Mercy, Now and Always, Amen

Friday, Dec. 30, 2016

As I was going through the issues we published in 2016 for the Year in Review story in these pages, I took the time to read the Year of Mercy reflections that were written by various people for the Extraordinary Jubilee declared by Pope Francis.

Reading all of them back to back was a reminder of mercy’s powerful impact. None of the 47 reflections was the same. Everyone’s response was different. Some expressed what mercy meant to them; others described a time they had been shown mercy, or a time when they showed mercy.

One reflection that wasn’t published was sent to be by Dolores Vawdrey, who lives in Nephi. Her reflection was more than a type-written page, and the requirement for those that were printed was that it be no more than 300 words. 

When I solicited submissions for the reflections, I did offer to help edit them, but by the time I received Dolores’ I already had enough to fill the slots. Now, though, as I look back on the reflections we printed and as we look forward to the new year, I think Dolores’ reflection is a good way to end the series.

Dolores wrote about spending 51 years caring for her eldest son, who had suffered brain damage as a baby and was severely disabled. She recalls standing outside when her son was 9 years old, guarding him so that no one would tease him.

I have read that line in her letter many times. Every time I read it, I feel angry at those who would tease a helpless child. No one should have to endure teasing, much less a child, especially one unable to talk back.

Dolores’ son Doug died in 2012. His death gave rise many emotions, she wrote: “You all have no idea how many times I said the serenity prayer and got answers, slowly but right on target for my state of being.”

Turning to God, as Dolores did, was a common experience for those who wrote the Year of Mercy reflections, and they, too, received answers to their difficulties.

“What my son did during his short life is to show and teach everyone compassion, love and understanding,” Dolores wrote. 

Lessons of compassion, love and understanding also were frequent in the Year of Mercy reflections. They arose from a variety of experiences – caring for a sick or dying relative, facing one’s own mortality, or reading Scripture. Almost no one wrote about an extraordinary experience; they spoke of everyday occurrences, moments that might happen to any one of us.

Describing her son, Dolores wrote, “He was human. He had a life. He loved his life.”

This, I think, is a lesson we in today’s world often overlook. Pope Francis refers to it as our “throwaway culture.” It is a topic he has spoken on time and again, saying that anyone who is considered unproductive often is scorned. “It is a mentality in which everything has a price, everything can be bought, everything is negotiable,” he said. “This way of thinking has room only for a select few, while it discards all those who are unproductive,” he said in 2015 while on a visit to Bolivia.

If I am honest with myself, I must acknowledge that I am often tempted to remove everyone from my life who doesn’t help me in some way. Perhaps it would make life easier, but it also would be spiritual suicide. If there is one lesson I have learned from reading the reflections over the past year, it is that offering mercy resounds in the soul of the giver, moving him or her closer to Christ. The world needs mercy, and I am grateful to Pope Francis for giving for us a year during which to reflect on the many faces of mercy. In 2017 my prayer will be that I do my best to create a world in which  mercy is at the forefront of my life.