Thoughts on mercy
After Bishop Budde's sermon on January 21
The office of the National Cathedral has received copious hate mail today. Yesterday, Bishop Marian Budde [pronounced: “maryann buddy”], Episcopal bishop of the Diocese of Washington D.C., preached a sermon in front of and to the President as part of a prayer service, which you can view online (it’s all over at this point) or read, below, where I have included it.
I invite you to consider joining me in writing to the National Cathedral and Bishop Budde with your support and affirmation as a way to counter that hate, both for her and for God’s cosmos: Bishop Marian Budde / Episcopal Church House / Mount St Alban / Washington DC 20016-50941
Or call or email: (202) 537-6200 / info@cathedral.org
The backlash to this sermon has been reactionary and brutal. If you read what the bishop said, it’s hard to find the “hate” or partisan politics, or any need for Bishop Budde to apologize for what she said, here. I believe part of this reaction is because this was a woman preacher - certainly this kind of shaming about appearance and general ridicule would not be thrown at a male bishop.
But I can’t help but wonder if there also is something particular and peculiar about the word "mercy." Even something incendiary about it. It is something different and almost arcane to ask another human being to show mercy. It is an acknowledgement that the person has power. It is not a confrontation over the nature of that power; it is not a demand or a debate. Rather, "mercy" is an invitation to see and to have compassion. To let go of power, even. To show weakness and softness.
I'm not saying it is some kind of magic spell - I doubt Bishop Budde was under any illusion that pleading for the president's mercy would change much.
But pleading for mercy feels different than pleading for justice, equality, or for him to do the "right thing," whatever one thinks that may be. Practicing mercy means to center our thoughts and actions in compassion and tenderness rather than righteousness. Righteousness and anger can feel more powerful and they offer a kind of thrill and hit of adrenalin inside your body.
"Mercy" is heart-centered. It makes me think of the old phrase "to have pity upon," in the sense of seeing the need and weakness in another not as an occasion for a fight for dominance or punishment, but for grace and service. To give and show care not out of guilt or because the other person is worthy of it, but out of sheer generosity and kindness. I feel like this word had some power in medieval Christianity that it doesn't so much, now. By the way, "mercy" comes from the same word as "merci" in French, which means "thank you." So maybe mercy is also about thanksgiving? Thanksgiving for our mutual humanity, our shared weakness, or mortality.
Mercy is an old word and one we don't use much. It is a word I will be meditating more on.
This Sunday’s reading from 1 Corinthians is about honoring what and who seems weak, with care and respect, both in our own bodies and in our communities. It is worth a read in light of considering mercy - and a call to all of us about how to live as neighbors and citizens. There’s some gold in here, folks:
The members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. (1 Corinthians 12:22-26)
Blessings, Heidi
(Scroll down for Bishop Budde’s sermon. Really, read it. It’s long, but it’s so good.)
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SERMON OF MARIAN BUDDE, Episcopal Bishop of Washington, at the National Cathedral's interfaith Service of Prayer for the Nation, with President Donald Trump and company in attendance, January 21, 2025
As a country we have gathered this morning to pray for unity as a people and a nation. Not for agreement, political or otherwise. But for the kind of unity that fosters community across diversity and division. A unity that serves the common good.
Unity in this sense is a threshold requirement for people to live in freedom and together in a free society. It is the solid rock, as Jesus said in this case, upon which to build a nation. It is not conformity. It is not victory. It is not polite weariness or passive passivity born of exhaustion. Unity is not partisan.
Rather unity is a way of being with one another -- that it encompasses and respects our differences that teaches us to hold multiple perspectives and life experiences as valid and worthy of respect. That enables us in our communities and in the halls of power to genuinely care for one another. Even when we disagree.
Those across our country who dedicate their lives or who volunteer to help others in times of natural disaster, often at great risk to themselves, never ask those they are helping for whom they voted in a past election or what positions they hold on a particular issue. And we are at our best when we follow their example.
For unity, at times is, sacrificial in the way that love is sacrificial -- a giving of ourselves for the sake of another. In his sermon on the Mount, Jesus of Nazareth exhorts us to love, not only our neighbors, but to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us. To be merciful as our God is merciful. To forgive others as God forgives us. And Jesus went out of his way to welcome those whom his society deemed as outcasts.
Now I grant you that unity and this broad expansive sense is aspirational and it's a lot to pray for. It's a big ask of our God -- worthy of the best of who we are and who we can be. But there isn't much to be gained by our prayers if we act in ways that further deepen the divisions among us.
