Jeremiah
is known as the “weeping prophet” because he had to carry the people of Israel through the worst time in their history. The Babylonians had besieged Jerusalem, pulled down the temple, stone by stone, and exiled Israel’s leaders. It is the most catastrophic moment in the Hebrew Bible.
In the midst of the disaster Jeremiah sat down and wrote the book of Lamentations, pouring out his grief and sorrow. What have we done wrong, he asks, to cause this suffering? Like most of us when we’re in trouble or crisis, he had no problem coming up with a list of sins as long as a dim sum menu. Idolatry, greed, sabbath-breaking, violence, and just general cussedness. The only way to turn this thing around is—become better people.
Jeremiah preached that sermon over and over, trying to get folks to be better and do right, and then it dawned on him—it’s impossible. We’re never going to get this right!
That’s when Jeremiah collapsed into the arms of mercy. In the midst of the mess he writes,
But I call this to mind,
And therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
his mercies never come to an end:
they are new every morning;
great is thy faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:21-23)
There is hope, not because the people might turn angelic, but because God’s “mercies never come to an end.”
That, for me, is the definition of mercy. It just covers everything. Forgiveness is more discrete—some single act of wrong is given a pass. But mercy is universal—it casts a blanket of love and acceptance over the whole mess.
When we’ve done some discrete wrong, we need forgiveness. But mercy is what we need when nobody’s done anything wrong, exactly, but we’re still in a mess just because we’re broken humans. Lord, have mercy. It’s what we say when the church splits, when the nation splinters. Lord, have mercy. When the family’s a trainwreck, when the best marriage ruptures, when some diagnosis or accident rearranges our stars forever. Lord, have mercy.
And then, somehow, wrong doesn’t exactly turn right, but everything is all right.
P.S. Speaking of mercy, tomorrow’s musical offering will be the best song of mercy, ever.
COMPANIONS ON THE WAY
Introduction
Stories of Turning
Week One
Stories of Wild Places
Week Two
Stories of Dogged Faith
Week Three
Stories of Mercy & Forgiveness
Week Four
Stories of Simplicity & Joy
Week Five
Stories of Prayer & Surrender
Week Six
Stories of Transforming Love
Mercy is so hard to define. Yet this is a beautiful exploration. Now when I’m in church, and pray, “Lord, have mercy”, it will have a deeper meaning for me.
I pray that this will also help me to accept more of God’s mercy.
Thank you, David.
Mercy IS hard to define, but maybe we’re saying we know what it FEELS like.
Give me this story of ‘mercy revealed’ from Jeremiah and the Sermon on the Mount and you can keep the rest. God is the ultimate therapist just give “Him” your omnipresent low level anxiety, your worry over what college your kid will get in, your remorse for being wildly imperfect and let his mercy take over..as a highly imperfect human it doesn’t seem possible that he’d be willing to trade belief for carte blanche mercy – doesn’t he want to win like I do? Should Trump teach him to negotiate?
Anyway, completely off topic but figured appropriate forum to share…I helped one of my good friends’ friends get to the rehab (Sierra Tucson) where I went in 2012. He had been to 12 (TWELVE ) rehabs before this and when I spoke to him 2 months ago it was like talking to a 7 year old (he’s 50). He called me today and I didn’t recognize the number and he started talking and I couldn’t place the voice but something was familiar. I was finally like “Wait is this Joe from Valdosta Georgia?!” He sounded sharp, intelligent, crisp, ALIVE. I couldn’t believe it. I hung up the phone and started crying, I was overcome with I don’t even know what the word is. I had told his friend 2 months ago I’d try to help but was pretty sure he was a lost cause. I mean definitely some ego at play here for helping him but I did very little. God is good, God works miracles, and I talked to one today. Thought might be good story to kick off the weekend.
I would say that’s an amazing story, Matt, but it really isn’t. We know that when you drop into addiction your mental and spiritual maturation stops. But even knowing that, you must have been incredulous that the person on the phone was your old friend. Thanks for sharing that with us—one of those occasions when the comment is better than the post.