God’s Mercy in the Fire

Exodus 32:7–14 NKJV

7 And the Lord said to Moses, “Go, get down! For your people whom you brought out of the land of Egypt have corrupted themselves. 8 They have turned aside quickly out of the way which I commanded them. They have made themselves a molded calf, and worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, ‘This is your god, O Israel, that brought you out of the land of Egypt!’ ” 9 And the Lord said to Moses, “I have seen this people, and indeed it is a stiff-necked people! 10 Now therefore, let Me alone, that My wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them. And I will make of you a great nation.” 11 Then Moses pleaded with the Lord his God, and said: “Lord, why does Your wrath burn hot against Your people whom You have brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? 12 Why should the Egyptians speak, and say, ‘He brought them out to harm them, to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth’? Turn from Your fierce wrath, and relent from this harm to Your people. 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, Your servants, to whom You swore by Your own self, and said to them, ‘I will multiply your descendants as the stars of heaven; and all this land that I have spoken of I give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.’ ” 14 So the Lord relented from the harm which He said He would do to His people.

Fire is a very incredible force. In minutes it can reduce a house to ashes. In minutes it can melt steel, leaving behind nothing but ruin. Fire can bring warmth, light, and comfort. Fire can purify and refine. We know this intuitively. When a house is on fire, it’s a tragedy. But when we sit around a campfire, there’s a sense of safety, even joy. Fire in the wrong place is devastating. Fire in the right place gives life. It all depends on how it’s used.

The Bible is like that too. Fire is one of God’s primary ways of describing His holiness and judgment. When Moses first encountered God at Sinai, it was in a bush that was on fire but not consumed. When Israel wandered in the wilderness, God went before them by day in a pillar of cloud and by night in a pillar of fire. Fire became a sign of His presence—glorious, powerful, even dangerous. Later fire fell on Mount Carmel to consume Elijah’s sacrifice and once and for all to prove that the Lord alone is God. And then in the New Testament, fire showed up at Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came down on the disciples in tongues of fire, purifying and empowering them. Fire can consume, yes, but it can also cleanse. It can destroy, but it can also renew.

And that’s the tension: God’s fire is holy—and we are not. God’s fire is like the shepherd’s burning finger, exposing what’s inside us: rebellion, idolatry, sin we try to hide. When His holiness draws near, it has every right to consume us. And yet, over and over, Scripture reveals something astonishing. In the fire of judgment, mercy shows up. Where there should be destruction, God makes room for repentance. Where there should be wrath, God makes a way for grace. Where there should be an ending, God offers a new beginning.

We see this dramatically at Mount Sinai. Picture the scene, Moses has been on the mountain for forty days meeting with God and receiving the law. Down below, the people grow restless. Instead of waiting, they pressure Aaron into making a golden calf. They bow down to it. They feast and dance around it. They call this idol their god who led them out of Egypt. Rebellion doesn’t get clearer than this. They traded the living God for something they’ve made with their own hands. God tells Moses what is happening, and His anger burns like fire. He is ready to consume them and start fresh with Moses. And who could argue? They had broken His covenant in the most blatant way possible.

But Moses intercedes. He prays, he pleads with God. He reminds God of His promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. And then comes one of the most remarkable verses in all the Bible: “And the Lord relented from the harm which He said He would do to His people” (Exodus 32:14). Mercy in the fire. Israel deserved destruction, but God’s mercy made space for repentance.

Now, if we stopped there, we might think mercy is something God only shows to whole nations or groups of people. But the funnel narrows. In the New Testament we hear the story of one man—Paul’s story. Writing to Timothy, Paul confesses, “I was a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a violent man. But I was shown mercy.” Paul wasn’t speaking about ancient Israel, he was speaking about himself. He had opposed Christ, hunted down believers, and stood over the death of the innocent. Yet mercy found him. Paul stands as proof that no one—not even the “chief of sinners”—is beyond God’s reach. If God could show mercy to Paul, He can show mercy to anyone.

But then Jesus takes it further. In Luke 15, He makes it deeply personal. Mercy isn’t vague or abstract; it has a face, a name, a story. Mercy looks like a shepherd leaving ninety-nine sheep to find the one that wandered away. Mercy looks like a woman lighting a lamp and sweeping her house until the missing coin is found. Mercy doesn’t sit back. It searches, seeks, pursues. Mercy doesn’t quit until the lost is restored.

