Surprisingly Merciful God

The following is the text of a talk I presented to my congregation in Las Vegas:

In Alma 33:16, Alma refers to the words of the prophet Zenock who says, “Thou art angry, O Lord, with this people, because...” What would you expect to come next? Thou art angry, O Lord, with this people because of their sins, because of their forgetfulness, because of their faithlessness, their hard-heartedness, their stiff-neckedness, their iniquity? I think that’s the kind of thing we’d expect, but that’s not the prophet says. Rather, he declares, “Thou art angry, O Lord, with this people, because they will not understand thy mercies which thou has bestowed upon them because of thy Son.”

I have been guilty of this lack of understanding--and probably still am. But I’ve felt in my own life as I’ve thought more about God’s grace and mercy, that I have had a softer, more open heart (toward God and toward others). I hope that will be true for each of us as we take time to ponder on these things. So, in hopes of gaining a better understanding of God’s mercies, I refer to Elder Holland’s conference address from last year about the laborers in the vineyard. In that talk, he said, “surely the thing God enjoys most about being God is the thrill of being merciful, especially to those who don’t expect it and often feel they don’t deserve it.” We worship a God who is not simply merciful--He is surprisingly merciful; He thrills in being merciful to those who don’t expect mercy and forgiving those who don’t think they deserve forgiveness.

One of the most poignant illustrations of this principle is the parable of the prodigal son. While I think many of us remember the story and appreciate its message, I wonder if we fully understand the magnitude of the father’s mercy toward his wayward son. The story begins when the son says, “Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.” This demand would have been appalling in Jesus’ culture. As one Christian author wrote, “For a son in that culture to request his inheritance early was tantamount to saying, ‘Dad, I wish you were dead’...Any son who made such a breathtakingly inappropriate request...would have been regarded as the lowest form of miscreant...Bear in mind that the law of Moses prescribed death by stoning for incorrigibly rebellious children [Deut. 21:18-21]. So a son guilty of dishonoring his father to this degree could well expect to be dispossessed of everything he had and then permanently dismissed from the family [and] reckoned as dead” (MacArthur).  Christ himself referred to this law when he responded to one of the Pharisees’ and scribes’ questions. He said, “God commanded, saying, Honour thy father and mother: and, He that curseth father or mother, let him die the death” (Matt. 15:4)—while Christ may not have actually endorsed this practice, in this passage, he does recognize the law’s legitimacy. So, when the prodigal son first confronts his father upon returning, saying, “Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son” (Luke 15:21), let us not think this is simply self-effacing humility. The son was exactly right--he was not worthy to be called a son; he had chosen filial death and had willfully begun a very separate life. If the father were to permit him to do the dishes of the home he abandoned, the son would consider himself mercifully served--he could, little by little, work off his debt and, perhaps, eventually repay the money he had so prodigally wasted. That would have been very merciful—more than the son deserved. And yet, rather than giving him a servant’s cloth, the father ran to his returning son, embraced him, put a ring on his finger and robe on his shoulders. The son was reinstated in the household, not as a servant, but as an inheriting son. We worship a God who, when we don’t even deserve to be servants in His house, wraps Himself with the servant’s cloth, washes our dirty feet and welcomes us in as heirs.

In a poem inspired, I think, by this parable, George Herbert gives voice to the prodigal son within us all and to a loving, surprisingly merciful God. In this poem, he personifies “love”--so when he says “love,” you should think “Christ:”

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.

At sacrament meeting [the meeting in which members of my church partake of bread and water, much like the Communion], we sit and eat at the Lord’s table, at the feast of love. Although we too are “guilty of dust and sin” and ultimately undeserving of the meal served here, we are all welcomed with opened arms:

Alma 5: 33 Behold, he sendeth an invitation unto all men, for the arms of mercy are extended towards them…34 Yea, he saith: Come unto me and ye shall partake of the fruit of the tree of life; yea, ye shall eat and drink of the bread and the waters of life freely;

Even though we don’t deserve to dine with the Lord and even though, with our works, we could not earn an entrée or even afford an appetizer, we are repeatedly invited to “come to the feast of love.”

2Nephi 9: 50 Come, my brethren, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that hath no money, come buy and eat; yea, come buy wine and milk without money and without price.

We are invited to come unto Him and to partake of His offering, even when we can’t afford and don’t deserve it. In our record of Christ’s earthly ministry, there are many examples of this idea. In closing, I want to talk briefly about one—the story of Peter and his denial of Christ. Remember, that Peter was one of the blessed few who was chosen to witness the glorious events on the Mount of Transfiguration--and he too had been partially transfigured. He was also chosen to accompany the Savior further than the other apostles in His experience in the Garden of Gethsemane. He had witnessed more miracles and more proof of Jesus' divinity than anybody else. And he still denied Him. There’s a terribly pathetic moment when Peter, after already denying Christ twice, is asked once again if he had been associated with this Man in question. And Peter begins to curse and swear that he doesn’t know this Jesus, and, right then, Christ turns and looks at him. I can’t imagine the shame Peter would have felt--first, on a personal level: He had a significant relationship with Jesus and had closely followed and worshipped Him for the past several years. He had seen those eyes crinkle in laughter and fill with tears. Only hours earlier, they had looked on him, exhausted, to ask, “Could ye not watch with me one hour?” And now, they turned once more to him, catching him in a moment of shameful and selfish denial. “And Peter wept bitterly.” I think we understand the personal connection Peter betrayed, but there’s another level too. During the Sermon on the Mount, Christ had declared,  "Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 10:32-33).  Peter had denied Christ before men--and he knew that Christ knew it. I have to wonder if Peter thought that he had lost his salvation.  Because of his denial of Christ, would Christ deny him before the Father? Perhaps Peter had seen enough of Christ’s mercy that he still clung to the hope that, somehow, he could “make it up” to Him, and, eventually, be worthy of salvation once more. Perhaps he thought that, because of Christ’s infinite mercy, he’d merely be dismissed from the apostleship (after all, what kind of special witness of Christ denies any acquaintance with the Man?), but assured of his ultimate salvation—that would be probably more than Peter thought he deserved. And yet, once again, we are told of the surprising mercy of our God.  In a personal conversation with the Risen Lord, Peter was given three chances to declare his love for Christ who then said simply, “Follow me.” Those were the same words he spoke when originally calling Peter to be an apostle. Peter had lost neither his personal salvation nor his apostolic calling. I wonder if a part of the conversion Peter lacked prior to the Day of Pentecost included an insufficient or impersonal understanding of Christ’s astounding mercy.

I like to think that every Sunday, as we partake of the sacrament, we too, are brought before the Risen Lord. Like Peter, our past is littered with mistakes and shortcomings, but we are called nonetheless to follow Christ. Come, follow me: That is Christ’s invitation for all sinners, whether they be adulteresses or apostles. I believe that as we personally work out our salvation before God and, ultimately, at Judgment Day, we will be 1. surprised by God’s mercies with regards to our past mistakes and 2. invited to come unto and follow Him. Our willingness to accept that mercy and that invitation will make all the difference now and then. May we not dwell on the past with shame and regret, but look, with hope, to the future—a future when every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is the Christ and we will know perfectly and personally the mercies which God has bestowed on us because of His Son.