Exodus 32:7-14; Psalm 51:1-11; I Timothy 1:12-17; Luke 15:1-10
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
In the book of Acts, we are introduced to a man named Saul—a fierce persecutor of Christians. Our first encounter with him comes when he oversees the stoning of Stephen, the first Christian martyr. That very day Saul begins a severe persecution against the church in Jerusalem. He goes from house to house, dragging off men and women and throwing them into prison. As Acts describes it, he “breathed threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.” He even secures permission from the high priest to travel to Damascus so he can hunt down followers of “The Way” and bring them back to Jerusalem for trial (Acts 9:1–2).
But on the road to Damascus, Saul is blinded by a heavenly light and hears the voice of God: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” (Acts 9:4). For three days he remains blind, neither eating nor drinking. Finally, God sends a disciple named Ananias to lay hands on him. Ananias is reluctant—he knows Saul’s reputation for violence. Yet God insists: “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.” (Acts 9:15). When Ananias obeys, Saul’s sight is restored. He rises, is baptized, and begins proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Talk about a conversion experience!
Saul becomes Paul, whose missionary journeys take him from Jerusalem to Rome. He establishes churches in Corinth, Ephesus, Philippi, Galatia, and beyond. He suffers persecution, imprisonment, and, according to tradition, is eventually executed in Rome by beheading. What we know for certain is that Saul the persecutor becomes Paul the preacher—all because of the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ.
In today’s letter to Timothy, Paul describes himself as a “blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence,” yet he receives mercy from God. Instead of receiving the punishment he deserved for persecuting the followers of Jesus, stoning Stephen, and imprisoning others illegally, Paul is spared. That is mercy: not getting what we deserve. Let me say that again—mercy is not getting what we deserve. It is God withholding judgment or punishment even when it is warranted.
We see this same mercy in the story of Moses and God’s conversation on Mount Sinai. God declares that the Israelites—whom He calls “stiff-necked”—deserve destruction for their disobedience. He even distances Himself from them, saying to Moses, “Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely.” God plans to consume them in wrath. But Moses intercedes. He reminds God of His covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He appeals not to a god of transaction, like the Egyptian deities who must be bribed with offerings, but to the God of steadfast love. This God cares for His people and shows them mercy. Because of Moses’ intercession, God changes His mind and spares Israel.
We see the same pattern in Jesus’ parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. The sheep is lost by its own wandering. The coin is misplaced through carelessness. Either way, responsibility could be assigned. Yet the shepherd risks the safety of the ninety-nine to find the one, and the woman sweeps the whole house to recover the coin. These are acts of sheer mercy. The lost deserved abandonment; instead they are sought and found.
Mercy is God’s refusal to abandon or condemn us, even when we have gone astray.
But Paul insists it is not only mercy he has received—it is also grace. He writes, “The grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.” (1 Tim. 1:14). If mercy is not getting what we deserve, grace is getting what we don’t deserve.
Grace is God freely pouring out blessing, favor, and love we could never earn.
Grace is the rejoicing when the sheep and coin are found—not an “I told you so” of judgement, but a celebration. Grace is what strengthens Paul to preach in dangerous territory. Grace is what Ananias demonstrates when he lays hands on Saul and calls him “Brother.” Grace is the starting point of our relationship with God, who names us beloved children.
The difference between mercy and grace is subtle but important.
· Mercy removes the negative: it spares us from the punishment we deserve.
· Grace adds the positive: it bestows the blessings we could never create for ourselves.
Paul understood both, because he experienced both. As Saul, his life was marked by judgment, condemnation, and persecution. His zeal was an activism cloaked in rigid tradition rather than centered in the God of love. He was more interested in excluding others than in extending mercy or grace. His rhetoric was filled with fear and division. To the Jewish authorities, he was bold, courageous, and unwavering in defense of the law. But his conversion did not come through argument or even through the witness of Christians—it came directly from God and was nurtured by others.
Notice how his transformation is confirmed not in isolation but in community. Saul does not regain his sight until Ananias, a humble disciple, lays hands on him. The one who had every reason to fear Saul approaches him in vulnerability and obedience, calling him “Brother Saul.” It is in this act of mercy and grace that Saul begins his life as Paul.
We are not so different from that early church, wrestling with competing visions of faithfulness. Today, Christians struggle with deep divisions between conservative and progressive values. The loudest voices, on both sides, often emphasize fear, exclusion, or culture wars rather than the reconciling love of Christ. Whether we are tempted toward judgment or triumphalism, Paul’s story reminds us that transformation happens only through mercy and grace.
This past week, the high-profile conservative Christian and political activist, Charlie Kirk was assassinated. His death is a moment of great tragedy. Whether one agreed with Kirk’s politics or not, his death along with the deaths of other political personalities raises questions about violence, division, partisanship—and how Christians are called to respond when someone, even an ideological adversary, dies under such circumstances. In reflecting on mercy and grace, his assassination is a stark reminder: violence does not belong in the Christian way. Our response as Christians cannot be grounded in partisanship, ideology, or hardened hearts and judgment. It must be grounded in mercy and expressed in grace.
Mercy and grace are not abstract ideas. They are embodied in vulnerable acts of humility and courage. They are practiced when we risk relationship instead of retreating into division. They are revealed when we lay aside loyalty to ideology and choose instead the way of Christ.
Paul was an activist, yes—and transformed into an apostle. Once a persecutor, he became a proclaimer of the good news. He discovered that mercy is the opposite of cruelty and reclaimed that divine mercy as the critique against the dominance of violence. He learned that grace is the power to live and to serve. Like Paul, we are called to embody mercy in our own lives and, in so doing, discover the abundance of grace.
Amen.