When Mercy is Weak

            I want to be perfect.

            I know that technically I shouldn’t. I should know that God’s grace has covered me and it’s okay to fail. But it isn’t okay for me to fail. I’m not okay with it.

Over the past few weeks I’ve realized how deeply this desire for perfection is within me, and how desperately I strive for it on a daily, moment by moment basis.

To be completely honest, I have written a post about this revelation, but the truth of my own motivations was too painful for me to share with the world.

Not yet.

Maybe one day.

But not now.

You see, I’ve been shocked at my own distrust in God’s grace. I’ve been humbled by the importance of other people’s opinions. I’ve been ashamed of the desperation in my heart when I feel myself beginning to make a mistake.

I’m not perfect.

And that kills me.

And now for a story, because as I have been wrestling with myself, God has been orchestrating a symphony of His grace.

This weekend, I was walking up to my room when I passed a girl I know. We do not know one another well. I asked her how she was, and she said she was “okay”.

I never believe people when they tell me they’re okay.

“Okay” is usually a lie.

Not always, but frequently enough to make me ask about it.

“Oh wow, that good, huh?” I ask with a laugh.

Her smile is painful.

She’s hurting.

“It’s been a long day.”

You could feel the heaviness in her spirit.

“Are you feeling sad? Angry? Lonely? Discouraged?...” My voice trails as she responds. “Sad, Lonely, and angry with myself.”

She is vague as we continue to talk. She’s struggling and she hates it. She wants perfection. She wants God’s judgment on her imperfection. Justice is of high value to her.

We had taken a seat on a couple of benches. No one was around, which is rare for our campus. But the day was grey and lonely; the sky was drizzling lazily. We could ignore it, but it was enough to keep others inside. It was a day for snuggling up with a mug of hot tea.

I pulled out a journal I had in my bag. I felt its weight in my hands.

Less than a week before, I’d written out my thoughts for myself when I fail; what failing makes me to be.

I hated everything on that piece of paper.

I’d shown only a couple people whom I trust deeply.

It was my little room. You see, I’m convinced that everyone has a little room within them that holds their most vulnerable naked thoughts, beliefs, and struggles. Most of us aren’t brave enough to go into this room, or even admit we have it. And when we do, we only let people we trust very, very deeply to peak into this room with us. It’s always a scary place, but it’s where true healing begins.

This paper is the foundation of my room. I knew that. It was the first time I’d ever really gone into my room, and I hated every moment of it. I hated that everything on this paper was a lie, but I believed it. I hated knowing that believing these things made me flawed, broken, in need of being corrected.

I’m completely okay and understanding of others needing forgiveness and grace, but it is never okay for me.

And that week, I’d realized that even believing this put me in a place where I needed grace.

I was wrong. And I had only just begun the work to correct some of these beliefs.

But there I sat. My vulnerable heart, bound in black stitching, heavy in my hand, and her vulnerable heart beside me, needing some proof that I could be trusted. She needed proof that I meant it when I said I could not judge her. She needed a stepping place to believe that her struggling would not make me waver.

I opened the journal to the page.

I breathed in.

Pride died.

And I handed it to her, saying simply, “this is what I have to fight against when I fail.”

The tears that came down her face proved that she, too, understood these words. Her room had some of the same dark shelves. She’d read my vulnerability, and she’d seen places it matched her own. We were not the same, but human nature is human nature, and all she read was brokenness.  

This awful piece of paper became a bridge, and she reluctantly but beautifully cracked open the door to her inner room.

She finished by asking with great earnest, “Where is God’s discipline? I get grace and mercy and they’re all happy and joyful, but what—what about discipline?”

And God taught me this lesson as I spoke it quietly to her.

“I understand”, I said, “because I would love it if a lightning bolt would shoot out of the sky and strike me when I sin sometimes. Not enough to kill me, but enough to hurt badly. That’s what I seem to deserve”

“Yeah”

“But God’s discipline now is still here. It’s so much softer, but so much more powerful.” I looked at her. She was leaned over her knees, head resting slightly on her fists that uncurled occasionally to wipe away tears.

“This is His discipline now. Letting you know that what you’re doing isn’t okay. This feeling? That’s Him telling you to stop. Because what you’re doing is wrong. But the thing is, mercy is so much bigger than discipline.

You see, the way you’re feeling now? You deserve that, and so much more. The punishment you want? You deserve it. You deserve to be punished, but the thing is, if you were punished the way you really deserve, you couldn’t handle it.

