I want to begin with a simple story. It happened maybe 35 years ago.
My mother and my wife were driving back to Shreveport from Monroe—late at night.
This was before cellphones. Before GPS. Just two women on a quiet stretch of highway.
Suddenly, a blowout. The tire gave out. And there they were—stranded.
Thankfully, they were near an off-ramp. Down the road, they saw a business with lights still on. So they started walking.
As they made their way, an elderly gentleman and his wife pulled up beside them.
He rolled down the window and asked, “Do you ladies need help?”
They explained the situation. Said they were just going to use the phone at the little place down the road.
But the man paused. He looked at them kindly and said,
“That’s not a place good ladies like you want to go. I’ll go make the call for you.”
He didn’t know them. He didn’t owe them anything.
But he saw them. He honored them. And he acted.
That’s mercy—on a country road.
This week, Scripture gives us two powerful images of mercy.
Jonah is called to preach to Nineveh—a city drowning in sin.
But Jonah runs. He flees from the mission. Flees from the mercy.
And yet, God doesn’t let him go.
The storm, the sea, the fish—they’re not punishments.
They’re grace in disguise.
Jonah is swallowed, not to be destroyed, but to be held.
And in the belly of the fish, he prays. And God listens.
Mercy isn’t passive. It’s persistent.
It doesn’t wait for us to be perfect. It meets us in the pit.
Then Jesus tells the story of a man left for dead.
A priest walks by. A Levite walks by.
But a Samaritan—someone considered unclean, unworthy—stops.
He binds wounds. He pays the innkeeper. He promises to return.
Jesus doesn’t just admire the Samaritan. He redefines righteousness.
“Go and do likewise,” He says.
Mercy, not status.
Action, not appearance.
And here’s the thread that ties it all together:
God’s grace works through unlikely vessels.
Jonah was reluctant. The Samaritan was rejected.
And that elderly man on the road—he wasn’t a pastor. He wasn’t a prophet.
He was just someone who saw two women in need and chose to act.
He didn’t quote Scripture.
He didn’t ask for credentials.
He simply showed mercy.
That’s the Gospel in motion.
We live in a world that measures faith by attendance, by affiliation, by how well we fit the mold.
But Scripture measures it by mercy.
By the willingness to stop.
To stoop.
To serve.
So today, let mercy be your measure.
Not just in your ministry, but in your moments.
In the way you speak to the tired cashier.
In the way you listen to the grieving neighbor.
In the way you forgive the one who failed you.
Mercy is not optional.
It is the heartbeat of discipleship.
It is the light that breaks through the storm.
It is the call to “go and do likewise.”
And it just might come from the most unexpected places.
Prayer of Mercy
Lord Jesus,
You saw the wounded man and stopped.
You saw our sin and stayed.
Teach us to see with Your eyes,
to love with Your heart,
to act with Your mercy.
Amen.
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