Homilies
The Measure of Mercy
Holy Spirit, take my words and speak to each of us according to our need.
Once again this week our readings present us with a dichotomy: words which both comfort and challenge us. The final chapter of Revelation ends with Christ’s majestic promise: “See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work.” These words remind us that our lives matter—not just in eternity, but now. What we do with our choices, our relationships, our actions, is not forgotten. We are not drifting through time unnoticed. We are seen, loved and called but we are also accountable.
But what kind of "works" are we to be repaid for? Ephesians 2:8-9 tells us ‘For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.’ So, what does Christ value?
This question led me to consider a familiar but similarly challenging line in the Lord’s Prayer: “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”
In praying these words, we ask God to deal with us as we deal with others. We are saying: “Let the measure of mercy I show be the measure I receive.” This is more than a hope—it’s a mirror. It’s humbling. Perhaps even unsettling.
But it is also freeing because here’s the revelation within it: to live without forgiveness—without mercy—is to damage ourselves.
To withhold forgiveness is not a neutral act. It corrodes. It burrows. It binds us to pain. When we withhold forgiveness, we are not only chaining others to their wrongs, we are also chaining ourselves to our wounds. When we do forgive others, we do not erase the past, and we don’t excuse harm. But we choose to stop carrying its weight. We let go of the need to retaliate or to be constantly vindicated. Forgiveness is not weakness. It is strength. And it is a path to healing.
There may be times when we do not always agree with what’s happening around us. There will always be things we wish were different—in our families, our workplaces, our communities, and even in our churches- and nostalgia and wistfulness rather than practicalities can often play a part in that – which doesn’t make it wrong, but if we cannot change those things directly, and yet we keep fighting them inwardly—through blame, through emotional manipulation, through bitterness or passive aggression—we will end up only wounding ourselves. Resentment doesn’t give us power. It robs us of peace.
There is a better way. It’s not silence or avoidance. No—we can and should name injustice. We can express dissatisfaction. We can speak honestly about what we hope for. But we must learn to do so in a way that releases rather than holds on, that speaks truth without clinging to pain. We should do it with accountability and responsibility in mind. We cannot demand change or apportion blame and then sit passively without offering ourselves as part of whatever the solution might be.
There is a phrase that I mentioned last week in my sermon that is especially relevant again today—“a generous orthodoxy.” This is a way of being that recognises the legitimacy of more than one way of getting things right. It is a humble posture that says: “You and I may not agree, but I can still love you. I can still listen. I can still let go of what would harm me if I held it too tightly.”
A generous orthodoxy allows us to live in a world of difference without becoming defensive or bitter. It lets us accept that we may not always win the argument or get our way—but we can still be people of peace. We can still reflect Christ.
And so, when Jesus says in Revelation, “My reward is with me, to repay according to everyone’s work,” perhaps among the greatest works He looks for are these: hearts that forgive, souls that do not harden, people who choose mercy when they could choose resentment.
There is an immense power in letting go. In forgiving others, we do not become lesser—we become more whole. And we become more Christ-like.
So today, I want to urge us to examine ourselves. Are we carrying a wound—perhaps old, perhaps fresh—that we can ask God for the courage to release it. Not necessarily because the other person deserves it, but because we deserve freedom from it and to regain our peace -because our souls deserve rest.
Let us be people of generous grace, of generous orthodoxy, and of generous hearts. And when Christ comes with His reward, may He find in us a reflection of His mercy. Amen.