The Biblical Roots of Restorative Justice

Thanks to the Austin American-Statesman for publishing this article on February 16, 2019.

Under a nearly full moon shining through stray clouds, a nineteen-year-old drunk driver killed two teenagers one summer night years ago in Austin. He was arrested, pleaded guilty at his trial, and was sentenced to forty years in the state penitentiary system. When the incarcerating bullet-proof steel door slammed shut behind him, was that the end of the story?

Retributive justice is an important component of our social contract, aptly described by the phrase “You do the crime, you do the time.” The state, represented by legislators, cops, lawyers and judges, courts, jails, and state and federal prison systems, takes responsibility for assessing guilt and punishment when its laws are violated. Crime, therefore, is understood principally as an offense against the state.

Have you heard of the term “restorative justice”? In contrast, restorative justice theory holds that the person violated by a criminal act, not the state, is the principal victim. Restitution, consequently, is a relational transaction between an offender and their victim.

Some crime victims want no further involvement with an offender beyond the court’s decision rendered by the state-sponsored retributive justice process. Other crime victims, however, have a need for more. “The opportunity for a crime victim to find hope and resolution by repairing the harm done by crime – beyond what happens in the courtroom” is a good working definition of restorative justice.

Jesus instructs his disciples in Matthew 18 to deal with conflict face to face. If a sin or some type of violation splinters a relationship between two people, if at all possible, these are to seek resolution of the issue face to face. If necessary, other community members can help the two move toward rapprochement.

And where did Jesus, who was Jewish, learn this type of practice? From his own tradition that seeks to maintain an offender’s status of inclusion in the community, and commands offenders to offer restitution to their crime victims (Leviticus 6 and Numbers 5 are clear examples) to help preserve the well-being of the community.

The ninth of the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous distills these biblical principles: “Make direct amends to people you have harmed wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.”

From the guts of a Texas prison five years after that summer night drunk-driving wreck, the offender met face to face with the mother and father of one of the teenagers he killed. The program that facilitated this meeting is called Victim-Offender Dialogue, and the Texas criminal justice system was the first in the nation to offer such a program institutionally to victims of violent crime. Importantly, only crime victims can initiate the implementation of this program (which includes guided preparation), and a participating offender must admit complete fault and guilt in their crime, with no expectation of favor from the Texas parole board. This program is administered by the Victim Services Division of the Texas criminal justice system, which seeks to serve the needs of crime victims first and foremost.

The Victim-Offender Dialogue program is an example of high-level restorative justice practice. Other restorative practices are becoming more common, including “circle conferences” at middle schools that attempt to mitigate bullying and other offenses by bringing adversaries face to face in guided mediation.

There’s much more to the story of this Austin drunk-driving wreck and participation in the Victim-Offender Dialogue program by the offender and the parents of one of his victims. The development of the program – an incredible story in and of itself – and what the program did specifically for these three participants is the focus of my new book There is a Balm in Huntsville.

We live in an age of hyper-partisan divide where the demonization of others is accepted behavior and mistrust is rampant. Can purposeful encounters between adversaries bear fruit for peace and understanding? Many who have experienced the healing ways of restorative justice practices answer the question with a resounding “Yes.”

balm.cover.2Tim/T. Carlos Anderson – I’m a Protestant minister and Director of Community Development for Austin City Lutherans (ACL), an organization of fourteen ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) congregations in Austin. I’m the author of  There is a Balm in Huntsville: A True Story of Tragedy and Restoration from the Heart of the Texas Prison System (Walnut Street Books, April 2019).


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The Story Behind the Pen Name!!

T. Carlos Anderson?! Really? The author of Just a Little Bit More is someone named T. Carlos?! Everyone, including family and good friends, knows me as Tim. Well, let me explain . . .

ta book
Tim or T. Carlos Anderson??

When I was in high school, there was another student, a year younger than me, named Tim Anderson. My fellow Tim was a decent guy, a bit shorter than me. I played basketball and he played baseball, so our paths were mostly separate. When I was in seminary, there was a fellow student, a year or two older, named Tim Anderson. In the seminary student directory, spouse names were included parenthetically after the student names. One year the Tim Anderson wives were switched, an innocuous type of paper wife-swapping at the theological institution.

Now, years later, in the process of writing Just a Little Bit More, I spent some time studying author pages. Guess how many Tim Andersons are selling books on Amazon? At least seven sprinkled here and there between the sixteen pages that come up under an author name search. My middle name is Carl – my dad’s name. T.C. Anderson has a nice ring to it . . . sorry, already taken.

In the late 1980s, we lived in Peru for two years. There my (true) wife Denise and I learned el Espanol. I was there as a seminary intern, practicing the pastoral arts albeit in the foreign language that I consistently graded out with C’s during high school (because I couldn’t have cared less about it – but that’s a different story for another day, pues). My North American colleagues assured me when we arrived that the name Timoteo would serve me well during our South American stay. Timoteo was biblical and it had a lyrical ring to it. One day after having logged a year or so in the land of los Incas, a taxi driver and I struck up a conversation in his cab. I loved learning Spanish by conversing – a daily challenge, like a fun verbal word puzzle, no homework to scribble out. We got on well and after awhile he asked my name. When he heard me say Timoteo, he laughed. Hombre, aqui en el Peru el nombre Timoteo es un nombre para gatos y perros. “Hey buddy, here in Peru the name Timoteo is a name we use for cats and dogs.” From that moment on, I went by a new name – my middle name in Spanish form – Carlos.

So there you have it. T. Carlos Anderson isn’t a complete fabrication. The honesty of that taxi driver saved me, during my last year in Peru, from a bit of cultural verguenza – a combination of shame and embarrassment. And, unknowingly, he gave the future author a working pen name and a memorable story to share. Just a Little Bit More is now available as an ebook on, and I’m the only author you’ll find there named T. Carlos Anderson! For those of you gifted with a unique name – not used for pets – I’m pleased to be welcomed to your world.


The second edition paperback version of Just a Little Bit More: The Culture of Excess and the Fate of the Common Good is available through, ACTA Publications, Chicago, IL, and through the Amazon, iTunes, and Nook websites.