Blessed Are The Merciful

INTRODUCTION

Happy Sunday, yall. I am so very glad that we are together today, gathered around the presence of God! This past week, our whole staff (and spouses) went on a retreat together. It was a wonderful time - making space to come together to laugh, pray and worship, slow down, share meals, connect and the like.

We also did a fun activity where we all sat down at a couple big, long tables and you were asked to PAINT A PORTRAIT of the person sitting across from you. So you paint them, and they paint you. I know this was meant to be fun and ultimately ya know a retreat is a time to perhaps relax a bit - but this was high stress for me. I know now that painting a portrait of someone is a very intimate and vulnerable activity. As your paint touches the canvas, it’s almost as if you step into this cocoon of managing expectations and perfectionism and people pleasing and a deep rooted desire to not offend.

We all painted for a good half hour and then revealed our paintings. With permission from the artists themselves, I wanted to share the portraits that Shelby and I received.

PAINTING PHOTO

I look like a disgruntled Duck Dynasty employee. I don’t know where to start with Shelby. She looks like a Muppet. She looks like a VHS copy of a Muppet. God bless the artists. We want more, Lord. I’m not gonna name names. Just kidding. Christian Balcer painted Shelby. He’s not here. God bless Him.

Ok.

If you are new here, welcome. We love Jesus, we like to laugh, and we coming to end of a year in the Sermon on the Mount. That is arguably Jesus’ most well-known teaching found in the book of Matthew beginning in chapter 5. If you have a Bible, go ahead and turn their now. Right now we are walking thru the Beatitudes, verse by verse, bit by bit. The Beatitudes are Jesus’ description of what life looks like under His rule—an upside-down picture of blessing that redefines what it means to truly flourish. They’re not a checklist to achieve, but a portrait of the kind of person we become when the kingdom of heaven takes root in us.

We have been in the Beatitudes the last few weeks. I shared a few weeks ago about being poor in spirit and those mourn. Then Damon preached on blessed are the meek. Last week, Rob took us to verse 6 - blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. And today we come to Matthew 5:7. Why don’t we go ahead and stand for the reading of God’s Word, and help me welcome our friends Jordan and Emily Whitten.

Matthew 5:2-12

PRAY

Silence + Come Holy Spirit

This theater, classrooms, etc

Today, we’re talking about something oh so very wonderful. We’re talking about good news. We’re talking about the mercy of God.

Matthew 5:7, in my opinion, is the Beatitude that most clearly reveals the heart of God. They all do, in their own way—but this one cuts to the core. This text doesn’t just describe what God does; it reveals who God is.

Mercy is not a side note in God’s personality. It’s one of His most essential, foundational qualities—a defining attribute of His nature and the lens through which He looks at humanity... you and me.

The word “mercy” in Greek is eleos. And eleos is a fusion of two Hebrew ideas. In Jesus’ context, eleos draws from ḥesed—God’s loyal love and covenant faithfulness—and ḥanan—His gracious compassion.

So when we talk about the mercy of God, we’re talking about the divine collision of steadfast love and undeserved grace. Mercy is loyal love that keeps showing up, even when wronged.

Let me say it this way: God faithfully keeps His promises and maintains His covenant relationship with His people—even when we break ours.

That’s mercy. That’s the gospel heartbeat pulsing underneath the whole story of Scripture.

My friends, this is the very essence of who God is. The God who came to rescue us from sin and death is not cold or detached—He is merciful. The God we love and worship and sing to is a God of great mercy. The God whose Word we study, whose Spirit lives in us, whose presence we gather around as the Church—He is a merciful God.

He’s not quick to punish; He’s quick to forgive. He’s not looking for reasons to exclude you; He’s searching for ways to draw you near. This is what separates Him from every false god and every broken system. Our God doesn’t demand perfection before He draws close—He draws close because we’re imperfect.

This is mercy: the faithful love of a holy God who refuses to give up on His people.

And this verse is all about mercy. There’s a beauty in the simplicity of this verse. Sometimes we just need to let it be simple. It is what it is. Jesus isn’t hiding behind layers of mystery here—He’s inviting us into obedience. And honestly, I think a lot of us use “deeper study” as a delay tactic. We’d rather dissect the Greek than do the gospel. We want it to be complicated so we can buy ourselves time. But this one’s not complicated. “Blessed are the merciful” means—show mercy. Forgive. Be generous. Stop keeping score. It’s simple, but it’s not easy. The problem isn’t that we don’t understand Jesus; it’s that we do, and we’re stalling.

