Fourth Sunday in Lent: Don’t Let Mercy Offend You.
“What is essential is to know that the Christian life is mostly about what is being done to you, not what you are doing”
Mercy can move us to tears, sometimes rather unexpectedly. The dramatic display of unmerited kindness offered by the powerful to the powerless has the potential to soften a hard heart like nothing else. It’s the stuff of movies. It’s in the tales of heroes. Abraham Lincoln was known for his robust, humble leadership. A man known for his kindness. Lincoln’s legacy is especially meaningful to me in our current times. Here was a man who ran the entire country and was characterized by grace. Knowing his own story, we understand why he was marked by compassion, gentleness, and humility.
I read a wonderful book titled Conversations with Lincoln: Little-Known Stories from Those Who Met America’s 16th President by Gordon Leidner. He describes Lincoln as “the most accessible president.” Throughout his time in office, he kept his door open to the public. Can you imagine? He set aside time every week to listen to people. For hours, desperate people with challenging situations would line up and wait, hoping to get a few moments with him. Some people were moved to the front of the line; he requested that the more dire needs be given priority.
The story of a young girl, Hannah Slater, has become a favorite of mine. In 1863, she came on behalf of her father, who had been terribly wounded in the war and was “in danger of losing his desk job at the Chain Bridge commissary department due to the disfavor of a superior officer” (xiii). Her father didn’t know, but she walked to the White House with a resolve to get help from President Lincoln. Upon arrival, a doorman asked her what she wanted, “I am a stranger here, and I don’t know any of your rules and regulations…my business is important, and I must see him.” The President was not even up yet when she arrived, but she told the doorman she would wait. Others had been coming daily to try to get in, and finally amongst the Generals and Admirals, the doorkeeper waved her in, “You may see the President now.”
Here is a portion of the account:
“Mr. Lincoln was sitting in an armchair in the farthest corner of the room. Seeing my timidity, he rose, and beckoning me in a friendly way said, ‘Come this way, Sis; come this way.’ His voice was so kind and gentle that all my freight left me immediately.
“And did you wish to see me?”
“Yes Mr. President, my father is in trouble and I have come to tell you about it. I stayed awake all night thinking about his trouble and decided I would come myself. So before he was up, I slipped out of the house without his knowledge.”
“‘Come sit down and tell me about it,’ Lincoln said to her.”
“His sympathy made me feel at ease, and I told him all the story in detail…”
Jesus manifests himself through human beings. After the resurrection Jesus told the disciples that he was leaving: “it is for your good that I am going away.” I am sure his friends wholeheartedly disagreed. But the plan was to give the Holy Spirit to his people and expand the presence and comfort of Jesus. To put it simply, when we care for others, we are the presence of Jesus in someone’s dark and scary moment. This awareness has the potential to widen the lens on every interaction we have in our day. This is mercy. It has the potential to shatter hopelessness, and to lift burdens off people’s backs.
Mercy changes people’s lives.
That day President Lincoln used his power for good. It seems he did that a lot. His response to the young girl was fatherly; his kindness was moving:
“Now, my child, you may go home and tell your father not to worry any more about this. I will look into the matter myself, and I will see to it personally that no further injustice is done to him. He can rest assured that he will either be retained in his present position or have a better one. It will come out alright, I can promise you” (xix).
Mercy is Offensive
We love hearing the accounts when unmerited favor is given. It’s a different thing altogether to be the one receiving mercy. I heard it said recently that mercy can be offensive. At the least, it is uncomfortable. It may surprise us how often we resist it ourselves.
“Let me shovel that snow for you.”
“We would love to give you some money for the repairs.”
“Let us pay for dinner.”
“I got your coffee.”
“You go home, I’ll cover for you.”
“Let me take your shift so you can get rest.”
It’s almost painful to accept the undeserved kindness of others. Our first response is typically, “Oh my word, NO!” At least that’s mine.
Think about it. Mercy assumes need. In many ways, it assumes weakness. Our self-sufficient nature rises up to defend it’s strength. We want to avoid any appearance of being in need. As a matter of fact, we present as the total opposite: confident and able. Jesus was asked, “Why do you hang out and eat with sinners?” He was accused of being buddy-buddy with the rabble. He answered,
“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
The religious leaders were offended by the mercy of Jesus. If you have spent your whole life proving that you are worthy to be God’s chosen people, mercy is disturbing. It’s certainly not something you think you need. The Pharisees liked their power, and they enjoyed lording it over others. In fact, when a Pharisee did express need, he came to Jesus in secret, at night. Jesus spoke about the far reaching grace of God numerous times. It didn’t sit well with some. At the beginning of Jesus’s ministry, in Luke 4, Jesus stood in the synagogue in Nazareth and quoted from Isaiah 61,
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
The heart of his mission? Mercy for the undeserving.
