Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 211]
Mercy. The image of a merciful God is supposed to conjure up feelings of warmth and grace, but for some reason, it has the opposite effect on me. The idea of God having mercy implies I’ve done something I shouldn’t have, or left undone something I should have done. To think of God as being merciful irritates me. Isn’t that weird?
I’m reminded of the Prayer of Humble Access that is seldom said in church these days. It was a regular part of the 1928 prayer book liturgy I grew up with, but now it’s only found in the Rite I Eucharistic service, and only now as an option (that most priests opt out of):
We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.
We do not presume … we are not worthy … but since we’re here (which is how I interpret the phrase: but thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy … The word "but" wipes away everything that comes before it. It negates everything up to that point). I love this prayer, but confess it sometimes strikes me as being a bit thick with false humility. Do we “really” not presume? Do we “really” think we’re not worthy? Do we “really” compare our lives with God’s own holiness and come to the table, trembling with a sense of inadequacy? Perhaps some do, but I confess I don’t, not as much, anyway. I once did, but coming to Holy Communion has become so commonplace for me that I don’t think about it. I DO presume to come, unthinkingly. I DO come with a sense of overblown worthiness.
So today’s Collect invites us to pause a moment and consider that we really do come before a God who is truly merciful, not because we deserve mercy, but because God chooses to love us despite ourselves.
I had trouble telling the truth as a child. I was always afraid I would get into trouble, so I would lie, even when asked if I did something for which there was no cause for alarm. It was a habit. “Kids lie; they always lie,” says a character in the movie The Client. My mother knew when I was lying. The fact is, I was never good at it and, over the decades, have become much more honest. I discovered that it was far easier to tell the truth. If I did something for which I needed to make amends, I’d make amends and make efforts not to repeat that bad behavior. Guilt became a thing of the past, for the most part. My mother constantly had mercy on me. She never banished me from the family table. She never sought to prove me wrong or a liar. It was more important for her to be someone I could depend on (as my bio-mother had abandoned the family), and that grace inspired me to amend my life, even though I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.
Prophets preach repentance (change of heart and mind). They tell us to prepare for our salvation. The point isn’t that we can or will do things that will bring us salvation, that will pull us from the fires of hell. No, the point is we are being called to dinner. Our bodies and souls will be nourished by One who knows how to prepare and deliver balanced meals, that we may have strength to carry out the work God has for us. God does not abandon us because we lie, cheat, steal, or harm others (although God COULD). No, it is God’s nature to bring us to the table to share stories of our day’s challenges, our day’s victories, or the things we need yet to work on.
Knowing that God’s not going to whomp us over the head, we come to the table, rejoicing. For the meal is set before us, and we get to hear from one another what great things God has done. A second candle is lit for Advent. We have a little more light and surprisingly discover that God’s mercy is, indeed, a real delight!
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