Blessed are the Merciful, Part 2

Blessed are the Merciful, Part 2

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”[1]

Last week, I cited a couple of examples that seem to indicate that the merciful do not necessarily receive mercy, at least as we understand mercy, contrary to the words of Jesus. The first example was of Mother Teresa, a beacon of mercy, and her reported despair over spending most of her adult life lacking a sense of the nearness of God. The second example was of my father-in-law, a man of life-long mercy, who is spending his final months and years, deeply unhappy, in a care facility. These examples, and others of a similar nature invite us to examine our understanding of mercy. There seems to be a disconnect between Jesus’ words and our lived experience. For example, does receiving mercy always equate to a pleasant experience?

In the case of Mother Teresa, as a friend pointed out to me, perhaps the reason she despaired over not feeling close to God was because of her unfailing commitment to those in need of mercy. The countless hours of each day she felt obligated to spend with those in desperate need, as well as with those providing funding for her ministry, likely left little time for her to spend with God in prayer and meditation. As a nun, her sense of God’s presence was probably deeply tied to various worship practices – activities that required her to be away from her work with the poor. To the extent that was true, her despair resulted from her personal choice to care for those in need in lieu of receiving the mercy available to her in worship.

In the case of my father-in-law, like so many who live a long life, he has out-lived most of his friends and much of his family. While he remains mentally intact, he is physically unable to live the life he loved. He was a farmer and worked long, hard days. He was a beloved member of his farming community. Today, he feels he has out-lived his usefulness and sees no reason to be alive. After a life of purpose and being needed, he now feels he lacks both.

I remember watching my grandfather in his final months. He was very near death several times. Each time that he managed to rally I thought I saw terror in his eyes. I have since interpreted that as him being reluctant to let go of this life for fear of what might be next for him. In spite of (or perhaps because of) being a very religious man, I suspect he feared he might be destined for an eternity in hell. Grandpa was a good man, but too many churches, then and now, are quick to extol the supposed reality and miseries of hell but woefully short on reliable, sensible details on how to avoid it. My personal opinion is that such preaching lands more people in a present-day hell than it has ever saved. I suspect my grandfather was among them.

But I don’t sense that type of fear from my father-in-law, nor for many I know in similar situations. They do not appear to be experiencing fear of what’s next as much as frustration with what is now. I go back to my initial question: must receiving mercy be a pleasant experience? What about his current state could be considered merciful if it must also be pleasant? Perhaps mercy comes in many forms, and some of them are hard. I wrestle with these questions and have no satisfactory answers for them. None of us who know and love my father-in-law want to see him die, but neither do we want to see him suffer. It seems terribly unjust and unmerciful.

I suspect part of this conundrum lies in the fact that we do not have the perspective required to understand such mysteries. We can only trust that there is purpose in suffering. We are on the outside looking in, trying to speculate about the inner life of another, and praying we do not find ourselves in a similar situation in the future. Our vision does not allow us to see the life before or after life on earth, either for us or for others. How can we know what is and is not merciful in the context of our larger lives? We know, because we have experienced, that some transitions are long and painful. Living out our final days is a transition, a liminal space that prepares us for whatever is next. Who knows what earth-bound attachments we may need to be purged of in order to enter fully and freely into the next phase of our lives? The Catholic church’s concept of purgatory as a preparatory state we enter after we die before we enter into “heaven” seems relevant here. Although we are clearly called to provide mercy to those in need, we can only trust that we also will receive mercy, unpleasant though it may seem at the time.

This is the 14^thin a series titled Blessedness and Woe.Life Notes are my explorations into mysteries that interest me. They are invitations for readers to explore more deeply into life’s mysteries. Engage with me or explore contemplative spiritual direction at ghildenbrand@outlook.com.

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[1] Matthew 5:7