I love you, by the way.

GOD IS MERCY

And the miracle of mercy is this. 1 Peter 1:3 “According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,”

His mercy has given us life where there was death. His mercy has rebuilt what sin destroyed. His mercy has moved first—before we ever turned toward Him. His mercy has lifted us out of despair . His mercy has refused to give us what we deserve, and instead given us Himself.

God — who is holy and just and unblemished and perfect — has every right to condemn us, according to what is made clear in Scripture.

Romans 3:23 says, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Every single one of us has chosen our own way instead of His. We’ve tried to run life on our own terms, to define good and evil for ourselves, to live as though we are the center of the story.

That’s what sin really is — It’s rebellion against God’s design and rejection of His love and we - WE - create a rift in our relationship with God, because we’ve made a declaration that we’d rather be our own gods.

And if you flip just a few pages ahead to Romans 6:23, it says, “The wages of sin is death.” Not merely physical death, but spiritual death — separation from the God who is life Himself. Sin didn’t just break boundaries; it broke communion. It cut us off from the One we were made for.

And so here we stand: a holy God who made us and loves us, and a humanity that chose its own way. Scripture is clear — the price of sin is death and separation. So if you think logically, if you have any sense of justice, you start to connect the dots:

I have sinned. The wage of sin is death. Justice means getting what I deserve for what I’ve done. Therefore, I deserve death and separation from God.

And yet — walk with me to Psalm 103:

“The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities.”

Remember - mercy - His hesed and hanan - His loyal love and compassion towards us.

He has every right to condemn, but He has chosen not to. He has chosen to show mercy. He has not cast us out — He has brought us in.

Mercy is when God takes the posture of profound generosity, offering compassion where judgment was deserved. He bends down to meet us in the dust. He is not repulsed or offended by our brokenness and great need. He moves towards us. He runs towards us. This is our God. Merciful. Stooping down low to say “you - you are mine”.

So when we say, “God is merciful,” we are not describing something He does from time to time. We’re describing who He is all the time. Mercy is His nature. It is the essence of who He is.

“For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His steadfast love toward those who fear Him. As far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our transgressions from us.” — Psalm 103:11–12

This is mercy: God’s love that never runs out, His patience that never wears thin, His kindness that never gives up.

And honestly, some of us just need to stop right there. That’s the word you need today: God is merciful. He’s loving. He’s kind. He’s faithful. If you belong to Him—if you’ve surrendered your life to Jesus—you are in covenant with a God who keeps His promises. He’s not distant, distracted, or disappointed in you. He’s not harboring resentment or waiting to explode. He’s steady. He’s strong. He’s good. He is full of compassion toward His people—toward you.

And if you don’t know Him, please hear me—He is merciful. He sees you. He wants to be close to you. What Jesus did on the cross was the most radical act of love in human history. When the world was falling apart, when sin and shame seemed to win, Jesus stepped in and said, “No. I am not like that.” My people are my people, and I am steadfast in my love for them. That love does not change.

The cross is the proof and the promise—the new covenant—where Jesus died so that humanity could be forgiven, healed, and made whole again. This is the heartbeat of the gospel: Jesus is merciful.

And I’ll be honest—I’ve spent years trying to wipe the face of my earthly father off the face of God the Father. Many of us have. We’ve been shaped by homes or churches or systems that told us authority means distance, or that love has to be earned, or that when you fail, you have to make it up by working harder. And we start to wonder—is God like that too?

Hear me, friend: He is not. Whatever picture you have of an earthly father—good or bad—God the Father surpasses it a thousand times over. He is patient when you fall. He is kind when you wander. He is faithful when you are faithless. His mercy doesn’t run out.

For those who never had a father who stayed, or who loved well, let the mercy of Jesus redefine what fatherhood really looks like. He doesn’t love you because you’ve earned it. He loves you because it’s who He is. His love doesn’t keep score—it covers sin. His mercy doesn’t excuse wrong—it heals it.

That’s the kind of Father He is.

