Theological Truth: We can find common ground as recipients of God’s steadfast, loving mercy,
Come Holy Spirit and kindle in us the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and we shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth. Amen.
Shortly after joining St. James Episcopal Church, Baton Rouge, I was asked to join the annual giving campaign committee. I agreed, partially because I had no idea what an annual giving campaign was! I quickly learned, however, that I would be expected to turn in a pledge card, something I had never done before. So, to estimate what we would give to the church in the following year, I did what any self-respecting, business major would do: I calculated the value of the services we expected to receive.
It was fairly straightforward. The kids were young and I could estimate the number of hours per week they spent in the church nursery (and I knew exactly how much babysitting cost!). I added the free cups of coffee each Sunday, and the complimentary cookies. Tabulated an estimate for spiritual counseling, a few adult forums, and something akin to my Kiwanis Club dues, and voila! A carefully calculated and reasonable accounting of what I “owed” the church. Transaction complete. Pleasure doing business with you.
It seems embarrassing now. But I bet (and hope!) that you understand. We live in a society that is based on such a transactional economy. We exist in a meritocracy resting on the expectation that if I do A, B, and C, I expect—and feel entitled to—X, Y, and Z. Richard Rohr explains it this way, “Many Americans have this [sense of entitlement], especially if we grew up rather comfortable. When we grow up comfortable, we think we deserve. We think we have a special right … We all think we deserve just a bit more” . He goes on to say, “We’re all counters. We are! We think to ourselves, ‘[I] gave this much, so [I] deserve this much.” Or in the case of my first pledge, I received this so much, so I’ll give this much.
But this economy of “counting” becomes a problem when we don’t get what we expect when we expect it and from whom we expect it. Bitterness and resentment lurk right around the corner. As counters, we are also likely to become suspicious of those who seem to be getting more than they deserve or pose a threat to what is rightfully mine. “Why are those people allowed to do this, come here, or have that?” Taken to the extreme, the transaction economy can lead to calculations making it easy to neglect the poor, the disabled, the addicted, the incarcerated, because if we all get what we deserve, apparently they did something to deserve their condition. Counting can lead to counting some people out, or writing them off.
Bryan Stevenson, the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, makes this point in his book, Just Mercy, where he tells the story of his work to prove the innocence and win the release of Walter. At his last court appearance, when Mr. McMillan’s conviction was overturned and he was released after spending six years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit, Stevenson addressed the court, “Your Honor….It was far too easy to convict this wrongly accused man for murder an send him to death row…and much too hard to win his freedom after proving his innocence” (pg. 225). Counting is far too hard on some and leaves precious little room for mercy.
That’s the alternative economy: the economy of God’s mercy. Bartimaeus, despite his blindness, sees this. As Jesus is walking by, notice what he cries out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” The crowd tries to silence him, dismissing him because surely he isn’t deserving of Jesus’ attention. They’ve become blind to his plight. But he persists all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus lives by a different set of values, evaluates people based on an economy of grace. Bartimaeus and Jesus both know the importance of mercy.
When he’s asked, “What would you like for me to do for you?” notice that Bartimaeus answers very differently than James and John from last week’s Gospel. Instead of asking for power or privilege, he says, “My teacher, let me see again.” The eye-opening mercy of Jesus changes Bartimaeus’ life. Jesus tells him to go, but he doesn’t go back to his roadside cloak. Having received mercy, he follows Jesus down the road of mercy. This road leads to Jerusalem, to the cross, the ultimate act of inestimable grace that none of us deserve, this incalculable love that none of us have earned.
We all need this mercy…now more than ever…in order to see clearly again, rather than blindly counting and calculating. Rohr offers this advice, “There’s only one way to get us out of this meritocracy and entitlement. Once in our lives we have to experience undeserved love at a deep, gut level. Where we didn’t merit it, we weren’t worthy of it; in fact we were unworthy of it, and we got it anyway. That’s called mercy. Only the experience of divine mercy breaks down this entire way of counting.”
None of us get what we deserve; and thanks be to God for that! Instead, we get God’s steadfast, loving mercy. Look to the love of God made known in Jesus Christ’s life, death, resurrection and ascension, carrying us from death to new and full and eternal life. We don’t merit it, we aren’t deserving of it, and yet we get it anyway.
That’s why in the General Thanksgiving, which we say as part of both Morning and Evening Prayer, we begin by addressing God as, “Father of all mercies.” It’s why we ask in the middle of the prayer, “to give us such an awareness of our mercies.” Because when we experience God’s mercy at the gut level, like Bartimaeus, our eyes are opened to this new economy of grace and mercy. We see everyone in this new light. There are no longer categories of worthy and unworthy, deserving and the undeserving, us and them. There’s only the love and mercy of God, offered in Christ, once for all. All other calculations are meaningless.
In these days of uncivil discourse and dangerous rhetoric, let’s make Bartimaeus’ prayer our mantra: Son of David, have mercy on us. Son of David, have mercy on us. And when we say “us,” let’s be clear to keep expanding that definition ever outward. Not limiting the “us” to our tribe, nation, or political party; no longer calculating who deserves God’s mercy. Seeing past our differences — neither ignoring them or creating false equivalencies, but seeing past them — to that which we hold in common: recipients of God’s steadfast, loving mercy, given for the life of the world.
As an orphan and addict, the singer/songwriter Mary Gauthier knows something about the importance of mercy. In her song, “Mercy Now,” she writes, “Yea, everyone one of us, could use a little mercy now. I know we don’t deserve it, but we need it anyhow. We hang in the balance, dangle ‘tween hell and hallowed ground. And every single one of us could use some mercy now.”
Every single one of us could use some mercy now. Jesus, son of David, have mercy on us.
Sermon by The Rev. William AJ Heine at Trinity Episcopal Church, Staunton, Virginia on October 27, 2024.
