Lack of Mercy

        Saints and Sinners

When somebody yields to temptation 
    And breaks one of man’s or God’s laws, 
We look for no good in his make-up, 
    But oh! how we look for the flaws! 
No one cares about how he was tempted, 
    Nor praises the battles he’s fought; 
His name becomes food for the jackals -- 
    For us who have never been caught.

           He has sinned!” we shout from the house-tops,

             We forget the good deeds he has done,

          We focus on that one lost battle,

          And forget all the times he has won.

         “Come, gaze at the sinner!” we thunder,

         “And by his example be taught

      That his footsteps lead to destruction!”

          Cry we who have never been caught.

      I’m a sinner, O Lord, and I know it,

          I’m weak, I blunder, I fail.

     I’m tossed on life’s stormy ocean

        Like ships embroiled in a gale.

   I’m willing to trust in Thy mercy,

   To keep the commandments Thou’st taught,

    But deliver me, Lord, from the judgment

Of saints who have never been caught!*

   
Lack of mercy really troubles me.                             

Last night I had the ugly chore of telling a repentant sinner he wasn't welcome in another person's home. It was an unsavory, difficult duty that had to be done because others would get hurt if this person were not excluded. This was a utilitarian task made necessary by someone else's leftover resentments. It's complicated; just trust me. The worst of it is that most of the offenses committed were done to my children and me; they only affected the other person collaterally. In other words, the grudge being held was much more mine to forgive. I fail to see how, if I can let go of wrongs done to me in the distant past, someone else has the right to hold onto them on my behalf.

Long ago, I had the privilege of hearing a sermon by Andy Stanley** regarding good works vs. faith. He made the point that the "thief" on the cross was actually referred to as a "malefactor," which carries the implication of a life of hard-core sinning. I'll loosely paraphrase Andy's main point, since I can't locate the exact sermon:

What kind of bad works did this guy do? Real bad. What opportunity did this guy have to make up for his life of debauchery? No opportunity. Yet, Christ transformed his nugget of faith into a ticket to Paradise. All the ill will, missed opportunities, perversion, disgrace, and yes, horrific sin, turned into a pile of ashes when stacked up against the payment being made for same on the cross his neighbor was affixed to.

In other words, Christ did not withhold forgiveness from the lowest of the low.

Further examples of wanton grace include Christ's dealings with Matthew and Zacchaeus, both tax collectors, whose presence was about as welcome as an inflamed boil; the woman at the well, whose low status as a female Samaritan was compounded by a life of sin; and the woman taken in adultery (I've always been disturbed by the absence of her male counterpart, as if her lack of a Y chromosome somehow made her more guilty of an act which required complicity). The common thread in all these scenarios is societal rejection due to "unpardonable" offense. Astoundingly, Jesus, holy God in bodily form, embraced and welcomed these transgressors when their unholy peers would not.

So, someone explain to me please how we as flawed humans (and professing Christians, no less) can pick and choose who is worthy of forgiveness, when God incarnate took no such stance.
I realize forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things, and I'm not suggesting we pronounce BFF status after years of estrangement and hurt. What I am asking for is a bit of compassion and recognition that "there but for the grace of God go I."

The Savior did no less.

* PoemHunter.com attributes Saints and Sinners to Zambia's Changu Chilwesa, written in 2009. However, I seem to remember hearing it much before then. Contacted Ms. Chilwesa to clarify.

** Contacted In Touch Ministries for link to paraphrased Andy Stanley sermon.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Old Grudges