A Lent Study: Week 4 - Mercy

“The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.” (Exodus 34:6)

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us…” (Ephesians 2:4)

The Hebrew word Ḥesed is often translated as mercy — a word with no single English comparison. Hesed means mercy, steadfast love, covenant, loyalty, faithful kindness, and unbreakable commitment. God chooses it when He reveals His character to Moses: “abounding in ḥesed” (Exo. 34:6). This is not sentimental softness; it is the fierce love that refuses to let go. Hesed is the reason God keeps returning to His people, even when they wander (Deut. 7:9; Ps. 103:8). It is the refrain of Israel’s worship: “His ḥesed endures forever” (Ps. 136).

Mercy is not God’s reaction to human failure, but His nature. He's not letting us off things we've done wrong because He loves us; it is who He is. God's first words about Himself are not “I am powerful” or “I am holy,” but “I am merciful,” challenging the perception of a judge reluctantly showing kindness, into a compassionately cloaked Father.

In the Old Testament, ḥesed embodies God’s presence through slavery, rescuing Israel from Egypt, sustaining their wilderness, forgiving failures, and repeatedly renewing their covenant. It is the compassionate loyalty that remains when all else breaks. It doesn't overlook sin or suspends anger by simply forgiving it. It is the love from a God who's always with us. 

Although Mercy appears in the New Testament, it also becomes flesh. The Greek word Eleos means mercy, compassion, tender action — a love that constantly moves. Jesus embodies eleos in everything He does. He heals the blind (Matt. 20:30–34), welcomes sinners (Luke 15), touches the untouchable (Mark 1:40–41), and restores the broken, and teaches parables, like the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:33) and the prodigal son (Luke 15:20). Mercy is not an idea for Jesus; it's His very being. Moving from place to place. From one act to the next. Jesus doesn't turn mercy on and off like a tap. It's a river flowing, not stopping at each boulder, turn, or drop. 

Paul takes this further: “God, being rich in mercy…” (Eph. 2:4). Mercy becomes salvation — not earned or deserved, but given freely. The cross itself is the ultimate expression of mercy: God absorbs our brokenness out of love, not obligation. Yet, mercy doesn't erase God's anger or avoid and ignore punishment, injustice, or Jesus suffering so we don't have to. It becomes a route to break down the walls that stop God's consistent presence in our lives by entering the darkest human realities and refusing to leave us there alone. 

In the ancient world, Roman philosophers said mercy was “the disease of the soul” and “the failure of a strong man," making mercy a flaw. However, Jesus says, “Blessed are the merciful," making it a sign of maturity, not naivety; the sign of Christlikeness, not compromise, detached pity or indifference. Mercy becomes the shape of our lives. Jesus says, “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36), inviting us all to participate in God's character, to soften what has hardened, and let mercy become our instinct.

Lent places mercy before us here. After dust, repentance, and wilderness, we arrive at the question: What kind of God meets us in these places? The answer is mercy. Mercy meets us in our dust and ashes, welcomes us when we turn in repentance, and sustains our wilderness. Mercy prepares us for the cross and becomes the antidote to shame — the voice that says, “I see you, I move toward you, I will always stay with you.”

Today mercy is different. It's a weapon. Mercy is something we give and hope to receive. Mercy is an act of leniency, pity, an exception to how we believe we should treat people. While justice is fair and right, mercy becomes optional and nice. It's a personality trait, private virtue, an act, and a sign of generosity, but very rarely something we embody. Lent, nevertheless, invites us to see others as God sees them — with tenderness, patience, and faithful love. It asks us to forgive, restore, and act, again and again, even when it costs us. It tells us to let everything else fall away until our presence is the only thing we can offer. Mercy is the future of the world, God's kingdom, and the calling of those who belong to it. It is God made visible in the world through us, and around us.

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A reflection

Mercy is the steady, covenant‑keeping love of God that bends down, lifts up, restores, and refuses to ever let go. It is the love we receive and the love we are called to embody, give, and show not just in Lent, but beyond.

Questions

1. Where does the biblical vision of mercy challenge or reshape your understanding of God’s character? (How does this collide with or comfort you?)

2. What does mercy look like in real life — in relationships, failures, conflicts, or the places where compassion feels costly or complicated? (Where is mercy easy, and where is it difficult?)

3. How might Lent invite you not only to receive God’s mercy but to practise it — to embody mercy in your life and the world around you in ways that stretch, soften, or transform? (What might mercy ask of you in this season?)

A prayer

God of mercy, whose steadfast love endures forever, turn our hearts toward Your compassion. Where we feel unworthy, hardened, and distant, remind us of Your ḥesed, soften us, and draw us near. Teach us to receive Your mercy with humility and to extend it outwards. Shape us into people who reflect Your heart, and let mercy become an extension of you in lent and beyond. Amen.