Mercy Me!

St. Augustine of Canterbury Anglican Church

Bishop Peter F. Hansen

Sermon for the 13^th Sunday after Trinity, September 14, 2025

“Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, He that shewed mercy on him.  Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.”

Kyrie eleison Christi eleison Kyrie eleison is the Greek for our more familiar: Lord have mercy upon us, Christ have mercy upon us, Lord have mercy upon us. We entreat the Persons of the most Holy Trinity to grant us mercy, each in His own way—but what do we mean by Mercy? 100 years ago, and out in the country, at facing some personal trial, we might hear two words under someone’s breath sighing, Mercy Me! But what does she mean?

A plea for mercy comes with a few observations. First, there is a threat of some kind against us. And it’s about to happen or is happening now. Next, we are the weaker person and someone else is in the superior position to us, able to deliver us from our fate, or might say no. The threat may be from them directly, or from some other, but we plead with the one who can grant us relief. And finally, we recognize in that other person a humanity, some level of goodness and kindness that we appeal to that could bring us back from disaster and rescue us. And we can’t demand mercy because we deserve the calamity we’re in. We have received a just sentence for our crime: we are only asking for a pardon.

So you see, this is our position and our plight when facing the final judgment day, that critical moment after seeing our lives replayed on some giant plasma screen, and all our wicked little deeds and lies and schemes and major whoppers have reminded us of just who we were on earth and where we stand in heaven, if God Himself will not grant us in His charity and compassion, His divine clemency. It’s a time for real humility. It’s when we see how things really are, and heaven holds its breath as we either bow down to confess our sins and plead the Blood of our Saviour to cleanse us at the last, or else keep holding Jesus in contempt and proudly insist on our rights. Mercy.

Mercy is lenient and compassionate treatment. It can mean a shorter prison term for a capital crime. It can also denote some great act of divine favor and inheritance for the Lord’s own people, granted way beyond their deserving and despite their demerits. It can be a miraculous recovery from some pending death by disease, like fourth stage cancer that spells death, and yet just goes away. Mercy.

Mercy comes from God, for sure. And as I said, it needs to come from one superior to the situation, as in our case, superior to us. It also must come from a person. You don’t ask a scorpion to have mercy to not sting you, for the cougar to have mercy and let go your leg. You ask God, a Person, for His mercy to rescue you from the lion’s mouth. From a drought. From a hurricane. From a rockslide. From COVID. Mercy.

And when He has saved you, it is the polite thing to say, Thank you. We talk about redemption and salvation as though we were speaking of legal documents, a deal struck in some courthouse where the rattling of keys signifies you’re going free. Sure, that’s true. But the word Salvation originally was a medical term. We still use salves on skin burns and infections, creams and thick oils containing medications that go in and heal us. Salve-Aye-Tion. Jesus’ sacrifice has healed us in His Mercy. Healed us? Yes, from the real sickness and human condition of sin. And sin was here before COVID 19 and has always been far more deadly. Mercy Me.

It's for us to receive mercy, ultimately. But along the way, we get tested in our mercy toward others. That’s when you are in the place of some power to grant another something they can’t get themselves, and you discover that mercy costs the giver something. It certainly cost Jesus His life, and a world of pain. He said, “Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.” ^{Mt 5:7} Our obtaining mercy could be conditioned on whether we’ve granted mercy to others. “Love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil. Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.” ^{Lk 6:35-36} No one deserves mercy. Most of us really have a lopsided score against us if we’re going to bring our deserving into the request. “I never hurt anyone, Lord. Give me mercy, now!” Don’t do that.

St. Paul concludes in our Epistle today to the Galatians, “if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law. But the scripture hath concluded all under sin, that the promise by faith of Jesus Christ might be given to them that believe.” The point is you don’t earn this. The law was given to set the parameters for our attempts at righteousness, to establish a measure of how far we fall short. There is a basis for our dilemma, the reason we all must cry out Kyrie eleison! This is our first posture in the redemptive process: kneeling before our compassionate Savior and telling Him how sick we are, and how sick we are of being estranged from Him. Have Mercy on my soul, dear Lord, my God!

The second posture must also exemplify how we are the subjects in His divine kingdom, and He is the King: we thank Him. Praise Him. Exalt Him. Love Him. He forgives all our sins, not automatically, not by right, but at great cost to Himself and out of great love for us. And when we realize we are now cured, like the Samaritan leper, we turn back and loudly praise Him and show Him our unblemished skin.

A more celebrated Samaritan is the subject of today’s parable. When an unnamed Jew is set upon by highway robbers on the notorious Jericho Road, he is left for dead. And when a priest of the Temple sees him, that righteous man quickly looks away, perhaps saying under his breath, Mercy me! The guy probably deserves it. A Levite, also privileged in the halls of Jahweh, gives a sniff and thinks he smells alcohol. Serves him right, hmmpf! 

Now the Good Samaritan comes by. Leaving aside the class war whereby the Jews disdain all Samaritans, this good fellow touches the bloody man, determines signs of life, pours precious water to cleanse the wound, some wine to disinfect it, and precious salve, oil to speed healing, and uses cloths of his own to dress the gashes in the poor man’s body. Then he lifts him onto the donkey, and walks him back to the inn, where he pays out of pocket for care to be given to him until he recovers.

Why did Jesus tell this story? The question was posed: So, just who is my neighbor? Thus, the parable, and now the question: which of the three passersby was the neighbor of the assault victim? Which one does that victim owe love equal to the love he has for himself, in other words. 

The answer is inescapable. The one who showed him mercy. Mercy. And now, as only He can, our Lord spins the table right around, saying, “So, why don’t you start living like that detested Samaritan?” To be loved may entail a little loving on your part. Loving the unlovable. Loving a dirty, bloody stranger who might not like you. You might just give to the Jesus Center. And thus, to the beggar, for his desperate need, and your superior position this day, just like God the Father, you may grant your mercy and be surprised to find yourself saved.