For Mercy Sunday…


Mercy. What does mercy mean?

Not a lifting of this darkness.

Not a holding back the tide.

Not a promise to be spared from the nightmare.

Not a shield from any hurt.

Not a barricade from pain.

Not a saving from the worst of your imagining.


It’s a hand to hold when walking through the darkness.

A gentle voice that soothes you

‘midst the wreckage of the tide.

It’s a steady arm to cling to when living through the nightmare.

And a face that cries with you

In the flood of grief and pain.

The one, real, stable, steady, solid-ness in the churning…

Not the removal of the chaos, but the remaining

Himself, unmoving in the storm.


Will we hold to Him, abiding, the Rock to cling upon?

And trust, one day, the rest will all stop shifting:

One day, all these pieces

All the pain, and fear, and suffering

All the broken dreams, and losses

They too, will enter into His rest.

His stability. His surety. His lasting-ness.

Will we trust?


And this is Mercy: that we can.



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