"I'm an alcoholic."
That's what the man my street team and I met at the library confessed. This was only after two minutes of light-hearted conversation.
I got to know bits and pieces of his life: he had a son named Michael, his daughter was expecting a baby, and he used to work for a roofing company. As the minutes passed, he began to reveal parts of his past that I could tell hurt him deeply.
"I'm an alcoholic, I smoke. I tell myself today's the day I'm going to quit, and it never happens...but I'm not on a pity pot."
He kept sprinkling this into the conversation, as we tried to get to know him better. He definitely wasn't hiding his brokenness, but I got a sense that he was still trying to make sure to maintain a sense of dignity in front of us.
"I'm not on a pity pot."
And oh, how much did I see myself in him in that moment.
It's a vicious cycle: you make bad decisions, and/or people hurt you (either unintentionally or intentionally) and leave you badly wounded. The experience sucks the life out of you, and you're limping around, trying to control the bleeding. Maybe you feel comfortable enough to let certain people see this (perhaps even the ones who hurt you especially if you love them), but you have to convince them not to get in there and help you heal because "it's not your job, and I can deal with this on my own." You do this to guard yourself.
But really, you're just hoping that someone will see you in your brokenness, genuinely love you where you are, and be merciful to you.
I completely understand where this man is coming from. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want people to patronize me, to do things for me just because they feel bad. I know this would hurt me even more because I don't want fake relationships.
If I just stop there, though, and not let anyone show mercy to me, I'm giving into pride.
It'll take humility to be honest with myself, with God, and the people He's placed in my life for my healing that I am hurting and I need to be reminded of my dignity. That shame, suffering, and even poor decisions aren't the only things I have. I desperately wanted to convey to our new friend that he was more than the sins he committed and the sins committed against him. I just wish that he could see himself the way I saw him--the way Jesus sees him--as precious human being, deserving of freedom and joy.
Sure, I was heartbroken with the things he told us about himself, but in the midst of the shame he carried, I saw beauty simply because he is a human being created in God's image and likeness. And he deserved so much more than this. Pity and mercy are two different things, I think. Pity is sorrow over an injustice. But it should never just stop there. Mercy is a gracious act of love in response to the wrong, because it comes from recognizing that an injustice has been done to a human being made with the dignity of God's image and likeness. It is an attempt, out of love, to help the person be restored once more to the life God meant for them to live.
It is saying to the offender, or the offended: "You're meant for so much more than this, and I want to help you realize that."
I mean, we call it Divine Mercy, not Divine Pity.
Even though our circumstances and sins may convince us of the lie that we are worthless, they can't erase the innate desire to be understood, and to be loved unconditionally. There's something within us, even in the lies we accept about ourselves, that desperately hopes we can be loved in, and past the wounds. It's buried deep down beneath all the pain, but if we're honest with ourselves, it's there. And there's already one Person who completely fills those deepest desires.
Friends, let us act as Jesus' hands and feet of Divine Mercy (not Pity) to those around us. Some deserve it, but maybe some don't. Give it anyway, because Jesus wants it for them. We're no better than the other; we are all destitute in some way, whether materially or spiritually. And ask for the grace to be humble to admit it for yourself too.