The Mercy Journal: Mercy Has A Name

We need constantly to contemplate the face of mercy.  

Pope Francis, Miseracordiae Vultus

In the searing opening scene of the musical drama, Les Miserables, there is an unforgettable dialogue between the law-obsessed police inspector, Javert, and the soon-to-be-freed convict, Jean Valjean. Watching the film over the weekend in an intentional effort to “contemplate the mystery of mercy,” I was struck by Javert’s insistence, which continues throughout the film, in calling Valjean by his prison number: 24601. Even in the face of the paroled prisoner’s passionate response, “My name is Jean Valjean!,” Javert persists in identifying him only as “24601.”

Having just read a reflection by Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI) on God’s name, a profound insight of Ratzinger echoed in my mind:

The adversary of God, the “beast”…has no name, but a number…six hundred and sixty six. It is a number, and it makes men numbers. We who lived through the world of concentration camps know what that means. The terror of that world is rooted in the fact that it obliterates men’s faces. It obliterates their history. It makes man a number…But God has a name, and God calls us by our name.” (Joseph Ratzinger, The God of Jesus Christ: Meditations on the Triune God, 23-24.)

We hear much quantifiable data expressing the reality of suffering souls around the world: eleven million people displaced in the Middle East, four million Syrian refugees on the run, 300,000 exiles attempting to cross the Mediterranean this year. But it was not until we saw a little Syrian child’s face half-buried in the sand and heard his name—Aylan—that the human story of so many millions of desperate people became real.

The year 2015 will be remembered as the year that the “worst refugee crisis since World War II” became headline news. It will also be remembered as the year the Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy was inaugurated, the year when our Holy Father challenged us to delve deeply into the mystery of mercy, to receive mercy, to become mercy. Mercy, says Pope Francis, is “the fundamental law that dwells in the heart of every person who looks sincerely into the eyes of his brothers and sisters on the path of life.” (Misericordiae Vultus, par. 2.)

Why? Because when we look into the eyes of another human being, when we see their face, when we learn their name, their personal story begins; a story that invites us to relationship, to empathy, to compassion. When we look into the eyes of those who are gravely suffering, we are called to go out of ourselves to meet them in their need, and to do what we can to aid them. This, in fact, sums up the definition that St. Thomas Aquinas gives the virtue of mercy, which he defines as "the compassion in our hearts for another person's misery, a compassion which drives us to do what we can to help him." (Summa Theologiae (ST II-II.30.1))

While the debate rages on about whether or not to let Middle Eastern refugees into America, this much we can be sure of as followers of Christ: we are called to pray for the displaced, to help them, to offer aide, to act. When we do, we become the nickname of Mercy himself, "Jesus," whose name means, “I am the one who saves you.”

*There are many organizations through which we can offer assistance to those in need, including  Catholic Relief Services.

This piece appeared first at Aleteia as "The Mercy Journal."

The Mercy Journal: The Face of Mercy

Dear Friends, Happy Advent and Jubilee Year of Mercy! This is the first in a series of reflections I'll be writing for Aleteia to commemorate the Year of Mercy. Enjoy!  Also, "Miracle Man" is ON SALE!  Please order a copy today at the link to the right!  It, too, is a wonderful story about the power of God's incredible, redeeming mercy.  

Blessings, grace and mercy to you and yours,

Judy 

And so it begins. The Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy—where the Church and the world will collectively ponder the face of God’s mercy, launching what Pope Francis has called “a tenderness revolution.” The year will culminate on November 20, 2016, the Solemnity of Christ the King, when “we will entrust the life of the Church, all humanity, and the entire cosmos to the Lordship of Christ.”* Wow.

While many of us wring our hands about a world gone mad with hatred and violence, the Vicar of Christ on earth challenges us to contemplate “The Face of Mercy” that we may reclaim God’s mercy for ourselves and for the whole world. As pundits alarmingly warn us to arm ourselves, close our borders, and close ranks so we won’t be caught off guard by those who threaten us, Christ’s visible spokesman dares us to disarm ourselves with love, to open our hearts to compassion and forgiveness, and to “allow God to surprise us”* during what he insists is an extraordinary time of grace.

In a world inundated with news of violence and escalating global conflict, many of us have come to dread surprises. Are we afraid to let God surprise us, too? And if we honestly reflect, what do we see when we contemplate the face of God? Do we see a Father who loves us relentlessly and passionately, who gazes at us with tender pity and reveals himself as “Abba,” “Papa,” “Daddy”? Or as Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI) so pointedly posed the human dilemma, does God appear “as a menace...as the terrifying police guard who is inexorably bent on punishing us?”** For as Ratzinger insightfully concluded, how we view God has everything to do with how we respond to God.

As I recently reflected in prayer on how I perceive God’s face, my memory was jarred by an experience I had in the confessional many years ago. Weeping profusely as I lamented my own wretchedness and the hot mess of my life, Fr. John—an elderly priest known for his immense holiness—cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me multiple times on the face and forehead without saying a word, meeting my sorrow with the soft brush of his compassion. His fatherly pity pierced me to the core, and twenty years later, I still remember that encounter as one of the most profound I’ve ever had with the tender mercy of the living God. Outrageous, surprising mercy met my utter brokenness that day, revealing the face of God through the heart of a holy priest.

