I used to think I had it all figured out. My faith was strict, structured, and rule-driven, though I would have said it wasn't. I didn't just have rules; I had rules for my rules, but I didn't see it that way. I believed I was defending God's truth, but in reality, I was pushing my own agenda. If you disagreed with me, I condemned you. I thought God was angry at you, and I was not afraid to let you know it. Looking back now, I can see how hard, unloving, and dogmatic I was.

Here is the sobering part: I did not realize how wrong I was. I was not trying to be cruel. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing. I now see how much I resembled the Pharisees: zealous yet blind to grace.

The Bible has a word for this: ignorance. Paul said in 1 Timothy 1:13,

"Who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious: but I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief."

He thought he was serving God by persecuting Christians. In reality, he was fighting against the very One he longed to serve.

Ignorance does not make sin harmless. When I was harsh, I was wrong, period. When Paul persecuted the church, it was sin. When the soldiers crucified Jesus, it was evil. But ignorance does explain why God responded with mercy instead of immediate judgment. Jesus prayed from the cross,

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" Luke 23:34.

Peter told the crowd in Jerusalem,

"And now, brethren, I wot that through ignorance ye did it, as did also your rulers" Acts 3:17.

Over and over, Scripture shows that God has compassion on people who stumble in the dark, even when their actions are terrible.

That is what He did with me. He was patient while I lived in a performance-based religion, striving to earn His love by being right. I did not understand that the gospel was never about my performance, but about Christ's finished work. Grace was not the center. I was. And because I was blind to grace, I became harsh toward others.

This is where God's mercy shines the brightest. Mercy does not just mean God forgives our wrongs. Mercy means He patiently awakens us to see reality. Paul's "I obtained mercy" is more than a pardon. It is an unveiling. Mercy is God saying, "You did not know what you were doing. Let me show you who I am and who you are in Christ."

The Spirit does this gently. He does not drag us out of ignorance with shame, but with love. He keeps bringing us along, peeling back layers of blindness. That is why Paul, later in his life, could say, "By the grace of God I am what I am." Grace had reshaped him from the inside out.

Even in our ignorance, God's acceptance never changes. We are not clawing our way into His love. We were already embraced in Christ before we ever opened our eyes. That means my harshness, my legalism, my blind zeal, none of it disqualified me from His love. It hurt me, it hurt others, and it grieved His heart. But it never once made Him turn His back on me.

Ignorance often drives us back to the law. We cling to rules because we do not yet understand the liberty of grace. But the law was never meant to make us holy. It was meant to show us our failure and drive us to Christ. In that sense, even our ignorance becomes part of God's classroom. The law exposes us, our blind zeal condemns us, and then mercy steps in with the voice of grace:

"Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law."

Here is the hard truth. We can be dead wrong and still think we are dead right. Pride loves to put us in that position. As C. S. Lewis once wrote,

"A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you."

That was me. I was so busy looking down at those I judged that I could not lift my eyes to see the mercy of God above me. It took grace to lift my head.

Mercy also means we can admit the whole ugly truth about ourselves without fear, because God's mercy has already covered it. We do not have to defend ourselves. We do not have to rewrite the story. We can say, "I was wrong. I was blind. I hurt people. I thought I was right, but I was not." And then we can rest, not in our ability to fix it, but in God's mercy to forgive and redeem it.

And the mercy that covered our ignorance must become the mercy we extend to others in theirs. Just as God was patient with us, we must be patient with those who do not see it yet. Forgive them. Release them. Do not hold onto their blindness as a weapon against them. God did not do that with us. He loved us while we were still blind. To receive mercy is to become a vessel of mercy.

And here is the truth that keeps me humble: I am probably still wrong in some areas right now. I do not see all of my blind spots. But the same Spirit who led me out of ignorance before is still teaching me today. He is not done with me yet, and He is not done with you either.

Ignorance is not innocence. We are still responsible for the ways we hurt others when we do not understand grace. But ignorance is also the place where God delights to pour out mercy. He meets us in our blind spots, not to shame us, but to patiently lead us into the freedom of His love.

Paul's story, my story, and maybe yours too, all testify to this one thing: God's mercy runs deeper than our ignorance. And as long as we keep a heart willing to repent when truth comes, He will never stop teaching us, never stop shaping us, and never stop loving us.

The miracle of grace is this: even in the seasons when we thought we were defending the truth, but were actually blind and hurting others, God did not walk away. He stayed. He was patient. He was kind. He loved us even then. That is what turns our shame into gratitude and our ignorance into praise.

I thought I knew the way to go,
With rules on rules my heart would show.
I raised my voice, I drew the line,
Condemned the ones who weren’t like mine.

I thought that God was hard and stern,
That love was something I must earn.
I pressed my case with zeal and pride,
But mercy waited by my side.

I struck with words, I bruised with tone,
Not seeing grace was not my own.
I hurt the weak, I shamed the poor,
While Christ kept knocking at the door.

Yet in my blindness, harsh and cold,
A gentler hand began to hold.
The Spirit whispered, “Child, come see,
The love that flows eternally.”

Ignorance is not the end,
For mercy rises, grace descends.
The Judge does not condemn my fall,
His arms of kindness take it all.

And now I live by mercy’s song,
Admitting still that I am wrong.
But one truth keeps me standing tall:
His grace runs deeper than it all.