No Credit Check Required

Matthew 5:7 NRSVue

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

Intro

It was one of the most adventurous decisions I’ve ever made — to buy a boat.

In England after years of paying rent, I remember one day punching the numbers into a calculator — five years of rent payments — and nearly choking when I saw the total. All that money, and nothing to show for it. No asset. No equity. Just receipts.

And in a housing market that felt completely out of reach, I thought, what if I went another way? A boat would be my first asset. No massive down payment like a house. No impossible hoops. Just a vessel — unusual, yes — but mine. A place to live, a step toward a different kind of stability.

But here’s the truth: the scariest part wasn’t the idea of living on the water. It wasn’t learning how to maintain a vessel or navigate the lifestyle. The scariest part was the loan application.

Because I knew what it felt like to be declined.

There had been a season in my life when my credit score was so poor. I was buried in debt — credit cards, loans, things I thought I could manage but they were actually managing me. And every time I applied for something, the answer had been the same: declined.

And when you get declined, it doesn’t just feel like they’re rejecting a piece of paper. It feels like they’re rejecting you. Like your whole life is being measured, weighed, and found wanting. Not enough income. Not enough history. Not enough trust in you. Not enough you.

So I got to work. Slowly. Painfully. Paying down my cards. Cutting spending. Closing the gap on my income-to-debt ratio. It took me years. And finally, I was ready. Or at least I hoped I was.

I still had debts and I knew that there as a possibility of being declined again.

Nothing could take away the nerves of that day. Sitting there, filling out the forms, attaching the documents, hitting “submit.” Waiting. Would they look at my file and stamp the same word over me again: declined? Or would this time be different?

Approved!

When the approval came through, it was like air rushed back into my lungs. Joy. Relief. Gratitude. I couldn’t stop smiling. The system had looked at my history, my numbers, my file — and said: Yes. Approved.

That boat became more than a boat. It carried me through a hard season. For three years, it was my home. And when I eventually sold it, I used the money to pay off every last debt.

But the real turning point wasn’t selling the boat. It was the day I got approved. Because that approval was proof — proof that all the work had paid off. Proof that I had satisfied the requirements. Proof that I had passed the test.

I felt so good about myself. So proud of myself.

Not because the loan company had offered grace. No.

I knew exactly how it worked. The systems built to decide your eligibility for credit don’t care about kindness or compassion. They crunch the numbers. They measure:

your income,

your debt,

your current credit,

even your address.

And if you meet the standard, you’re approved. If you don’t, you’re denied. Simple as that.

In that moment, I was proud because I had played by the rules and finally won. I had satisfied the conditions. I had earned it. I had proven myself.

That’s how the world works.

And as I now live in suburbia, I’ve realised that’s how we’re trained to think. And that’s how suburbia trains us to think — everything is a transaction. Approval only if you qualify. Blessing only if you measure up.

We learn it everywhere we turn:

The HOA — you cut the grass the right length, paint the house the approved shade, keep the bins out of sight, and you stay in good standing. Break the rules, and the fines come.

The school system — test scores, attendance, extracurriculars. Fall behind, and you’re labelled. Stay ahead, and you’re rewarded.

The association or club — membership fees paid, dues kept up, behaviour aligned, and you’re welcome. Miss a payment, and you’re out.

Even relationships — I’ll show up for you as long as you’ve shown up for me. I’ll forgive if you deserve it. I’ll be kind if you’ve earned it.

It’s all transactions. Systems designed to reward the ones who keep the rules and exclude the ones who don’t.

We’ve reached the 5th Beatitude.

The 4 before has all been been pointing inwards, but at this point in the beatitudes, this is the crucial pivot that Jesus makes. Where he now begins to point outwards.

Blessed are:

Those who mourn

the meek

those who hunger and thirst for righteousness

All about you.

And Jesus wants to make something very clear.

The pivot to looking outwards can only come from the reform that happens inwards.

It’s only through the power of mourning, through the posture of meekness through an authentic hunger and thirst of righteousness can you even have the capacity for outward kingdom expression.

Matthew 5:7 NRSVue

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

Movement 1 — Naming the Sin: Transactional Living

Jesus says: “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”

But let’s be honest — mercy doesn’t come naturally to us. What comes naturally is transaction. From childhood we’re taught life is an exchange: do the work, earn the reward. Fall short, pay the price. By adulthood, it’s in our bones: approval if you qualify, rejection if you don’t.

And suburbia baptises this mindset until it feels like common sense. That’s the suburban sin we’ve reached today: Transactional Living.

Transactional Living says: I’ll give if you’ve earned it. I’ll forgive if you deserve it. I’ll be kind only if it makes sense.

We see it everywhere:

The HOA: meet the standards, you’re safe. Miss them, and here comes the letter.

The school system: test high and you’re praised; fall behind and you’re labelled.

Even relationships: I’ll forgive if you’ve apologised. I’ll show up if you’ve shown up.

It’s all transactions. Systems that reward those who keep the rules and quietly exclude those who don’t.

And here’s the danger: when we live long enough in these systems, they don’t just shape our habits — they shape our hearts. Mercy becomes conditional. Forgiveness turns into a contract. People get reduced to scores.

But Jesus interrupts all of that. He says: Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are those who don’t keep score, who give what can’t be earned, who live off the mercy they’ve already received.

Because the kingdom doesn’t run on transactions. It runs on mercy.

Movement 2 — Mercy in the Kingdom

Jesus says: “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”

MERCY

Clemency and compassion shown to a person who is in a position of powerlessness or subjection, or to a person with no right or claim to receive kindness; kind and compassionate treatment in a case where severity is merited or expected, esp. in giving legal judgment or passing sentence.

