Things: Grace and Mercy
Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” (Luke 5:31-32)
My teeth were clenched. My hands were balled into fists. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I. Was. Heated. The audacity of what I was hearing was unbelievable. All I knew at that moment was this: I had to defend this man’s honor.
If you’re picturing a dramatic family dinner, close…but not quite. This was my fraternity’s selection process. For those unfamiliar, fraternities and sororities hold meetings to decide who gets invited in each term. That’s the space we were in.
There was one guy on the table who, by every meaningful measure, was qualified. He embodied our values. He mentored people across campus. He served consistently, quietly, and well.
The issue? Well, at some point in the past, he had been involved with someone a brother was interested in. That situation was over. It wasn’t messy, it wasn’t ongoing, and everyone involved had consented. No drama, just history. Still, one of my brothers was adamant. He doesn’t deserve to get in.
Now here’s the part that sent me over the edge. The same brother making that argument had a past of his own, one that included plenty of sexual escapades. And yet, when it was his turn, we didn’t disqualify him. We didn’t hold his history over his head. We let him in. But now he wanted to shut the door on someone else for something similar, something even less recent. That wasn’t discernment. That was hypocrisy. And if I’m honest, it hit something deeper in me. Because I know what it means for someone to see beyond your worst decisions and still recognize your worth. I know what it feels like to be extended grace you didn’t earn.
It’s a dangerous thing when people use their position to deny others the very grace they themselves received. And if we’re paying attention, that tension shows up all over the Gospel of Luke. Luke keeps introducing us to people pushed to the margins because of their past, their pain, or simply how they’re perceived. In Luke 7:36–50, we meet a woman who doesn’t even get a name. She’s just known as “sinful.” That alone should stop us. Imagine being reduced to your worst moments. No context. No story. No redemption, just a label. That’s how her community saw her. And if we’re honest, that’s still how we tend to see people now.
But when she shows up to Jesus, something different happens. She doesn’t defend herself. She doesn’t explain her past. She just gets low at His feet, worshiping, weeping, pouring everything out. And what’s striking is this…
Jesus isn’t focused on what she’s done. He’s moved by what she’s doing.
In that moment, she’s present. She’s surrendered. She’s all in. That’s the invitation for people with history, with baggage and receipts. Get to His feet. You’ve already done what you’ve done. You might still be figuring things out. But get to Jesus and let Him handle the rest.
Meanwhile, the Pharisee, Simon, sits back watching, judging. “If this man were a prophet,” he thinks, “he would know what kind of woman this is.” And there it is. The quiet kind of intolerance. He doesn’t even say it out loud. Punk.
That’s what makes it more dangerous. A lot of our judgment never leaves our lips. It just lives in our hearts. We size people up. We question their worthiness. We decide internally who belongs and who doesn’t. No announcement. No confrontation. Just quiet contempt.
Simon reminds me of that moment in the fraternity room, assuming the authority to decide who should have access, who should be close, who should be in. But Jesus interrupts all of that. He calls Simon out without Simon ever opening his mouth. That is both comforting and unsettling. It means even the stuff we don’t say, He sees.
Then Jesus flips the script. “Whoever has been forgiven little, loves little.” In other words, when you forget how much grace you’ve needed, you become stingy with giving it. That woman loved boldly because she knew what she had been forgiven from. Simon withheld because he thought he didn’t need much. So Jesus does what only He can do. He lets her stay. He receives her worship. He restores her dignity. And He quietly dismantles the judgment in the room.
Which brings me back to us. We need to ask ourselves honestly, where are we withholding grace? Who have we already decided doesn’t belong? Who have we reduced to their past?Because Jesus doesn’t share that posture. He moves toward the messy. He welcomes the broken. He brings close the very people we are tempted to keep at a distance. And He does it all in proximity through grace and mercy.
So, the next time you feel that tension rise, when someone doesn’t meet your standard, when their past makes you hesitate, when their present makes you annoyed or uncomfortable, do something different. Put yourself at Jesus’ feet first. Remember what He has brought you through. Let that soften you. Then ask God for the kind of heart that doesn’t just receive grace, but reflects it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brandon Dunkley is a minister and educator committed to sharing God’s unfailing love, abiding presence, and transforming power. He holds a Master of Education from the University at Buffalo and a Master of Divinity from Drew University, and is currently pursuing a Doctor of Education at NYU. Brandon’s research explores the role of the Black Church in the self-authorship and faith development of Black, Christian young adults.
Professionally, Brandon serves as the Special Advisor for Spiritual Life Education and Outreach at New York University. Additionally, he’s served in ministry roles across five denominational contexts and recently launched Brandon Dunkley, LLC to support Christians and ministries through challenging transitions. In November 2021, he married his incredible wife, Rachel, and they live in New York City. They are currently deliberating which dog breed to adopt for their NYC apartment. Suggestions are welcome! Learn more about this author on their website, here.