Tender Mercy

One of the first characters the audience meets in the Netflix original show Pose is a 17-year-old Black young man who has been thrown out of his parents’ home for being a dancer and for being gay. Now homeless and destitute, the young man flees to New York City with the distant hope of pursuing his dreams of a career in dance.

In late 1980s New York City he meets Blanca, a Black transgender woman and the mother of a house of young queer people of color who make a chosen family for themselves and who participate in the ballroom community and competitions where they create a name, culture, and status for themselves that the outside world flatly denies all those who won’t fit into its hierarchical notions of honor and shame.

For that young gay black man thrown from his home, meeting Blanca meant the difference between life and death. It was a merciful relief and source of hope for the future.

Although some things have changed, for those of us who defy familial or societal expectations--especially those of us who are part of the queer community--those chosen families still mean the difference between life and death. At its best church could be that kind of chosen family for each other. We could be a community not where we come to prove how worthy and respectable we are, but rather where we remind each other we are loved and worthy just as we are--in the fullness of all God has made us to be. No societal expectations can strip us from God’s blessing. Indeed, God has a special concern for anyone the world has ever told that we are not enough, too much, or unworthy of love and respect.

Zechariah and Elizabeth from today’s scripture story may have enjoyed some status in the eyes of their society. He was a priest after all, even if he was only a priest who served at the Temple once in a while. The biggest shame to their name though in the eyes of their society was the fact that they had no children. Did they know the pain of miscarriage? Did they long for a child to hold in their arms? Had they married late in life? What trauma and tragedy were theirs? We don’t really know. The story has little to say on those points.

What the narrator of the gospel of Luke is most concerned about is the shame they experienced in not checking one of the boxes of being a good member of their place, time, and culture. The thinking of the majority of their neighbors seemed to be, if they didn’t have a child, then something must be wrong with them. They must not be as loved, worthy, or blessed by God as those who did. How cruel. How painful. How terribly unjust.

When I learn about ancient cultures of honor and shame, I am often saddened and disgusted by the unmerciful cruelty humans used to inflict on each other back then. When I learn about ancient cultures of honor and shame, I am often saddened and convicted by the ways this unmerciful cruelty sounds all too familiar to so much of the prevailing culture today.

Enter into the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth a messenger from God. The angel Gabriel appears to Zechariah on his rare chance to serve in the Temple in Jerusalem. The angel proclaims the unbelievable: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, the angel declares, “for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.” This couple who are supposedly missing out on the blessing of God are now to be favored.

Because American Christianity has been so overrun by the idea that might makes right and that God’s blessings are known through earthly prosperity, we may forget the truth that this story happens over and over throughout the Bible. The outcast slave becomes the mother of a nation. A murderer who was once a child fleeing violence by floating along the Nile in a basket becomes a leader who frees his people from a merciless tyrant. A woman from a despised people becomes the queen who risks her life to successfully save her entire nation. The youngest, most flamboyant, wildest dreaming brother overcomes being sold into slavery by his own kin to secure the literal physical salvation of his people in a time of famine.

Over and over again, the Bible teaches us of God’s great concern for those of us that everyone seems to despise, deprive, and discount. Over and over again, the Bible teaches us that these are the very people who can lead us all into a greater experience of a mercifully beloved community-- the ones who know what it’s like to be outside of the warm boundaries of a community’s respect--the ones who know that the conviction that each one of us are worthy of love and dignity is not just a nice idea but a matter of life and death.

Those are the people with whom the Gospel of Luke begins its tale: with a barren couple, a young, pregnant unmarried woman, a disgraced betrothed husband, and a group of lowly shepherds. These are the ones to whom the angels of God are sent. These are the ones through whom God’s mercy will be birthed.

Zechariah from our scripture story finds this truth about God difficult to believe. He asks, “How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.” The angel replies, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. 20But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.”

Now, please resist any temptation to understand this passage as linking disability and divine punishment. The limitations of our bodies are in no way a sign that God does not love us or that we have done anything wrong. That is the opposite of the meaning of today’s story. Rather, do understand from today’s story that God is not messing around about God’s promises.