At first, those listening “marveled at the words coming out of his mouth…” until he shared the whole truth. Many who rejected Jesus were Jews, those who felt confident in their lineage, their smarts, their position. But the mercy of God is far too big; his plan was to bring salvation to ALL people. A round of mercy for everyone! “The first will be last, and the last shall be first,” he said. Salvation for the sick, the outcasts, “the sinners, tax collectors, and prostitutes.” For the rule-keepers, these words were fighting words., literally. To them, law-keeping was the thing. And they were the exemplars for moral rigor.
So, as he often did, Jesus told a few stories from the Old Testament, which they would have known well:
“Truly I tell you,” he continued, “no prophet is accepted in his hometown. I assure you that there were many widows in Israel in Elijah’s time, when the sky was shut for three and a half years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, but to a widow in Zarephath in the region of Sidon (i.e. a Gentile). And there were many in Israel with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed—only Naaman the Syrian (i.e. a Gentile).”
All the people in the synagogue were furious when they heard this. They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff. But he walked right through the crowd and went on his way.”
“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” My friends, it’s far easier to work for Jesus, serve him, and “be better for him,” than it is to be recipients of his free love and mercy. We like measurements. We prefer positions and “rights.” Keeping it all together, having confidence in our own righteousness…this is our default. The reality is, it’s painful and anxiety-producing to acknowledge our failure and admit our wrongs. It’s distressing to feel vulnerable. It’s an awful feeling to be needy. We would rather DO than BE. We’d rather act and prove than receive.
Jesus was well aware of human pride; it was central in his stories:
“To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.”
‘But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
‘I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.’” —Luke 18:9-14
Lent reminds us of our profound need. We have exhausted our own resources and we come to Jesus with our hands open, ready for his generosity and undeserved kindness.
We are the Vulnerable Ones
Mercy requires two people. First, someone in a position of means, authority, or influence. But not just that. Someone may have authority, and yet rage with ambition. Kill to retain power. Shove all others aside at whatever cost to be the big one in the room. Those in authority who misuse their power and take advantage of people in vulnerable situations, are the villains of every story. Cruel and power-hungry, they have marked history with their darkness and evil.
“I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself
And falls on th’other”Macbeth Act 1.5
No, this one must have authority combined with empathy, courage, and attentiveness. The second person is vulnerable, in need, helpless. When these two come together, a supernatural expression of the Kingdom ignites. One willing to freely give, and one willing to receive. It requires surrender on both parts. Letting go of our resources can be wrenching; likewise, it is hard to admit we need help. But this is the Kingdom come on Earth as it is in Heaven. Mercy is the stuff of Heaven. These stories stand the test of time. Retold for hundreds of years. They alter history, soften iron-cold hearts, dissolve barriers, build bridges, and break generational strongholds.
Jesus never used his power for himself. He wasn’t motivated by fame or fortune. He wasn’t insecure.
And let’s be clear, Jesus has a lot of power.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
John writes it like the lines of a children’s book—Jesus is God, and he created the world. He had everything to do with carving out the sea, filling the sky with the birds, and calling every cone flower and sycamore out of the soil he made the day before.
But then you have this moment (You MUST watch if you have not). Jesus, the Creator of the song sparrow, tree frog, and redwood, tired and thirsty, stopped in Sychar and ”sat wearily beside the well at noontime” when a Gentile woman came up to draw water in the heat of the day. After a few exchanges, some cryptic and not-so-cryptic words between them, Jesus said to her, “If you knew who I was, you would be asking me for water, and I would give you living water.”
Living water for parched and lonely souls. For those rejected. For those in the tangles of their own impulsive and unwise choices. Those who have been the recipients of the abuse of power. For you. For me.
Living water like mercy. Mercy that moves us to tears.
“Water that will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life,” he described it.
The only Water that could meet her deepest spiritual longing, that would quench her grasping and hungry soul. “Living water for you,” Jesus said, “who has had many husbands.” He didn’t say it with condemnation, but with compassion. In the awkward moment, her vulnerability spiked, and she diverted the conversation:
“You must be a prophet. So tell me, why it is you Jews insist that Jerusalem is the only place to worship…I know that the Messiah is coming—the one who is called the Christ. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”
It is in this moment, sweat running down his face, thirsty and tired, attentive and present…and this woman, nervous, embarrassed, confused, and uncomfortable, that Jesus revealed who he was for the first time.
“I who speak to you, am He.”
The Messiah. Humble and gentle. No condemnation. Only love. Only forgiveness. Only mercy.
Like President Lincoln: “I will see to it personally that no further injustice is done to you…”
The Hebrew word for mercy is Hesed. Translated it means: “When the person from who I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything.”
There is a warning tucked away in the stories Jesus told, in the accounts we read and reread: May our pride never keep us from the kindness of God. For it’s his kindness that leads us to repentance. Admitting we have been greedy, selfish, or self-sufficient, agreeing that we need help, acknowledging we are weak…this is the gateway to the waterfall of grace.
“…for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” —Jesus
Prayer:
Lord, Jesus. Have mercy on me.