Do you see how the story narrows? From the whole nation of Israel, to the single life of Paul, to one lost sheep or one coin—and finally to you and me. Mercy isn’t just a doctrine we believe or a concept we discuss. It is who God is. It is His defining action, His burning passion, His relentless pursuit of us even when we are lost, guilty, or rebellious.

And here is the good news: God’s fire is real, but His mercy is greater. At Sinai, mercy spared Israel. In Paul’s life, mercy turned a persecutor into a preacher. In our own lostness, mercy searches and saves. And at the Cross, the fire of judgment and the fire of mercy meet. Jesus bore the weight of judgment so we could be embraced by the fullness of God’s mercy.

That is the story we step into today: God’s mercy in the fire.

Mercy Intercedes (Exodus 32:7–14)

So let’s begin where the fire of judgment burns hottest—in the wilderness of Sinai.

Moses has been gone for weeks, standing in the presence of God on the mountain. Down below, the people wait. At first, they wait patiently. But forty days is a long time. Their faith begins to waver. Their memory of God’s mighty acts begins to fade. Instead of trusting the God who delivered them through the Red Sea, they start to grumble: “We don’t know what’s happened to this Moses. Maybe he’s abandoned us. Maybe God has forgotten us.”

And out of that fear, they fall into rebellion. They ask Aaron to make them gods who will lead them forward. Aaron gathers their gold, melts it down, and fashions a calf. A lifeless image of an Egyptian deity becomes their focus of worship. They bow down. They feast. They dance. And they say the unthinkable: “This is your god, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!”

Do you feel the sting of that moment? God had redeemed them with outstretched arm and mighty acts of power. He had thundered His voice from the mountain and invited them into covenant. And in less than six weeks, they traded the living God for a statue. At the very moment Moses was receiving the law—the very first commandment—they were breaking it.

God sees it all from the mountain and tells Moses, “Go down, for your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves.” Notice the shift: God doesn’t even call them “My people.” It’s as if the covenant bond has already been severed. His holiness burns hot against their rebellion. And who could blame Him? This was betrayal of the deepest kind.

God declares He is ready to consume them in fire and start over with Moses. He has every right to do it. If Israel were wiped off the face of the earth in that moment, no one could cry “injustice.” They broke covenant. They spurned His love. They deserved the fire.

But Moses intercedes. He doesn’t deny their guilt. He doesn’t excuse their sin. Instead, he appeals to God’s character and His promises. “Turn from your fierce wrath,” Moses prays. “Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, to whom You swore by Your own self.”

And then comes one of the most astonishing verses in Scripture: “And the Lord relented from the harm which He said He would do to His people” (Exodus 32:14).

Israel stood on the edge of destruction, but God’s mercy held them back from the cliff. The people deserved judgment, but God gave them another chance. His holiness demanded justice, but His mercy made room for repentance.

Friends, if that doesn’t give you hope, I don’t know what will. Because you and I are not so different from Israel. How many times have we grown impatient in waiting for God? How often have we trusted the work of our own hands instead of the living God? How often have we traded the Creator for a counterfeit?

And yet, when God’s fire should consume us, His mercy intercedes. For Israel, it was Moses who stood in the gap. For us, it is Jesus Christ, the greater Mediator. Hebrews tells us He “always lives to intercede” for us (Hebrews 7:25). Paul reminds us that Jesus is seated at the right hand of God, praying on our behalf (Romans 8:34). When judgment should fall, mercy speaks. When the fire should consume, mercy covers.

That’s who God is. Yes, His holiness is real. Yes, sin is serious. But His defining action is mercy. At Sinai, He could have ended the story. But in mercy, He chose to continue the story.

And if God can show mercy to an entire nation in open rebellion, what about to a single individual? What about someone who isn’t bowing to a golden calf in the wilderness but is still running headlong against God’s will?

That’s exactly what we see in the testimony of Paul.

Mercy Transforms (1 Timothy 1:12–17)

If God’s mercy can withhold judgment from a nation, what does it look like when it invades the life of an individual? For that, we turn to the testimony of Paul in 1 Timothy.

Paul doesn’t gloss over his story, and he doesn’t downplay the truth. He doesn’t call himself “a little misguided.” He names it, and he names it with brutal honesty: “I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man” (v. 13).

Why three words? Paul piles sin on top of sin to show the weight of his depravity. He’s saying, “I wasn’t just a sinner in some general way. I was living in direct, arrogant opposition to Christ.”

