Why Is Showing Mercy So Much Harder Than Receiving It?

By Pastor John Erickson

I love mercy.

I especially love mercy when I'm the one who needs it.

When I make a mistake, I would appreciate a little understanding. A second chance would be nice. Maybe even a third, depending on how the day is going.

But when somebody else makes the mistake-especially if it affects me-suddenly I become very interested in consequences.

Isn't that interesting?

Jesus says in Matthew 5:7, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy." It's another of those Beatitudes that sounds beautiful until we realize he means we should actually do something with it.

Mercy costs something

We sometimes confuse mercy with being pleasant. We think of it as a gentle tone or a sympathetic feeling.

But mercy is more than a feeling. It is compassion put into action, especially when keeping score would be easier.

Consider the times someone has wounded you. Maybe they embarrassed you. Maybe they acted selfishly, broke a promise or failed you in a painful moment. You remember what they did. You remember what it cost.

Mercy does not require you to deny any of that.

It asks whether the injury will become the entire way you see that person-and whether revenge will have the final word.

That is hard because mercy feels risky. You release the satisfaction of making someone pay in the exact way you think they deserve. You choose not to let resentment become your identity.

And sometimes you do it without any guarantee the other person will appreciate it.

The problem with keeping accounts

Jesus tells a story in Matthew 18 about a servant who owes an impossible debt. His master releases him from it. But almost immediately, the forgiven servant grabs someone who owes him far less and demands payment.

It's a shocking story because we recognize the absurdity. How could someone who received so much grace show so little?

Then, if we're paying attention, the story becomes uncomfortable.

We can approach God deeply aware of our own need, receive forgiveness, and still carry around a detailed spreadsheet of everyone who has failed us.

I'm not talking about balancing the church budget. I'm talking about the other spreadsheet. The one in your heart. The one with tabs, color coding and a running total of offenses.

Jesus calls his people to put that spreadsheet down.

The point isn't that the harm doesn't matter. It is that a person formed by mercy can begin responding differently to others.

Mercy isn't pretending everything is fine

Let's be clear. Mercy does not mean removing all consequences. Forgiveness is not the same as restoring trust overnight. Reconciliation may require repentance, repair and time. And when someone is unsafe, protecting yourself and others is not a failure of Christian love.

But even when those boundaries are necessary, we can resist becoming cruel.

We can refuse to celebrate another person's humiliation. We can tell the truth without exaggerating it to make them look worse. We can make room for the possibility that God is still at work in a person we have written off.

This is what makes mercy different from simply being agreeable. Mercy may require a courageous confrontation rather than quiet avoidance. It seeks healing, not the quick relief of winning.

It's also worth remembering that mercy is not a competition. You don't need a spectacular story to begin. I have noticed how quickly children retaliate when someone pushes them. The instinct is immediate: You pushed me, so I'm pushing you back. Adults are often just more sophisticated about it. We may not shove someone on the playground, but we can make a cutting remark, exclude them, or rehearse the injury for months. Mercy starts when we stop insisting that every wrong must produce another wrong.

Sometimes I am with my kids, and they say out loud the frustration I have learned to keep inside. It can be uncomfortable to recognize my own feelings in their complaints. Adults may have better filters, but that does not necessarily mean we have more merciful hearts. The lesson is for me too.

Mercy reshapes the giver

One of the themes I love in the Beatitudes is that Jesus isn't just describing a better set of rules. He's describing a new kind of person.

When we practice mercy, something happens in us. The bitterness that has been living rent-free in our hearts begins to lose its grip. We start becoming less controlled by the offenses we've accumulated.

That doesn't happen automatically. Deep wounds may take time and help. But mercy opens a different path.

If we want to look like Jesus, we can't choose compassion only when the person deserves it. Deserving isn't the point. Grace is.

Where is God asking you to practice mercy? Not in the abstract. With an actual name and face.

Maybe it's a family member who has exhausted your patience. Maybe a friend who said something careless. Maybe a stranger whose opinions make your blood pressure rise.

You can begin with a prayer. Ask God to help you see them as a person, not simply as the offense they committed. Ask for wisdom about what mercy and healthy boundaries look like together.

Jesus calls the merciful blessed. Not because mercy is easy.

But because a world ruled by mercy begins to look a little more like his kingdom.