Kirkepiscatoid

Here is one of the little blurbs I wrote during my exploration of Psalm 118:

“His mercy endures for ever.”

In Psalm 118, this phrase is used four times at the beginning and repeated once more at the end (just in case you didn’t “get it”!) What is this word “mercy?”

I think for a lot of us the word “mercy” implies an act similar to pardoning a criminal, or to end the life of a tortured criminal in a swift and dignified fashion. But I suspect our “criminalization” of this word has also clouded its true meaning to us.

The Hebrew word for “mercy” is “checed.” It is used 240 times in the Old Testament and frequently in the psalms. It is interesting that the New Revised Standard Version translates it to “steadfast love”. The King James Version usually uses “mercy” but in some phrases “loving-kindness” and “favor” are used. The New International Version simply uses “love.” But these words detract from the enduring quality of this love.

I am watching the sun rise in the corner of my yard. Although it comes up in a slightly different “exact spot” in the east as the year rolls by, without fail, it comes up in the east. I can count on it coming up in that side of my yard. In other words, there is an enduring quality to the sunrise, a steadfastness, a dependability.

Now, I have not watched the sun actually rise for weeks. But never, not once, did I think in the middle of the day, “Uh, did the sun come up today? I forgot to look.” I just knew it did. So it is with God’s mercy. He does what he does, he does it every day, and it happens whether we “check up on it or not.” Just as the sun shines on us every day whether we notice it or not, God’s mercy shines upon us every day whether we notice it or not…even when we are pretending to hide from it in our dark painful places, or when we delude ourselves into thinking we can ignore it or refuse it. The light of God’s mercy shines on us anyway, whether we want it or not, and sometimes I think the “chafing” of it is that we don’t want it at the moment, but get it anyway.

But in those moments that ARE noticed, what happens?

I think it’s like sitting in the sun as opposed to the shade. The light is there either way but, for me, I feel the warmth of it. I feel its touch upon my skin, its touch upon my inner core, I feel the resonance of my own “good parts” respond by glowing outward. When I really want to accept where the light of God shines from within myself, it is in this quality of “steadfastness”. I am not a “gooshy love” kind of person. But I think those close to me feel an intensity, a warmth, a steadfastness, and a loyalty to my love that can be incredibly “scary strong” at times. Sometimes I think it is at a level people are not used to expecting, and the intensity of it can spook them a little at times. Then again, I am sometimes amazed at the intensity of which others can respond to it.

I think this quality in me comes from the fact that my life is not rooted in a partner and children. I think these forms of love tend to be used on one’s immediate family, and generally there is not a lot left for spare for the use of others. I have it to spare, so I use it.

I like to believe that when I am the one who sits with someone at the emergency room, or the one who shows up with the tire jack, or the one who is “right there” in a time of personal turmoil saying nothing but holding someone’s hand or just listening to them, that it is in those moments that others can feel what the steadfast love of God—God’s mercy—feels like—and they can feel its enduring quality through me. Perhaps it is a gift that God gave me through my own sometimes seemingly broken, solitary life. It’s not a judgment or a condemnation, it’s not a situation where you have to “humble” yourself to God, it’s just “there” and it is to be used and all that is required is to be thankful for it.

As the sun bathes me in the early morning chill, I am thinking about those times I have grabbed the hands of hurting friends and looked them square in the eye and squeezed their hand as hard as I could. I almost always say to them something like, “I won’t let go.” “I am right here.” “I won’t abandon you.” “When you are feeling like letting go, you remember I have a-hold of you so tight, you will not fall.” Now, I don’t know HOW I’m going to accomplish that sometime, but I know I will. It’s the affirmation that occurs frequently in the Book of Common Prayer when re-emphasizing parts of our Baptismal Covenant—“I will, with God’s help.”