Tuesday, September 15, 2026

Our Lady of Sorrows: Mercy That Stays

There is something almost unsettling about the image of Our Lady of Sorrows.

Mary is not pictured smiling.

She is not standing at a comfortable distance from the suffering of her Son.

She is standing beneath the Cross.

She watches the One she loves suffer and die.

And she stays.

That is where we discover another dimension of what I call "mercy with teeth."

Mercy does not always fix the suffering.

Sometimes mercy means refusing to abandon someone who is suffering.

(Image is the 13th Station in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher - Our Lady of Sorrows.)

The Mother Who Remained

The Gospels tell us that Mary stood near the Cross of Jesus. While many of His disciples had fled, she remained.

Think about what that required.

She could not stop the crucifixion.

She could not take away the nails.

She could not silence the crowd.

She could not prevent her Son from suffering.

But she could be there.

And she was.

Sometimes we are tempted to believe that if we cannot solve someone's problem, there is nothing we can do.

Mary teaches us otherwise.

There are moments when the most merciful thing we can do is simply stay.

To sit beside someone who is grieving.

To accompany someone who is dying.

To listen to someone who has been wounded.

To stand beside someone who has been abandoned.

To remain when there are no words that can make things better.

That is mercy.

And it has teeth because it requires courage.

Mercy Is Not the Absence of Suffering

We sometimes imagine mercy as God's way of making suffering disappear.

But Mary's experience tells us something different.

She was the mother of the Messiah.

She was full of grace.

And yet she suffered.

Her holiness did not protect her from the pain of this world.

Instead, her holiness gave her the strength to enter into that pain with Christ.

The Seven Sorrows of Mary remind us that mercy does not always mean removing the Cross.

Sometimes mercy means helping another person carry it.

That is why the Christian response to suffering cannot simply be, "How do I make this go away?"

Sometimes the better question is:

"How can I help this person carry it?"

The Sword That Pierced Her Heart

Simeon had warned Mary early in Jesus' life:

"And you yourself a sword will pierce."

That prophecy was fulfilled beneath the Cross.

Mary's heart was pierced by the suffering of her Son.

And yet she did not turn away.

This is a profound image of mercy.

To love another person is to make ourselves vulnerable to their suffering.

If we truly love, their wounds begin to matter to us.

Their grief affects us.

Their pain costs us something.

Mercy with teeth is willing to pay that price.

It refuses the easier path of indifference.

The Courage to Stay

There are many ways we can abandon someone without physically walking away.

We can avoid the uncomfortable conversation.

We can stop answering the phone.

We can decide that someone's problems are simply too complicated.

We can say, "They made their own choices."

Sometimes those things may be necessary. Mercy does not require us to remain in situations that are dangerous or abusive.

But even when we must establish boundaries, we can refuse to surrender our compassion.

Mary shows us a different kind of strength.

She stayed close to Christ without being able to change His circumstances.

She loved Him without being able to rescue Him from the Cross.

She suffered with Him without taking His place.

Her presence was itself an act of love.

Mercy Does Not Enable

This is important when we speak about mercy with teeth.

Mary's presence at the Cross was not passive approval of evil.

She did not call the crucifixion good.

She did not pretend that injustice was justice.

She did not tell Jesus that His suffering didn't matter.

She simply refused to let suffering have the final word.

That distinction is important in our own relationships.

Mercy does not mean remaining in an abusive situation.

It does not mean protecting someone from the consequences of their actions.

It does not mean pretending that evil is acceptable.

It means that even when we must say "no," establish boundaries, seek justice, or separate ourselves from someone who causes harm, we can still refuse to become consumed by hatred.

Mercy can have boundaries.

Mercy can demand justice.

Mercy can speak hard truths.

And mercy can still remain mercy.

From the Cross to the Resurrection

The Blessed Virgin Mary's story did not end at Calvary.

