A few years ago there was a controversy of sorts about one phrase in our national anthem. A number of people objected to the use of the word ‘mercy’ in its penultimate line: “In master mercy, strength in man increase!” (Rodd il-ħniena lis-sid, saħħa lill-ħaddiem).
The critics said, quite rightly, that Dun Karm’s lyrics reflected Malta of the early 1920s, when they were written, but not of today. This is why Dun Karm, who was no left-wing sympathiser, appealed to mercy, not to justice, as a means of helping workers. Today, industrial relationships are based on justice enshrined in collective agreements and labour legislation.
I am not advocating a change in the wording of the national anthem. Such a thing is neither necessary nor desirable. The controversy, though, makes a valid point about the role of mercy and justice, which together with other virtues, one hopes, can make human living in society more humane and dignified.
During 2016, pronounced by Pope Francis as the Year of Mercy, such a discussion becomes more relevant, at least for Catholics, who are expected to experience to the full the mercy of God and then translate it into works of mercy benefitting their neighbour.
Last Sunday, Pope Francis addressed this subject yet again. He realistically said that we are surrounded by a “torrent of misery” made up of countless forms of injustice and violence, the arrogance of the powerful, the relegation of the weak to the most squalid outskirts of our world, and the hordes of men, women and children fleeing war, hunger and persecution.
However, the Pope is not daunted by this torrent as he deems it to be “powerless before the ocean of mercy that floods our world” and in which we “are called to immerse ourselves”. God is this ocean of mercy.
It is interesting to note that the metaphor of an ocean to describe the mercy of God is also used by the Muslim author Leila Aboulela, who in her novel, Minaret, wrote:
“The mercy of Allah is an ocean, our sins are a lump of clay clenched between the beak of a pigeon. The pigeon is perched on the branch of a tree at the edge of that ocean. It only has to open its beak.”
The belief in the mercy of God, which transcends different religions, is given a political dimension by Pope Francis in line with the long tradition of the Church’s social teaching. This mercy gives humans the opportunity to overcome “the indifference which blocks solidarity, and to leave behind the false neutrality which prevents sharing”, while enabling us to build “an ever-more just and fraternal world, a world in which every person and every creature can dwell in peace, in the harmony of God’s original creation”.
The cry of the unborn for their right to life is not a plea for mercy but a scream for justice
Christian beliefs and festivals are fully lived and enjoyed only when they manifest themselves in the building of a world truly respecting human dignity. The gospel, after all, is the political text par excellence, especially Christ’s words in the Sermon on the Mount. When this translation does not occur, Christian beliefs and festivals become a scandalous, not to say blasphemous, alienation.
This is why our bishops dedicated most of their pastoral letter to show how the Year of Mercy should lead towards a more dignified world. They start with the noblest activity befitting humans, that is safeguarding the weak and vulnerable.
Our bishops wrote of the unborn human being. They naturally felt they had to do this as recent public debates, including statements by the Prime Minister himself, suggest that the life of the unborn can be in danger. It is wrong to equate embryo freezing with abortion but it also deceptive not to emphasise that wherever embryo freezing was legalised, tens of thousands of embryos were destroyed. Besides, the Nisa Laburisti betrayed their utilitarian concept of human life by proposing the possible destruction of what they described as non-viable embryos.
Our bishops also exhort us to show mercy towards immigrants. In a most evocative sentence they say that “when we welcome migrants on our European shores, we are welcoming people who have walked the road to Calvary”.
They wisely appeal that when faced with the rising threat of terrorism Christians should respond using a different language than that of violence. The narrative of the Christian way of being in society should be marked by “the wonderful and challenging mission to act as a reflection of Christ’s mercy”.
All this is well, good and praiseworthy. Mercy, after all, as Shakespeare wrote in The Merchant of Venice, “is an attribute to God Himself” and “blesseth him that gives and him that takes”.
But mercy in popular parlance is tainted by a tinge of pity, the presumed superiority of the giver of mercy on the receiver, and considered to be optional. This is why I appeal also to justice, which one expects to benefit from by right. If we truly believe we are not monads but beings-for-others, then solidarity is seen to be a constituent part of our DNA as humans and not an optional extra. Caring for others is not asked from me by mercy but is mandated by justice.
The two examples mentioned in the bishops’ pastoral letter have to do with justice as well as with mercy. The cry of the unborn for respect of their right to life is not a plea for mercy but a scream for justice. The immigrant question has also to be seen from the perspective of solidarity, economic needs of the receiving countries, reparation for the damage done to some of the countries of origin of migrants by the colonialising countries and currently by the multinationals. These are just a few points that militate for a treatment of the issue from the perspective of justice as well.
Blessed are those who besides hungering for mercy also hunger for justice in equal measure.
joseph.borg@um.edu.mt