Blessed are the Merciful in a Cancel Culture
We live in a society where mercy feels extinct. Say the wrong thing, post the wrong opinion, or stumble publicly, and you’re done. You can be branded forever, written off, and told you don’t deserve a second chance. Our culture doesn’t just disagree—it cancels. If you don’t completely agree with me in every area, then you’re not only wrong, you’re dangerous. And in our outrage-driven world, there’s no path back. No room for grace. No restoration.
Jesus speaks into that kind of world with words that still sting and heal: “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy” (Matthew 5:7).
Mercy is not weakness. Mercy is not shrugging off sin. Mercy is strength that chooses compassion. It is honesty about brokenness while refusing to let brokenness have the final word. Mercy looks like forgiveness when the world screams for payback. It looks like kindness when someone has earned our anger. It looks like stepping toward need when everyone else steps away.
And here’s the key: mercy flows out of the gospel. We don’t show mercy so that God will be merciful to us. We show mercy because He already has been. At the cross, justice was satisfied and mercy overflowed. God didn’t ignore our sin; He paid for it. And because Christ bore what we deserved, we now receive what we don’t deserve. Every act of mercy we show is simply passing along what we’ve already been given.
This Beatitude reshapes us in every direction.
Toward God, mercy is a response of gratitude. I don’t come to Him with entitlement, as if I’ve earned His favor. I come as a sinner who has been forgiven, as a debtor whose slate has been cleared. Mercy keeps me worshipful.
Toward myself, mercy kills pride. I can’t act like I’m in God’s family because I worked harder or behaved better than anyone else. I’m here because of grace. Mercy keeps me grounded in humility, reminding me that my standing before God depends entirely on Christ.
Toward others, mercy changes everything. If I know how much I’ve been forgiven, how can I withhold forgiveness from you? If I’ve been treated better than I deserve, how can I treat you with harshness and contempt? Mercy moves me toward restoration when the world says “cut them off.” Mercy sees the humanity of someone I disagree with instead of branding them as an enemy. Mercy chooses compassion for the addict, the failure, the offender—because I know I am no better apart from Christ.
But mercy is not the same as excusing sin. True mercy faces sin honestly. At the cross, mercy was poured out, but only because justice was fully satisfied. That means mercy cannot be used as an excuse for abuse or ongoing harm. A violent spouse can be forgiven while still being removed from the home. A clergy member who abuses their role may be prayed for, but they must never be left in a position to harm again. Mercy and justice are not enemies. Justice holds people accountable and protects the vulnerable. Mercy prevents bitterness and vengeance from taking over our hearts. Together, they show the gospel in action: sin is taken seriously, and grace is still offered.
Imagine how mercy would change our homes. Parents who don’t hold their children’s failures over their heads, but patiently point them back to truth. Spouses who forgive quickly instead of letting bitterness fester.
Imagine how mercy would change our communities. Instead of joining in the mob when someone falls, Christians could be the first to extend grace. Instead of feeding the outrage machine, we could model the hard work of listening, forgiving, and seeking restoration.
Imagine how mercy would change our churches. Too often, churches mirror cancel culture—we write people off when they sin, gossip instead of walking with them, condemn instead of restoring. What if the church became known as the place where broken people find compassion and forgiveness instead of condemnation?
Our world is starving for mercy. Cancel culture offers no way back. But the kingdom of God does. Jesus blesses the merciful not because they’ve earned mercy, but because they’ve experienced it and now reflect it. And when we stand before God, our only hope will not be our record, but the mercy secured for us in Christ.