The Mirror Cannot Measure Mercy
Chapter 1: What the Funeral Program Left Out
The wind kept turning the corners of the funeral program as people stood outside the church. Inside, the minister had spoken about a dependable man, a hard worker, and a neighbor who could be counted on. All of it was true. But near the parking lot, his grown son told a quieter story. His father had been stubborn, sometimes painfully so. There were years when they barely spoke. Then, late in life, the older man had begun calling on Sunday afternoons, not to give advice but to listen. The son said those calls had given them something neither had expected to recover: time together without a fight.
I thought about that story when I heard a line spoken by the character portraying Jimmy Stewart in a film about his life. He rejects the idea that fame makes someone like a god and says he would rather look in the mirror and see a good man. It is a moving thought, and my video about Jimmy Stewart’s words on fame and being a good man considers why character matters more than attention. But a funeral reminds me that a mirror can show only one angle. It cannot show the people we have comforted or those we still need to ask for forgiveness.
That is why finding a lasting sense of worth through Jesus Christ matters more than trying to reach a private verdict of “good enough.” We can become so occupied with deciding whether we like the person looking back at us that we forget what goodness is for. It is not a prize awarded after a successful personal inspection. Christian character is meant to become love that reaches another person. The question changes from “Can I admire myself?” to “Is the love of Christ changing how I live with others?”
I do not mean that examining our conscience is unimportant. It matters greatly. There are days when we need to acknowledge that we have been selfish or careless, and there are times when we need to make amends. Yet self-examination can go wrong when it becomes an endless trial, with us serving as prosecutor, witness, and judge. Some people excuse everything they do. Others cannot forgive themselves for anything. Neither approach leaves much room for the grace Jesus came to give.
In John 15, Jesus tells His disciples to remain in His love and to love one another as He has loved them. He does not ask them to spend their lives polishing an image of moral success. He calls them into a relationship that bears fruit. That fruit grows in the difficult space between what we believe and what another person actually experiences from us.
I kept thinking about those Sunday phone calls as the crowd dispersed. Perhaps the father never reached a morning when he could look into a mirror and feel completely satisfied with his life. But he had begun doing something worth more than defending his reputation. He had listened. He had returned to a relationship he once allowed to break. He had let love interrupt the story he told himself about always being right. His son was not describing a flawless man. He was remembering a man who had finally learned how to come closer.
Chapter 2: The Difference Between Being Right and Making Things Right
The warehouse supervisor stood beside a pallet of incorrectly labeled boxes, holding the shipping report in his hand. An entire order had been delayed, and the customer was already calling for answers. He had spent the morning explaining to everyone that the new employee had failed to follow instructions. Then he opened an older email and discovered something he had forgotten. The instructions were his, and they contained the mistake. For several minutes, he stared at the screen, trying to decide whether anyone else would notice.
That is an uncomfortable place to find ourselves because our conscience sometimes asks us to surrender a version of events that has been protecting our pride. The supervisor could quietly correct the problem and allow his employee to carry the blame. He might preserve his authority, at least temporarily. But he would know that the appearance of being right had become more important to him than actually doing what was right.
This is where the desire to see a good person in the mirror becomes more complicated. We can spend so much energy trying to confirm our goodness that we become unwilling to acknowledge evidence against it. We defend ourselves before anyone has accused us. We explain our intentions when someone is describing the consequences of our actions. Sometimes we become more concerned with proving that we are decent people than with repairing the damage we have caused.
Jesus confronted this problem in Matthew 7 when He spoke about noticing a speck in another person's eye while overlooking the beam in our own. His teaching was not a command to abandon discernment. It was a warning about the blindness that grows when we examine everyone else's failures more carefully than our own.
I find that warning especially meaningful because knowing Scripture does not automatically make us humble. We can understand the language of forgiveness while remaining unwilling to apologize. We can speak beautifully about compassion while treating someone unfairly. The teachings of Jesus become transformative when we allow them to challenge our behavior rather than merely confirm the opinions we already hold.
The supervisor eventually walks across the warehouse and gathers his team. He explains that the employee followed the instructions correctly and that the error originated with him. He apologizes and takes responsibility for correcting the shipment. His admission does not erase the delay, and the customer may still be frustrated. But something important changes. The employee no longer has to defend himself against a false accusation, and the team sees that responsibility applies to the person in charge.
I believe genuine Christian character often looks like that. It is not always a dramatic act of sacrifice. Sometimes it is the willingness to lose a little authority in order to protect the truth. It is choosing accountability when an excuse would be easier. It is understanding that the dignity of another person matters more than maintaining our own image.
The remarkable thing about God's grace is that we do not have to establish our perfection before receiving it. We come honestly, recognizing our need for forgiveness. That mercy gives us the courage to stop defending everything we have ever done and begin changing what needs to change.
A mirror can show us our face, but it cannot measure the distance between pride and humility. That distance becomes visible in the people who no longer have to suffer because we insisted on being right.
Chapter 3: The Stranger Beside the Pharmacy Doors
The pharmacy doors slide open as a woman steps into the parking lot carrying a small paper bag. Her insurance will not cover a medication she needs, and she cannot afford it. At the curb, an older man struggles with the handle of his walker. She notices him, then looks away. A few steps later, she turns around and asks whether he needs help getting to his car.
That moment does not fix her financial problem. But it challenges a belief I have carried: that I must feel strong and certain of my own goodness before I have something to give. Jesus never required people to become impressive before allowing them to love.
In Luke 7, a woman enters a Pharisee's home while Jesus is eating. The host quietly judges her reputation. She kneels near Jesus, weeps, and pours perfume on His feet. Simon sees someone whose past makes her unwelcome. Jesus sees her love and speaks to her of forgiveness and peace.
Those two ways of seeing stay with me. Simon is occupied with classifying the woman. Jesus responds to someone who has come to Him in faith. His mercy does not declare that wrong choices never matter. It offers a future that cannot be measured only by what happened before.
Maybe you have been keeping a private record of your mistakes, returning to it whenever you begin to feel hopeful. Or perhaps you have spent so long comparing yourself with others that kindness feels too small to matter. Neither habit will teach you to live freely. Christ asks us to receive forgiveness we cannot manufacture and let it reshape how we treat the people beside us.
The woman in the parking lot helps the man fold his walker into the trunk. He thanks her, and she returns to her car. She is still worried about the prescription. She may need to ask her doctor about alternatives or find help with the cost. But her difficult afternoon has not made her incapable of kindness.
I no longer want to spend my life chasing a reflection that finally satisfies me. I want to follow Jesus closely enough that His mercy becomes visible in what I do. When I fail, I want to repair what I can. When I am hurting, I want to remain open to love. And when I meet another imperfect person, I want to remember that God has never asked me to be their judge.
Your friend,
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