power, no army, no lobby. His only weapons were truth and love.
He himself became a victim of a corrupt legal system. False witnesses, a biased judge, an incited mob. He suffered the greatest injustice in world history. And it was there, on the cross, that he broke the power of injustice. Not by inciting a revolution, but by taking the injustice upon himself and responding with forgiveness.
Christ in My Law-Governed State
What does this mean for me, here and now, in affluent and orderly Switzerland? It means I am free. Free from the compulsion to save the system. My task is not to establish paradise on earth. That will only happen when Jesus returns.
But I am also free from cynicism and resignation. Because I know there is a higher justice. A judge who looks not at bank accounts or titles, but into the heart. This certainty gives me incredible peace and strength.
And it gives me a commission. The commission to be a light where I am. In my family, at my work, in my neighbourhood. As Christians, we are called to create small oases of justice and grace. Places where the law of the strongest does not apply, but rather love for one's neighbour. This is how the small ones fight back: not with the same weapons of power and money, but with the weapons of the Spirit. With kindness, with integrity, with prayer, with generosity.
I still don't like paying my fines. But I try to see them as a reminder. A reminder to be grateful for the order in which I am allowed to live. And a reminder that my true home and my ultimate hope lie not in this order, but with the One who said: "I am the way and the truth and the life." (John 14:6 NIV). And his reign will have no end.