Today, I learned the importance and reward of trading judgment for mercy.

A few days ago, I wrote about the challenge of being less judgemental and more merciful. I don’t think judgment, anger or hate is good for me or anybody else. I love the idea of trading judgment for mercy, yet I’m not sure I can do it.

I grew up around judgment all my life, and harsh judgment is now built into our culture and politics. It is almost impossible to escape. We are drowning in judgment and hostility. I want to be different.

It’s a difficult thing to change. I kept track of how many times I had been judgemental in the past few days, and I quit counting around 100.

I realized that I am naturally merciful and non-judgemental at the Mansion, when working with refugee children and their teachers, and when working with the Army Of Good.

I know this can be done, but it will require a lot of focus and discipline.

Today, I learned an important lesson in being merciful and less judgemental when I went to the supermarket to do our weekly food shop. I know the supermarket well; I’ve been shopping there for 15 years, and I know every inch of every aisle.

It was a big shop; we needed fruit, vegetable fish, beans, yogurt, Almond milk, paper towels, and toilet paper, among a dozen other things.

Six different cashier lines were open; the market was busy as it often is late morning on Wednesdays.

All of the lines were busy and long.

I was near the moving belt when I noticed a young man at the end of the line doing the food packing. The cashier totaled the bill with her electronic stamp. I saw the young man struggling to get a man’s food into some bags. Something was off.

The man at the front of the line was angry and loud; he complained that the packer was crushing his berries and mashing up a cereal box. The line had tensed up; everyone looked the other way if they could.

The young man looked upset and confused; he was obviously new and unsure how to pack the food quickly and efficiently. When I looked closer, I saw he had an intellectual disability. A decade ago, the term people used was retarded, now understood to be offensive, and I don’t use it.

The young man was holding down the line and getting increasingly unnerved by the man’s criticism of him, which was highly critical.

He turned to the cashier and complained that the young man didn’t know what he was doing, wasn’t appropriately trained, and shouldn’t be left alone to bag his groceries. He was indignant as if this was meant as a personal affront to him.

I looked around, prepared to move to another line. This could take too long, and I was anxious to get home, and I am always impatient with long lines. And the young man had trouble bagging.

But something stopped me.

I had this sudden revelation. Okay, I thought, this is a chance to trade judgment and complaint for mercy and empathy.  To put my money where my mouth is.

I pushed my way to the head of the line and asked the young man if he needed help. I was a grocery stacker once, and it’s like riding a bicycle. You never really forget how to do it. And people often shouted at me.

As hard as it is to be less judgemental, I refuse to be a nasty older man who complains about everything from the price of gasoline to his taxes and an intellectually disabled bagger in a supermarket line or every politician who disagrees with him.

One of my feet was still in a surgical boot, and I was hobbling to get to Jimmy.

An older woman behind in the line saw what was happening,  noticed my foot, came forward and offered to help Jimmy and me. I had a lot of groceries in my cart.

The cashier smiled and nodded as we quickly came through the line,  packed the groceries, and properly stacked them – eggs and perishables on top, wider, solid packages on the bottom.

It all came back to me. The woman knew what she was doing also.

The young man  – Jimmy said the name tag – looked enormously relieved but also very nervous. He said he was sorry and talked about the food that he ate at home. He liked what we did with the eggs and berries, he said.

He was trying very hard but s struggling to remember the order of things. He said he had only had this job for a few days. He smiled and asked if I was having a good day, “sir.”

The man glowered at us, paid for his groceries, and left, muttering loudly that Jimmy didn’t know what he was doing, had taken too long, and had damaged his food. The teenage cashier smiled at us and nodded but said nothing. She was also anxious.

Jimmy said he would pack my groceries and would do it right. I liked his attitude. He just plowed right on. He jammed the berries and fruit in one at a time in no particular order and filled up the two bags I had brought with me. We had to buy two more to get all the groceries in.

Jimmy laughed and said he was learning to do it. He was really the nicest kid, trying as hard as he could.

As I paid and talked with Jimmy about the cold weather outside, the woman and I stood on each side of him. I patted him on the shoulder, “Jimmy,” I said,” you did a good job, and I know you will learn what you need to learn. Thanks.”

He beamed as if he had won an Oscar.

The woman also thanked him, praised his work, and returned to her cart.

She and I waved goodbye to each other. I wanted to hug her, but that could also be offensive. I am always in awe of the goodness in most people. They never get on the news, but millions of them are around.

As I pushed my cart through the parking lot, the man who was complaining was loading up his car, and he was bitching to some in his car about the dumb kid in the cashier’s line, how he nearly ruined his berries and didn’t know how to put groceries into a bag.

He said they should have trained him better, gotten someone to be with him, or given him a different job.

If he recognized me, he didn’t let on. I said nothing to him and went to my car but thought to myself:

This is why learning to exchange judgment for mercy is a good thing. Aside from giving Jimmy a much-needed boost, it gave me one too. Instead of leaving the grocery store angry and righteous, I felt good about myself and glad I had done what I did. I loved that another person came out of the line to help me. It was a very human connection.

Instead of feeling disconnected and alienated, I felt connected, decent and human.

It wasn’t just good for Jimmy; it was good for me.

It was not a big deal in the scheme of things, but it was a good step forward for me.  I’m going ahead with my project to be less judgemental and more merciful. I see how it can work.

There’s a term sweeping the country and the media lately. I like it.

We need to be nicer to each other.

Amen.