A mercy withheld is a mercy we withhold from ourselves

Unforgiveness in the heart is more toxic to the imbiber than it is to the unknowing person who has no idea they’re not forgiven. And yet, we ought to know the motive of why we forgive; God has forgiven the unforgivable in us.

For no other reason is our forgiveness of another warranted than we, ourselves, did not deserve the mercy of the one who was and is the only one who deserves mercy.

Mercy. It’s not just about some warped concept of “Karma.” Such a popular term in the secularist’s book these days.

Mercy is loving someone despite what they’ve done to us, and perhaps it’s loving them enough to give them an opportunity to face the consequences of their actions.

Certainly, as we withhold mercy from a person by holding them at arm’s length, we put both of us in harm’s way in terms of judgement—and I’m not talking some end-of-life reality of that term.

Even as we remain estranged, even as awkwardness defines our relationship, even as the years span decades, do we find we treat the God with contempt who made us both, out of love in order that we might love.

The toxin of bitterness is like lead to the body. It sticks inside the fissures of the cells of our soul. Certainly, there are instances of bitterness that come about because of the things done to us. And we know that all could change if only another person or people took their responsibility—and we somehow suspect they won’t.

So, under these terms, how do we forgive? Well, we pray that we might one day be in a place to exercise the trust of mercy; that one day we too will have our Joseph moment.

We pray that when that mercy is extended to us by way of a mercy we can offer another, that we have the poise to genuinely forgive while we pave the way for the passage of justice.

The only time that genuine reconciliation takes place is when both parties seek truth, without bargaining the cost away. When the truth is honoured it is often costly. When Jesus went to the cross to save us, it cost him.

Forgiveness is just as much sought as it is granted. We’re only as much Christian as we seek to be forgiven. The more we seek forgiveness, the more Christ is alive in us. It is only as we seek for mercy that we’re humble enough to depict the truth—we need mercy. If we don’t ever or routinely seek mercy, to be forgiven, we pretend we don’t sin, and God calls us liars.

Yet, the biggest test of mercy is when someone asks us to be merciful and we aren’t. As we withhold that mercy, we withhold God’s mercy from ourselves. We must pray that we’re ready to be merciful when the Lord requires it of us.

Do you see how blessed it is to seek another’s mercy—which is vulnerability; just as much as it is blessed to be merciful. If we’re merciful, Jesus says, we’ll be shown mercy, but if we withhold it, it always backfires against us in a preventable bitterness. It’s always far better to be in a situation where we need to be forgiven, for judgement remains poised against those who withhold mercy. Just remember that being merciful is not letting the person off scot-free; it is just as much allowing them to face the consequences of their actions. But if they never seek to be forgiven, that mercy is withheld by God.

Now, the final test of the one seeking forgiveness is their commitment to acknowledging that their deeds were wrong. No amount of forgiveness ever makes what was forgiven right. That’s why it’s mercy!