From Anger to Mercy — Choosing Life Again
Ezekiel 18:21-28; Psalm 130:1-2, 3-4, 5-7a, 7bc-8; Matthew 5:20-26
Friday of the First Week of Lent
History is not flattering to us.
The twentieth century was soaked in blood. The twenty-first has not learned enough.
Terrorism. Wars. Silent persecutions. Local violence. And the quieter sins — indifference, cowardice, looking away when we should speak.
Humanity does not look impressive.
And neither do we, if we are honest.
Into that bleak picture, Ezekiel speaks a startling word.
God does not delight in punishment.
God does not rejoice in the death of the wicked.
God wants the sinner to turn — and live.
“Turn back and live.”
That is the heartbeat of the prophet.
Psalm 130 echoes it:
“If you, O Lord, mark iniquities, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness.”
Not tolerance.
Forgiveness.
In the darkest century of modern history, Faustina Kowalska heard a message that sounded almost unbelievable:
“My mercy is greater than your sins — and those of the whole world.”
That is not naïve optimism.
It is divine defiance.
God’s answer to sin is not annihilation — but mercy.
Not because sin is small.
But because love is greater.
So where do we begin if we want to turn back and live?
Jesus points to something uncomfortable.
“You have heard: You shall not kill.”
But he goes deeper.
Look at your anger.
Look at the contempt in your words.
Look at the fire that burns before violence ever happens.
Cain did not begin with murder.
He began with anger.
So Jesus goes to the root.
It is not enough not to kill.
We must refuse the hatred that makes killing possible.
Anger feels powerful.
But it corrodes from within.
One word. One insult. One moment of contempt.
And relationships fracture.
Families suffer. Communities divide.
The antidote to anger is patience.
Slow strength.
Interior discipline.
Then comes the second challenge:
Saying, “I’m sorry.”
Jesus says something radical:
If you bring your gift to the altar and remember that your brother has something against you — leave the gift.
Imagine that journey.
From Galilee to Jerusalem — about one hundred kilometers.
You arrive. You remember the person you hurt. You did not apologize.
No quick text message. No instant repair.
A real walk back — one hundred kilometers home, and one hundred again to Jerusalem.
Reconciliation is not convenient.
But it is necessary.
Turning back means:
Stop defending yourself. Apologize. Forgive. Choose life again.
The question is not whether we have sinned.
We have.
The question is whether we will stay there.
Or whether we will trust that mercy is stronger than our worst moments —
and take the first step back toward love.
Scripture Attribution
New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993
the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of
Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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© 2025 Krakus.
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