The woman who stood beneath the Cross would also experience the joy of the Resurrection.

This is the hope at the heart of Christian mercy.

We do not enter into another person's suffering because we believe suffering is the end.

We enter because we know Christ has conquered death.

The Cross is real.

But so is the empty tomb.

The sorrow is real.

But so is the hope.

The wound is real.

But so is the possibility of healing.

Our Lady Teaches Us Mercy

Our Lady of Sorrows teaches us that mercy sometimes looks less like fixing and more like accompanying.

It looks like staying.

It looks like listening.

It looks like praying.

It looks like carrying another person's suffering to Christ.

It looks like refusing to abandon someone simply because we cannot solve their problem.

And sometimes it looks like having the courage to say the difficult thing, establish the necessary boundary, or pursue justice—while still refusing to surrender the person to hatred.

That is mercy with teeth.

It is tender enough to weep.

Strong enough to stay.

Courageous enough to confront evil.

And faithful enough to stand beneath the Cross until the dawn of resurrection.

Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.

Teach us to remain with those who suffer.

Teach us to love without enabling evil.

Teach us to seek justice without vengeance.

Teach us to forgive without pretending that wounds do not matter.

And when the Cross becomes too heavy for us to carry alone, teach us to stand beside your Son—and to invite others to stand there with us.

Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.

Sunday, September 13, 2026

24th Sunday 2026 - Released



After St. Peter asked how often he should forgive, our Lord tells a parable about a wicked debtor who owes and impossibly large amount (100,000,000 days wages) who begs for patience, but refuses to forgive the smaller debt (100 days wages) owed him. The King does not, as a result forgive the debt. The message is clear - release the debt. #Catholic #homily #Scripture #GospelOfTheDay #mercywithteeth Sign up to have podcasts and blog posts emailed to you: https://ift.tt/O5lIhso Give feedback at https://forms.gle/gGhujv39g43BUxmK6 Readings are found at https://ift.tt/WgVn5MO True Mercy Has Teeth: A Catholic Journey to Forgiveness and Healing is now available on Amazon and other places as listed at www.mercywithteeth.com
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Wednesday, September 9, 2026

St. Peter Claver: Mercy That Would Not Look Away

St. Peter Claver lived in a time when the buying and selling of human beings was treated by many as an ordinary part of commerce. Yet when he encountered the enslaved people arriving in Cartagena, Colombia, he saw something entirely different.

He saw human beings.

He saw the image of God.

And he saw Christ.

Peter Claver was a Jesuit priest who devoted his life to ministering to enslaved Africans arriving in the port of Cartagena. He would go aboard the slave ships, bringing food, medicine, and whatever comfort he could provide. He cared for the sick and dying, baptized those who desired it, taught the faith, and defended the dignity of those whom society had reduced to property.

He did not simply feel sorry for them.

He acted.

That is mercy with teeth.

Mercy That Refuses to Look Away

It would have been easy for Claver to recognize the enormity of the slave trade and conclude that there was nothing one priest could do.

Instead, he did what was immediately in front of him.

He served the person standing before him.

He treated those whom the world considered commodities as brothers and sisters.

He became, in his own words, "a slave of the slaves forever."

His ministry reminds us that mercy begins when we allow another person's suffering to interrupt our own lives.

Mercy refuses to become comfortable with another person's misery.

Beyond Compassion

St. Peter Claver's witness also challenges us to distinguish compassion from mercy.

Compassion feels the suffering of another.

Mercy does something about it.

Sometimes we cannot immediately change an entire system of injustice. But we can refuse to participate in it. We can defend the dignity of the person before us. We can speak when silence would make us complicit. We can serve those whom others overlook.

St. Peter Claver did all of this.

His ministry did not end the institution of slavery. But he refused to allow the existence of an enormous injustice to become an excuse for doing nothing.

He changed the lives immediately before him—and he gave the Church a witness that continues to challenge us.

