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There are many attributes of God. There is omnipotence — God is all-powerful. There is omniscience — God is all-knowing. There is holiness — God is fully present, complete, in all places, at all times. There is love (agape love) — unconditional, steadfast love that binds all things together. But the one that I want to talk about today is mercy. Because that is what we learn from the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son: mercy for the younger son who ran away and wrecked his life. Mercy breaks the cycle. But also for the older son who stayed and simmered in resentment. Mercy breaks the cycle. Mercy is a hard stop to the destructive patterns that keep us from living in the Kingdom of God; which is why mercy is the attribute of God Jesus highlights in the parable of the Prodigal Son.
The 8th-century theologian Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, wrote this about mercy: “It is God’s justice clothed in compassion.” His point? Mercy doesn’t cancel justice, it fulfills it. Mercy is justice revealed through love. Mercy breaks the cycle, whatever that destructive cycle is.
And mercy today seems in short supply. In fact, for many, mercy is seen as weakness. Ben Shapiro, a political commentator and founder of the streaming service The Daily Wire, is an example of this mindset — a popular one I might add. He suggests that while the West (that is code for the United States) has been taught that compassion and empathy are of the highest value, they can, in fact, lead to moral softness, particularly when applied towards people on the margins, compromising a nation’s strength and clarity of purpose. (The Ben Shapiro Show, March 2022, Episode 1458/para)
While Shapiro doesn’t glamorize Russian President Putin, he does admire how he is unrestrained by Western ideals like empathy or moral consideration. Saying… “Putin doesn’t care about your feelings. He doesn’t care about your pronouns or your climate change policies. He cares about power.” (Ben Shapiro, The Daily Wire, February 24, 2022)
I follow somebody who is powerful, a lot more powerful than Putin; someone who actually makes the opposite claim to Shapiro, a claim that real power isn’t seen through one’s capacity to bully or marginalize or instill fear. Real power comes through one’s capacity to employ mercy.
Jesus is who I follow and Jesus is not weak. Jesus is not a coward. Jesus is not dumb. Jesus has more power than any person that’s ever walked the face of the earth — and yet, the point he makes to us through the parable of the Prodigal Son, is that we should “Be merciful, just as our Father in heaven is merciful.”
And we know this is right intuitively. The Marvel Superhero movies make the point. Take Captain America: Civil War as an example. If you haven’t seen it, let me recount the battle that takes place at the end. Of course, it takes place in Russia, at one of the Hydra facilities, where the Winter Soldier, Bucky, has been brainwashed. The scene relives how Bucky killed Tony Stark, aka Iron Man’s parents. In an epic battle between Iron Man, who is trying to kill Bucky, and Captain America, who is trying to save him, it ends with Captain America disabling Iron Man’s suit.
With Tony Stark lying there, vulnerable, yet still seething at the injustice of it all, he cries out that Captain America’s shield doesn’t belong to him, because it was made by Tony’s father.
Power and revenge, right to the end. Captain America couldn’t have been blamed for cleaning up the mess by finishing off an angry Iron Man. But instead, Cap drops his shield and walks away. He chooses mercy; justice clothed in compassion.
Mercy breaks the cycle. It is a moral choice, one we see in Superhero movies, because it is what we want from our Superheroes: mercy; because we know that mercy is not about weakness, but it’s actually about strength, because the strongest person that ever walked the face of this earth employed it and commended it to us through the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Let’s take a look. A man’s son comes to him and asks for his inheritance early, a grave insult. It’s like saying, “I wish you were dead.” And yet, the father gives it to him.
This younger son takes his inheritance and squanders it on wild living, and ends up in a pigpen. And then we get this beautiful line: “When he came to himself…” Even in the pigpen God shows up. And the son remembers who he truly is. He realizes that his identity, his human dignity, was incompatible with the way he was living. When he comes to himself, he realizes that there’s a better way to live, and he remembers that it is the way modeled by his father. So he sets out for home not expecting mercy, just hoping for survival.
But even when he’s still far away, beyond earshot, and certainly before he can recite the speech he had probably been practicing in his mind the entire journey, his father sees him, runs to him, and wraps his arms around him. He puts a robe on his shoulders, shoes on his feet, and a ring on his finger. Not a Cracker Jack ring, a royal ring. A sign of restoration, of belonging. Because that’s what mercy does. Mercy doesn’t just forgive, it restores.
And in the restoration, just like when Cap gave Tony Stark the shield, mercy breaks the cycle. It is that powerful.
But the story doesn’t end there. The older brother is furious. He stayed. He worked. He followed the rules. And now his disgraced brother gets a party? But the father comes out to him, too. He doesn’t scold him. He shows mercy again. Because the father knows: the older son, too, is lost in his bitterness, his pride, his belief that he has earned the grace of his father.
Mercy breaks the cycle. It is offered up by the father to the oldest son, and yet for it to sink in it must be accepted. And we don’t know if the older son will see the power of transformation in the gift of mercy or not. That’s how God works. God gives us the choice.
What we hope happens here at church, what we pray happens, is that we are reminded of this choice every Sunday: the choice to receive and employ mercy.
Mercy is not just a topic we talk about; it is woven into the very fabric of our liturgy, in the Daily Office, and most especially in our Sunday worship. Worship gives us space to reflect, to look honestly at our lives, to recognize both the opportunities to engage the kingdom of God, and to acknowledge the places where we fall short.
And when we bring the full sum of our lives before God, the good and the broken, the faithful and the flawed, we are reminded that if God were fully just, measuring our merit against our failures, we would not be able to stand the scrutiny.
But our God’s justice is clothed in compassion. Our God is merciful. We know God is merciful because we are here. Not by our own strength or righteousness, not because we have earned the grace, but by the mercy of an omnipotent, omniscient, holy, loving God; who extends mercy to us over and over and over again.
That’s why the word “mercy” is so deeply embedded in our liturgy. It’s why we say each Sunday: “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.”
And it’s why, in the heart of the Eucharistic Prayer, we proclaim: “In your mercy, you sent your only Son Jesus Christ…”
These are not just words. They are the rhythm of a merciful God calling us home, wrapping God’s arms around us. Every Sunday, we are that Prodigal Son who returns home to be greeted by the Father with a robe, shoes and a ring.
Every Sunday we are exposed to the mercy that breaks the cycle, whatever cycle we are in. Every Sunday we are reminded to “Be merciful, just as your Father in heaven is merciful.”
If we were all to receive and employ mercy in everyday patterns of our lives it would become the core expression of this nation’s character and change the world.
How might we do this in our lives? When someone is late for dinner, have mercy. When someone doesn’t get the grade they hoped for, have mercy. When your spouse falls short (again) have mercy. When your neighbor annoys you, have mercy.
Mercy is the hug. Mercy is “That’s okay.” Mercy is “You still belong.” Mercy is “a ring, sandals, and robe.”
Mercy is not weakness. Mercy is God’s strength, clothed in compassion.
As Pope Francis once said: “The most powerful word in the universe is mercy.”
Jesus tells the story of the Prodigal Son not to entertain, but to transform, to break the cycle of a human delusion that power is employed through dominance, fear mongering or marginalization… It is not. In the world as God designed it, real power is represented by the father in the story of the Prodigal Son: it is Mercy.
“The most powerful word in the universe is mercy.” So, “Be merciful, as your Father in heaven is merciful.”