Sermon by Garrett - St. Andrew's Preaching Series

Mercy.

When’s the last time you heard a sermon on mercy?

I mean grace, sign me up. And love: we all love love.

We’ll even name our children after these two. Grace and Charity – they’re two of my friends.

But mercy, that’s a little different. Anyone here met somebody named Mercy? It’s what we name our hospitals not our children. Mercy is kind of Roman Catholic anyways. It’s kind of serious.

It doesn’t make much sense to our ears.

“God is a God of power, and I am a sinner in need of mercy.” Grim.

I remember the night I learned about mercy. I was 16 and rolled up to the house at 11:15, 15 minutes after curfew. There is one thing to know about Chris Yates: he has a strong preference for people to be on time. Especially when said person is his son breaking curfew.

Not only was I late, but I had picked up a little personalized gift from a police officer. Nothing major, Bishop. I ran a yellow light.

Well, my dad was already back in his room, and I decided writing a letter would better my chances. I told him all about my sin; and I stapled the ticket to the note, and relinquished my car keys and slid it all under he and my mom’s bed room door and headed upstairs.

I didn’t sleep too much that night. I mainly just anticipated my dad’s shadow in the stairwell.

He never came, and when I woke up that morning there was a note slid under my door. “I missed my curfew once or twice when I was your age. Love you son.” No mention of the ticket, and underneath the note were my keys too.

It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but there it was. Mercy.

It’s a little bit of a different context but I sense this is one of Peter’s first lessons about God’s mercy.

Here’s how I imagine it.

Young Peter, still in seminary, comes to Jesus after class with a concern. The subject of the class was one of Jesus’ favorite topics. Jesus has spent all of chapter 18 talking about mercy. We’ve heard in this chapter that the Father leaves the 99 and seeks after the one lost sheep. We’ve also heard that radical claim that where two or 3 are gathered, wherever the ego has cracked the door and allowed one or two more in, there the fullness of God shows up. Jesus has just finished telling his disciples about radical grace; but still unsure of it all, Peter hangs back after class.

And the parable is told, and the point is made – Peter, don’t ever stop extending mercy.

What’s up with that? That doesn’t answer my question, Peter may think to himself. This doesn’t make much sense.

Pope Francis just wrote a book that I have been itching to read. But I just love the title: The Name of God is Mercy.

Mercy isn’t a function of God – it isn’t one of the hats he wears. Merciful today, Jealous tomorrow, Vengeful for the month of March.

No, his name is Mercy. God is kindness all the way down.

There is a part of us that wants to holler out – what does that even mean? Unconditional mercy. That so doesn’t translate to real life. That is so not practical.

Well it certainly isn’t practical. But where did we get the idea that the Gospel was practical? If there is anything Jesus came to remind us about God, it’s the good news that his Father is not practical.

And it’s here that I want to settle in for a second.

You see, I sense that there is something deep within us that yearns for a practical God. We want it to make sense. We don’t want to be Crazy Christians. We want something to do. Remember Peter’s opening question.

“Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?”

Can’t you see Peter, just feeling so good about himself, a grin starting to slide across his face – Jesus, I know you probably expect me to show mercy a few times, but I am willing to forgive 7 times. Peter’s read his bible and chooses a good theological number.

And Jesus says, Peter I love your generosity, I’m very impressed – but stop counting. This isn’t about that.

Let me tell you a story, he says, about a king and a servant. It’s the good news about a king who refuses to be a king. A king whose power isn’t typical. In the language familiar to many of us, this is a king whose property is always to have mercy.

I really do mean to say that God isn’t practical. But, alas, we aren’t God and we need some practical things to do. And this is where we can spend our last couple of minutes together…what would a spirituality of mercy look like? I am distinguishing this from corporate acts of mercy. I could enumerate many many things that our diocese, and that our churches are doing, collectively. But I want to push this in a little bit of a different direction.

A friend of mine posted a video on Facebook. The big grand piano in the mall with a sign that says “Come Play Me” attached to it. And the last guy you would expect, you know with his flat-bill hat cocked on the side of his head, that guy begins to play. And play he does. He plays a piece from a French film Amelie (Ah ma lee). It is stirring, unbelievably elegant and playful even.

It’s clear that this guy whose just stepped out of Foot Action is well trained.

And there, 50 or so people, arms full of bags, Starbucks in their hand, there for a second is total stillness. Breath. The music brings them back into their bodies; they rest their heavy arms.

And no it doesn’t make very much sense, but there, yes, Mercy happens.

It goes without saying that we are in a culture of neurotic busyness. I think this is THE sin of our culture, and I think that because we let it go so unquestioned. It’s an anxious busyness that hungers for mercy.

And so I see a chance for ministry. There is a vacant piano in our midst.

I hold up this image without a clear set of answers for us. But I just get the sense that people in our communities are looking for a different way of being in the world. How do we become a church that allows these moments of mercy to happen; how do we invite our communities out beyond the overwhelming busyness?

I remember Desmond Tutu in an interview say once: “I am too busy not to pray 2 hours a day.” Granted, that might be a touch above our pay-grade – but let the point stand. I think God is calling his church into the depths of his presence. To a renewed intimacy with him. In other words, we need to practice not being busy, and that for me is another way to talk about Prayer.

This is our training, so to speak.

One of the reasons I am going to hold up prayer is because it doesn’t make sense. It really doesn’t – you aren’t doing anything. It’s like God, it’s not practical in any ordinary sense of the word. But if this totally impractical mercy of God is going to heal our busy world – we’ve got to get impractical. We’ve got to become Crazy Christians.

And there it is - the craziest thing of all: Christians on their knees allowing the mercy of God to come alive in them.

And I suspect that as we do that, as we sink below the busyness of our thoughts, and set aside our plans, we will encounter him whose very name is Mercy. Well learn from him.

And who knows? we may even learn a song there that the world is desperate to hear.

Amen.