My favorite coffee mug is bright yellow with flowers and birds on it. It’s probably better called a coffee bowl, but most “mugs” aren’t big enough for a proper morning. My oldest friend bought this mug for me ages ago. We might have been in college. All I remember is that she was on a trip to the beach, saw it, and thought of me. I’ve cherished it ever since.

I love coffee. I’ve drank a cup (or 3) every morning, barring a stomach bug or my first semester of college bought with anxiety, for my entire adult life. I think that I started drinking coffee on the way to school in high school because we had to be there so early. You were late at 7:15AM and my drive was probably 10 minutes. That means that I almost always left my house before 7.

I didn’t always like coffee, though. When I was younger, I tried my mom’s coffee more than once. Mom still drinks more coffee than anyone else I know, though it’s too weak, in my estimation. She likes a lot of Coffee Mate original creamer and fake sugar and I did not enjoy those flavors as a young person. I still don’t. I take my cups with half and half or heavy cream. So, when Mom’s coffee proved repulsive to me, I assumed that all coffee was disgusting- the common error of inexperience.

Funny how our perspectives on things change or deepen over time. 

My favorite mug has more than birds and flowers on it. It has a line from a hymn that I don’t remember not knowing: “Morning by morning, new mercies I see”. I’ve been going to church every time the doors were open for as long as I can remember. I have many friends for whom this would be a tortuous burden, but for me it was a blessing, at least throughout my childhood. I learned many things, but those that have served me best were words that have been irrevocably imprinted on my mind and heart. I don’t remember a day when the Apostle’s Creed, The Lord’s Prayer, or The Doxology weren’t readily available to my mind. Many hymns, also, seem to have always been there. 

“Great is Thy Faithfulness” is an oldie, but a goodie. Or, a banger, as my fellow Millennials say. Whether or not you like the music, you could spend a hundred years thinking about the words and still be comforted by them on day one of the one hundred and first. The line on my mug is from this song and I’ve been turning it over in my mind for the past few days.

I like to drink my many cups of coffee either before the sun comes up or as it’s rising. There’s something about the morning that I’ve always loved: still, quiet, peaceful. Our culture, for whatever reason, is mostly morning-averse. I get my best work done and think my best thoughts early in the day. It’s how I’m wired. The thing I love most about the morning, though, is that it comes every day, fresh and new. Like the song says: “morning by morning”. Each day, no matter what happened the day before and no matter how royally I screwed up, I get a new morning. I don’t deserve it. I can’t earn it. It’s just there, as steady as the sun.

And, in the context of this song, there’s fresh mercy along with it. The lyrics, and the canon of Scripture, indicate that the mercy of God is never-ending and as reliable as the morning. It will always come, at just the right time. The mercy of God is as predictable as a sunrise, even on the cloudiest day. I can count on it, just like I count on each morning. My favorite part of the day is probably its first hour in which I sit in my favorite chair, drinking coffee, reading my Bible, praying, and petting my dog. When I don’t get to do that, I feel all out of sorts. In the same way, I can count on God’s mercy to meet me as regularly as the morning dew and set the tone for whatever I’m facing. I don’t deserve it. I can’t earn it. It’s just there, as steady as the sun.

Not only does the morning and God’s mercy come regularly, whether I like it or not, but I have the opportunity to see it. Have you ever experienced something, but didn’t really take the time to see it? I mean like, your body goes on autopilot on your way home from work and you don’t really remember getting there? The morning can be like that for us if we have to rush through it for whatever reason or if we don’t like it so we grumble and grouse and miss the glory of a sunrise as the birds chirp in the trees. I think it’s even easier to miss God’s mercy because we don’t really understand it. Frankly, we don’t really understand God (and, by the way, I think that’s good for us). 

Because we don’t understand God or his mercy, we can miss them both if we are not careful. Lacking understanding about something isn’t a bad thing. It leaves room for wonder, surprise, and mystery - all critical elements to a vibrant faith and life with God. If I’m going to see God’s mercy each day, I’m going to have to look for it. I’m going to have to make space in my life to stop, slow down, and take account of what’s going on around me. I cannot autopilot my way through my days, if I don’t want to miss them entirely. 

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.

The morning and God’s mercy will come, whether I’m looking for them or not. I desperately want to look for them. No, I need to look for them. Unless your head has been buried in the sand, you know it’s bad out there. Suffering abounds and no one is immune - pain and difficulty are coming for us all. And what is the antidote? Mercy. And where can it be found? We don’t deserve it. We cannot earn it. Yet, it’s all around us, as steady as the sun.

Will we open our eyes to see it?

A just question at this point is, “But what does it look like?” I’ve known some who could give you a well-reasoned, three point sermon in answer. As I’m neither well-reasoned, nor permitted by such people (men) to give a sermon, I’ll give you a more nuanced answer. God’s mercy looks like Jesus. Whenever we wonder what God looks like, what God does, or who he really is, we have the wonderful gift of Jesus. And he’s not just in the first four books of the New Testament (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John). Jesus is all over the Scriptures - the whole thing is his story; he’s God’s Word, after all.

For me, God’s mercy is the sunrise and coffee and his word and the birds and the cold wind on my face. It’s silence and the comforting smell of my husband’s neck. It’s my daughter doing flips on the trampoline, the hyacinths pushing through the dirt in February, the garlic making it through another winter, and buds on my dogwood tree ready to burst into life. It’s snow in the winter, leaves in the fall, and always having enough to share. God’s mercy tends to the deep wounds of my childhood and the lethal blows from conservative evangelicals who, I believe deep in my bones, thought I’d be better off never to have been born. God’s mercy shows up everywhere that I least expect it and meets me in my deepest need because that’s exactly what Jesus did. 

Jesus was a friend to social outcasts and religious rejects. He touched sick people and spoke with women in a culture in which those things were forbidden or would cause you to become an outcast yourself. Ironically, that’s exactly what Jesus became. He was crucified outside the city walls, with common criminals, far away from clean and acceptable society. Even more ironically, it was his death that met the deepest need of all of humanity. It was his death that defeated death, that unbeatable enemy. We needed life and only he could give it to us.

So, what does mercy look like? Where are you most deeply hurting? Where has death most irrevocably cursed you? How have you been outcast and rejected? What wounds do you think will never heal?

If we can begin to answer them, I can begin to open my eyes to see mercy. Brand new. Every morning. As steady as the sun.