The Guts of Mercy

I once read an Advent meditation from a Duke Divinity School professor on the Benedictus, the prophesy of Zechariah in the Bible's gospel of Luke. The professor explains that, rather than God's "tender mercy," a more literal translation of the text reads "the guts of mercy of our God." The memory of that phrase struck me hard this week. Lately our most primal emotions, our gut feelings, have been dug up, and now we're seeing the consequences poke their heads like earthworms through the surface, especially in America. Not all of these consequences are bad, though. You need worms to make rich soil. Also, they're fun to catch because they're slimy and wiggly, but that's beside the point. For me, the past few weeks' biggest lesson was that the most powerful acts of compassion are the most tangible, the ones that expose the guts of mercy: the courage, the labor, and the physical presence it often takes to be truly merciful.

One Saturday afternoon, on the heels of Donald Trump's executive order restricting entry into the U.S. from certain predominantly Muslim countries, I attended a gathering at my church that brought together Christians and Muslims from surrounding mosques. It was intended as a gesture of friendship and tolerance, but also a chance to discuss the differences and common ground between our two faiths. I left a plate of yogurt-covered dates on the food table (it was the best I could do--turns out I can't even make brownies without screwing up), and joined one of several small groups seated in circles around the room. There were no hashtags, no memes, no Internet trolls. Just people, eating and talking. We weren't looking at the balls of light and words and pixels that bounce off the screens of our various devices every day. We weren't typing fiery comments with trigger-happy fingers. We were looking into people's eyes and faces, and speaking with our voices. We had nothing to hide behind that would allow us to pretend that any of us weren't real people.

The most striking thing that came up in my group's discussion was the fact that many people who become radicalized and commit acts of terror or other crimes do so because they've been deprived of their most basic needs: food, shelter, companionship, a sense of belonging, etc. We especially focused on the subject of food and sharing meals, and how much power it has to bring people together for such a simple act. The conclusion was that perhaps the first step toward caring for others and encouraging peace is helping to meet those essential needs for health and survival. In other words, fight the violent instincts poisoning human politics and rhetoric by going for the guts--fulfilling the hunger, thirst, and lack of warmth that society ignores, closing the distance between people with the intimacy of face-to-face encounters. Mass communication is a powerful and necessary tool, but I believe it's only the beginning of resistance, and I doubt it will ever replace the reality of breaking bread together, or personally presenting a gift.

That morning, I had another experience that emphasized my first point. As an assignment for my job, I got video footage of the annual African American Cultural Celebration at the North Carolina Museum of History. It's a really impressive event overall, but my favorite part was definitely the opening procession, which paid tribute to the Jonkonnu celebrations practiced by enslaved African Americans in North Carolina. It didn't celebrate "diversity" as an abstract concept preached in company training videos or slapped on a motivational poster. It was the beauty of diversity made manifest to the senses, in colors, singing, shouting, drumbeats. You couldn't look away from the joy, the power, and the pride being expressed. I had a somewhat similar experience that evening when I attended a friend's Chinese New Year party. I could write a whole post just about the food--the steaming hot pot full of greens and fish and beef, the mountains of dumplings we attempted to fold and pleat into neat little pockets. There were guests there from around the world, and by the end of the night, we were so full and satisfied that we couldn't have fought about anything even if we'd wanted to. The conversations that happened over the food brought their own kind of satisfaction. There are other recent experiences I could mention that would further the point, but they're highly personal and not quite ready to be shared here. Maybe someday.

Physical experiences outside our cultural bubbles and daily routines, face-to-face meetings, and the will to immerse ourselves in them--these are the guts of understanding, and the wind that pushes our sails further toward progress.