2. WE ARE CALLED TO EMBODY MERCY

And my friends, if mercy is what God is, then mercy is what His people must become. As people of the Kingdom, we are called to embody and emulate God in His mercy.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” — Matthew 5:7

The Beatitudes aren’t moral commands to be nicer. They’re revelations of God’s character now taking shape in His people. This is what the Kingdom looks like when it breaks into the world — the divine nature reshaping human hearts. Remember all that talk about the Beatitudes as Christian counter-culture? Bingo, bango, bongo — we are at the white-hot center right now.

In the Greco-Roman world, mercy was seen as a defect — a weakness of the powerless. Roman philosophers literally warned against it. The empire’s honor code said the strong repay, the powerful crush, and the winner always collects what’s owed. Then Jesus comes in and blows that whole system up — blessing and celebrating what Rome despised. He breaks the scoreboard entirely. He walks into a world obsessed with prestige and payback and says, “Blessed are the merciful.” That’s not just counter-cultural — that’s a revolution.

And we love scoreboards, don’t we? Ask any couple with a kid in diapers — they’ll tell you the invisible scoreboard is real. We tally wrongs, measure offenses, and keep mental ledgers like pros. Who texts first. Who apologized last. Who got invited. Who got the credit. Who owes who. We are masters of invisible accounting.

We keep score to stay safe, to stay right, to stay in control. But the Kingdom of God runs on an entirely different economy. In this Kingdom, mercy is the currency.

This isn’t about earning mercy by showing mercy — we don’t barter our forgiveness for God’s. It’s that mercy received becomes mercy revealed. “By grace, what is characteristic of God becomes characteristic of us.” If we’ve truly encountered His compassion, we can’t help but extend it. As Jesus said in Luke 6:36, “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.”

It’s sobering, but a really good litmus test is how quick you are to extend mercy. Because the mercy you give reveals the mercy you’ve grasped. If you find it hard to forgive, it might be because you’ve forgotten how forgiven you are.

And notice — Jesus doesn’t narrow it down. He doesn’t say who we should show mercy to — the poor, the sick, the undeserving, the difficult, the ones who’ve wounded us — because the answer is yes. There’s no category of person excluded from the mercy of God. He extends compassion continuously; the citizens of His Kingdom must do the same.

Richard Lenski makes this helpful distinction: grace deals with guilt; mercy deals with misery. Grace pardons the sin; mercy heals the wound. Grace cleanses the heart; mercy bandages the bruises. The one forgives — the other restores. The merciful see pain and do something about it.

The early church got this. They didn’t just talk about mercy — they built it. In the second century, Roman citizens mocked Christians as “the people who care for strangers and bury the dead.” But that insult became their reputation. When plague swept through the empire and families fled their dying, followers of Jesus stayed — nursing, feeding, and burying those abandoned. Out of that radical compassion, they founded xenodochia — “houses of mercy” — where the sick, the poor, and the traveler found care.

Think about that. The mercy of Jesus didn’t just change hearts; it changed institutions. From those houses of mercy came the world’s first hospitals. Modern historians — even secular ones — trace the invention of hospitals directly to the mercy ethic of Jesus. Historian Gary Ferngren writes, “The hospital was, in origin and conception, a distinctively Christian institution,” while sociologist Rodney Stark calls it “a monument to the moral teachings of Christ” — the architectural embodiment of the Beatitudes.

In the ancient world, the Greeks sought healing through pagan temples, sleeping in shrines hoping their gods or sacred snakes would heal them. The Romans built infirmaries for soldiers and slaves, never for the public. The Jews had beautiful laws commanding care for the poor, but no dedicated buildings for it.

And then came Christians — boom - people who encountered Jesus and did what He said - and they changed the world.

I’ll be honest — this fires me up. Because we live in a moment when people love to say the church is oppressive, outdated, irrelevant and has done little or nothing for society. Heheh - not here for it. History says otherwise. It was the mercy of Jesus, embodied by His people, that lifted the ancient world out of moral darkness. It was mercy that dignified the poor, elevated women, cared for orphans, and gave birth to hospitals and orphanages. When the world says, “The church has done nothing for society,” I say — you’re literally living in the hospital Christians built.

“Blessed are the merciful” is not just a cute Hallmark proverb, church — it’s a manifesto. Jesus is describing a people who are the proof. Walking evidence of what mercy can do when it gets inside a human heart. Those who’ve been wrecked by mercy become mercy. The forgiven become the forgiving. The rescued become rescuers. The healed become healers.

