Mercy is a mess.
If you’ve ever tried to forgive someone who didn’t deserve it—or worse, tried to forgive yourself for something truly cringeworthy—you know exactly what I’m talking about. It isn’t some shiny, polished concept from a Hallmark card. It’s gritty. It’s sweaty. Honestly, it’s usually the last thing any of us actually want to do when we’ve been wronged. This is the exact territory Anne Lamott stakes out in her book Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy.
Lamott has this way of writing that feels like sitting across from a friend who’s on her third cup of coffee and hasn't brushed her hair in two days. She’s real. Published in 2017, this book didn't just land on the New York Times bestseller list because people like the word "hallelujah." It resonated because we are living in a culture that is increasingly addicted to "gotcha" moments and public shaming. We are starving for a little bit of slack.
The Problem with Being Right
Most of us spend a huge chunk of our lives trying to prove we’re right. We want the apology. We want the vindication. But Lamott argues that being "right" is a lonely, cold place to live. In Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy, she suggests that mercy is the only way out of that cage. It’s not about letting people off the hook for being jerks; it’s about realizing that holding onto that anger is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.
She pulls from a wild variety of sources—everything from C.S. Lewis and the Bible to random things her grandson says. One of the most striking points she makes is that mercy is "radical kindness." It’s the decision to lead with your heart when your brain is screaming for justice. It’s a tall order.
Sometimes mercy looks like not saying the mean thing you have teed up and ready to go. Other times, it’s just admitting that you’re as much of a disaster as the person you’re judging.
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Why We Struggle to Find Mercy in a Digital Age
Let’s be honest: the internet has made mercy almost impossible.
We live in an era of permanent records. If you said something stupid ten years ago, it’s still there, waiting to be used against you. This environment creates a "mercy deficit." When Lamott talks about Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy, she’s basically offering an antidote to the "cancel culture" mindset, even if she doesn't use those specific buzzwords constantly.
The nuance of the "Anyway"
That word "anyway" in the title is doing a lot of heavy lifting. It acknowledges that life is often terrible. People are disappointing. Politics are a nightmare. Your health might be failing. Hallelujah anyway.
It’s an defiant act. It’s saying that despite the evidence that the world is falling apart, there is still something sacred in the way we treat one another. Lamott isn't asking us to be naive. She knows the world is dark. But she insists that the light of mercy is the only thing that actually changes the temperature of a room.
The Difficulty of Self-Mercy
It’s usually easier to forgive a stranger for cutting you off in traffic than it is to forgive yourself for a mistake you made five years ago.
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Lamott spends a good portion of the book dismantling the idea that we have to be perfect to be worthy of love. She talks about our "shadow sides"—the parts of us we try to hide, the jealousy, the pettiness, the greed. The central thesis of Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy is that mercy has to start inward. If you can’t look at your own flaws with a sense of "gentle amusement," as she puts it, you’ll never be able to offer that grace to anyone else.
She references the work of Father Gregory Boyle, the founder of Homeboy Industries, who often speaks about "radical kinship." Boyle’s influence is clear in Lamott’s writing; the idea that there is no "us" and "them," only "us." If we are all in the same boat, and the boat is leaking, it doesn't make much sense to start drilling holes under someone else's seat just because they're annoying you.
Practical Steps Toward a Merciful Life
You can't just read a book and suddenly become a saint. It doesn't work that way. Lamott doesn't provide a 10-step plan because life is too chaotic for that. However, through her stories and reflections, a few "actionable" paths emerge for those of us trying to figure this out in the real world.
- Practice the "Pause"
Before reacting to a perceived slight, take thirty seconds. Mercy often lives in the gap between a provocation and our response. It’s in that silence where we realize the person who snapped at us might just be having a really bad day. - Acknowledge Your Own "Mess"
Keep a running list of your own absurdities. When you realize how often you trip over your own feet (metaphorically or literally), it becomes a lot harder to be a harsh judge of others. - Lower Your Standards for People
This sounds cynical, but it’s actually deeply kind. If you stop expecting everyone to be perfectly consistent, emotionally intelligent, and selfless, you won't be so shocked when they aren't. - Stop the Comparison Game
Mercy dies in the face of comparison. When we compare our "behind-the-scenes" footage with everyone else’s "highlight reel," we become bitter.
The Reality of the Struggle
Is mercy always possible? Lamott is honest enough to admit that sometimes it feels impossible.
There are deep traumas and systemic injustices where "hallelujah anyway" feels like a slap in the face. It’s important to note that mercy isn't the same as enabling abuse or staying in toxic situations. You can have mercy for someone from a very, very long distance. You can wish for someone’s healing while also ensuring they never have the chance to hurt you again.
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Lamott’s work is often criticized by those who want more rigid theology or more concrete "how-to" advice. But life isn't concrete. It’s fluid. The beauty of Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy is that it meets you in the fluidity. It doesn't demand that you have your life together. It just asks you to crack the door open a tiny bit to the possibility that people—including you—are doing the best they can with what they have.
Final Thoughts on the Lamott Approach
We are all just walking each other home. That’s a sentiment often attributed to Ram Dass, and it’s one that echoes throughout Lamott’s pages.
If you’re feeling crispy, cynical, or just plain tired of the world’s harshness, rediscovering mercy isn't just a spiritual exercise; it’s a survival strategy. It’s the way we keep our hearts from turning into stones.
How to apply this today
Start small. Find one person you’re currently judging—maybe it’s a coworker who talks too loud or a neighbor with an annoying political sign—and just for a second, try to see them as a scared, complex human being. That’s it. That’s the work. It’s not a grand gesture. It’s a quiet shift in perspective that changes everything.
Actionable Insights for the Week Ahead:
- Identify one "grudge" you are currently nurturing. Ask yourself what it would cost you to simply set it down. Not for their sake, but for yours.
- Spend five minutes in silence reflecting on a time someone showed you mercy when you absolutely did not deserve it. Notice how that felt in your body.
- Replace one "I can't believe they did that" thought with "I wonder what they're going through."
- Read a physical copy of a book like Lamott's to disconnect from the "outrage machine" of digital media for at least twenty minutes a day.
Mercy isn't a destination. It’s a practice. It’s a muscle that gets stronger the more you use it, even when—especially when—everything in you wants to do the opposite.