Jacob chapter 7 of The Book of Mormon narrates the tale of Sherem the anti-Christ, who accuses the Nephite prophet Jacob of blasphemy. Specifically, Sherem argues that not only is there no Christ to come (as Jacob argues), but that even to teach about Christ at all leads the people away from the Law of Moses, “that they pervert the right way of God.” Jacob however is unshaken by Sherem’s eloquence, having had “many revelations and the many things which I had seen concerning these things; for I truly had seen angels, and they had ministered unto me. And also, I had heard the voice of the Lord speaking unto me in very word”. Jacob proceeds to argue that the Law of Moses itself points towards Christ to come, to which Sherem insists upon a sign “by the Holy Ghost.”
What happens next is troubling, because receiving a witness by the Holy Ghost is precisely what so many of us as missionaries borderline begged our investigators to do; I dare say that most of us would’ve been over the moon to have someone straight-up ask for a sign “by the Holy Ghost.” The only way I can read this Book of Mormon passage charitably is to assume that Sherem was seeking a sign in bad faith (pun intended), with no intention of changing his mind no matter what Jacob said or did—and Jacob knew it—so he dispensed with any further argumentation and cut right to the chase, inviting the Lord God Almighty to smite Sherem directly.
Which the Almighty obliges. As Sherem lay dying, he declares: “I fear lest I have committed the unpardonable sin, for I have lied unto God; for I denied the Christ, and said that I believed the scriptures; and they truly testify of him. And because I have thus lied unto God I greatly fear lest my case shall be awful; but I confess unto God.” (Jacob 7:19)
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The narrator in “The Mercy Seat”—the 1988 signature song of Punk legends Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds—has no such assurances either way. This death-row inmate steeling himself for the electric chair possesses neither the visions and visitations of Jacob, nor the glib self-assurance of Sherem, but only the certitude of his imminent execution.
Yet the narrator is also strangely like both men in this moment, even if he remains much less confident versions of either. Like Jacob, he has at least heard of “How Christ was born into a manger/And like some ragged stranger/Died upon the cross”, but immediately undercuts that comfort with “Or at least that’s what I’m told.” Like Sherem, he has also at least heard of the Law of Moses, specifically Leviticus 24:19-21–“An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”—which he repeats at least 15 times over the course of the song, all without ever being able to fully convince himself of its justice.
The song lyrics themselves cleverly conflate both the electric chair with the mercy seat atop the Ark of the Covenant, where “The ark of His testament is stowed/A throne from which I’m told/All history does unfold”—for what both seats share in common is the dread assurance that “God is never far away.”
One can read in the song’s tension between Jesus Christ and the Ark of the Covenant a similar tension between Jacob and Sherem: between the Old and the New Testament, between Justice and Mercy, between legalism and revelation. The difference is that unlike Jacob and Sherem, the death-row inmate (much like Nick Cave himself) honestly does not know in which to place his faith in trust.
In the absence of any such assurance, the narrator repeatedly insists “And I’m not afraid to die” at the end of almost every repetition of the chorus. However, it becomes clear that he’s more trying to convince himself than anyone else, especially when he finishes the final chorus with: “But I’m afraid I told a lie.” Echoing Sherem in his final moments, the narrator fears he has lied, but still confesses it. Whether he has lied to God, or only to himself, (or if there is any such difference), is left ambiguous.
We are all of course in a similar position: we are all condemned to die as well. Maybe not by electric chair, but we are all indeed condemned nevertheless. May we not wait till our final moments to stop lying to ourselves, and wrestle out just what it is we really believe in.