Fr Antonio Pineda
his Sunday is Divine Mercy Sunday. It is a time when we are invited to reflect on receiving as well as giving mercy. We are invited to reflect on God’s mercy in particular, something he gives us over and over again. We have done nothing to deserve it, but he gives it to us anyway, no matter how many times we sin. He wants us to do the same for our neighbours The question is, can we give mercy, especially to those who don’t deserve it?
A story I read recently brings home so powerfully the message of mercy. It took place a long time ago, in France, during the years following the French Revolution. It’s about an old man who walked with a limp. He had been a respected soldier in Napoleon’s army, but battle wounds had ended his promising career. He travelled from village to village, begging, which he hated to do. He arrived in a village in Western France one evening and made his way to the steps of the church. He was desperate enough to take coins from church-goers, but he despised them all the same for believing in a God who could have permitted the terrible crimes he had witnessed.
The next morning the priest found the beggar huddled on the steps in a worn blanket and, after Mass, invited him to come to his house for breakfast. The beggar felt repulsed, as he always did when taking charity, but hunger and the kindness on the priest’s face made him accept. The stranger stayed there for several days. The priest’s kindness never waned. The beggar had never been loved so much, so selflessly. And he had never felt so miserable.
Finally, the beggar asked for confession. One of his sins stood out from all the rest. The stranger had been the most trusted servant of an aristocratic family. The head of that family had unsuccessfully rebelled against the revolution. His wife and six children entrusted their lives and fortunes to the servant. But for a pouch of gold coins, he betrayed his master’s wife and children and watched them go one-by-one to the guillotine. Only the youngest child somehow escaped, and no one had seen him since.
With tears of shame, the stranger finished his confession. The priest gave him absolution, raised him up and embraced him. As the beggar’s eyes lifted, he saw a portrait on the wall behind — the portrait of the family he had betrayed to their deaths. Shocked, he pulled back from the priest. “Who are you?” he asked. “Where did you get that painting?”
The priest smiled. “I am the youngest son, my friend. And I forgive you.”
Our greatest treasure as Catholics is the revelation of Christ, a revelation of God’s boundless mercy, the only force strong enough to penetrate the walls of pain, anger, fear, and resentment that we have built around our hearts.