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So, we have two men. Both are at the temple. Both are praying. One’s a tax collector; the other a Pharisee. What they have in common is that they’re at the temple, which means they’re working under a shared assumption: that God exists, that God is powerful, that God connects with them, and that being in relationship with God is something to value and prioritize.
But they’re also working under two very different assumptions about how to be in relationship with God. The Pharisee is following the rulebook written by his people, passed down to him along with his education, resources and status; born and bred a Pharisee, by virtue of the accident of his birth. He looks around and wonders with contempt: “Why can’t they do what I’m doing? Why can’t they be like me? If they’d just follow the rules, everything would work out fine.”
Then there is the tax collector. Something is going on with this guy. Maybe he’s committed adultery. Maybe he’s stolen. Maybe he’s simply living a rogue’s life. Whatever it is, it seems things are not working out all that great.
So we have the Pharisee confident in his righteousness, and the tax collector with a broken and contrite heart that he just can’t mend on his own. So, he turns to God with humility in pain, in need, in distress. And he cries out the most honest prayer in Scripture: “Lord, have mercy upon me.”
His plea becomes a foundational prayer in Christendom, known as the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
This prayer took shape in the early centuries of Christianity, becoming central to the spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, who sought to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17) as St. Paul so instructed.
By the sixth century, it was widely used in monastic communities, and later, through the Mount Athos movement, developed into a meditative practice that synchronized breath and heartbeat, aligning body and soul with the mercy of God.
Mercy, it seems, is God’s go to when confronted with the machinations and madness of humanity. Here is how we know this to be the case: since God knows us, sees us fully, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the dishonest, and still allows us to exist; still, seemingly, loves us; still, honors our freedom then we know it must be, despite our unworthiness, that God is merciful, infinitely merciful. That’s God’s response to our failure, our brokenness, our rogue’s life is always mercy.
Which begs the question: Why? Wouldn’t justice make more sense? That is what I often want, a lightning bolt throwing Zeus god, a smiting God who sets things “right…” by my definition, of course, by the Pharisee’s definition, of course.
But that’s not the God we meet either in our experience or through the modeling of Jesus. The God we know applies mercy. Always mercy. Mercy is God’s go to.
It turns out, that mercy is one of the principal operating patterns, a law if you will, in the Kingdom of God. Jesus is pretty clear about this: “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.” (Mat 5:7) “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” (Mat 9:13) “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” (Luke 6:36) And you remember the mercy employed by the Father of the prodigal son? (Luke 15:11-32) And by the good Samaritan to the man beaten and bleeding by the side of the road? (Luke 10:25-37)
Jesus came to teach us spiritual operating principles; he came to show us how life works in the Kingdom of God. And primary amongst these principles is mercy.
Today’s parable makes the point through contrasting perspectives. One man trusts in himself: “I’ve done all the right things, look at me!” And he probably has. But what puts him out of step with the kingdom of God, isn’t his behavior, it’s his contempt; his blindness to his own need for mercy, and the manner by which God has employed it in his life.
The tax collector, on the other hand, knows his sin. He stands far off, ashamed, and cries out for mercy. And God gives it not because he earns it, but because that is the nature of God: to be merciful.
Here’s why mercy is primary in the Kingdom of God: it has power to change lives through restoration, rather than retribution. Mercy is sticky and impactful. Mercy is remembered, and unlike lessons learned from punitive measures, mercy evokes the scent and sensation of love.
A few Sundays ago, I told you about Ron Weinberg, my mentor in Cleveland who I worked for as a product manager and in mergers and acquisitions. That job had me flying to Europe every so often, visit clients and do due diligence on companies.
That was back in the 90’s when every country in Europe had their own currency. On one trip I was racing from Germany to the south of France for a meeting, and I hadn’t had time to stop to exchange Deutsche Marks for Francs… which all of a sudden became a problem when I hit my first toll booth in France.
I rolled to a stop, lowered my window and with genuine humility said, “I’m so sorry, I don’t speak French, can you help me?” “I don’t have any French currency. What should I do?” And every time, at every toll booth they smiled, took pity on me, and waved me through. You might say: that was just their policy. It made their lives easier. But for me it was mercy employed.
Prior to my days in Cleveland, I worked at the international relief organization AmeriCares. My boss, Bob MacCauley, the founder and funder of the place, had two secretaries, both named Annie, who would both say to me, “Honey attracts more bees than vinegar, Doyt.”
It is a lesson I seem to need to learn over and over again. Humility and grace, “honey,” if you will, evoke gratitude, not resentment. It is mercy employed with patience, not retribution. A bullied person becomes a bully. A beaten dog bites. But mercy interrupts that cycle, evoking the scent and sensation of love.
I can assure you, those French toll attendants don’t remember me, but I’ll never forget them. Because mercy is sticky. Mercy changes people. God uses mercy because mercy is powerful, it fills the void, heals the wound, and changes the heart.
Judgment and contempt drive people underground; mercy brings them out into the light. Mercy begets mercy begets mercy, mercy is restorative, and that is a Kingdom of God operating principle we are called to share… even though it is wildly countercultural, if not exceedingly unprofitable.
Retribution sells. We carry tiny guillotines in our pockets ready to record, post, and condemn… revenge and retribution are click bait. Maybe mercy is the better response. Actually, Mercy is always the best response. I was reminded of that the other day.
Two weeks ago we had an Epiphany music concert here featuring the Bach Brandenburg concerto no. 5. The harpsichordist, someone we’ve employed before, had a moment of high anxiety during the performance; something wasn’t working with the harpsichord, and it threw her completely off. She stopped mid concerto, visibly upset, stood up and made a comment about why she was struggling, something she was experiencing I might add that I wasn’t perceiving. Then she sat down to continue to play.
It was startling and I was irritated because, whatever she was experiencing, her need, her anxiety, her pride, she disrupted all of our experiences… and as the Rector of this place sponsoring this experience and employing her to carry it out I was not pleased. Judgment bubbled up and then contempt, as I was lining up my own little arsenal of retribution.
When I sat down with Zach and Laura to discuss this incident, I was surprised to hear a very different perspective. They saw her humanity, they understood her struggles, and her distress. Their response was grace, empathy and mercy. Their recommendation was mercy as well. I might as well have been talking to Annie and Annie.
Zach and Laura persuaded me not because of their logic (necessarily) but because of Jesus; because mercy is a prime operating principle in the Kingdom of God. And it is often our community, our church community, our Jesus journeying community, that reorients us of this truth.
It is in our spiritual self interest after all to be merciful. It is good for our souls. It is in our self interest to cry out like the tax collector, “Lord, have mercy upon me,” because mercy changes us. Mercy opens the door to grace. Mercy is the glue that holds relationships together, and when employed plugs us into the infinite mercy of God.
We need fewer little guillotine moments, fewer displays of dominance and power. What we need is what the Kingdom of God runs on MERCY. We need honey more than vinegar… it is stickier and it tastes better.
Mercy changes the world. Mercy connects us to the God who knows us and still loves us. Mercy upon mercy upon mercy.
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
And God does. Every time.