God’s Mercy Abounds
Buddy Rush, Christmas 2022
In part 2 of my series: Turning 50, Spiritually Speaking, I explore God’s mercy, offered to everyone who acknowledges a need for forgiveness. It is the second of five lessons I learned growing up in my front yard (Blog 16: Turning 50: Lessons From My Front Yard).
I wonder how we got away with playing some of the games we did as kids. Like “Mercy!”, for instance. In this game with few rules, you grasp both hands of a person facing you, and with a determined stare and grimacing sounds you bend their hands backwards at the wrist using all your strength. Eventually, their arms follow suit, resulting in pain and giggles. It goes like this until someone yells, “Mercy!” An intriguing connection between children’s games and adult life plays itself out in this simple, nitty gritty game. Sometimes, as adults, we wait until the last possible minute to ask for God’s mercy, choosing pain over forgiveness. Stymied by the difficulty of facing the ways we distance ourselves from God, we wallow instead of seeking mercy and healing. And sometimes we don’t ask for mercy at all. In this blog, I will use the words mercy and forgiveness interchangeably for the sake of simplicity.
Especially in the Western hemisphere, we unwittingly attempt to prove our worth and competency by denying a need for help or pardon because we may believe that we have no need for either. Hence, we wait until the last possible moment to yell, “Mercy!,” before we give in. We seem to think that giving or needing mercy shows weakness. Yet, as humans prone to choosing the wrong path, or forgetting our call to love one another, we need God’s mercy more often than we care to admit. Mercy is defined as “loving kindness, compassion, or forbearance shown to one who offends.”* Yet, with our gift of free will, God does not force us to accept God’s mercy. Divine mercy is always an invitation offered to us. In fact, Jesus invites sinners (each one of us) to the table of the kingdom: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners (Mk 2:17; cf 1 Tim 1:15). Often, though, I don’t even see myself as a sinner. Instead, I seem to think that I’m living my best life and that’s enough to please God. Plus, I can surround myself with people who only agree with me, but never challenge me to grow. Yet, I wonder how can I grow and become a better person when I refuse to face selfish moments or a path in life that might challenge me intellectually but not improve my character or help me grow spiritually.
There are three things to consider as we look at mercy:
Firstly, in order to be forgiven, I need to see and admit that I need it.
Secondly, I need to recognize and express a desire for forgiveness (mercy).
Thirdly, I need to believe that I am worthy of God’s mercy.
Two stories help me to learn more about these aspects of God’s mercy. Through both the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) and the movie, The Mission, a new understanding can come to light. By understanding the lessons inherent in these stories, Jesus’ mission of love and mercy reveals itself.
The Prodigal Son
I’ve heard of the Prodigal Son parable referred to as the “prodigal father” or “merciful father.” It has been argued that the father is the main character of the story. The word, prodigal, means “wastefully extravagant.” Both father and younger son were “wastefully extravagant” in different ways. For example, I am amazed at the lavish love of the father, at his ability to forgive and embrace his youngest son who caused him dishonor and scandal. Part of me, though, wants some kind of rebuke from the father so the son realizes upon his return how much shame and embarrassment he caused. Instead, upon returning, the father doesn’t even give his son a chance to finish his confession. “He sees, feels, runs, embraces and kisses his son” (Sacra Pagina, p 237). With unmitigated joy, the father welcomes his son home. I wonder, did the son learn anything at all? Possibly, he learned that the father provides him with a good home, plenty of food, comfort and inclusion in the community. He learned his father protects him from those who wish to punish him, such as his older brother. He learned his father had a soft spot for a change of heart which helped him turn toward home. He learned he could come back to his father’s home any time he wanted to. All it took was an awakening, a self-awareness that where he found himself, far from the father, had led only to unnecessary suffering.
And his older brother? Well, it turns out that he dishonored his father, too. Biblical scholars point out that, by resenting his life as a dutiful son, the older one harbored anger, envy and judgment toward his brother and father. He alienated himself from his father and brother with his resentment. He disdained his father for not giving him what he felt he was owed. As the oldest, he dishonored his father by not attempting to reconcile his younger brother with the father, an expectation of the oldest son among Mediterranean families. Instead, upon his younger brother’s return, he refused to enter the house, questioned the servant, rejected his father’s attempt at comfort and exaggerated his brother’s sins. The father tried to explain that he offered the younger son what he always and everywhere offered the older – a comfortable home, a share in goods in common, a relationship with the father that always existed. The older son already had what he witnessed the father giving the undeserving younger son. The father’s “even-handed compassion and concern … extends to both children” (ibid, p 240). Still, I find myself somehow resisting acceptance of the message. In doing so, I am missing the message of the parable. It’s not about who deserves forgiveness, but rather that mercy is offered to both sons equally and always. This is a difficult concept to embrace given our culture’s insistence on earning and deserving most things in life. As always, God defies our expectations.
