The Omnipotence of Mercy

It’s the one virtue that can make a lasting difference.

Aaron Renn’s recent article, “The End of Moral Standards: In the Negative World, character no longer counts like it used to,” explores what morality looks like today. Even though I quibble with it here and there, it is well worth a read (and subscribing to his newsletter!). 

The article uses sexual morality as a main example, for instance, noting how marital infidelities no longer disqualify candidates running for office (e.g. Gary Hart in 1987, who had to withdraw, vs Donald Trump in 2016, who remained and won).  This example and summary is simplistic, but Renn fills out this idea with a thoughtful analysis of the problem. Even then, you can’t possibly address this complex issue in one short essay. Still it’s obvious that in our time we’ve seen a serious degradation in language, sexual mores, business ethics, and so on.

One moral virtue that particularly interests me is mercy, both in its decline and in its centrality to Christian faith.  Again, the decline is obvious—note how quickly our society judges/condemns/shames environmental, racial, and certain sexual transgressions, to give three examples. Also note the tearing down of statues and monuments of historical figures who transgressed in these matters.  There is little or no attempt to understand the context of these transgressions, the mitigating circumstances, let alone display any compassion for the weakness of human beings who often succumb.

Some might argue that, in fact, our age is more merciful than ever.  Take for example the sympathy with which our society treats gays, lesbians, and transexuals, and how it exalts the dignity of minorities, immigrants, and all manner of the marginalized.  Anyone who has or might be subject to political or social discrimination or repression is a strong candidate for our compassion.  And this is to be commended.

But this compassion is selective.  Examples abound, and this readership appreciates two in particular: the general hostility toward the religiously conservative (evangelicals, Catholics, Muslims, among others), as well as the complete blindness to children in wombs—talk about a defenseless group!  As far as mercy toward transgressors, well the sentiment is that they don’t deserve understanding, let alone mercy-- just vigorous shaming and condemnation.

Part of the problem is that our society equates mercy/compassion with unqualified acceptance and general niceness.  It assumes that mercy/compassion merely means to accept people on their own terms.  We shouldn’t judge anyone for their choices, we say, but then show little interest in how badly some of those choices will harm them or degrade people. In other words, it is mercy that fails to be fully merciful.  Let me explain.

We can contrast this version of mercy with Christian mercy.  Christian mercy is, first of all, universal.  It is offered to both the oppressed and the oppressors (the biblical “prostitutes and tax collectors,” the woman caught in adultery and the Roman centurion, and so forth).   It will grant that the oppressor/transgressor is wrong but will also grant that he is a weak human being subject to powerful temptations he often fails to resist.  It will grant that the victim indeed needs defense by the strong, but it also acknowledges that she is a human being strong enough to rise above her status as mere victim.

We can assume this because we know that mercy is also omnipotent—it is capable of bringing complete healing and restoration to individuals and society.  Most think of mercy as nice but essentially weak.  It’s not able to stand against evil in a very effective way. Thus most people resort to force to defeat evils small and large—harassing, nagging, legal measures, boycotts, war, and so forth.  To be sure, each has their place in civil society, but such tactics never win in the long run.

The gospel shows us that ]only mercy can defeat evil, doing so with complete effectiveness: God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, not counting their sins against them (2 Cor. 5:19).  The greatest evils—sin, death, alienation from God—were defeated for all people, in all the world, for all time. God’s forgiveness is a done deal.  Repentance is not about earning God’s forgiveness, but recognizing it as an accomplished fact and deciding to live this truth day by day.  

In short, God’s mercy is all-powerful; it’s omnipotent.  It accomplishes what it sets out to accomplish, as noted, for all people, in all the world, for all time.

One might logically ask, “But if we treat vile sinners with mercy, won’t they just go on being malefactors?”  Only if we equate mercy with niceness.  “Don’t we have to hold people accountable for their wrongdoing, and to ensure they have taken steps to reform themselves after we’ve loved the sinner but not the sin?” That’s true only in the most abstract sense.

The word accountability however is rarely used in the spirit of mercy.  We tend to bring up accountability when we believe that mercy has done its job—accepting and loving the sinner where he is at—but now it’s time for some tough love, strong-arming people into reforming their lives.  It’s a way for us to become legalistic and pharisaical while sounding like we’re just being responsible. I imagine the Pharisees saw themselves as the most responsible of religious leaders.

What we have to see is that mercy includes not merely compassion to accept the sinner where he is, but also to love the sinner into a life that flourishes, that helps him live fully into the image of God in whom he has been created. 

It ‘s the only way I try to grow this newsletter!

Take one example, World Relief ¹ is an evangelical organization that resettles refugees in the U.S.  It is merciful in reaching out to these desperate people, yes, and providing them a welcome and a place to live and groceries for the first few months.  But it is also merciful when it insists that these newly arrived learn English, take classes to acculturate, find their own rides to and from their jobs, save enough to buy a car, and so forth.  It would hardly be merciful to welcome them to America and then say, “Okay, you’re on your own now.” 

It also would not be merciful if it did nothing when it discovered that the newly arrived are not learning English, not showing up for work, and so forth.  Not because, “Well, they need to be held accountable!” but because people at World Relief want their clients to become successful in their new life.  They want them and their families to flourish, to find meaningful work, to be able to buy a home, to contribute to their communities, and to mature and grow in their gifts and abilities.  Mercy is not just about being nice to people who are victims or malefactors but also helping them rise to their full stature as human beings with divine dignity.

This is a radically different view of mercy, one that is rapidly fading from American life. And this, more than any other moral lapse, is the great tragedy of our age. 

True mercy is endowed with the omnipotence of God himself, and thus mercy is the one virtue that can truly turn things around.  As Thomas Aquinas put it,

In itself mercy is the greatest of the virtues, since all the others revolve around it and, more than this, it makes up for their deficiencies. This is particular to the superior virtue, and as such it is proper to God to have mercy, through which his omnipotence is manifested to the greatest degree.²

Granted, we can practice this divine mercy in fullness only in dribs and drabs--human nature is sorely broken, after all.  But with God’s grace we can practice it much more fully than we ever thought possible. Such mercy may not bring in the kingdom of heaven, but it will surely make life in this decaying age much more bearable—and even remarkably joyful at times.

Grace and peace,

Mark

Notes:

Photo by Gianna Bonello on Unsplash

1.  I have a biased appreciation for World Relief, Chicagoland, as this is where my wife works and I volunteer. So let me unashamedly encourage you to donate to the organization!

2. From The Joy of the Gospel, by Pope Francis, p. 31. The Crown Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.