The Week Of Mercy

The Mercy You Never Thought You Needed

                             DIVINE MERCY SUNDAY

Let's Start With An Unspoken Question Most Of Us Rarely Voice: When Was The Last Time You Truly Needed God?

I'm Talking About A Real, Raw Need, Like The Kind A Drowning Person Desperately Needs Air Or Someone Bleeding Out In A Ditch Needs Help. Not Just A Desire, Not An Admiration From Afar, Not A Fleeting Feeling Of Spiritual Uplift, But A Fundamental, Bonedeep Necessity. When Was The Last Time You Felt You Couldn’t Breathe Without Him? When Was The Last Time You Felt You Were Truly Drowning, With No Strength To Save Yourself, And Only God's Mercy Could Pull You Out?

Take Your Time. I’ll Be Here.

Most Of Us, Even In This Room, Even If We’re Honest With Ourselves, Have Constructed A Version Of The Christian Life That Silently, Subtly, Rules Out Mercy Altogether. We Arrive At Church On Sunday, Sing Our Hymns, Smile At The Right Moments, Post A Thoughtful Quote During Holy Week, Cloaked In The Language Of Faith, Knowing The Rituals And The Vocabulary, But Inside? Something’s Missing.

We Look Like We’ve Been Changed, But Inside, Many Of Us Haven’t Truly Been. We’ve Become Proficient In Performing The Part, The Polished, Socially Acceptable Version Of Faith, Yet The Heart That Cries Out For Mercy Remains Quiet, Hidden.

And That’s Why So Many Of Us Are Still Stuck. Not Really Free. Not Truly Healed.

Relationships End Up Strained, Held Together By Routine And Avoidance. Deep Inside, Our Private Thoughts Would Shame Us If They Were Broadcast For All To See. Some Of Us Still Act Cruel, Especially To Those Who Can’t Hurt Us Back, Our Shame Hiding Behind A Veil Of Politeness Or Principled Opinion. We’re Terrified Of The People Who Could Really Expose Us, And So We Live In Fear, Spending Our Money On Comforts Or Calling It Stewardship, Calling Our Anger ‘Principle.’ We Confess In Church, But It’s Like Sending A Car Through A Carwash, Clean On The Outside, Unchanged On The Inside.

And Then, Sunday Rolls Around Again. The Routine Repeats. We Perform. We Sing, We Listen, We Nod. And Jesus Stands At The Front Of The Room, Arms Open, Wounds Still Red And Fresh, The Same Wounds That Some In The Room Are Ignoring Or Forgetting.

And All The While, We’re Flipping Through The Bulletin, Distracted, Missing What Divine Mercy Really Is.

Most People Think They Know What Divine Mercy Is. It’s The Image Of A Loving Jesus With Rays Of Red And White Flowing From His Heart. Maybe A Chaplet. A Feast Day In April. Sister Faustina. An Image That’s Familiar, Perhaps Comfortable, A Part Of Tradition For Many.

But Here’s What Mercy Actually Is: It’s God, Gazing Into The Depths Of Your Life, Not Just The Polished, Presentable Version, But The Unfiltered, Nighttime Version, The One Your Spouse Suspects, The One Your Children Quietly Absorb, God Seeing All Of It, No Shadows, No Spin, No Justification, And Still Choosing You. Not Tolerating You With A Clenched Jaw. Not Grudgingly Processing Your Faults. No, He Chooses You, Runs Toward You, Killing The Fatted Calf, Throwing A Celebration You Might Think You Don’t Deserve.

That’s Mercy, And You Can’t Really Receive It Until You Admit Something Vital: You Are Starving.

I’ve Watched This Happen, Again And Again, To Good, Earnest People, Truthful Believers, Church Ministers, Faithful Followers.

A Man Loses His Job, But Keeps It Hidden, Afraid That Revealing The Truth Would Shatter His Reputation. He Sits Quietly In The Pew, Smiling, Shaking Hands, Wearing The Mask, And At Night, He Lies Awake, Wondering If Maybe God Has Finally Looked At His True Ledger And Turned Away. After Twenty Years Of Church Attendance, He’s Never Learned How To Truly Talk To God, Only About Him, Never With Him.

A Woman Carries A Secret; Something She Did, Something Done To Her, Or Maybe Both. She Sits On Sunday Mornings, Weight Heavy And Familiar Now, So Much That She’s Stopped Noticing It. And She Assumes That Life Is Just Heavy, That’s All There Is. But What She Doesn’t Realize Is That Jesus Came For That Weight, That Shame, That Burden She’s Been Carrying. He Didn’t Come For The Perfect Or The Selfsufficient But For Them, Too, The Ones Bleeding, Broken, Lost.