Jesus tells this parable so the Pharisees can hear that their envy and resentment toward him prevents them from “accept[ing] this good news extended to the outcast,” (ibid, p 242) that God is so eager “to receive back those who have wandered from covenant with him” (ibid, p 241). Who is the outcast today? Outcasts, or the marginalized, include the homeless, those with mental illness, people with disabilities, immigrants, people with brown or black skin, the poor, and the LGBTQ community. In other words, people who we literally and figuratively push to the margins (out of sight, out of mind). In Jesus’ day, he not only invited the outcasts to the banquet (Luke 14:15-24), he dined with them, taught them, healed them and restored their place in the community. Often ignored, God has special tenderness toward the outcast. In other words, God desires, more than anything, for all people to return. God will give every chance possible for sinners to be reconciled. Sinners, remember, include you and me. Sinners include all people. Except, if one clings to righteousness and refuses to see him/herself as a sinner in need of God’s mercy, such as the Pharisees did, then they miss the message entirely. Or, if I don’t feel worthy of God’s mercy because of my sin, then another barrier exists between me and God’s abundant flow of mercy.
Puppies and Mercy
I never thought I would admit that a dog could teach lessons on mercy. Then again, I didn’t have my first dog until I was 34. We recently brought home a golden retriever puppy named Buddy. Teaching a puppy, as you may know, can be frustrating. Now five months old, Buddy and I still have so much to learn. Only a puppy can pee on your kitchen floor right in front of you, only 15 minutes after peeing outside, and then look up with complete love in his eyes, ready to play. I find myself having a change of heart toward Buddy several times in the day, but especially after he pees inside the house, jumps on me with muddy paws, or refuses to poop outside because it’s raining. He is truly just a puppy, but I can see me in him, too. Every time I do the thing I try not to do, like judge someone, I tend to go on with my day as if all is well and expect God to understand that it was a slip, a human moment of weakness. Or, I don’t think about it at all. I’ve just peed on God’s kitchen floor without a thought. When will I learn?
The Mission
First, I recommend that you see the 1986 movie, The Mission, with Jeremy Irons and Robert DeNiro. The soundtrack alone is captivating, but the story is both tragic and beautiful, full of examples of God’s mercy and human sin playing out. It is based on a true story. Taking place in 1750, the setting includes the borders of Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil. Spanish Jesuit missionaries seek to enter the jungle home of the Guaraní people in order to evangelize them; at the same time, slave traders, or mercenaries, enter into the depths of the jungle to enslave the Guaraní. One mercenary in particular, Rodrigo Mendoza, terrorizes them.
An important side story, Mendoza loved a woman who he finds in bed with his brother, Felipe. In a jealous rage, Mendoza kills his beloved brother. In desperation and sorrow, Mendoza gives up all hope for life and willingly stays in a prison cell. The Jesuit missionary, Father Gabriel, visits him and challenges him to encounter his sin and live a different life. He said, “God gave us the burden of freedom. You chose your crime. Do you have the courage to choose your penance?” Mendoza replies, “For me there is no redemption, no penance great enough.” Mendoza seems to long for forgiveness but believes his sin is too great. Father Gabriel convinces Mendoza that redemption exists if he faces his sin head on.
Mendoza then journeys with Father Gabriel to the very jungle where he struck terror in the Guaraní. The journey to this breathtaking place leads Mendoza to conversion. In order to reach the Guaraní community, they must traverse a steep cliff by a waterfall. As part of his penance, Mendoza must haul his armor wrapped in the very netting he used to trap the Guaraní as he unrelentingly climbs. We watch with disbelief as Mendoza struggles to take each step without assistance. At one point, one of the Jesuits takes pity on him and cuts the rope. Mendoza’s armor crashes almost to the bottom. With stubborn determination, Mendoza climbs back down, ties the rope and continues upward. Still feeling unworthy of forgiveness, he carries his sins in penance. After hours of climbing, he finally reaches the top of the cliff, only to be met by the Guaraní themselves. He fears retribution, but instead they show mercy as they cut his rope and push his armor down the cliff. Mendoza weeps, finally free of his sins. Healing begins.
Sometimes, the weight of our sins can prevent us from freely embracing truth. Acknowledging our sins and admitting our need for forgiveness opens the door to God’s grace. This can feel like a steep climb at times as we drag the load one foothold at a time. Eventually, we can then look at our lives with truth and clarity.