I know you know the verse ‘the wages of sin is death’, but the thing is, that is actually what you deserve. You deserve death. You couldn’t handle the punishment of your sin; it would be so severe that you would die! It is more than a lightning strike that you can walk away from. You can’t… And God knows that. He is the only One who could take that punishment and rise again. He is the only one strong enough. And that… that’s what His love did.

We make mercy sound like this wishy-washy ridiculous thing that frees us from responsibility, but it isn’t. Mercy is so much stronger than discipline, because it knows full well that you deserve that punishment. Mercy is so much stronger. There is absolutely no weakness in it.

You deserve to be beaten the way Jesus was.

You deserve to die on a cross.

It sounds so cliché, ‘it should be me on that cross’, but you know what? It freaking should be! It should be you! It should be me! We deserved to have our skin ripped apart, because frankly we choose it. Sin is a choice. We decide we will sin. We put ourselves in that place. We pick, every time, and yeah it’s sin nature, and it is who we are as human beings before Christ, but we decide when we sin.

So we deserve it.

It should’ve been me.

And it freaking should’ve been you.

And God? He knows that better than either of us.

He knows what you deserve.

And because He loves, and He chose to have mercy, it’s as if you were strapped up and the whip was about to hit your back, and He stepped in the way.

Your wrist was laying on the cross, and the nail was about to strike through it, and He pushed you away and put His own in its place.

He knew you deserved it.

But He stepped in the way.

He decided to take it so you can be free.

And He took all of the punishment. There is no more to give. He took it all, He was ripped apart, left bleeding, dying slowly and painfully, exactly as we should be.

There is no more punishment for you.

Not because, ‘Jesus died so you are o-kiz-ay’, no, it’s so serious. He gave all of Himself to die so you could live. There simply is no more punishment for you.

It’s as if you had a 30-year sentence in jail, and Jesus went and served all 30 years. There’s no more jail time left for you. It’s over. It’s done. There’s nothing left.

There just isn’t.

So what you have to do is realize that He gave everything so you can be free. So you have to stop this sinning, because He gave everything to free you from it. As a sacrifice of thanksgiving, not because living a good life makes you a “good Christian”, but because you are so humbled and amazed at His sacrifice that you will give up the evil things in your life to say ‘thank You’. You’ll give up the things that are taking up room in your heart and in your life to make more room for Him. He gave up everything for you, so you will do the same.

That’s what it is to turn from sin. As a Christian, it can be as simple and beautiful as making more room for Him out of love and thankfulness for what He has done.

And all of this energy you’re using to condemn yourself? Stop it. You need to stop sinning, but it doesn’t have to be a deep, dark, dramatic hole where you’re so focused on how much you suck that you miss how incredible God is. He knows, and He’s already taken care of it, so step into that and use this energy you’re focusing on yourself to focus on making the steps necessary to create real change in your life. Focus on loving God and using your life to proclaim that. Get to know Him. Focus on Him. That is how you can succeed, because when you see Him, you can see His love and the power of His mercy. You’re not alone.”

We talked about heart posture, and fear, and the flawed thinking that God is just waiting on us to fix ourselves.

We talked about practical ways dying to ourselves would look in her situation. We created a game plan for the next few weeks.

We talked about how beautiful God is and how safe she was and would continue to be.

We breathed laughter as we felt the weight of guilt roll off her shoulders.

Relief.

She would be okay, and she was safe, and God thought no less of her. He was there the whole times, loving her. She’d just been so focused on herself and her shame that she’d blinded herself to it.

I had blind myself to it, too.

That night, crawling into bed, I knew God had allowed me to see a miracle.

It’s an every day miracle in the life of a Christian being sanctified, but it is a life-changing miracle no less.

And God let me know that this, this is why He does not expect perfection of me.

And this is why I have no right to expect perfection of myself.

He’s already made me perfect.

I’ll fail, but… it doesn’t have to be a dramatic statement about me.

The fact of the matter is, the payment is already covered. So yes, I’ll fail, but I’m okay. And He loves me.

Mercy is stronger. He allowed me to see that when mercy is weak, I am responsible. But mercy is not weak, never. Never.

The punishment has been taken, and mercy, real mercy, is mine.

I’ve got a lot to learn and a lot to unlearn.

But God’s teaching me, day by day.

And I’m excited to give up my flawed beliefs as a sacrifice of thanksgiving to Him.