Everyone loves God's mercy, when it's directed at them.

But when those we hate find themselves in the crosshairs of total forgiveness, we struggle.

Understandable, but that struggle is a dangerous one,

because Yahweh has always had more room at his table for penitent sinners than for judgmental saints.

This is a story about running, about turning away from a God who defies our personal

preferences, a God who asks unreasonable things, a God who loves our enemies. It's a story about the

scandal of mercy, about the checkered hearts of the people of God,

and about Yahweh's constant invitation to change. I'm Justin Gerhardt. Welcome to Holy Ghost Stories. ghost stories. Coastal morning.

Coastal morning, 6 a.m.

The calls of seagulls bobbing in the harbor echo off the walls of the houses, while white-winged turns circle overhead, scanning the waters for unsuspecting prey.

The edge of the Mediterranean lapse against the limestone breakwater, releasing the tangy scent of the sea,

whispering secrets about what lies beneath.

Deccans pile cargo onto waiting ships, crates full of bronze nails, jars of olive oil, ivory, woolen garments, barley, salted mutton.

Like a double-file circuit of ants, other workers travel in the opposite direction from those same

ships, unloading materials born from distant lands.

Lebanese cedar, Egyptian gold, even from far-off Magan, diorite, that unyielding stone favored by the Assyrians for their sculptures and reliefs, the ones depicting their violent kings, and their horrific conquests of the nations to the east. A few blocks inland amidst the crowded booths of the marketplace and the children

crisscrossing the cobblestone street and the women and men gathered in impromptu morning councils,

one man looks out of place. He cuts a straight line through

the crowd, his gait swift, his expression edgy, eyes darting around as if he's expecting

to be surprised. An attendant trails behind with a donkey, but the man does not look back. He walks along the main street, tracing the backbone of the 130-foot-tall ridge on which the city is built.

Spectacular views of the coastline stretching out to the left and to the right.

If the stories are true, it's no wonder Noah's son Japheth chose this spot on which to build a town after the

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