Mercy is a stream. It’s alive, it’s moving, it’s contagious. Once it starts to flow, it multiplies—it gathers momentum until it starts sweeping through everything in its way. That’s how the Kingdom works. Jesus says you’re blessed when you’re merciful because mercy doesn’t stay still. It circulates. It comes back around. It’s not a one-time act—it’s a way of being. When mercy flows through you, it reshapes the terrain of your relationships, your instincts, your whole life.

You wanna talk evangelism? You wanna talk advancing the Kingdom? Then embody mercy. Nothing preaches louder than a person who should’ve held a grudge but didn’t. The world doesn’t know what to do with that kind of love.

C. S. Lewis said it best: “To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.”

Church, we have to have the courage to give what someone doesn’t deserve — because that’s exactly what God did for us.

And nothing moves you to forgive quite like remembering the size of your own debt. Nothing proves that you’ve really received mercy quite like how ready you are to extend it.

Because mercy isn’t weakness — it’s love doing the hard thing. It’s strength that refuses revenge. It’s heaven’s economy busting up the earth’s score-keeping systems. It’s the radical, scandalous choice to open your hands when everything in you wants to clench your fists.

That’s what it means to embody mercy — to let the miracle that saved you become the movement that shapes you — the mark that defines you.

And it’s transformational when it starts to flow.

—-

Some of us may feel tempted to read that legalistically, as if Jesus were saying, “You’ll only get mercy from God if you earn it by showing mercy to others.” But that’s not it. The Beatitudes aren’t a formula for merit — they’re a revelation of the kind of heart the Spirit produces. A heart that’s been forgiven — and therefore forgives.

DA Carson once shared he said he’d only seen the Spirit of God break out among a group of people twice in his whole life — in a way that felt tangible, almost electric. Like Revival type language.

The second was what came to be called the Canadian Revival. It was a movement of the Spirit of God that swept literally thousands of churches from coast to coast in Canada by word of mouth. It lasted only two or three months. It dropped the crime rate in major cities.

And the first sign that it was happening wasn’t anything flashy or supernatural. It was repentence and mercy. It was Christians going to Christians with tears in their eyes saying, “I’m sorry.” Meetings quite literally stopped as Christians got up to leave to go and repent for offending some brother or sister. All those holy deacons and ministers, those spiritual super saints.… It began to be obvious that among us were often the chief sins of pride and bitterness. And Carson said, “That’s when we knew the Spirit of God was among us.”

Not because people were emotional or ecstatic — but because they were humble. Because mercy was flowing again.

It’s easy to pray for revival and miss the fact that this is what it looks like. It looks like people making things right. It looks like hearts softening. It looks like men and women who’ve tasted God’s mercy extending it to one another.

That’s what the Spirit does when He’s really at work — He makes mercy normal again. He heals what pride has broken. He brings people back together.

And maybe that’s the revival we need most — not louder worship or bigger crowds, but a community marked by mercy. Where people actually forgive, actually repent, actually love each other the way Jesus loves us.

A community of people who embody the mercy of God.

Some of us need to remember today that we’ve been shown profound mercy. And this Beatitude—“Blessed are the merciful”—means that people of the Kingdom, as recipients of that mercy, are now called to extend it. That’s not easy. It’s costly. It’s complicated. But it’s the sign of the Kingdom.

Yes, there’s wisdom and discernment—we’re not called to throw pearls before swine or stay in places of abuse—but the economy of heaven doesn’t change. Forgiveness and mercy are still the way the Kingdom flows.

And let’s be honest—this couldn’t hit at a more inconvenient time. We’re heading into the holidays. Some of you are about to sit down at a table with people you haven’t talked to all year. You’re going to gather in living rooms, board planes, and step into spaces filled with unresolved tension. There are faces you’ve learned to avoid. Names that still sting when you hear them. And I’m not saying to pretend that the pain never happened—but I am saying that Jesus calls the merciful blessed. He says they’re the ones who flourish. The ones who are truly living the good life of the Kingdom.

Unforgiveness is corrosive. It eats away at your joy, your peace, your soul. And when we look at Jesus on the cross, we see what mercy actually looks like—a perfect, sinless man covering the debt of people who didn’t deserve it. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” That’s mercy. That’s the Kingdom.

