Daniel prays on behalf of his people.

He does not defend them.
He does not excuse them.
He does not blame circumstances.

He confesses.

“We have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled,
turning aside from your commandments and rules.”

This is not private guilt.
It is communal truth.

Daniel speaks as part of the people.
He does not separate himself from their failure.

“To us, O Lord, belongs open shame…
because we have sinned against you.”

He names what has happened.

Disobedience has brought distance.
Infidelity has brought exile.

And yet his prayer does not end in despair.

“To the Lord our God belong mercy and forgiveness,
for we have rebelled against him.”

Daniel holds two truths together.

Guilt is real.
Mercy is greater.

He does not ask God to deny justice.
He asks God to act according to His character.

Not because the people deserve it.
But because God is merciful.

This is what repentance looks like.

Not self-hatred.
Not excuse-making.
But truth placed before mercy.

This prepares us for the Gospel.

Jesus says:

“Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.”

He does not say:
Be lenient.
Be vague.
Be indifferent.

He says:
Be like God.

God’s mercy does not ignore sin.
It heals it.

So Jesus continues:

“Judge not, and you will not be judged;
condemn not, and you will not be condemned;
forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

This is not the abolition of truth.
It is the refusal of self-righteousness.

We are not forbidden to recognise wrong.
We are forbidden to sit in God’s seat.

Judgment that forgets mercy
becomes cruelty.

Condemnation that forgets our own need
becomes blindness.

And Jesus adds:

“Give, and it will be given to you…
For with the measure you use
it will be measured back to you.”

Mercy is not only a feeling.
It is a practice.

It has weight.
It has measure.

How we treat others
reveals how we see ourselves before God.

Daniel confesses
because he knows the people need mercy.

Jesus commands mercy
because we all need it.

There is no room in Lent
for spiritual pride.

We are not fasting
because we are better.

We are fasting
because we are in need.

Daniel does not say:
They have sinned.

He says:
We have sinned.

This is the voice of true prayer.

And Jesus tells us
how that prayer must shape our lives.

Not by withdrawing from others.
But by treating them
as we hope to be treated by God.

The temptation in Lent
is to turn inward
in a way that becomes judgmental.

To measure our effort
against the failures of others.

To say:
At least I am trying.

Jesus blocks that path.

With the measure you use,
it will be measured back to you.

Mercy is not weakness.
It is realism.

It knows that sin spreads.
It knows that wounds repeat.
It knows that without grace
no one stands.

Daniel’s prayer is answered
not because it is eloquent
but because it is honest.

Jesus’ command is demanding
not because it is soft
but because it is divine.

“Be merciful,
even as your Father is merciful.”

God’s mercy is not careless.
It is costly.

It leads Him to forgive.
It leads Him to restore.
It leads Him to the cross.

So when Jesus commands mercy,
he is not offering an option.

He is describing the shape of discipleship.

The disciple is not the one
who points out guilt.

He is the one who carries forgiveness.

The Church is not a courtroom. It is a place of return.

Not because sin is small. But because God is great.

Daniel shows us how to speak to God.
Jesus shows us how to speak to one another.

Confession toward God.
Mercy toward others.

Lent holds these together.

If we confess without mercy,
we become hard.

If we show mercy without confession,
we become shallow.

But when truth and mercy meet,
conversion begins.

So the question today is not: Who is wrong?

It is: How do I measure?

Do I measure with severity
or with mercy?

Do I see my neighbour
as an object of judgment
or as someone who, like me,
stands in need of forgiveness?

Daniel says: To us belongs shame. To God belongs mercy.

Jesus says: Then let mercy pass through you.

This is not sentiment.
It is obedience.

And it is the path
that leads out of exile
and back into life.