Let’s talk about something that’s been on my mind lately: the tension between cancel culture and mercy.
I’ve come to realize that cancel culture is the antithesis of mercy – it’s everything mercy isn’t.
Where mercy opens doors, cancel culture slams them shut. Where mercy offers hope, cancel culture declares “game over.”
I see this play out every day on social media. Someone makes a mistake – maybe they use outdated language, share an uninformed opinion, or get caught in behavior that doesn’t align with their stated values. Within hours, their reputation is in shambles. Comments sections fill with calls to “cancel” them. Their past posts are scrutinized. Former friends publicly distance themselves.
What starts as accountability quickly becomes a feeding frenzy of shame.
I used to think showing mercy meant being a pushover – you know, just smiling and pretending everything was fine when someone hurt you. Maybe you’ve felt that way too. But through some hard lessons, I’ve learned that real mercy is something entirely different and far more powerful.
The impulse to publicly shame those who hurt us is strong, especially in our digital age. Social media has given us unprecedented power to hurt those who hurt us. A single post can rally hundreds or thousands to our cause. I’ve watched local disputes explode into community-wide scandals because someone chose public callout over private conversation.
But there’s another way, and it’s actually laid out for us in Scripture. In Matthew 18:15-17, Jesus gives us a clear progression for handling conflict: first, go to the person privately. If that doesn’t work, bring one or two others who can help mediate. Only if those attempts fail should the matter be brought before the wider community.
Notice how this approach prioritizes restoration over public shame, relationship over retribution.
Think about how many times God has shown us mercy. How many second chances have we received? How many times has He forgiven us when we fell short? Yet sometimes we’re quick to deny others the same grace we’ve been given so freely. We can easily confuse righteous accountability with revenge, thinking our desire for retribution is God’s justice.
But true accountability, like God’s mercy, aims to restore rather than destroy.
This isn’t about letting people off the hook. Mercy and boundaries aren’t mutually exclusive. We can set clear expectations about what we need to feel safe and respected while still leaving the door open for genuine change. This isn’t punishment – it’s protection and growth.
I’ve experienced firsthand the truth of that verse: “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.” In situations where I’ve been deeply wronged and chose to step back instead of retaliating, I’ve watched in awe as God’s justice unfolded in ways I never could have orchestrated. His timing and His methods were perfect – far better than any revenge I might have planned. It taught me that true justice often works best when we don’t force it, when we trust His process rather than rushing to take matters into our own hands.
The hard part is when we’re not there to see His justice firsthand. But that’s where trust comes in. We need to trust that God’s justice will come at the perfect time, even if we don’t get to witness it. I know this is something that’s hard for me to accept. I want nothing more than to see the person who caused me so much pain to suffer. But I have to reel that part of myself in and instead pray (sometimes grudgingly) for her healing and restoration in Christ.
And I need to trust that the scales will balance, just maybe not in the timeframe I’m wanting.
The difference between God’s justice and our desire for retribution is profound. When we seek revenge, we often want to hurt the other person as much as they hurt us. But God’s justice aims to transform, to heal, to restore. Remember how many times in Scripture God gave people chance after chance to turn back to Him? That’s our model for mercy.
Before sharing screenshots or posting about someone’s mistakes, we can pause and ask ourselves: “Have I tried reaching out privately? What am I hoping to achieve by making this public?” When we see others being cancelled, we can resist joining the pile-on. We can share our own stories of growth and learning instead of evidence for shame.
It takes real courage to choose mercy in a cancel culture world. It means resisting the immediate gratification of public shaming. It means doing the harder work of private conversations and setting clear boundaries. It means believing in the possibility of change while protecting our own well-being.
Sometimes it even means praying for those who’ve hurt us, even when every part of us resists it.
Remember: Mercy isn’t weak – it’s revolutionary. In a world quick to cancel, showing mercy might be the most courageous thing we can do. It’s not about letting people off the hook – it’s about creating space for genuine transformation while maintaining healthy boundaries. And sometimes the person most transformed by mercy isn’t the one receiving it, but the one choosing to give it.
