“Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” Romans 12:19 (KJV)
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN JUSTICE AND POISON
There is something dangerous that happens to the human soul when pain is left unattended. A wound that is not healed often disguises itself as wisdom. Bitterness learns to wear the garment of righteousness. Anger borrows the language of justice. Revenge begins to sound like morality.
Not every man seeking justice is truly seeking healing.
Some people do not want restoration; they want emotional compensation. They carry poison in golden cups and call it principle. But poison does not stop being poison because the carrier believes he is right.
Justice seeks restoration. Poison seeks retaliation.
Justice restores order. Poison destroys inner peace.
Many people become prisoners of offenses long after the event has passed. Their enemy leaves their environment but remains seated inside their mind.
The tragedy of hatred is that it often gives permanent residence to temporary people.
Ancient African wisdom says, “The man who carries burning coal to throw at another burns his own hand first.”
Hatred promises strength but secretly weakens the soul.
A CLEAN HANDS
There is a difference between having clean hands and having a clean heart.
A man may refuse to commit evil outwardly while silently nurturing anger inwardly. Before men, he appears disciplined; before Heaven, he is slowly collapsing within.
Many people proudly say, “I did nothing wrong,” yet their souls are drowning in resentment and secret bitterness. Outward innocence does not automatically produce inward peace.
A clean hand without a healed heart is still a wounded life.
Forgiveness does not always mean the offender was correct. Sometimes forgiveness is simply the refusal to let darkness build a permanent home inside your spirit.
THE STORY OF AKA’M DIOCHA “MY HANDS ARE CLEAN”
In a village surrounded by red earth and ancient trees lived a man called Aka’m diocha, meaning “My hands are clean.”
He was respected for his discipline and admired for his strict sense of justice. He never stole from anyone. He never fought openly. He was known for speaking sharply against corruption and wickedness. Whenever disputes arose in the village square, he would proudly lift his hands before the elders and say:
“My hands are clean.”
And truly, outwardly, they were.
But there was another story hidden beneath his silence.
Years earlier, Aka’m diocha had been betrayed by a close friend who cheated him in business and publicly humiliated him. Though he never retaliated physically, the injury settled deeply into his soul like a stone sinking into a riverbed.
From that day forward, he became a man governed by invisible anger.
He smiled less.
Trusted nobody.
Celebrated nobody’s success.
Every conversation quietly returned to injustice.
Every joy was filtered through suspicion.
He constantly repeated, “I have done nothing wrong.”
And he was correct.
But he never healed.
His life slowly became a temple built around offense.
Children feared his presence because peace had departed from his eyes. Though his hands committed no violence, his spirit constantly rehearsed judgment. He secretly rejoiced whenever those who hurt him suffered misfortune. He called it justice.
But inside him, poison was growing roots.
One evening, an old traveler came to the village and listened quietly as Aka’m diocha spoke again about how clean his hands were.
The old man looked at him carefully and asked:
“But who cleans the heart that holds the anger?”
The village became silent.
Aka’m diocha was offended by the question. He defended himself fiercely.
“I never harmed anyone.”
The old traveler nodded slowly and replied:
“Yes. But you have harmed yourself for many years.”
Those words pierced the atmosphere, but Aka’m diocha rejected them.
Time passed.
Though physically strong, he began to weaken inwardly. Sleeplessness consumed him. Anxiety followed him like a shadow. Suspicion poisoned every friendship. His body remained alive, but his soul had become exhausted from carrying invisible battles.
Eventually, Aka’m diocha died suddenly.
At his funeral, many praised his discipline and honesty. But the oldest elder in the village spoke with tears in his eyes:
“He kept his hands clean, but he never allowed God to cleanse his wounds.”
The village understood too late that bitterness can kill a man without drawing blood.
FINAL REFLECTION
Do not carry poison in the name of justice.
Some people lose their peace while trying to prove they were right. But there comes a moment when the soul must decide what matters more: vindication or freedom.
A heart at peace is greater than an argument won.
Release what is destroying your inward life.
Do not become the graveyard of old injuries.
Let God judge what you cannot heal.
And may your hands be clean, but even more importantly, may your heart be free.
