My senior sermon at the General Theological Seminary was on St. Matthew’s Day, September 21, 2001. I was in New York City, and we were all reeling from the events of the prior 10 days. Serving, helping, feeling impotent and stunned by the loss of so many lives, and the fear of how the world might have changed.
I had received my preaching assignment just before September 11, and the verse from Matthew’s gospel that leapt out at me was Jesus saying to the disciples and Pharisees, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” (Matthew 9:13a) I thought to myself, I will spend the next two weeks looking for mercy and sacrifice.
And I saw it. I saw mercy in the people who worked on the pile, coming from all over the world. I saw mercy in the selfless offerings of water bottles and food and boots and supplies. I saw mercy in the hugs and tears and consolation that people offered one another.
There is a type of sacrifice to which Jesus calls us—the sacrifice of the cross. The sacrifice he is speaking about in Matthew is different: it is the burnt offering, the expiating sacrifice, the way in which offering a turtle dove or a lamb or a heifer is thought to redeem us in God’s eyes. I saw that type of attempted sacrifice, too, by the terrorists, in the burning pyre of the towers.
I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.
Mercy also has something to say about how we treat those with whom we disagree. Mercy assumes that we are all sinners, we all have incomplete knowledge, and that we all depend upon a loving God’s mercy for our own shortcomings. Mercy is an inherent path to humility. Mercy welcomes the one with whom we disagree because merciful relationships create space for growth in the depth of loving Jesus.
I love Portia’s speech on mercy in The Merchant of Venice. The first line is helped by an explanation: Shakespeare’s English understood “strained” not to mean “stretched tightly” or “under duress” but as a contraction for “constrained”. “The quality of mercy is not constrained” is how we would say it today; the quality of mercy is not bound or confined, it expands and grows.
The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore…
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.
– Merchant of Venice IV.1