Mercy Has Teeth

The mercy of Jesus is never satisfied with simply recognizing that someone is suffering.

Christ commands us to love our neighbor.

And sometimes loving our neighbor requires confronting the things that diminish, exploit, or dehumanize our neighbor.

That is why St. Peter Claver belongs so naturally in the story of True Mercy Has Teeth.

Mercy feeds the hungry.

Mercy cares for the sick.

Mercy comforts the suffering.

But mercy also says:

    This person has dignity.

    This person is not a possession.

    This person is not disposable.

    This person bears the image of God.

St. Peter Claver's life reminds us that authentic Christian mercy has courage. It does not merely weep over injustice.

It gets its hands dirty.

St. Peter Claver, pray for us.

Help us to see Christ in every human person—and give us the courage to act whenever human dignity is threatened.

Sunday, September 6, 2026

23rd Sunday 2026 - Salvation



Our Lord gives a model for conflict resolution, one that respects others and leads to salvation. It comes down to love. #Catholic #homily #Scripture #GospelOfTheDay #mercywithteeth Sign up to have podcasts and blog posts emailed to you: https://ift.tt/2bjn9eR Give feedback at https://forms.gle/gGhujv39g43BUxmK6 Readings are found at https://ift.tt/SJGxzIF True Mercy Has Teeth: A Catholic Journey to Forgiveness and Healing is now available on Amazon and other places as listed at www.mercywithteeth.com
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Saturday, September 5, 2026

St. Teresa of Calcutta: Mercy in the Darkness

St. Teresa of Calcutta is often pictured with a smile.

She is remembered for her tenderness toward the poor, her embrace of the dying, her little sisters in their distinctive habits, and her unwavering commitment to those whom the world had forgotten.

But behind that familiar smile was a profound mystery.

For much of her adult life, Mother Teresa experienced what she described as a deep interior darkness—a painful sense of God's absence.

And yet she continued to love.

She continued to pray.

She continued to serve.

She continued to touch the untouchable, feed the hungry, comfort the dying, and see Christ in those whom others could not, or would not, see.

Her life challenges one of the assumptions we can easily make about mercy:

    We do not have to feel God's presence in order to act with God's mercy.

When God Feels Absent

After Mother Teresa's death, her private correspondence revealed something that surprised many people.

The woman the world associated with joyful faith had endured decades of spiritual darkness.

She sometimes described an experience of emptiness, loneliness, and what felt like God's absence. She continued to believe, but the consolations that many people associate with a vibrant relationship with God were often absent.

This is an important distinction.

She did not necessarily stop believing in God.

She experienced the pain of not feeling His presence.

That distinction matters because we can easily confuse faith with feelings.

We may think:

    "If I don't feel God's presence, my faith must not be real."

    "If prayer feels empty, God must not be listening."

    "If I don't feel compassion, perhaps I am not capable of loving."

Mother Teresa's life says otherwise.

Sometimes faith is precisely what remains when the feelings disappear.

Mercy Does Not Depend on Feelings

This brings us directly to the heart of True Mercy Has Teeth.

We often think mercy as an emotion.

We feel compassion for someone, and therefore we help.

We feel sorry for someone, and therefore we forgive.

We feel love, and therefore we sacrifice.

But Christian mercy is much deeper than emotion.

Mercy is an act of the will rooted in love.

Mother Teresa did not need to feel God's presence in order to recognize the dignity of the person standing in front of her.

She did not need spiritual consolation to wash the wounds of a dying person.

She did not need to feel holy to give food to someone who was hungry.

She simply did what love required.

That is mercy with teeth.

It acts even when it is difficult.

It loves even when it hurts.

It perseveres even when there is no emotional reward.

Loving Christ Whom She Could Not Feel

There is an extraordinary paradox in Mother Teresa's spirituality.

She experienced what felt like Christ's absence while spending her entire life seeking Christ in the people she served.