I Wish I Was Sorry
Even if we don’t desire mercy for whatever reason, we need to ask ourselves if we at least desire to desire it. Pope Francis tells the story of a man going to his death who met with a priest right before facing the death squad. This man did not regret his life of womanizing and debauchery. The priest asked if he at least was sorry that he did not feel sorry. Because the man could admit that much, the priest could grant absolution. I had to pause and reflect when I read this story. While I don’t control God’s actions with my own, God waits for me to open the door just a crack to allow mercy in. Sometimes, though, stubbornness keeps me from moving the door, even just a little. God’s grace helps me open myself, then grace does the rest. All God needs is a slight opening in our hearts and wills in order for mercy to flow. As Pope Francis says, “God never tires of forgiving…[God] cannot deny himself” (The Name of God is Mercy, p xi).
Recognizing and admitting our sin sometimes is the hardest thing to do. In my life, I can perceive a situation wrongly, say something unloving, decide to act selfishly without regard for others. I might ignore someone’s need, like when I stubbornly refuse to talk about something that negatively affects a personal relationship.
Recently, my husband Doug challenged me on a recurring negative reaction I exhibit whenever I’m asked about my writing process. I didn’t want to talk about it. I knew I didn’t like to share how things were going when a writing piece was unfinished. I would immediately put up a barrier and give short replies because it revealed that it wasn’t ready. So, I literally began the conversation with my back turned toward him, yet I could hear him and feel his presence next to me. He helped me to say out loud why it pained me to talk about my progress. It meant that I was imperfect and I had work to do. I might be overwhelmed or struggling to focus. Doug mentioned that all he wanted was to support the thing I had a passion for. That made sense so I had to admit the difficulty I had sharing it. What is the sin, you may ask? By holding on tightly to this insecurity and, at first, refusing to talk things out, I was creating a barrier between me and Doug. Had I chosen to continue in my stubbornness, the issue would remain unresolved and our relationship would suffer. I make more of an effort now to trust his intentions, to let Doug in, and speak about how my writing goes day to day.
When asked how he defines mercy, Pope Francis replied, “Etymologically [that is, tracing its historical linguistic roots], ‘mercy’ derives from [the Latin] misericordis, which means opening one’s heart to wretchedness…mercy is the divine attitude which embraces, it is God’s giving himself to us, accepting us, and bowing to forgive. Jesus said he came not for those who were good but for the sinners. He did not come for the healthy, who do not need the doctor, but for the sick.” Often, Pope Francis refers to the Church as a “field hospital.” Treatment is given, above all, to those who are most wounded (ibid, pp 8-9). In my conversation with Doug, I needed to open my heart and reveal my vulnerability (my wretchedness). Only then, could healing take place.
Am I Worthy?
In Jesus’ time as well as in our own, many people believe we need to be worthy of God’s forgiveness. Yet, Jesus defies expectations every time he dines with sinners, heals and forgives the outcast, or challenges the Pharisees of his day. Mercy embraces the outcast. Mercy embraces each one of us if we let it. As Fr. Adrian Burke, OSB, often proclaims in his homilies and talks: we need to awaken to the truth of who we are as God’s own people, as lights for the world, as witnesses to the resurrection. We are worthy of mercy and love because of this. Let us stop forgetting our identity as God’s beloved children. (For further discussion on our worthiness, see my Blog 11: Considering our Worthiness - Encanto’s Lessons.)
Pope Francis further said, “Pius XII, more than half a century ago, said that the tragedy of our age was that it had lost its sense of sin, the awareness of sin. Today we add further to the tragedy by considering our illness, our sins, to be incurable, things that cannot be healed or forgiven. We lack the actual concrete experience of mercy. The fragility of our era is this, too: we don’t believe that there is a chance for redemption; for a hand to raise you up; for an embrace to save you, forgive you, pick you up, flood you with infinite, patient, indulgent love; to put you back on your feet. We need mercy.” (ibid, p 16) Pope Francis clearly understands the “tragedy” of our age. We haven’t experienced mercy because we believe our sins to be too numerous or grave, or we don’t know how to show mercy to others.
Mercy, though, is the center of Jesus’ mission. The recently deceased Pope Benedict XVI wrote, “Mercy is in reality the core of the Gospel message; it is the name of God himself, the face with which he revealed himself…” (ibid, p 7). It behooves us, then, to seek mercy and show mercy often and everywhere, even to those who are quick to judge the outcast, even to the marginalized people in our society. Only then can we fully know and become God’s love here and now.
Call to Action: In the comments below, describe how this blog has helped you to view God’s mercy in a different way. Who has shown you mercy in your life?
Blog Notes:
*Catechism of the Catholic Church, second ed., Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1994.
Sacra Pagina, by Luke Timothy Johnson and edited by Daniel J. Harrington, S.J., The
Liturgical Press, 1991.
The Name of God is Mercy by Pope Francis and translated by Andrea Tornielli, Random
House, 2016.
Song for Contemplation: “The Last Song” by Elton John. I first heard this song on retreat with high school students in 1995. It was played after we heard the parable of the Prodigal Son. Enjoy!
