Million Dollar Mercy in Action

The ten students waiting for me down on the story rug were an ugly tangle of accusations and rebuttals, tears and indignation. Only moments earlier, they'd returned from a contentious game of Capture the Flag. Gym class was over, but the factions remained, and the hostility was ear-shattering.

Usually under such circumstances, I would deliver a scathing speech to the whole group, slicing to the root of the squabbles and bullying a confession out of the offenders. Today, I found myself clothed in the gentleness I've been praying for! And for once, I saw the opportunity to apply some earlier learning instead of seeing the interruption of my schedule.

See, today's chapel had centered on Matthew 5:7: "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy." We talked about needing mercy and giving it to others. (Last week, we compared God's million-dollar mercy to our ten-dollar mercy, since receiving His mercy enables us to give it to others.) It's a simple concept; but like a lot of Jesus' directions, it doesn't come naturally. If first graders are representative of humanity in general, wanting your offender's pound of flesh is what's natural. Showing mercy is supernatural.

"It looks like some of you had an opportunity to show mercy to some of your classmates today. If you were honest, do you think you were merciful?" They squirmed, and I waited. Ira was the first to admit to an ungracious attitude, and he apologized to the people he'd yelled at. Immediately, the other tender-hearts of the room followed suit.

Ilsa's apology was simple, but significant: "Peyton, I'm sorry I said that you cheated." I noticed because Peyton's voiciferous denials were the type I see when he IS guilty. Knowing him well, I figured that he had cheated, and that Ilsa knew it.

I carefully mentioned that sometimes we all feel tempted during games, some people to be angry, some to cheat, etc. And I left it at that. While I was thinking about how to deal further, Ilsa got up from her spot on the rug and went to sit beside Peyton, sharing her blanket with him. It was an unmistakeable token of friendship from the most sought-after member of the class, an act of mercy to someone who, with all his huffing and puffing, was far from deserving it right then.

I was floored. I was still trying to convict him. She, on the other hand, was doing exactly what we'd discussed in chapel this morning: giving someone a second chance even when he doesn't deserve it.

Even more stunning was Peyton's response. Under the weight of her kindness, he suddenly broke. "I did cheat," he confessed. "I really wanted to win. I put my foot over the line, and then I lied and said I didn't. I'm sorry, everybody." By now, they were ready to be merciful in return, and friendships were once again restored.

It was a rich moment, one I will remember for a long time...