The Jesus she could not always feel in prayer was the Jesus she chose to love in the poor.

This is profoundly Eucharistic.

Christ was hidden beneath the appearance of bread and wine.

Christ was also hidden beneath the appearance of a dying man on the streets of Calcutta.

The eyes of faith learned to see beyond appearances.

Mother Teresa once spoke of serving Christ "in the distressing disguise of the poorest of the poor."

That phrase captures something essential about mercy.

The person who needs our mercy may not look particularly lovable.

They may be angry.

They may be dirty.

They may smell.

They may have made terrible choices.

They may be responsible for some of their own suffering.

They may even reject us.

But mercy asks a different question:

    Can I see Christ here?

Mercy Has Teeth

Mercy with teeth is not dependent upon convenience.

It does not say:

    "I will help if I feel compassionate."

    "I will forgive when I feel like forgiving."

    "I will serve when I receive something in return."

    "I will love when God feels close."

Mother Teresa's life demonstrates something much more demanding:

    I will love because Christ has commanded me to love.

Even when I am tired.

Even when I am discouraged.

Even when I receive no gratitude.

Even when prayer feels empty.

Even when I cannot see the fruit of what I am doing.

That kind of mercy has teeth because it has roots.

Its roots are not in emotion.

Its roots are in Christ.

The Darkness Did Not Stop Her

Perhaps one of the most beautiful things about Mother Teresa's darkness is that she did not allow it to become an excuse for abandoning her vocation.

She could have said:

    "I don't feel God, so I will stop."

Instead, she kept going.

She prayed.

She served.

She founded.

She suffered.

She loved.

The darkness became not the end of her vocation but part of the offering itself.

This does not mean that suffering or spiritual dryness is automatically good. Nor does it mean that we should romanticize mental or emotional suffering.

It means that holiness is not measured by how good we feel.

Sometimes the most profound act of faith is simply to keep saying yes.

A Mercy That Costs Something

There is another lesson here for anyone who wants to practice mercy.

If we wait until mercy feels good, we may never become truly merciful.

Forgiveness can feel terrible.

Reconciliation can be frightening.

Serving someone difficult can be exhausting.

Caring for the dying can be emotionally overwhelming.

Loving someone who has hurt us can feel impossible.

And yet Christ does not command us to love only when love is easy.

The Cross settles that question.

Jesus did not save us because Calvary felt good.

He saved us because He loved.

The Sacred Heart was pierced because mercy costs something.

Mother Teresa understood this.

She did not merely speak about mercy.

She put her hands into it.

When We Cannot Feel God

Perhaps there is someone reading this who knows exactly what Mother Teresa experienced.

You pray, but God seems silent.

You go to Mass, but your heart feels numb.

You know the truths of the faith, but the consolation is gone.

You wonder whether God is still there.

Mother Teresa offers a powerful witness:

    Do not measure God's presence by your feelings.

Keep praying.

Keep receiving the sacraments.

Keep loving.

Keep serving.

Keep doing the next good thing God puts in front of you.

Faith sometimes means trusting the One whom we cannot feel.

And mercy sometimes means loving the person in front of us when we do not feel particularly loving.

The Saint Who Loved in the Dark

St. Teresa of Calcutta did not become a saint because she always felt God's presence.

She became a saint because she remained faithful to Him when she did not.

Her darkness did not cancel her mercy.

It made her mercy all the more remarkable.

She loved without demanding consolation.

She served without demanding recognition.

She gave without demanding repayment.

She trusted without demanding that God make Himself emotionally evident.

That is mercy with teeth.

It is mercy strong enough to act when feelings fail.

And perhaps that is one of the most important lessons St. Teresa gives us:

Sometimes the greatest act of faith is not feeling God's love, but choosing to become an instrument of His love for someone else.

St. Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us.

Pray that we learn to love Christ when He feels near and when He feels far away.

Pray that we learn to see Him in the poorest, the weakest, the most difficult, and the most forgotten.

