Grace and mercy work in harmony, but they are not identical. Grace addresses and removes our guilt before a holy God. Mercy addresses our misery and suffering, evoked from a loving Father who cares. There may be some subtle theological nuances that are slighted by these definitions, but these distinctions give us some practical footholds. Mercy is that welling up of compassionate concern, that urge to reach out, to fix something broken, to bandage a wound. We learn mercy from our Father, and from His Son, who unquenchably move toward our miseries. The Father never practiced kingship from a regal distance, but as creator and sustainer chose to involve himself in real, scabby, infected, miserable history. The Son became acquainted with the immeasurable grief and multitudinous diseases of real people. He touched, He wept, and He healed. All because of mercy; that spontaneous, reaching, touching, and remedial love. It’s love that doesn’t stay inside, but displays its heart for the wounded, the oppressed, and even the foolish. Our misery evokes His mercy. How close and connected is our Savior! How poignant and personal is His mercy. And now mercy like His is to echo into our time and space through us, his disciples. Do I allow the miseries I see, however inherited and deserved, to evoke true mercy as a first response from my heart?
It was a dark, blustery and slushy night as I trudged toward the entrance of the supermarket. After a late meeting I was stopping to pick up a few items my wife had requested. Suddenly a man flew out of the shadows, bursting past me in a full sprint. Just as he went by my shoulder, a woman screamed: “He’s got my purse!” My reflex bypassed my rational mind and the next thing I knew I was into my Roy-Rogers-to-the-Rescue chase of the bad guy. We ran around the corner, and I swear I was gaining on him, but it did cross my mind: “What do I do if I actually catch him.” A yell escaped from my heaving lungs: “Drop it!” The purse flew over his shoulder and skidded up to the curb of a darkened gas pump. I stopped to pick it up, but not before shouting in my biggest voice what would happen to this miscreant should he ever attempt this crime again. The purse was returned to its grateful owner. Milk and eggs were bought for breakfast. A tiny but concrete bit of justice was applied to a sick planet. How I wish justice was always that simple to spot, or that quick to administer. But often it is not. Usually the need for justice lies under the murky sludge of economic systems, hidden legal trip wires, and slippery semantics. Getting justice is normally a long slog of inglorious, expensive sacrifice. Sometimes we ourselves are the victims, left feeling powerless to respond to unfairness and injustice. It has always been so. That is why God requires his men to “act justly,” as a consistent character trait; to overcome evil with good. Am I—are you—ready to meet this challenge in this time of history?
