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Mercy seems soft in a hard world—that is, until you need it. When just deserts are yours to be served, the taste of mercy is unbelievably good, like the taste of freedom, relief, a fresh start. But if you haven’t experienced it for yourself, the whole thing can seem a little airy, an idealistic concept whose meaning proves elusive. What is this thing we call mercy? Essentially, it’s when an offended party could enact a judgment against their offender, and instead they choose not to. It’s the action—the inaction—of relenting.
In this issue, we push that claim and find it has no limits, bringing you stories of mercy, both vertical and horizontal, major and mundane. The scholar Kendall Cox offers a close read of the Prodigal Son parable, and author Francis Spufford makes the case that the existence of everything is mercy. Dianne Collard writes of how, after a radical act of forgiveness, she worked to have her son’s killer released from prison. Katelyn Beaty writes about mercy in the internet age, especially for oneself, while Kelsey Marden sheds light on the faith motivating workers from the International Rescue Committee. Other essays teach us about the quality of mercy from Shakespeare, Moby Dick, and of course, Mr. Miyagi. We have some percipient interviews, too: with New York Times columnist Esau McCaulley; author Alex Mar, about her book Seventy Times Seven; and Robert Leon Davis, who was a cop turned fugitive of the law for more than twenty years before a powerful conversion brought him home. We hope that somewhere in these pages you feel that feeling of being off the hook. That you enjoy your just deserts, because they are sweet.