And the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you—empowering you to choose mercy. To forgive. To disarm the anger, the frustration, the quiet bitterness that simmers just below the surface. That’s how the cycle breaks. Because mercy disarms. Mercy surprises. People are shocked by mercy—it doesn’t make sense. It’s the most supernatural thing you can do.

And maybe that’s what needs to happen this week. There are conversations that need to happen. People you need to forgive—debts you need to release, even when they don’t deserve it.

There are text messages waiting to be sent. Friendships that need to be reengaged. Bitterness that needs to be surrendered before it eats you alive.

And it all starts with mercy—the mercy we’ve received from Jesus and the mercy He’s calling us to extend.

I know it’s messy. I know it’s complicated. But those complications don’t cancel out the command. They just make the mercy more powerful. Because it’s often in the most tangled and painful places that mercy has its most beautiful impact.

STORY - “You are a good dad”

CLOSING

And so, church — as we close — let me just say this as plainly as I can: Be merciful.

Don’t overcomplicate it. Don’t theologize it to death. Be merciful.

This is the call. This is the way. When you choose mercy, you are standing in the very center of the Kingdom of God. You are doing the thing Jesus said would change the world. When you move toward people who don’t deserve it — the ones who hurt you, betrayed you, frustrated you, or exhausted you — you are walking in Kingdom power. You’re stepping into the flow of heaven itself.

And if you say, “I don’t know how to do that,” — then look at Jesus. Study Jesus. Sit with Jesus.

Read what He did. Read what He said. Read how He loved. Read how He bled. Read what He promised. See how far He went to bring you home. The mercy He has given you is the mercy He wants to give through you.

He’s given everything. Everything.

So believe with me — really believe — that what Jesus began can still turn the world upside down. Those early Christians didn’t just talk about mercy, they built it. They created houses of mercy — literal hospitals, places of healing for the forgotten — and it changed history. That’s what mercy does. It remakes the world.

Our world is starving for mercy. Our city is starving for mercy. The Church — this church — must be a house of mercy.

That means we keep short accounts. We forgive quickly. We stay honest. We stay unified. We give each other grace. We choose patience and understanding.

Because we will hurt each other — but under the covering of Jesus, this remains a house of mercy.

So what would happen if we actually lived this? If mercy shaped the way we talked, the way we listened, the way we loved?

What if Jesus’ mercy was dropped right into the center of your hardest conversation, your broken relationship, your deepest wound?

What if the Kingdom flowed right there?

You probably already see the faces. You probably already feel the nudge.

And yes — they may not deserve it. But that’s the whole point.

Be merciful. Because when you choose mercy, you are choosing the way of Jesus. And that’s the way the world gets changed.

COMMUNION

As we come to the table, it’s fitting to remember that mercy isn’t just something God commands—it’s something He hosts. In the Old Testament, mercy had an address. It was found on the Mercy Seat, that gold-covered lid resting on top of the Ark of the Covenant. Once a year, the high priest would step past the veil and sprinkle the blood of sacrifice there, making atonement for the sins of the people. It was a holy intersection—the place where heaven and earth met, where human guilt was covered and God’s presence drew near.

But now, mercy has moved. In Jesus, the Mercy Seat has taken on flesh and blood. Paul writes that God put Christ forward as our hilastērion—our Mercy Seat. At the cross, His blood was not sprinkled on gold but poured out on wood. The place of judgment became the place of mercy. The Holy of Holies is no longer hidden behind a curtain—it’s opened wide in the body of Christ, torn for us.

And now, that mercy has a new address: it’s here, in us. Every time we come to this table, we step once again into that sacred space where God meets us not in condemnation but in compassion. The bread and the cup are not symbols of distance, but of nearness. They tell the story of a God who doesn’t just pardon our sin—He sits with us in it, lifts our head, and calls us beloved.

So as you come forward today, remember where you’re standing. You are stepping into mercy’s dwelling place. You are welcomed to the table not because you’ve earned it, but because Jesus has already opened it. As you hold the bread and the cup, see them for what they are—the body broken and the blood poured out that make you whole. Receive His mercy again, and as you do, let it reshape you into people who carry that same mercy into the world. This table is not the end of the story; it’s the beginning of becoming what we’ve received.