Justice Meets Mercy

1. Our Built-In Passion for Justice

Author Gary Haugen captures something we’ve all observed:

> “If I wanted to teach math to a classroom of six-year-olds, I would begin each day by distributing a delicious snack—unevenly. Then I would simply wait. Within minutes the kids who got less would produce a perfect mathematical proof of the injustice, and the ones who got more would vigorously rebut it.”

Children don’t need a lecture to feel injustice. They come wired for it.

We saw that same instinct in a recent real-life drama.

At a Philadelphia Phillies game a few weeks ago, a home-run ball landed in the stands.

A father caught it and handed it to his little boy.

Almost instantly a woman insisted the ball was hers and tried to take it.

The dad quietly let it go to keep the peace.

The moment was caught on camera and exploded online.

Within hours millions were demanding justice—“Give the boy his ball!”—while others admired the father’s calm mercy.

In that one short scene the world saw what we’re talking about tonight: the deep, built-in cry for justice, and the surprising beauty of mercy that yields its rights.

And we adults are no different in our own settings.

Think of driving: when someone else speeds past, we secretly hope a patrol car pulls him over.

But when we are late for work and speeding?

“Well, that’s different,” we tell ourselves.

We judge others by their actions but ourselves by our intentions.

Our passion for justice is strong—until it costs us.

Why?

Because we bear God’s image.

The God of the Bible is a God of justice, and He built that sense into us.

But here’s the problem: our justice is faulty and selfish.

God’s is perfect.

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2. The Sinfulness of People

The Bible talks about sin over 700 times—and if you include words like transgressions and iniquities, well over a thousand.

Sin means missing the mark of God’s standard.

Transgression means crossing a line God drew.

Iniquity means twisting what is right.

Sin isn’t only actions; it’s thoughts, desires, and motives.

It’s measured by God’s character, not by human opinion.

Romans 3 puts it bluntly:

> “None is righteous, no, not one… all have turned aside… no one does good, not even one.” (Romans 3:10–12)

Even if we “only” sinned three times a day—a stray thought, a sharp word—that’s over 1,000 sins a year.

Multiply by the years you’ve lived and the number climbs beyond counting.

Sin is serious because of whom it offends.

An insult against a neighbor is bad; striking the president would be far worse.

Sin is an offense against the infinitely holy God.

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3. The Holiness of God

To grasp justice we must see God’s holiness.

Isaiah 6 records a vision:

> “I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up…

and the seraphim called, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;

the whole earth is full of his glory.’” (Isaiah 6:1–3)

Holiness means absolute moral purity—not the slightest taint of sin.

It is a blazing, white-hot perfection.

Isaiah’s reaction?

> “Woe is me! I am lost; I am a man of unclean lips… for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (Isaiah 6:5)

If the prophet of God trembled, how can we stand?

Even the best person we know is as far below God’s holiness as the longest long-jump is short of spanning the Grand Canyon.

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4. Our Good Deeds Can’t Bridge the Gap

Many think, “Sure, I sin, but I also do good things. Won’t that balance it out?”

Picture traffic court:

“Yes, Your Honor, I sped here, but look at all the times I obeyed the limit!”

The judge rightly replies, “You still broke the law.”

Even our best works are stained with pride and imperfection.

The gap between our sin and God’s holiness is infinite.

We cannot jump it.

Now add a modern picture.

Remember Jim Carrey’s movie Liar Liar?

Carrey plays Fletcher Reede, a slick attorney whose young son wishes he cannot tell a lie—and the wish comes true.

Suddenly every clever dodge collapses.

Imagine Fletcher getting pulled over and the officer asking, “Any unpaid tickets?”

Normally he’d charm his way out, but now he blurts, “Yes—there’s a whole stack of them in my glove compartment!”

That makes us laugh because it feels close to home.

Most of us have a mental glove box stuffed with spiritual “tickets” we’d rather no one see—old grudges, hidden habits, quiet compromises.

We keep driving as if the citations will expire or disappear.

But when we finally stand before God, there’s no smooth talk, no creative defense.

Every violation is on record, and the Judge already knows what’s in the glove compartment.

That is why the gospel is such good news: