Thoughts on the Beatitudes, Part 7a: Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

My wife Joanne and I often have a discussion about people whom we know and the positive traits that make them who they are. In some of our conversations, we discuss certain individuals who we are convinced will inhabit a special room in God’s kingdom – a place for those who exhibit a high or unusual level of kindness, goodness, compassion, and so on. Speaking for myself, my fascination for such persons is only heightened by the fact that God most certainly will not be admitting me to The Room any time soon, or probably ever.

I mention The Room because it comes to mind when I consider the beatitudinal quality of mercy. Perhaps because I am not a reflexively merciful person, I am more aware of what the Scriptures say about this elusive attribute than I might otherwise be. My Myers-Briggs profile (ENTJ) would naturally incline me to more fully appreciate the glory of divine judgment, but the force of the biblical testimony is that mercy seems to stand out as a more profound expression of God’s character.

You might think – or at least feel – that the preceding claim is somewhat heretical. How can one of the divine attributes take precedence over another? I admit to my own sense of unease over the idea of mercy’s pre-eminence, but in the end I find it impossible to ignore the way that Scripture describes and underscores God’s merciful nature. Two passages in particular stand out. The first is the Lord’s declaration of his character to Moses in Exodus 34:6. What does he say about himself? That he is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and great in his covenant love and faithfulness.

For the Jewish people, the Exodus description of the Lord is not only the divine portrait par excellence, but also a set of phrases that make up a constant scriptural refrain. The Psalms and prophets are replete especially with the two key words that open the passage: rachum and chanun. There is really no English word that even begins to do justice to either term. The first – rachum – is our mercy word. Its fundamental meaning is something like the inner parts of a person – the same root is used for a mother’s womb. Rachum expresses the deep love that the Father has for his children, the compassion that rises when his heart is stirred toward us, especially when we are in distress or struggling with our frailty. Like grace (the chanun word), God’s mercy finds an attraction to our need, and not to our posture of strength or self-sufficiency.

The second striking mercy reference occurs in the Letter of James (which is essentially a commentary on the Beatitudes), where the author makes two bald statements: First, that those who do not show mercy will receive merciless judgment and second, that mercy is triumphant (or exultant) over judgment. What do we make of this? Just as in the verse from Exodus, James does not ignore the presence of a stern justice. And yet, in both passages, it is mercy that has a kind of preeminence. I think we can say that mercy is the Lord’s default disposition toward us, born out of this summary characterization: God is love.

So mercy appears to be rather crucial for us, and that for many reasons. The most obvious is that mercy is our lifeline as poor-in-spirit sinners. In this simple truth lies the power and source of Jesus’ blessing on mercy. We might be tempted to read his statement in isolation and conclude that the formula is “mercy out, mercy in.” In the context of all eight Beatitudes, however, it becomes clear that humility, mourning, meekness, and righteousness add up to a more God and faith centered equation: mercy in, mercy out, mercy in – a continual virtuous cycle.

Until we grasp – and experience – God’s mercy dynamic, this Beatitude will make no sense to us, and its blessing will largely escape us. The Holy Spirit will insist on our seeing the level playing field that is the province of grace: All have sinned; all are equally sinners; all have equal need; for all there is equal provision. To share in divine mercy necessarily leads to sharing divine mercy. Like every other aspect of the gospel, mercy is ultimately offensive and unsparing of our sensibilities. To take on the Lord’s perspective, to see others with his vision is just as absurd as believing that meekness is preferable to power, or that longing for God and for his righteousness is preferable to being our own arbiters of what is right and true.

To be merciful as the Father and the Son are merciful is radically opposed to both the harsh judgmentalism and the laissez-faire libertarianism of the flesh. The mercy of discipleship is summed up in the crucified Messiah praying that God grant forgiveness to his executioners, an act of faith in circumstances that far exceeded our often small confrontations with those who harm us. The more I see of Jesus’ expressions of mercy and his inexhaustible store of compassion, the more I realize that this mercy blessing, like every Beatitude, is a matter of being broken and converted by God’s own power.

Where do we go with this need for change? Next week I’ll take the blog space to consider what it is that makes mercy so challenging, and how it is the Spirit might want to work in us so that he overcomes the obstacles to the happiness of being merciful.

Until next week, then, keep seeking the one who is seeking us. And, if you would be so kind, pass along any or all of these posts, like them, share them, pray about them, comment on them.

Every good gift from the Father be yours.

PB