In the year 1984, an article from Multnomah Press shared a poignant story about a mother who approached Emperor Napoleon, pleading for a pardon for her son. The emperor responded sternly, explaining that the young man had committed a grave offense twice, and justice required death as a consequence. Yet the mother, unwavering in her request, replied, "But I don't ask for justice; I plead for mercy."
"But your son does not deserve mercy," Napoleon retorted. To which the woman replied with fervor, "Sir, it would not be mercy if he deserved it, and mercy is all I ask for." Profoundly moved, the emperor granted her plea and spared the woman's son. This tale highlights the essence of what mercy is—a concept deeply embedded in languages across the world, representing hope, second chances, and the opportunity for redemption.
Imagine a life devoid of second chances. Personally, I would not be here today without mercy, and I believe many of you can relate. Consider God's mercy towards the city of Nineveh, where Jonah, initially reluctant, preached repentance. God's mercy preserved both Jonah and the Ninevites, leading to their salvation. Take the woman caught in adultery, who under the law of Moses deserved to be stoned to death. It was God's mercy that allowed her to live. Jesus intervened, saying, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first." One by one, her accusers walked away. And Peter, one of Christ's closest apostles, denied knowing Jesus three times in His darkest hour. Yet after the resurrection, Peter was restored when Jesus asked him three times, "Do you love me?" Each time, Peter affirmed his love and was entrusted with nurturing Christ's flock.
Even in the darkest events of our lives, like Peter, and even in our own society, mercy remains vital. Look at our prison system. Numerous men and women, from all walks of life, are pushed away from public view. What does God say about these people? Hebrews 13 instructs us to "remember the prisoners, as though in chains with them." This verse urges us to empathize with those forgotten by society, to hold their suffering close to our hearts. To have mercy.
So what is Mercy? Mercy is God withholding the judgment we deserve. It's compassion that sees our brokenness and chooses not to punish. When you stand before God guilty—truly guilty—and He doesn't strike you down, that's mercy. Mercy says, "I see what you've done. I see who you are. And I will not give you what you deserve."
Grace, by contrast, is God giving us what we don't deserve. It's the active, transforming power of God working in us and for us. Grace both spares us from punishment and heals us, changes us, empowers us to become something new. When the prodigal's father throws a celebration, gives him a ring and a robe, restores him to sonship—that's grace. And notice: the son knows he is restored. He feels it. That's the assurance grace brings. Mercy is the father's restraint. Grace is the father's embrace, restoration, and the son's knowledge that he is beloved.
These two things—mercy and grace—help steer us forward in God's path. True discipleship encompasses obedience to His commands, sometimes at a cost, as Christ Himself suffered for us. In Matthew 9, Jesus expressed being moved with compassion, using the term where his guts churn, indicating a profound, visceral response. Jesus was moved to the very core of His being, inspiring His ministry of healing and restoration. The Greek word *eleos*, representing undeserved compassion, moved God to action. It is not simply a sentiment, but embodies the true meaning of grace.
But what happens when we refuse to extend mercy? Saul! First Samuel 15 states, "Has the LORD as much delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice…Because you have rejected the word of the LORD, He has also rejected you from being King." Isaiah 1 challenges us with the Lord's words: "I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fattened cattle; And I take no pleasure in the blood of bulls, lambs, or goats. When you come to appear before Me, Who requires of you this trampling of My courtyards? Do not go on bringing your worthless offerings; Incense is an abomination to Me." God desires our hearts and obedience far more than empty rituals. Psalm 51 reminds us that "the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart." This is the offering He truly cherishes.
In Jeremiah 7:22-23, we read, "For I did not speak to your fathers…about burnt offerings and sacrifices. But this is what I commanded them: 'Obey My voice, and I will be your God, and you will be My people.'" Joel 2 calls us with urgency: "Return to Me with all your heart, with fasting, weeping, and mourning." God is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, and abounding in mercy. Let us earnestly seek His mercy and, in turn, extend it abundantly to others.
Think of America in 1963, on the brink of nuclear war during the Cuban Missile Blockade. President Kennedy and Premier Khrushchev stood at the edge of annihilation. Cooler heads prevailed—barely. We didn't earn that deliverance. We didn't repent first. God's mercy came before our worthiness, giving us time to change course. That's prevenient grace—God's mercy working through human reason and restraint, holding back judgment we deserved.
Consider South Africa after apartheid. A nation built on systematic racial oppression should have torn itself apart in civil war. Instead, Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela chose Truth and Reconciliation. Victims and perpetrators sat in rooms together. Mercy was offered—not because it was earned, but because a people decided that healing mattered more than vengeance. God's mercy doesn't erase the past. It transforms the future.
Mercy friends is present for you and me. The times you should have failed but didn't. The relationships you destroyed that somehow healed. The darkness you walked through that didn't swallow you. The second chances you never deserved but received anyway.
“If God has been this merciful to me—what am I called to do with that mercy? Where is my heart being moved toward the suffering, the lost, the condemned?" Because mercy received is meant to become mercy given. That's the means of grace at work. That's how the heart is strangely warmed—not in comfort, but in the costly, holy work of extending to others the mercy God has so lavishly extended to us.
This morning, please remember to give mercy, even if its not deserved, as this is what God has done for each of us!