By Father Casey
Out of curiosity, I did a quick search of the word “mercy” in my Bible Concordance this week. The two Hebrew words that are most translated into mercy are racham and hesed and they are central to many of our most beloved verses in the Old Testament:
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23:6).”
“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy, blot out my transgressions (Psalm 51:1).”
“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).”
In the Hebrew Bible, “mercy” is not just a feeling of sympathy; it is a protective force, akin to the shelter of a mother’s womb (the Hebrew words for “mercy and womb are related). God abounds in mercy. It is central to God’s nature.
In the New Testament, the word “mercy” is the translation of the Greek word eleos. Eleos also happens to be the root world for olive oil, and the connection helps us understand its meaning. Olive oil was used to treat wounds in the ancient world – soothing, comforting, and healing. Thus, there is a deeply compassionate quality to the word, and it is particularly connected to those who are hurting and in misery.
Little surprise, then, that the gospels are filled with mercy. People approaching Jesus in need of help often cry out, “Have mercy on me!” and Jesus reveals his power through his merciful response.[1] When teaching about the nature of the Kingdom of God, Jesus teaches the centrality of mercy: “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.” And after telling the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-36) in response to the question, “Who is my neighbor,” he asks the person who had prompted it:
“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”
He said, “The one who showed him mercy.”
Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
In a certain sense, the Bible is one long testimony to mercy, because without mercy we have no hope. We are utterly dependent upon mercy. As the writer of Ephesians says, “God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (2:4-5).” Mercy is the hinge on which Christianity turns, and not only in our reception of it. For those who know themselves to be recipients of God’s mercy, who feel the power of it in our souls, know what we must do in response: be merciful.
Mercy has been in the news this week. At a prayer service at the National Cathedral for our newly elected President, Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde concluded her sermon with a plea for mercy. “In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now.” She named transgender children, refugees, and migrants, and asked President Trump to show mercy to all fearful and hurting people like them. “We are to be merciful to the stranger,” she said, drawing on Leviticus (19:34), “for we were once strangers in this land.”
People of good will can debate whether such a direct plea was appropriate for such an occasion, but what is not debatable is the message itself. Mercy is and always will be our foundation, our message, and our calling. If we as Christians forget that truth, and set mercy down on the altar of power, we will have utterly lost ourselves. “For what will it profit [us] to gain the whole world and forfeit [our] life (Mark 8:36)?” A life without mercy is no real life at all – and the same can be said of a nation.
Fr. Casey +
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[1] One of the most striking collects in our prayer book, appointed for late September each year, begins, “O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity (BCP, 234).”