In the tribunal of eternity, mercy is the divine restraint that withholds the gavel of judgment from descending upon the guilty. It is not passive tolerance, nor divine negligence—it is the inexplicable, often scandalous attribute of God that delays wrath for the sake of redemption. In an era intoxicated with swift retribution and the allure of punitive justice, the mercy of God remains the last unshaken refuge for a fractured humanity.
We do not survive each sunrise because of impeccable conduct; we endure because mercy intercedes before consequence. Humanity continues to breathe not by merit, but by the sovereign forbearance of a God who, in His omnipotent capacity, chooses delay over destruction. In Nigeria—where tribal tensions, economic inequities, and systemic corruption could easily provoke divine chastisement—it is the mercy of God that restrains judgment like a dam holding back an impending deluge.
To reduce mercy to a mere sentiment is to miss its cosmic significance. It is a holy reprieve. It is God refusing to allow our iniquities to define our destiny. It is what allowed David to be spared the sword after his adultery and bloodshed. It is what preserved Nineveh after prophetic warning. It is what restrained divine fury as Christ, suspended between heaven and earth, cried out, “Father, forgive them.”
The mercy of God is not an acquittal of sin—it is an interval of grace, an intermission wherein the soul may recalibrate toward righteousness. It is the whispered hope in the dungeons of despair, the faint but persistent light in a world addicted to condemnation. As Apostle Ayo Babalola once articulated, “Mercy is heaven’s petition against man’s destruction.” When we presume upon it, we tread dangerously. When we embrace it, we find restoration beyond imagination.
God’s mercy is not indiscriminate leniency. It is an intentional, purposeful extension of divine patience. The fire that should consume waits in obedience to the heart of a God who would rather redeem than ruin. Prophet T.B. Joshua often affirmed that “Mercy is not what we earn; it is what God cannot help but give.” It is part of His DNA. A God who is holy but not merciful is a tyrant. A God who is merciful but not holy is a myth. But the God of Abraham is both—just and merciful, righteous yet compassionate.
Modern culture has no patience for divine timing. It ridicules mercy and enthrones condemnation. In a cancel-driven society, judgment is not preceded by investigation, but by emotion. The woman caught in adultery would have been stoned under today’s algorithmic wrath. Yet, Christ—God enfleshed—stooped in the dust to draw an unspoken verdict: “He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone.” That was mercy cloaked in wisdom.
God’s mercy sees the man in the murderer, the prophet in the persecutor, the prince in the prodigal. Saul of Tarsus, whom history might have consigned to eternal infamy, was intercepted by mercy and emerged as Paul, the apostle of grace. Mercy is the only force that rewrites destinies without consulting human opinion.
And yet, divine mercy has its boundaries. The fact that judgment is delayed does not mean it is denied. When mercy is exhausted—when divine patience reaches its end—judgment proceeds unimpeded. Bishop David Oyedepo once asserted, “Mercy delayed is not mercy forever. There is an expiry on God’s silence.” Scripture affirms this tension: “My Spirit shall not strive with man forever.” Those who mock mercy and postpone repentance are not wise—they are walking blindfolded toward a precipice.
Let it be known that mercy is not cowardice. It is strength perfected in self-restraint. It is heaven’s gentle knock on the doors of rebellion. But when mercy is ignored, justice answers.
How many leaders in Nigeria have traded repentance for rhetoric? How many pulpits are now platforms of self-aggrandizement rather than altars of repentance? The political elite may have eluded earthly indictments, but divine justice is not fooled by legal gymnastics. Mercy has extended its hand to thieves, idolaters, and tyrants. The question is—will they take it?
The Igala maxim wisely states: “the cane behind the door is not absence of discipline, but a postponement for correction”. This proverbial wisdom reflects divine order. God hides the rod to give us room for change, not license for continuity in error.
To every prisoner languishing in Lagos, every political exile of conscience, every wounded soul who believes it is too late—this is your divine telegram: Mercy still lingers. The courtroom is not yet in session. The Judge is still seated in grace. The verdict is paused. Return. Not with excuses, but with surrender. Not with pride, but with contrition.
To the nation of Nigeria, mercy is knocking. Not because she is worthy, but because God has not given up. To every father, mother, preacher, and pauper—mercy is not past. It is now. And it is near. But it is not eternal. There is an urgency that must awaken the soul.
In this age of digital accusations and moral hysteria, may we learn the art of mercy again. May we imitate the God who is slow to anger and abounding in compassion. May our churches, courts, families, and politics be baptized in mercy. Let judgment come last—if it must. But let mercy lead.
The mercy of God is not a soft gospel. It is the Gospel. For without it, we are all condemned already. And without it, there is no hope for the living or the dead.
Let those who hear understand: when judgment delays, it is not because justice has failed. It is because God still loves.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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