And pray that we learn the courage to practice mercy—not because it is always easy, not because it always feels good, and not because we always see the results, but simply because Christ loved us first.

Jesus, make my heart like Yours: a heart that loves even in the darkness.

Sunday, August 30, 2026

22 Sunday 2026 - Surrendered



Jesus Christ speaks of His death and resurrection, and St. Peter objects, possibly because he had no understanding on the kind of Messiah that Jesus was to be. He had to surrender to the will of God, and so do we. #Catholic #homily #Scripture #GospelOfTheDay #mercywithteeth Sign up to have podcasts and blog posts emailed to you: https://ift.tt/9mcTn7C Give feedback at https://forms.gle/gGhujv39g43BUxmK6 Readings are found at https://ift.tt/osnOz6C True Mercy Has Teeth: A Catholic Journey to Forgiveness and Healing is now available on Amazon and other places as listed at www.mercywithteeth.com
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Friday, August 28, 2026

St. Augustine, St. Monica, and Mercy with Teeth

Few stories of conversion are as familiar—or as astonishing—as that of St. Augustine.

His mother, St. Monica, prayed for him for years. Augustine wandered through relationships, philosophies, ambitions, and eventually into the errors of Manichaeism. He knew something was missing, but he could not yet surrender himself completely to God.

Monica prayed.

Augustine resisted.

God waited.

And then mercy found him.

The story of Augustine and Monica reminds us that God's mercy is patient, but it is not passive. It pursues us. It challenges us. It exposes the lies we have believed about ourselves and about God.

It is, in other words, mercy with teeth.

A Mother Who Would Not Give Up

St. Monica is one of the great patrons of persistent prayer.

She watched her son make choices that caused her deep anguish. She could have given up. She could have decided that Augustine was simply beyond hope.

Instead, she prayed.

She wept.

She followed.

And she trusted that God's grace was greater than her son's wandering.

There is something deeply consoling here for anyone who has a loved one who seems far from God.

Monica teaches us that we should never confuse patience with indifference.

She did not approve of everything Augustine did. Her persistence was not an affirmation of his choices. She loved him too much to abandon him to them.

That is mercy with teeth.

Sometimes the most merciful thing we can do is refuse to give up on someone.

Augustine's Restless Heart

Augustine eventually came to understand that all the things he had pursued could not satisfy the deepest hunger of his heart.

His famous confession captures it beautifully:

"Our hearts are restless until they rest in you."

The restlessness was itself a kind of mercy.

God would not allow Augustine to become comfortable with a life that was less than the life for which he had been created.

Sometimes we think of God's mercy as God removing our difficulties.

But sometimes God's mercy is precisely the opposite.

Sometimes God's mercy makes us uncomfortable.

It allows us to feel the emptiness of the life we have chosen.

It makes us dissatisfied with substitutes.

It awakens the conscience.

It creates a holy restlessness that drives us home.

Mercy with teeth does not merely make us feel better.

It makes us want something better.

"Give Me Chastity—but Not Yet"

Augustine famously prayed for chastity, but humorously admitted that he was not yet ready for the answer.

Beneath the humor is something profoundly human.

We often want God's gifts without wanting God's demands.

We want peace without surrender.

Forgiveness without repentance.

Healing without change.

Resurrection without dying to ourselves.

Augustine eventually discovered that grace does not simply make it easier to remain the person we already are.

Grace makes us new.

Pelagius and the Great Question of Grace

Years after Augustine's conversion, another controversy forced the Church to articulate this truth more clearly.

A British monk named Pelagius objected to what he considered Augustine's emphasis on human weakness and original sin. Pelagius taught, in various forms, that human beings possess sufficient natural ability to choose the good and fulfill God's commands without the necessity of God's interior grace in the way Augustine understood it.

The Church rejected this teaching, known as Pelagianism, because it struck at the heart of the Gospel.

If we can save ourselves by our own natural ability, what exactly do we need Christ for?

Augustine became one of the Church's great defenders of the necessity of grace.

He understood this personally.

He knew that he had not simply thought his way into holiness.

He had not conquered his disordered desires through willpower alone.

He had not saved himself.

He had been rescued.

Mercy Does Not Flatter Us

This is where Augustine speaks directly to the theme of True Mercy Has Teeth.

Pelagianism, at its deepest level, offers a flattering message:

    You are capable of fixing yourself.

The Gospel offers something both more humbling and more hopeful:

    You cannot save yourself—but God can save you.

Christian mercy does not tell us that we are already sufficient.

It tells us that we are loved enough for God to transform us.

There is a difference.

A false and cheap mercy that merely tells us, "You are fine just as you are," leaves us where we are.

The mercy of Jesus says:

    You are loved exactly where you are—but I love you too much to leave you there.

That is mercy with teeth.

Grace Does Not Destroy Freedom

Augustine's teaching about grace is sometimes misunderstood as if God's grace means that our choices do not matter.

Quite the opposite.

Grace heals and elevates our freedom so that we can finally become what God created us to be.

A sick person does not become less free because a physician heals him. He becomes capable of doing what his illness prevented him from doing.

In the same way, grace does not enslave us.

Grace frees us from the slavery of sin.

Augustine knew the difference because he had experienced it.

He had been a man who wanted to change but could not fully change himself.

Then Christ gave him grace.

And grace did what Augustine could not do alone.

Monica's Tears and Augustine's Grace

The story of Augustine and Monica therefore belongs together.

Monica's tears were not wasted.

Augustine's wandering was not the end of his story.

God's mercy was working even when neither could see exactly what He was doing.

Monica prayed for a son who would return to God.

God gave the Church a bishop, theologian, Doctor, and saint whose writings would shape Christian thought for centuries.

But notice something important:

God did not simply answer Monica's prayer by making Augustine "nicer."

He converted him.

He broke open his pride.

He exposed his illusions.

He redirected his desires.

He gave him a new heart.

That is the kind of mercy we need.

The Mercy That Will Not Let Us Settle

There is a dangerous version of mercy that simply leaves us alone.

It says:

    "Don't worry about your sin."

    "Don't worry about conversion."

    "Don't worry about holiness."

    "God understands."

Of course God understands.

And because He understands us perfectly, He knows exactly what we need to become holy.

The mercy of Christ does not merely excuse our failures.

It enters into them.

It confronts them.

It heals them.

It gives us grace to overcome them.

It calls us higher.

Augustine discovered that the God he had been searching for was not merely an answer to an intellectual question.

He was the Father running toward His prodigal son.

And once Augustine encountered that mercy, he could never again be satisfied with anything less.

A Mercy Worth Praying For

St. Monica teaches us to pray for those who have wandered.

St. Augustine teaches us never to presume that anyone is beyond conversion.

And the controversy with Pelagius reminds us why this matters so much:

    We need grace.

We cannot manufacture holiness by ourselves.

We cannot save ourselves.

We cannot heal every wound through sheer determination.

We need Christ.

We need His mercy.

We need His grace.

And sometimes that grace comes gently.

Sometimes it comes through tears and years of persistent prayer.

Sometimes it comes through the uncomfortable realization that the life we are living is not the life we were made for.

Sometimes it comes through a truth that cuts deeply enough to set us free.

That is mercy with teeth.

It is the mercy that loves us enough to pursue us.

The mercy that refuses to give up.

The mercy that tells us the truth.

The mercy that gives us grace to become what we could never become on our own.

St. Monica, pray for those who are waiting and praying for someone they love.

St. Augustine, pray for all of us whose hearts are restless.

And above all, may we never forget the lesson your lives teach us:

God's mercy does not merely meet us where we are. It comes to find us there—and then leads us home.