Since the pandemic and proliferation of Zoom meetings, the use of a mute button has become a much more prevalent image in my life. There’s a certain power in being able to mute myself or to mute others. Indeed, I’ve started to fantasize about a mute button for real life when I have had enough of what someone is saying, or even, when I have had enough of the voices of criticism, doubt, and disbelief that come from myself.

In fact, the charming, recently released Disney movie Luca, set on the Italian Riviera, suggested a powerful practice for muting those overly cautious or critical internal voices. Young, fun-loving and risk-welcoming Alberto invites his more timid young friend Luca to quiet his concerned inner voices with the words “Silencio, Bruno!” Throughout the movie Luca does indeed gather his courage, take on adventures, stand up for himself, and even save the day relying on those very words “Silencio, Bruno!”

I believe it’s a compelling movie theme because so many of us do doubt that our dreams, visions, and creativity can really take flight. But I have not found God to be in the disbelief--far from it. I have found God is usually to be found fanning the flames of our wildest, most impossible-seeming dreams.

Perhaps we could see that silencing of our inner critic as a means of repentance. Perhaps it is a way of turning away from all that holds us back and instead, daring to believe in God’s miraculous, merciful possibilities.

I have a friend who tells a story of what God’s mercy is like. She was a young woman then, driving her dad’s car home late one night. She was out past curfew. Although she had sometimes been given permission to take the car, this night she had swiped the keys without asking, knowing that her strict father would never approve of her driving to the places she wanted to go. She planned to have the car home before he ever noticed, and to slip into her room without incurring his harsh wrath.

But something went wrong. The weather was bad. She was driving too fast for the conditions. Her mind was filled with the stress and adrenaline of breaking the rules. She put the car in a ditch. Totaled it. Before the days of cell phones, a kind stranger came by and a tow truck showed up. Someone found her dad.

Standing by the side of the road in the rain, she watched him get out of a neighbor’s vehicle. Her whole body shook and tears sprang to her eyes. She had surely disappointed him terribly. Would he punish her? Could she ever replace the car with her meager part-time job? How would her dad even get to work in the morning? Just how angry would he be? She walked toward him trying to choke out, “I’m sorry. I--” “Don’t say nothin’,” he told her and scooped her into his bear hug arms. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

That was the end of it. And her relief that night, and for the rest of her life whenever she thought about that night, felt like a rain shower falling down on parched earth. It was a mercy she could never repay. It was more than anything she had earned. It was life-changing to know without a shadow of a doubt that she was still loved and cherished no matter what she had or hadn’t done.

When Zechariah’s mouth is finally opened in today’s scripture story, he sings of a God of forgiveness AND justice who will set things right, who saves us from enemies, who will teach us what true safety, salvation, and wholeness really is, and by whose “tender mercy”...“the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

As we learn through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God is a God of mercy, whose never ending love has the power to free us from the shame of our mistakes, from the weight of other people’s expectations, and from the trauma of violence to lead us into the miraculous possibilities that spring forth from the belief that we are loved and so is everyone else.

Mercy is compassion. Mercy is relief. Mercy is possibility and hope beyond what we can imagine.

How can we be more open to God’s mercy? How can we share more of God’s mercy with each other? How can we extend more of God’s mercy to ourselves?

Psalm 23 tells us of the way God walks with us through even the most difficult seasons of life, sets a table before us in the presence of our enemies, and fills our cups to overflowing. “Surely,” the Psalm proclaims, “Goodness and mercy shall follow [us] all the days of our [lives].”

This is a difficult season we have been through, and the truth is more difficulty lies ahead. At the same time, God still promises to walk with us, to love us, and to make way for us to be gathered up in overwhelmingly tender goodness and mercy.

Do you know what I have found to be the most merciful and most helpful in opening myself to God’s miraculous possibilities? It’s not just telling my inner critic to shut up. It’s listening to the pain or fear that voice has to share and then letting that voice rest in a quiet back seat while I try to drive the car of my life from a place of wisdom, compassion, and trust.

Do not be afraid, dear ones, to keep your hearts open, your life open, and your mind open to the tender mercy God is yet bringing.

May it be so. Amen.