The word merciful in Greek is eleēmōn — and in the whole New Testament it only shows up twice. Once here, in Matthew 5:7. And the second time in Hebrews 2:17:

“Therefore he had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people.”

So why does Matthew — the note-taker, the careful author — choose this rare word? Because it pulls from Israel’s deepest vocabulary for God.

It echoes the Old Testament. Exodus 34:6 says: “The Lord, the Lord, merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love.” That’s the word ḥesed — God’s loyal, covenant-keeping love. The love that never lets go. The love that keeps faith with us even when we break faith with Him.

And there’s another word the Hebrews used: raḥamim — from the root for womb. Mercy that is tender, visceral, aching. Mercy that feels. Mercy that moves like a mother’s love for her child.

So when Jesus says “Blessed are the merciful,” His listeners would have heard both:

Mercy as ḥesed — faithful love that holds on when every contract is broken.

Mercy as raḥamim — compassion so deep it hurts, like love from the womb.

Mercy isn’t God’s hobby. Mercy is God’s nature.

And by the way — the form of the word here means more than showing mercy once in a while. It’s not about random acts of kindness. It’s about being the kind of person whose whole posture bends toward compassion. Mercy is not a deed but a disposition. Not an occasional act but a character that mirrors God Himself.

Now listen to the promise: “for they will receive mercy.”

Notice what Jesus doesn’t say. He doesn’t say, “Blessed are the merciful because they’ve earned mercy.” He doesn’t say, “Blessed are the merciful because God now owes them.” No. The verb is future passive: “they will be shown mercy.” The action belongs to God.

This is not a transaction. It’s not tit-for-tat. It’s not “you scratch God’s back, He’ll scratch yours.” It’s describing the rhythm of grace. When you extend mercy, you place yourself inside the stream of God’s mercy — and He pours more into your life than you could ever pour out.

And here’s the contrast:

Transactional Living asks, “Do they deserve it?”

Mercy asks, “What do they need?”

Transactional Living calculates the risk: “If I forgive them, will they change? If I help them, will they waste it? If I show kindness, will they take advantage?”

Mercy doesn’t wait for guarantees. Mercy counts the cost and moves anyway.

Transactional Living withholds until the other person qualifies.

Mercy flows because God has already given freely.

And that’s what makes mercy scandalous. Mercy is not neat. Mercy is not efficient. Mercy is not earned. Mercy gives to the undeserving. Mercy forgives the unworthy. Mercy lifts the unqualified.

Jesus doesn’t just teach this beatitude; He embodies it.

He dines with tax collectors and sinners — people society had declined.

He touches lepers — people religion had stamped unclean.

He forgives the soldiers who crucified Him — men who never apologised.

To the world, these are high-risk applicants.

To Jesus, they are the very ones mercy bends toward.

And here’s the truth: in Christ, mercy isn’t an optional add-on for the spiritually advanced. It’s the essential mark of the Kingdom. Mercy is what happens when a life reshaped inwardly — poor in spirit, mourning, meek, hungry for righteousness — begins to turn outward.

Which means this: the blessed life isn’t about finally passing the test, proving yourself, or meeting the conditions. The blessed life is about living off a mercy you could never deserve — and then extending that same mercy to those who will never deserve it from you.

Movement 3 — No Credit Check Required

So where is Jesus calling for a transformation in this beatitude?

You may think that the first step is to show mercy to the other.

Let’s be honest: sometimes the hardest person to be merciful to… is me.

Here’s what I mean.

I need two (or three) volunteers to help me with this. Come stand right here.

I hand one of you a backpack. Then I start loading it with weights — books, bricks, whatever I can find. One for the failure you can’t forget. Another for the expectation you didn’t meet. Another for the voice that says, “You’ll never be enough.” Another for the regret that won’t let you go.

Now, I ask this volunteer to carry the weight across the platform.

That’s what happens when you live unmerciful to yourself. You keep piling on the weights of guilt, shame, and self-condemnation. And it doesn’t just stay with you. It bleeds out. You get tired. You snap at your spouse. You pull away from your kids. You get defensive with friends. Because when you’re merciless with yourself, you can’t help but become merciless with others.

Now watch this: I take the weights out of the backpack. I set them down. I let the volunteer breathe again.

That’s what mercy does. It releases the weight. It says: You don’t have to carry this anymore.

And this is why Jesus says, “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.” Because the only way you’ll ever have mercy to give is if you’ve received it yourself.

This is the opposite of transactional living. You are learning to find yourself in the stream of God’s grace.

That means you are seeing yourself the way that God sees you.

Go back to my loan story. I’ll never forget the nerves of sitting at that desk, wondering if I’d be declined again. Waiting for someone to decide if I had finally met the requirements. The joy of hearing “Approved” was overwhelming — but only because I had qualified.

But Jesus’ mercy is greater still. Because in His kingdom, there is a banner hanging over your life that says: No Credit Check Required.

Even when you don’t qualify. Even when your record is messy. Even when your file screams “declined.” God stamps Grace Approved across your life.

And if God is that merciful to you — then you can be merciful to yourself. You can take off the backpack. You can lay down the weights. You can breathe again.

Because mercy received becomes mercy lived. And when you allow yourself to breathe in God’s mercy, you will find yourself breathing it out to others. That’s how the kingdom expands — not by transactions, but by mercy.

Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are those who show mercy to others. Blessed are those who even dare to show mercy to themselves. For they will be shown mercy.

No credit check required.