Part 1: To understand the mercy of God you have to understand yourself

I had always considered myself to be fairly handsome. I knew that I was being a bit generous to myself, but hey, it was me. There were moments when I knew that I could stand to lose a few pounds here and there. My jeans would feel a bit snug—I’d just figure the dryer shrunk them (keep in mind they were two years old). The notches on my belt kept moving out to cleaner, unused notches leaving the inner ones distressed and worn out like the collar of an old shirt. I was, as my friend Jeffrey Lancaster says, “body dismorphic”—I saw myself as thinner than I actually was. That self-misperception was about to change.

It was 1994. I was living in Hazlehurst, Mississippi. Kim and I had a son who was just over a year old. It was a rainy day. Mud puddles had formed in the yard. Jean Francois Larroux the 4th (our one-year-old) had answered the call of the wild and, following the rainstorm, was in the front yard frolicking in the mud puddles. It was one of those great childhood moments. Rather than skip the fun I decided to join him. I put on some swim trunks, removed my shirt and ran out into the yard to join my son. My wife was videotaping the entire event. The day ended. Fun was had by all. I basically forgot about the entire event.

Several months later some friends came over to the house for dinner. We were enjoying good conversation together, and one of the friends commented on how cute our son was. We smiled and beamed with pride. Kim immediately said, “Oh, I’ve got to show you the cutest thing—Jean and Jean playing in the front yard.” She removed the tape from the camcorder. At this point I still didn’t have any real misgivings about showing the tape other than my fear of boring our guests to death. When Kim pressed play, all that changed. The only way I can truly describe the initial scene would be to ask you to imagine a livestock arena with a cattle gate. When I came out of the screen door headed to the mud puddle, there should have been a number pinned to my back and a quarter horse following me from the side porch. You could almost hear the announcer say, “and here comes Orca….” I was mortified. It was a slow motion fat fest. I was fearful as I watched the tape that I would slip and crush my son leaving only a tiny imprint in the mud of where he used to be. That day was the beginning of a long overdue diet.

There’s an old saying that goes, “the camera doesn’t lie.” It doesn’t. I hate that, don’t you? Have you ever noticed that even when you take a bad picture, it is still you? I’ve taken terrible pictures, but have never had anyone stare at the picture and say, “Who is that? I just can’t tell.” No matter how bad the photo seems to me, even my worst pictures still look like me.

To understand the mercy of God we have to look at the real videotape of our lives. There is the “us” that we think of when we think of ourselves—pretty, cute, charming, funny, athletic, and creative. And then there’s the real us—the coming out of the cattle gate us. This is the messy part of us that other people see occasionally and that we see sometimes, but it is the part of us that goes way beyond the physical and straight to the heart.

In Genesis 6:5 the text reads, “The LORD saw how great man's wickedness on the earth had become, and that every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil all the time.”

Think for a second about diagramming that sentence—EVERY inclination of the THOUGHTS of his heart was ONLY EVIL ALL the time. It is hard to miss what the text is saying. This is the camcorder of the heart, recording frame after frame of data confirming the truth of the text. Consider for one second how you would feel if every email or text message you have ever sent with every comment you have ever made about anyone else was posted on your Facebook page for everyone to read. How would that go over for your popularity?

What if, instead of logging on at night and writing cute, nice messages on someone’s Facebook wall there was some type of glitch that happened in the system and for one day everything you have thought and said about each of your friends was posted on their wall instead. You and I wouldn’t have any friends left at the end of that day would we? Can you imagine your inbox?

“I can’t believe you said that!”
“I thought we were friends!”
“You are such a $@$^%$!” (Let’s not forget that your friends are not that different from you and me, right?)

The point is precisely that—the true picture of you and me isn’t very pretty. The truth is that it doesn’t really have much to do with how we look on the outside. The mess in my life is on the inside. There is bitterness, hatred, gossip, slander, and malice that are always boiling below the surface. It doesn’t take much for it to boil over. In fact just give me a context where I think it won’t be uncovered and the venom will flow. Can you relate to that? Stop and look at the tape. What are you really like? NOT what image do you portray to other people. NOT what does your youth director think about you. NOT what impression do your parents have about you, but what are you really like according to the tape of your life?

You see, when Kim finished making that video, I really didn’t think anything about it. It wasn’t until she pressed play that I was horrified. Have you pressed play lately? Have you looked at what your life looks like? Have you looked at where you are looking? Have you listened to what you are saying? Have you read what you are texting? I want to challenge you to press play and take a look. I didn’t start that diet until I saw what I REALLY looked like. You and I will never understand the mercy of God until we see our true need of it.

The beauty of the “tape” is precisely that. It shows us what we could never see. It exposes us for who we really are. It reveals a mess that is far messier than we dare to imagine, but without the mess there can be no mercy. Without the mess there is no need of mercy. Without the tape I didn’t need a diet. I was simply fat, okay, and deceived. Whenever I perceive that I’ve put a few pounds back on, I tend to avoid all occasions of exposure. I won’t get on a scale. I catch a glance of myself in a storefront window and look the other way. I just don’t think about it. Here’s the problem: if I never see who I really am then I never really know what I need.

Most Christians perceive that mercy is something that we give to needy people. I meet folks all the time who come to the Gulf Coast to help the “poor hurricane victims.” Now believe me, we need help on the Gulf Coast, but to see mercy as something for “them” insulates us from seeing mercy as something for ourselves. We can only give what we have received. We can only offer true, biblical mercy to others once we have tasted it personally. We can only love once we have known His love, and we can ONLY know His love if we know our own messy, needy selves. You cannot know mercy if you do not know your own mess.

On that day in the yard I had my wife to hold the camera and film. We have the Holy Spirit of the true and living God. Take the risk of asking Him to show you your own life. Ask Him to press play and He will. In that moment you may come to see Christ in a whole new way, and then you will know what mercy looks like, not just for “them” but for you.

Psalm 139:23–24 says, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

Rev. Jean Larroux is Organizing Pastor at Lagniappe Presbyterian Church in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi.