"The Quality of Mercy"

 

It is Sunday, so perhaps you'll forgive me for starting with Shakespeare.

“The quality of mercy is not strained,” Portia tells us in The Merchant of Venice. It falls like gentle rain and blesses both the person who gives it and the person who receives it.

Nearly 430 years later, I think the nonprofit sector could use a little of that gentle rain.

Nonprofits are strapped beyond belief right now, particularly the small and midsize organizations that make up so much of our community infrastructure. Money is tight. Grants are increasingly competitive. Individual donors are watching their own household budgets. Costs have risen. Needs haven't gone anywhere, and in many cases, they've increased.

But money isn't the only resource in short supply.

People are tired.

The same economic pressures affecting nonprofits are affecting the people who support them. People are working longer hours. Some are working more than one job. Families are juggling increasingly expensive groceries, utilities, housing, transportation and healthcare. After a long day of keeping their own lives afloat, asking someone to spend another three hours volunteering at a committee meeting, staffing an event or stuffing envelopes is a considerably bigger ask than it might appear on a volunteer recruitment form.

It also means nonprofits are scrambling. Staff members are doing the work of two or three positions. Board members are filling operational gaps. Volunteers are learning jobs they never expected to perform. Executive directors are writing grants at midnight. Someone who came aboard because she cared about arts education suddenly knows more than she ever wanted to know about insurance certificates, Canva, QuickBooks, and whether 200 folding chairs will fit in the back of a borrowed pickup truck.

This is nonprofit life in 2026.

Which is why it strikes me, and not in a good way, when I encounter unnecessary harshness toward nonprofit organizations and the people volunteering their time to keep them going.

There is a difference between having professional standards and having no grace.

I believe people should be paid appropriately for their expertise. I believe nonprofits should respect the time and labor of consultants, vendors, artists, fundraisers, and other professionals. “We're a nonprofit” is not a magic phrase that makes someone else's bills disappear.

But I also believe there are moments when being technically entitled to something doesn't necessarily mean squeezing every possible dollar, minute or concession out of the situation is the best choice.

Sometimes somebody is struggling. Sometimes an organization misses something because three volunteers are doing the work that should belong to six paid employees. Sometimes a small nonprofit needs another week. Sometimes the person on the other end of the email is dealing with circumstances you know nothing about. Sometimes you can extend a little grace without diminishing the value of your own work.

And here's the thing I've learned after years of fundraising, nonprofit leadership, and community work: people remember.

They remember who helped when things were going well, certainly. But they especially remember who helped when things were not.

They remember the person who said, “Don't worry about that. We'll figure it out.”

They remember the vendor who gave them an extra week.

They remember the professional who spent ten minutes explaining something instead of sending another invoice.

They remember the organization that made room at the table when they couldn't afford the price of admission.

They also remember the opposite.

Fundraising is ultimately built on relationships, and relationships have long memories. The goodwill you extend today may have absolutely no immediate return. It may never appear on a spreadsheet. There may be no KPI for it, no grant deliverable, and no neat way to calculate its ROI.

That doesn't make it worthless. Quite the opposite.

Some of the strongest relationships I've seen in the nonprofit world began because somebody showed up for somebody else when there was nothing obvious to be gained from doing so.

That doesn't mean abandoning boundaries. It doesn't mean working for free. It doesn't mean allowing people to take advantage of you or expecting professionals to subsidize organizations through their own unpaid labor.

It means remembering that the bottom line isn't the only line worth watching.

The nonprofit sector exists because we believe communities are stronger when people take some responsibility for one another. We believe arts matter, hunger matters, education matters, history matters, journalism matters, animals matter, neighborhoods matter, and people matter.

It would be a strange contradiction if, in doing all that work, we forgot to extend a little humanity to the people standing beside us.

Especially now.

Because nonprofits will remember who supported them through this period. Volunteers will remember who valued their contribution. Emerging leaders will remember who encouraged them instead of embarrassing them. Organizations struggling to survive will remember who offered a hand instead of another obstacle.

And - someday - circumstances will change. Budgets recover. Organizations grow. Volunteers become board members. Junior employees become executive directors. Small nonprofits become larger institutions. People change jobs, gain influence, control budgets, make referrals, and decide whom they want beside them on the next project.

That's not why we should treat people well, but it is a pretty compelling reminder that generosity and good business have never been quite as far apart as we sometimes pretend they are.

Shakespeare's Portia says mercy blesses the person who gives it and the person who receives it.

The nonprofit sector could use more of both.