Fear and Mercy

+ Enlarge

Among my Lenten reading this year is a little booklet called “Bridges to Contemplative Living with Thomas Merton,” published by Ave Maria Press in 2009. It has provided much material for reflection.

What first caught my attention was the epigraph, which reads in part, “It is necessary that, at the beginning of this fast, the Lord should show Himself to us in His mercy. The purpose of Lent is not only expiation, to satisfy the divine justice, but above all is a preparation to rejoice in His love. And this preparation consists in receiving the gift of His mercy—a gift which we receive insofar as we open our hearts to it, casting out what cannot remain in the same room with mercy.” [Capitalization original.]

This quote, originally from Merton’s book Seasons of Celebration, continues by saying that one of the first things we must cast out is fear, which “shrinks our capacity to love. It freezes up our power to give of ourselves.”

I sat with that quote for a time, thinking about all the things I fear, the primary one of which is losing my ability to keep a roof over my head and food on the table. I don’t know the basis for this fear; I’ve been providing for myself since I was 18 and I’ve had a steady paycheck ever since, except for a two-month period of unemployment in my 20s. My wages have always allowed me to pay my rent or mortgage and buy groceries, with a little left over, so I don’t know why the specter of financial insecurity scares me so much. Scripture tells me to put my faith in God, and so far he hasn’t failed me in this respect, but I’m still not willing to fully put my faith in him to continue to provide for me.

Yes, Lord, I hear you: “O ye of little faith,” and I really am working to increase my faith while still acknowledging my fear.

On a spiritual level, contemplating the idea of opening my heart to receive God’s mercy brings to mind all my sins. Why would God be merciful to me? Scriptural reassurances aside, on my worst days I struggle to accept that God has any interest in this poor sinner. On my good days, though, I take comfort in Saint Francis of Assisi’s quote, “I have been all things unholy. If God can work through me, he can work through anyone.”

I don’t think I’ve been “all things unholy,” but my everyday sins are enough to keep God from working through me. Even today, when I am trying to commit myself more fully to a life following Christ, I have not given up my daily dose of fine chocolate to feed the poor; nor have I done anything much to help the lost and the least.

As I was meditating on Merton’s quote, it occurred to me to wonder whether the reason I don’t want to be washed clean of all my sins is that I would then feel compelled to live out the mercy I had received, a task at which I would certainly fail. Having been forgiven, I would need to forgive those who trespass against me; having been shown mercy, I would be called to show mercy, too.

Yes, I know that the faith I profess teaches that God continually offers forgiveness and shows mercy, and I am called to do the same, but as Merton points out, we have to open our hearts to this mercy, and currently my fear allows no room in my heart for those gifts of God’s grace, because were I to accept them I would be unable to live up to the responsibility they entail.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.