“Blessed are those who from their inner wombs, birth mercy; they shall feel its warm arms embrace them.” — from Prayers of the Cosmos, Neil Douglas-Klotz
This interpretation of Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Mount catch me off guard. It’s been a while since I’ve strolled through those teachings, having left Christianity years ago. “Mercy” as a concept has not really been in my repertoire, to be honest. “Compassion”, yes, but “mercy”… is a bigger pill to swallow. Give me the “justice” pill and I’ll shove it down someone else’s throat.
The word “mercy” stands out as almost a novel concept, at this point — which can be helpful. That word surely needed to lose the context of Sunday morning sermons and over-analyzed teaching. And it’s taken years. I buried it, to now see it poke above the crusty earth.
Mercy. Mercy. It rolls around in my chest. Surprisingly, it bypasses my mental process and goes right to my heart. I observe its presence in my pulse, as I take a deeper breath. Mercy. Mercy does seem to be the deeper breath. (Pause to breathe.) It holds a capacity I’m not sure I understand. Maybe I tend to avoid or seek distraction from it. Maybe I do understand it and it bothers me.
Of course, my first thought around mercy is who I’m supposed to be merciful towards. I cringe, I stiffen, I clench my jaw. Mercy may emerge now at a time, where there are actually people in my life who have caused great pain and continue to. When I heard of mercy as a younger human, I am not sure I had the same pile of grievances or defined enemies in my life. Mercy would not had made much of an impact in my life without a use for it. Now my life has become more ‘multi-faceted’, shall we say. I have sickening grief and maddening conflicts that trip me up. I have a greater stretch of my own history and it holds unresolved pain. Is this what mercy is for? For what I’ve been trying so hard to get rid of? Maybe mercy is meant for me.
Ok, so is mercy the opposite of ‘getting rid of’? Perhaps it pals around with acceptance. Another word that bothers me. These concepts are like mysterious wizards knocking on my door, asking to come in. They likely want to upend my life, don’t they? They probably have an uncomfortable plan to propose, like Gandalf to Bilbo. Mercy might be offering me an adventure, exposing a keyhole that I’ve been searching for. (To continue on with ‘The Hobbit’ analogy.)
Yes, I like the idea of mercy being related to an adventure — heading off into the unknown, because Mercy doesn’t seem to make any promises in terms of the external world. Do I trust the footpath being offered, instead of the well-worn rut I’m used to pacing? Do I surrender to Mercy? Do I hand off judgment or justice to a greater power? Surrender to the humility of imperfection? Ugh.
Oh, the humility of mercy.
But…but…the acidity of self-righteousness is so satisfying. I need it to keep me upright, I say, clutching my pearls. Mercy says, ‘Give it here.’ I plead with a pout, my lower lip quivering. Mercy just looks at me with a smile, calling my bullshit. Mercy is loving, really. Mercy isn’t dismissive of what I’ve gone through, but it knows when to say ‘It’s time.’ And here we can observe that Mercy is merciful to me in my stubborn resistance to it. Mercy accepts me ‘as is’, and knows that I’m here to have great experiences. Mercy doesn’t waver like I do because it can handle all of it. Mercy can handle me, can handle my life, can handle my ‘enemies’. I feel a knowing smile emanating from Mercy. It’s time.