His words (blasphemer) denied Christ. He slandered the name of Jesus, called Him a fraud, and mocked the gospel as dangerous. His lips were weapons raised against the truth.

His actions (persecutor) attacked Christ’s people. Acts tells us that he dragged men and women from their homes and threw them in prison. He even cast his vote for their execution. He stood over the first Christian martyr, Stephen, and gave approval as the stones rained down.

His heart and attitude (insolent man) were full of arrogance and cruelty. That word describes an aggressive, violent bully—someone who takes perverse joy in hurting others. Paul himself admits he was “breathing out threats and murder” against the church (Acts 9:1). He wasn’t reluctantly enforcing the law—he was driven by pride and hatred.

This isn’t Paul exaggerating for effect. This is Paul telling the truth. He wants us to see how far gone he was so that we can see how amazing God’s mercy truly is. And then he says the most beautiful words: “But I obtained mercy.”

Mercy broke in on the Damascus road. Paul wasn’t looking for Jesus; Jesus came looking for him. He wasn’t seeking forgiveness; forgiveness came seeking him. Mercy found him when he was at his worst and turned his life upside down.

And notice what mercy did: it didn’t just forgive Paul—it transformed him.

The man who blasphemed Christ with his words spent the rest of his life proclaiming Christ with his words.

The man who persecuted the church with his actions poured himself out to plant and nurture churches across the Roman world.

The man who was arrogant and violent in his heart became a humble servant, calling himself the “chief of sinners” and boasting only in the cross.

Paul says it himself in verse 16: “For this reason I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show all longsuffering, as a pattern to those who are going to believe on Him for everlasting life.” In other words, God used Paul as a living display of patience and mercy. His life became an example written across history: if God could save Paul, then God can save anyone.

Think about that for a moment. The persecutor became the preacher. The destroyer of churches became their planter. The blasphemer became the writer of Scripture. What made the difference? Mercy.

And Paul never stopped marveling at it. Verse 12 says, “I thank Christ Jesus our Lord who has enabled me, because He counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry.” Paul knew this wasn’t just mercy that wiped his slate clean—it was mercy that empowered him for the future. He had no right to preach Christ, but Christ chose him anyway. He had no reason to lead churches, but Christ entrusted him anyway. Mercy not only forgave him; it gave him a new purpose.

That’s the power of God’s mercy. It doesn’t just erase our guilt—it writes a brand-new story. It doesn’t just cover our shame—it transforms the sinner into a vessel of grace. Paul’s life is proof that God’s mercy is stronger than our rebellion, stronger than our violence, stronger than the fire of our sin.

And friends, that same mercy is available to us. Maybe you hear Paul’s words and think, “Yes, but you don’t know my story. You don’t know what I’ve done. You don’t know the people I’ve hurt.” But Paul would look you in the eye and say, “If Christ Jesus could show mercy to me—the chief of sinners—then He can show mercy to you.”

Here the funnel narrows again. From Israel as a nation, to Paul as an individual, we see that mercy is not just broad—it is deeply personal. It is for rebels and idolaters. It is for persecutors and blasphemers. And it is for you.

And if mercy can rescue a nation from destruction, and if mercy can transform the chief of sinners into a vessel of grace, what about right now? What about you and me? Jesus answers that question in Luke 15—with stories of a shepherd and a woman who will not rest until what is lost is found.

Mercy Seeks and Saves (Luke 15:1–10)

We have seen mercy on the grandest of scales with Israel. We have seen mercy in one individual life with Paul. And now Jesus brings it home to the heart of every listener. Mercy is not just a national story. Mercy is not just a testimony from long ago. Mercy is searching for you.

Luke 15 begins with a controversy. The Pharisees and scribes are grumbling because Jesus is welcoming tax collectors and sinners. In their eyes, these were the worst of the worst—outcasts, cheats, traitors. People too far gone for God’s favor. People not worth the effort.

But Jesus answers their grumbling with parables. And these parables are not abstract—they are earthy, vivid, full of motion and emotion. They reveal the very heartbeat of God.

First, He tells the story of a shepherd. One hundred sheep. One goes missing. From a business perspective, you might say, “Well, ninety-nine is still pretty good. That’s an acceptable loss.” But not to this shepherd. He leaves the ninety-nine in the open country and goes after the one until he finds it. And when he does, he doesn’t scold it or drive it back with a rod—he lifts it up, places it on his shoulders, and carries it home rejoicing. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together: “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!”

