Mercy wells up from the deepest place in a person's heart. Jesus is mercy. He gives himself, and gives freely; he stands close to each of us, especially to the cast-off, to lift them up and share with them the joy of being loved. But he is wounded by those who believe they are fine, who think they have no need of his grace and seek only their own respectability. Such people tend to despise those who are imprisoned, who beg in the streets, who turn to prostitution—and others like them.
In the Gospel (Luke 18), Jesus tells of a Pharisee and a tax collector who go to the temple to pray. Tax collectors lived on the margins of the law and religious custom. The Pharisee is a teacher of the law, and he feels satisfied with himself for having done his duty. "God, I thank you that I am not like other men—sinners. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get." The Pharisee considers himself religiously respectable. The tax collector, by contrast, keeps his distance and does not even dare to look up at heaven. He strikes his chest, saying: "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." His wretchedness and shame have brought him to see himself as God's son, to cry out that he is a sinner in need of God's gaze and goodness. Jesus says: it is this poor sinner who will be loved and welcomed by God. Because God desires a relationship of love with all his children.
In the parable of the prodigal son, the elder son is furious because the father welcomes the prodigal with joy and throws a feast for him. The elder son is jealous and says to his father: "You never gave a feast for me." In truth, he does not understand that God's heart hungers to welcome everyone and to forgive. God is tenderness and forgiveness. The father's joy is to welcome the son who returns in poverty and humility to God. The elder son does not recognize his own poverty, his need for God, and he does not rejoice with his father over the return of the lost son.
When a man feels poor and lost and cries out like a child to his Father, God welcomes him into his heart. In the end, we are all poor. We need God to live happily in peace and to fulfill our mission. This happiness is a relationship in which we love, are loved, and live in God, who is love itself. The Christian life is a journey on which we come to know our need for Jesus—to live fully and to love as he loves us.
Daring to Be Weak
Some years ago, one of my doctor friends told me how he had cared for a mafia boss in a maximum-security prison. The man had advanced cancer.
This man had had a terrible childhood. He had been abused and assaulted, growing up feeling obliged to defend himself, to flee violence, to lie. In his childhood he had never abandoned himself to a moment of communion or friendship. He had grown up hiding every form of weakness; he had to be stronger than others. By sheer force of will, he had dominated everyone in his gang. He knew how to hurt and kill. Then one day he was arrested, and in prison he developed this difficult cancer.
Faced with my doctor friend, this man grew emotional and moved by the care he was receiving.
For the first time in his life, he could experience moments of communion through encounter and friendship. He had discovered he no longer had to be strong. Through accepting his own weakness, he accepted himself. His newfound weakness in the hands of my doctor friend had opened his heart to a tranquil relationship, full of joy, such as he had never known before. "He had become," the doctor said, "my best friend."
God's promise to transform our hearts of stone into hearts of flesh had been fulfilled.
Mercy works when we can draw near to a hardened, closed person and establish a relationship of tenderness through a professional bond that does not frighten. This relationship made this man fully human. His heart was healed. He was no longer a dangerous man; now he was capable of true friendship. We can never judge people; each one carries a story that can lock them away inside themselves.
God wants to save every human being. How can each of us become a good Samaritan to help wounded people open their hearts?
Jean Vanier, 2017
(From O&L no. 213, 214 – translated by Rita Massi)