Our scriptures are quite clear about this -- that God is never impressed with prayers when actions are not informed by them. Nor does God spare us from the consequences of our deeds which always, in the end, matter more than the words we pray.
Those of us gathered here in the Cathedral, we're not naive about the realities of politics. When power and wealth and competing interests are at stake; when views of what America should be are in conflict; , when there are strong opinions across a spectrum of possibilities and starkly different understandings of what the right course of action is -- there will be winners and losers when votes are cast; decisions made that set the course of public policy; and the prioritization of resources.
It goes without saying that in a democracy not everyone's particular hopes and dreams can be realized in a given legislative session or a presidential term. Not even in a generation. Which is to say: Not everyone's specific prayers for those of us who are people of prayer; Not everyone's prayers will be answered in the way we would like. But for some, the loss of their hopes and dreams will be far more than political defeat, but instead a loss of equality and dignity and their livelihoods.
Given this then, is true unity among us even possible? And why should we care about it?
Well, I hope we care. I hope we care because the culture of contempt that has become normalized in this country threatens to destroy us. We are all bombarded daily with messages from what sociologists now call the outrage industrial complex Some of that driven by external forces whose interests are furthered by a polarized America. Contempt fuels political campaigns and social media. And many profit from that. But it's a worrisome, it's a dangerous way to lead a country.
I'm a person of faith surrounded by people of faith. And with God's help, I believe that unity in this country is possible. Not perfectly, for we are imperfect people and an imperfect union. But sufficient enough to keep us all believing in and working to realize the ideals of the United States of America. Ideals expressed in the Declaration of Independence with its assertion of innate human equality and dignity.
And we are right to pray for God's help as we seek unity, for we need God's help. But only if we ourselves are willing to tend to the foundations upon which unity depends. Like Jesus's analogy of building a house of faith on the rock of His teachings as opposed to building a house on sand. The foundations we need for unity must be sturdy enough to withstand the many storms that threaten it.
And so what are they, the foundations of unity? Drawing from our sacred traditions and texts, let me suggest that there are at least three:
The first foundation for unity is honoring the inherent dignity of every human being. Which is, as all the faiths represented here affirm the birthright of all people as children of our one God. In public discourse. Honoring each other's dignity means refusing to mock, or discount, or demonize those with whom we differ. Choosing instead to respect, respectfully debate our differences, and whenever possible, to seek common ground. And if common ground is not possible dignity demands that we remain true to our convictions without contempt for those who hold convictions of their own.
The second foundation for unity is honesty -- in both private conversation and public discourse. If we're not willing to be honest there's no use in praying for unity because our actions work against the prayers themselves. We might for a time experience a false sense of unity among some but not the sturdier, broader unity that we need to address the challenges that we face. Now to be fair we don't always know where the truth lies. And there's a lot working against the truth now. But when we do know, when we know what is true, it's incumbent upon us to speak the truth even when -- especially when -- it costs us.
And the third and last foundation I'll mention today, a foundation for unity, is humility which we all need because we are all fallible human beings. We make mistakes. We say and do things that we later regret. We have our blind spots and our biases. And perhaps we are most dangerous to ourselves and others when we are persuaded, without a doubt, that we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong. Because then we are just a few steps from labeling ourselves as “the good people” versus “the bad people.” And the truth is that we're all people. We're both capable of good and bad.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn once astutely observed that the line separating good and evil passes not through states, not between classes, nor between political parties, but right through every human heart, through all human hearts. And the more we realize this the more room we have within ourselves for humility and openness to one another across our differences because in fact we are more like one another than we realize. And we need each other.
Unity is relatively easy to pray for on occasions of great solemnity. It's a lot harder to realize when we're dealing with real differences in our private lives and in the public arena. But without unity. We're building our nation's house on sand. And with a commitment to unity that incorporates diversity and transcends disagreement and with the solid foundations of dignity, honesty, and humility that such unity requires, we can do our part and in our time to realize the ideals and the dream of America.
Let me make one final plea. Mr. President.
Millions have put their trust in you. And as you told the nation yesterday you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country. And we're scared now.
There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican and independent families -- some who fear for their lives.
And the people, the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meatpacking plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants, and work the night shifts in hospitals. They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation. But the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues … and temples.
I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. And that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here.
Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger for we were all once strangers in this land. May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being; to speak the truth to one another in love. and walk humbly with each other and our God. For the good of all people in this nation and the world.
Amen.
See also: The Website of the National Cathedral
Thanks Heidi. I appreciate all of this. I’ve written both the Cathedral and the Bishop.
Thank you for this, Heidi!