Do you see the picture? Mercy does not wait at home for the sheep to wander back. Mercy goes out into the wilderness, searching, calling, climbing, pursuing—until the lost is found. Mercy doesn’t just sigh in relief when the sheep shows up. Mercy throws a party. “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine just persons who need no repentance” (Luke 15:7).

Then Jesus tells the story of a woman who has ten silver coins—likely her life savings, or perhaps a part of her dowry. One coin rolls away, lost somewhere in the cracks of her home. Again, from a purely logical standpoint, nine out of ten isn’t bad. But that’s not how she sees it. She lights a lamp, sweeps the floor, and searches carefully until she finds it. And when she does, she calls her neighbors together: “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin which I lost!”

The point is the same: mercy doesn’t shrug at loss. Mercy seeks, mercy searches, mercy perseveres until what is lost is restored. And when it is, joy overflows—not just on earth, but in heaven itself. “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents” (Luke 15:10).

These parables show us the relentless, personal pursuit of God’s mercy. It’s not enough to say, “Well, He showed mercy to Israel.” It’s not enough to say, “He showed mercy to Paul.” Jesus says, “He shows mercy to you. He will not rest until He finds you.”

Think about that: the God who holds galaxies in place cares about one sheep, one coin, one person. He searches until He finds, because His mercy is not satisfied with ninety-nine percent. His mercy is complete only when the lost is restored.

And here’s the key: these parables don’t just tell us about what God did in the past—they reveal what He is doing right now. Every time a sinner repents, every time a prodigal turns back, every time someone says yes to the mercy of God, heaven erupts with joy. Even today. Even here.

Do you see how the story has been narrowing? From Israel as a nation, to Paul as an individual, to the one sheep, the one coin—the one sinner. The funnel has been directing us to this moment. God’s mercy in the fire is not just a story for them; it’s a story for you.

Maybe you feel like Israel—wandering, impatient, running after idols. Mercy is for you.

Maybe you feel like Paul—your past so heavy, your failures so deep, your guilt so real. Mercy is for you.

Maybe you feel like that sheep or that coin—lost, overlooked, forgotten. Mercy is for you.

This is the heart of the gospel: God’s mercy seeks, God’s mercy finds, and God’s mercy saves.

And all of this funnels to the cross, where judgment and mercy meet. At Calvary, Jesus entered the fire of judgment so we could experience the fire of mercy. He carried our sin, bore our shame, and in His resurrection declared that mercy has the final word.

God’s Mercy in the Fire

We’ve seen Israel at Sinai on the brink of destruction, only to have mercy hold back the fire.

We’ve heard Paul own his past with brutal honesty, only to hear him say, “But I obtained mercy.”

We’ve watched a shepherd leave the ninety-nine and a woman turn her house upside down, showing us that mercy searches until it finds what is lost.

All these threads find their culmination at the Cross. The fire of God’s judgment burned hot against our sin. Justice demanded payment. Holiness could not look the other way. But there in the fire, mercy stepped in. Jesus bore the wrath so that we could receive the mercy. He became the intercessor greater than Moses, the redeemer greater than Paul, the shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep, the one who would not stop searching until He found us.

The Cross is where we see God’s mercy in the fire shine brightest. Sin was judged, death was defeated, and mercy triumphed.

And here is the good news: that mercy is not just for Israel. It’s not just for Paul. It’s not just a parable. It’s for you.

If you feel like Israel—caught in rebellion, running after idols—His mercy makes a way for repentance.

If you feel like Paul—ashamed of your past, carrying guilt that seems too heavy—His mercy transforms and gives you a new future.

If you feel like the sheep or the coin—lost, unseen, forgotten—His mercy is seeking you right now.

God’s mercy is not a theory. It is His defining action. He delights to forgive. He rejoices to restore. He celebrates when the lost are found.

So the question is not whether God’s mercy is available. The question is whether you will receive it. Whether you will let mercy intercede for you, transform you, and carry you home rejoicing.

Today, the fire of God’s holiness still burns against sin. But standing in that fire is the mercy of God through Jesus Christ. And that mercy is calling your name.

Come to Him. Repent. Receive mercy. And rejoice. Because there is joy in heaven when even one sinner turns back to God.

At the Cross, judgment fell, but mercy stood — and mercy won