In an incredibly beautiful description of God, Joseph Ratzinger wrote:

“God has a name, and God calls us by our name. He is a Person, and he seeks the person. He has a face, and he seeks our face. He has a heart, and he seeks our heart.”**

 Is this how we see God?

As we begin the Jubilee Year of Mercy, it is fitting to ask ourselves: Will I let the heart of God penetrate my heart? Will I believe that God is mercy, not just theoretically, but for me? Do I trust that God’s love wants to meet me in my sin and brokenness to heal and transform me, and give me rest?

May we cry with the blind men of Matthew’s Gospel: “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on us!” And may our eyes be opened that we may behold the merciful face of God.

*Misericordiae Vultus, par. 5.

*Ibid. par. 25.

**Joseph Ratzinger, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, The God of Jesus Christ: Meditations on the Triune God, page 19.

**Ibid., page 24.

Living Mercy

“I was scandalized by the story of the prodigal son,” Fr. Maximo shared as he stood on the altar before hundreds of us who came together to celebrate Communita Cenacolo’s Festival of Life—all united because we have experienced first hand the ravages of addiction in our families. “I was the elder brother, I had done everything right, and I was outraged that the Father would show that kind of mercy to the son who squandered everything. It was a scandal to me.”

My husband, Mark, and I looked at each other knowingly, shaking our heads in acknowledgement. We’d been discussing this very topic for weeks; as we sadly observed the division, accusations, nail biting and downright panic increasingly explode in the Church over Pope Francis’ fervent call to mercy. As the Extraordinary Jubilee Year of Mercy approaches on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception (December 8), Pope Francis has reminded us that “the Church’s first duty is not to hand down condemnations or anathemas, but to proclaim God’s mercy, to call to conversion, and to lead all men and women to salvation in the Lord”* (cf. Jn. 12:44-50).

What is this mercy of which Pope Francis constantly speaks? And why does it scandalize so many of us? As Pope St. John Paul II explained it in his encyclical Dives in Misericordia (“Rich In Mercy”), God’s mercy “showed itself…as love that gives, love more powerful than betrayal, grace stronger than sin.”*

The families of Communita Cenacolo experience the mercy of God concretely when we show up at the Community’s doors, our lives in shambles from addiction and its beastly effects. Most of us are exceedingly happy to find such a place to bring our desperate children, hoping against hope that the Community will “fix” them and set their lives aright. We quickly learn that the focus of the Community is not to “fix” our children. It is instead to introduce them to a loving, merciful God, who like the prodigal son’s father, runs to meet them with open arms and a heartfelt kiss. It is to convey to them the inestimable gift of their very existence, and to communicate to them the truth that God loves them personally and passionately, no matter what they have done. The Community invites our children to open themselves to God’s mercy—the place where His infinite love meets their most wretched sins. And it extends the same invitation to us.

Many parents show up at the Community as elder brothers, shouldering a long list of grievances of what our addicted children have “done to us”—the ways they wronged us, betrayed us, squandered the family inheritance. We are soon challenged to acknowledge the reality that we have all sinned, all been prodigals, all fallen short of the love and glory of God. We are asked to honestly examine our own part in our family drama of addiction, and to admit our faults, failures and sins both to ourselves and to a loving God who takes pity on us and who yearns to greet us, also, in the embrace of His forgiveness and love.

Mercy is not a cheap pass for our wrongdoing. It is, instead, the very intersection where our transgressions meet Love; the place where a personal encounter with Love Himself impels us to change our minds, hearts and lives. This is what conversion is all about.

True conversion of heart—admitting that we are poor and weak, and surrendering completely to the love and mercy of God—eludes those who are convinced they’ve “got it right,” have “done it right,” and therefore “deserve” the feast. It eludes those, as well, who refuse to return to the Father’s house because they are convinced they are too tattered, torn, and tainted to be forgiven. Real heart conversion finds those who awaken to the glance of the Father—a tender, loving Father who has never ceased to long for us, look for us, and await our return.

The more the human conscience succumbs to secularization, loses its sense of the very meaning of the word "mercy," moves away from God and distances itself from the mystery of mercy, the more the Church has the right and the duty to appeal to the God of mercy "with loud cries.” These "loud cries" should be the mark of the Church of our times, cries uttered to God to implore His mercy, the certain manifestation of which she professes and proclaims as having already come in Jesus crucified and risen, that is, in the Paschal Mystery. It is this mystery which bears within itself the most complete revelation of mercy, that is, of that love which is more powerful than death, more powerful than sin and every evil, the love which lifts man up when he falls into the abyss and frees him from the greatest threats.

Pope St. John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia, paragraph 15

*From Pope Francis closing remarks to the Synod of Bishops on the Family, October 24, 2015.

*Pope St. John Paul II, Dives in Misericordia, footnote 52.

To Ponder: Has Pope Francis' call to mercy prompted me to reflect more deeply upon this attribute of God?

To Pray: Father in Heaven, may I receive the gift of your merciful heart with which to embrace myself and everyone you send into my life. Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine. Amen.