Justice and Mercy

          Shylock wants his pound of flesh, quite literally.  You see, in Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, Antonio has defaulted on a loan from Shylock for which he pledged a pound of his own flesh as security.   Despite pleas for mercy and an offer from Antonio’s friend Bassanio to pay twice the amount of the loan, Shylock refuses to capitulate.  “Void and empty from any dram of mercy,”[1] Shylock craves justice; he wants his pound of Antonio’s flesh.  Shylock sees justice and mercy as mutually exclusive.  Our readings tell us otherwise.     

           Today’s readings center on the theme of mercy.  In our first reading from Exodus, Moses pleads for and receives God’s mercy on behalf of the Israelites who had turned away from God.  In our second reading, Saint Paul acknowledges that even he, the foremost of sinners, was treated mercifully by God.  And in our Gospel, Jesus responds to self-righteous complaints about his association with the unrighteous through a series of lost and found parables that show how God actively seeks out the lost with an offer of mercy.   If nothing else, our readings teach us that “God’s mercy will never be exhausted.”[2] 

          We tend to struggle with the concept of mercy because it seems to conflict with our sense of justice.  Mercy, as we understand it, is showing compassion or forbearance toward someone who offends us, while justice is giving someone what he or she deserves.  Well, if someone deserves a good whoopin’, wouldn’t mercy conflict with justice?  That’s what Shylock and the elder brother in today’s parable thought.  Fortunately, God is kinder than man.  In God, justice and mercy “are not two contradictory realities, but two dimensions of a single reality that . . . culminates in the fullness of love.”[3]  In God, mercy doesn’t contradict justice, it’s the vehicle through which God’s justice is rendered.  “Mercy is not opposed to justice but rather expresses God’s way of reaching out to the sinner, offering him a new chance to look at himself, convert, and believe.”[4]

          Therein lies our first challenge.  In order to receive God’s mercy, we have to acknowledge that we actually need it and act accordingly.  Our Psalm teaches us that we need God’s mercy, and we need a humble and contrite spirit to receive it.  Humility and contrition open our hearts to the healing mercy we so desperately need.  We can never forget that in the face of merciless justice, “[h]umankind [would] merit[] death because of sin.”[5]  Our salvation comes not through any merit of our own but through the mercy that God makes available to all – even to the gravest of sinners among us - in Jesus Christ.  As hard as it may be to believe, God offered the same mercy to Saint Augustine and Saint Teresa of Calcutta has he did to Adolf Hitler and Osama Bin Laden.  But those who receive God’s mercy are those who acknowledge their sins and repent with humble and contrite hearts.  It’s only then that justice can be truly served.

          Our second challenge lies in offering mercy to others.  We tend to want mercy for ourselves, but justice for those who hurt us.  If I get caught speeding, I hope for a warning; but if you cut me off in the Flemington Circle, I want your driver’s license suspended and the words “Bad Driver” tattooed on your forehead.  We all face much deeper wounds than that, of course, and this fifteenth anniversary of the September 11^th terrorist attacks is certainly one of them; a wound so deep that makes it especially difficult to extend our mercy to the perpetrators.  But as the Duke of Venice so aptly put it, “How shalt thou hope for mercy rendering none?”[6]  How can we expect mercy for ourselves if we’re not willing to give it to others?  Fortunately, the same humility and contrition through which we receive God’s mercy gently and persistently opens our hearts and minds to an understanding that others need our mercy, too, especially the worst among us.  There will be great rejoicing among the angels of God every time we show mercy to the least of our brothers and sisters, for mercy “is twice blest:  It blesses him that gives and him that takes.”[7]

          Blessings or not, Shylock had no desire to extend mercy to Antonio.  The mysterious, young judge warned Shylock that if he insists on merciless justice, “Thou shalt have justice more than thou desirest.”[8]  Shylock still demanded justice, so the judge interpreted the contract strictly and justly:  Shylock had a right to exactly one pound of Antonio’s flesh, not an ounce more or an ounce less; and because the contract does not call for it, he may not shed a single drop of Antonio’s blood in the process.  If he does, Shylock will be put to death for murder, and his estate will be forfeited.  Merciless justice left Shylock with nothing – without repayment of the debt or a means to exact his pound of flesh.  But in the end, even poor Shylock receives a little mercy:  the Duke of Venice spares his life by pardoning him for his attempt to murder Antonio.  Shylock learned the hard way that merciless justice isn’t really justice at all.  He really wanted what we all want:  justice and mercy.

Readings:  Exodus 32: 7-11, 13-14; Psalm 51; 1 Timothy 1: 12-17; Luke 15: 1-32

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[1] William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene 1.

[2] Saint Faustina Kowalska, Divine Mercy in My Soul, Diary at 72.

[3] Pope Francis, Misericordiae Vultus (Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2015) at 20.

[4] Id. at 21.

[5] Walter Kasper, Mercy:  The Essence of the Gospel and the Key to Christian Life (New York, Paulist Press, 2014) at 55.

[6] Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice.

[7] Id.

[8] Id.