A Young Man Quietly Begins To Drift Away From Faith. He’s Ashamed To Admit Doubt, Knowing A Community That Prizes Certainty And Strength. So He Doubles Down, Volunteers More, Speaks Louder, Because He’s Been Taught That Doubt Is Weakness, But Certainty Is Holiness. Inside, He's Waving An Invisible Flag, A Desperate Cry For Help, Even As He Pretends To Be Strong.

And Then There’s The Teenager, Feeling More Alone Than Ever, Seeing His Reflection And Thinking Maybe He’s Destined For Despair, That The Only Escape From His Pain Is To Take His Own Life. The Community Is Supposed To Be A Refuge, A Place Of Presence And Hope, But Instead, He Feels The Cold Distance Of Indifference.

These Aren’t “Whatif” Stories. They Are Real, Ongoing, And Personal.

And The Truth Is Simple: Jesus Did Not Come For Performances. He Said It Himself, “It Is Not The Healthy Who Need A Doctor, But The Sick." He Came For The Broken, The Bleeding, The Shattered.

He Came For The Woman With Hemorrhages Who Spent Everything On Doctors And Got Worse. For The Leper Outside The City Gates, Cast Away, But Still Seen. For The Guy In The Tombs, Far Gone, Living Among The Dead, But Still Not Too Far.

There’s No “Too Far” In The Economy Of Divine Mercy.

That’s Either The Most Comforting Truth You’ve Ever Heard, Or It Terrifies Everything In You, Because If Even The Worst, Most Broken Person Can Be Loved, Then What Does That Say About Your Own Performance? If Mercy Is For Them, Then Your “Enoughness” Is A Fragile Illusion. You’re No Further Ahead, Just Better Dressed And More Polished.

Now, Let’s Talk About Guilt. Because Guilt, Deep, Real Guilt, Is Often What Propels Us Toward Mercy. Yet, We Have A Complicated Relationship With It.

In A World That’s Decided Guilt Is The Problem, We’re Told: “Feel Better About Yourself.” We Reframe Mistakes, Look For Affirmation, Scroll Through Social Media To Find Someone To Tell Us We’re Okay. We Outsource Absolution To Therapists, Influencers, Mirrors, Anything But Authentic Confrontation With God.

And Often, The Church Has Gone Along, Softening Edges, Replacing "Repentance" With “Reflection,” Reducing Sin To Mere Irony, Trading The Cross For A Motivational Poster.

But Real Guilt, The Kind That Comes From A Heart That Still Knows Right From Wrong, Is Not The Enemy. It’s A Signpost. It’s Your Soul’s Alarm System Trying To Protect You. The Problem Isn’t Guilt Itself; It’s The Fire It Signals. And Divine Mercy? It’s Not A Mute Button. It’s A Fire Department Rushing In.

Here’s What Nobody Wants To Hear: You Have To Be Seen, Fully, Raw, To Truly Receive Mercy.

Not The Sanitized, Performance Approved Version. The Real, Vulnerable You, The One That Snapped At Your Kid, The One That Gave To Charity Proudly But Secretly Hoards. The One That Prays Confidently But Hasn’t Really Spoken To God In Months.

The One That Judges Others But Secretly Asks Why She’s So Sure She Wouldn’t Have Done Differently.

That Tired, Aching Person? Mercy Is Waiting. Right Now. Not After You Clean Yourself Up. Not After You Get Your Act Together Enough To Approach God Without Shame. Right Here. Right Now.

Because The Mercy That Flows From The Wounded Side Of Christ, The Blood And Water, Cost Him Everything. It Can’t Be Bought. It Can’t Be Earned. It’s A Gift. A Response To Your Brokenness.

And You’re Standing There, Arms Crossed, Convinced You Have To Perform To Be Loved. But Mercy, Real, Radical Mercy, Says: Come. As You Are.

He’s Already Running Toward You. Not The Version Of Yourself That’s Polished And Perfect. The Real, Raw, Vulnerable You, The One Who’s Tired Of Pretending, Tired Of Hiding.

Come As You Are.

“Jesus, I Trust In You.”

Just Those Five Words. That’s Everything, The Prayer That Costs You Your Pride And Gives You Back Your Life.

Say It. Mean It. Feel It.

Because Right Now? We All Need It.