February 22: God's compassion and forgiveness

by Kathy Merkle-Raymond

Psalm 130: 1-6

I cry out to you from the depths, God—
my Lord, listen to my voice!
    Let your ears pay close attention to my request for mercy!
If you kept track of sins, God —
    my God, who would stand a chance?
But forgiveness is with you—
    that’s why you are honored.

I hope, God.
My whole being hopes,
    and I wait for God’s promise.
My whole being waits for my God —
    more than the night watch waits for morning;
    yes, more than the night watch waits for morning!

Verse 4 reminds us of God’s constant compassion and forgiveness, a gift offered freely to each of us when we embrace the Divine. Forgiveness is with you, God. Even with our foibles, cracks and soft spots, God tenderly holds us in exactly the form we were created to be. If we are open to this gentle Spirit, we can see that we are indeed “perfect” in our humanness, intentionally and awesomely designed by our Creator. And we find that the gift of forgiveness resides within us, too, when we live lives seeking spiritual wholeness. We are open to understanding and embracing those around us, without burden of criticism, bias or judgment.  

I hope, God. My whole being hopes, and I wait for your promise. I watch for the light and warmth of morning.  We wait and watch, aware of God’s goodness in each of us and in the fragility of all Creation.  How are we called to embody Hope, to offer compassion and forgiveness in even the most challenging places? I wonder what peace we might bring to others by loving and trusting them enough to show our own authentic faults and fissures?  

May our living in Hope nurture and strengthen our deepest faith in God’s reconciling love.  Amen.

from Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver  (2004)
Beside me, the gray sea was opening and shutting its wave-doors, unfolding over and over its time-ridiculing roar; I looked but I couldn't see anything through its dark-knit glare; yet don't we all know, the golden sand is there at the bottom, though our eyes have never seen it, nor can our hands ever catch it	lest we would sift it down into fractions, and facts certainties and what the soul is, also I believe I will never quite know. Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving, which is the way I walked on, softly, through the pale-pink morning light.