“So the posts passed from city to city through the country of Ephraim and Manasseh even unto Zebulun: but they laughed them to scorn, and mocked them.” (2 Chronicles 30:10)

There is a sorrow in this verse that weighs heavily on the soul. The messengers of mercy go forth with an invitation from God Himself—an invitation to return, to worship, to be healed, to be restored. Yet the response from many is not humility, not gratitude, not even indifference, but mockery. “They laughed them to scorn, and mocked them.” They laugh at the very grace that would have saved them. They scorn the call that could have delivered them from judgment. This is not a failure of communication; it is the revelation of a hardened heart. Scripture describes this condition with sobering clarity: “Fools make a mock at sin” (Proverbs 14:9). And again, “They have not hearkened unto My words, nor to My law, but have hardened their necks” (Jeremiah 7:26). Mockery is not merely an outward act—it is the overflow of an inward rebellion.

The book of Hebrews gives us the spiritual anatomy behind this tragedy. It tells us plainly that unbelief is not passive; it is hardening. “Take heed, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief, in departing from the living God” (Hebrews 3:12). Unbelief does not merely doubt God—it distances itself from Him. It withdraws, resists, stiffens. And this unbelief, when indulged, produces hardness: “But exhort one another daily… lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin” (Hebrews 3:13). This is what we see in Ephraim and Manasseh. Their mockery is the final stage of a long inward departure. The heart that refuses to believe eventually refuses to feel. The heart that resists God’s voice eventually ridicules it.

Yet even here, the mercy of God shines. He sends His word into places where He knows it will be despised. He extends His invitation to those who have no intention of receiving it. He offers grace to those who will ridicule it. This is the longsuffering of God, the patience that Peter speaks of when he writes, “The Lord is… longsuffering to usward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). God does not withhold His mercy because He foresees rejection. He sends it anyway. He offers it anyway. He calls anyway. His compassion is not conditioned by human response.

Here the light gathers around Christ Himself, for He entered a world that mocked the very mercy He brought. He was “despised and rejected of men” (Isaiah 53:3), yet He opened not His mouth. At Calvary they cried, “He saved others; Himself He cannot save” (Matthew 27:42), and still He prayed, “Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34). He bore the contradiction of sinners, as Hebrews declares: “Consider Him that endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself” (Hebrews 12:3). The One most scorned is the One who most freely offers mercy. And the same Christ who was rejected now stands at the door and knocks, saying, “If any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in to him” (Revelation 3:20). The mercy Ephraim refused is now revealed in the pierced hands of the Son of God, who still calls, still invites, still softens the hardest heart.

And as His mercy is considered, the soul cannot help but feel its own need. The Word that exposes also heals; the call that confronts also restores. The same voice that was mocked in Ephraim speaks still, searching the hidden places, drawing the heart away from its quiet resistances, loosening the subtle stiffness that grows unnoticed. His kindness presses gently, not loudly, turning the gaze inward only so that it may rise again toward Him.

And so I sit before Him, asking for a heart that trembles at His Word, that yields quickly, that refuses the slow hardening of unbelief, and that carries His mercy even to those who may scorn it.

And then there was silence.