I’m wandering the halls of the museum at the Igreja da Misericórdia, in Porto, a lay order of brothers founded Portugal in 1498. The order was founded on the works of mercy, seven corporal and seven spiritual. These principles are hung on floor-to-ceiling banners lining a long corridor. One reads, “Punish with charity those who err.” I stop and stare with a quizzical expression.
In traditional Catholic teaching, the works of mercy instruct believers on how to fulfill our divine purpose and come closer to God, what I might describe as living a spiritual life. The corporal works direct us to relieve the bodily suffering of others, feeding the hungry, clothing and sheltering the poor, caring for the sick. The spiritual works guide us to relieve the spiritual suffering of others by such acts as comforting the afflicted, forgiving others willingly, bearing insults with patience.
Traditionally, one of the spiritual works of mercy is phrased, “Admonish the sinner.” But here at the Misericórdia, the wording is, “Punish with charity those who err.” This is not just a softer phrase, it upends the energy entirely. Charity is the opposite of punishment. To admonish a sinner assumes a superiority, where I am the one who judges and corrects. Charity offers an abundance that does not stop to assess merit. It erases the need for judgment.
The internal contradiction of the phrase to “punish with charity” invites me to think, how would I do this? If I see someone causing harm, how do I intervene with charity? It must mean I would be so charitable in the face of offense, offer so much generosity of spirit, that the person would feel sheepish at their transgression. By modeling kindness in their presence, I would do more good than berating them with words. This interpretation invites a different level of discourse where we are both reflecting and searching for a way to repair the situation.
The original works of mercy were developed in the 12th and 13th centuries, rooted in the theology of salvation and redemption from sin. Truth was distilled into Church doctrine that laid out clear rules for what salvation required. The source of authority was external. But this new interpretation is intriguing. It replaces the hierarchy of judgment with the reciprocity of relationship. It is freeing.
I leave the Misericórdia with a new sense of the power of tradition. The works of mercy is a medieval framework that has served for centuries. It comes alive if I can see the core, and not be distracted by the dust of centuries I imagine embedded on its cover.
Photo by Steve Sphar