ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½

Today marks the end of the ‘First 100 days’ of the Trump administration. It was Franklin Roosevelt who introduced the phrase: he used it on the radio in 1933 as he promised urgent action to a country in the grip of the great depression.

Since then the hundred days has become a way of measuring the initial success of a new government: are promises translating into policy? Is power in safe hands?

But on this 100th day, I want to cast my mind back to day one. In her sermon before his inauguration, Bishop Mariann Budde asked President Trump to be merciful. Specifically she asked mercy for people who were ‘scared’ of his policies. Some lauded her, others condemned.

To ask for mercy as a public political virtue involves risk. To offer it does as well.

What if someone takes advantage? How can I make space for the claims of others, without compromising my own?

For Christians any mercy is modelled on the mercy of God – if we show mercy it’s because we have received it. We can all have it, and we all need it.

Mercy is more than simple reprieve – it cannot be separated from justice: it requires relationship and context, care for and knowledge of one another. Joseph showed it at the very beginning of Jesus’ life, refusing to expose Mary to the law when he discovered she was pregnant.

Pontius Pilate, a ruler with an eye to the will of the mob if ever there was one, released the criminal Barrabus instead of Jesus to quiet the crowd. He used that pardon to secure power and evade responsibility. That doesn’t feel like mercy to me, but did it, to Barrabus?

Early 20th century French poet Anatole France observed that ‘..The law, in its majestic equality, forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges...’ but we know ending rough sleeping might just take more than enforcing laws against it. In an imperfect world, mercy can be a way of moving things forward, the adaptive edge by which reform happens.

Scripture tells of Jesus appearing to Peter after Easter and giving him a clear instruction: ‘feed my lambs.’ This was the same Peter the Roman Catholic church looks to as its first Pope, and the directive for mercy was almost the last instruction Jesus gave.

As a public virtue, mercy might mean I do not have to assert all my rights every day, and that my care for others does not stop where the law says a minimum standard has been met.

There will be another 100 days of the American administration, and 100 after that: but the thing about mercy is that we don’t have to wait for Presidents or anyone else to model it – its something we can start learning to cultivate today.

Show less