St. Rita of Cascia and the Strength of Mercy

Today the Church honors Rita of Cascia, a woman whose life is often reduced to a collection of inspiring images: a rose in winter, a thorn from Christ’s crown, and the title “Saint of Impossible Causes.”

Yet beneath those beautiful symbols is a woman who lived one of the most difficult forms of mercy imaginable.

If there is a saint who demonstrates the central message of True Mercy Has Teeth, St. Rita is certainly among them.

Mercy Is Not the Same as Passivity

Many people hear Rita’s story and imagine a gentle woman who simply endured suffering. The truth is far more powerful.

Born in 14th-century Italy, Rita was married against her wishes to a man known for his violent temper. Her husband was involved in family feuds and lived a life marked by anger and conflict. Rita endured years of hardship within her marriage.

Yet she did not respond to violence with violence.

Nor did she excuse her husband’s behavior.

Instead, she persevered in prayer, truth, and fidelity. Through her witness, her husband eventually experienced a profound conversion before his death.

That distinction matters.

Mercy is not pretending evil does not exist. Mercy is choosing love while refusing to surrender to evil.

Too often we confuse mercy with enabling. Rita did not enable sin. She confronted it with holiness.

The Hardest Prayer of a Mother

After her husband’s death, Rita faced another tragedy. Her two sons became consumed with thoughts of revenge against those responsible for their father’s murder.

The culture around them considered vengeance honorable.

Rita knew better.

She understood that if her sons followed that path, they would lose not only their lives but potentially their souls.

Tradition tells us that she prayed they would be spared from committing mortal sin, even if that meant God would call them home first.

Modern readers can struggle with this prayer, but it reveals something profound.

Rita was thinking eternally.

She loved her sons too much to sacrifice their souls for temporary satisfaction.

This is mercy with teeth.

Mercy that chooses eternal salvation over immediate comfort.

Mercy that loves enough to say no.

Mercy that rejects revenge.

Forgiveness Without Illusions

One of the greatest misunderstandings about forgiveness is the belief that it requires us to deny the seriousness of what happened.

St. Rita’s life teaches the opposite.

Her husband was murdered.

Her family suffered.

Her future was shattered.

Nothing about her circumstances was fair.

Yet she refused to let hatred become her identity.

Forgiveness did not erase the injustice.

Forgiveness did not declare evil to be good.

Forgiveness did not mean there were no consequences.

Forgiveness meant that she entrusted judgment to God rather than allowing bitterness to consume her heart.

In True Mercy Has Teeth, I write that forgiveness is not the surrender of justice. It is the surrender of vengeance.

Rita understood that distinction deeply.

Mercy and Conversion

After the deaths of her husband and sons, Rita sought entrance into a convent. Even there, obstacles stood in her way because of the ongoing feud between families.

According to tradition, she eventually helped bring reconciliation between the rival families before being admitted.

Notice the pattern throughout her life:

• She sought conversion, not victory.
• She pursued reconciliation, not revenge.
• She desired holiness, not vindication.
• She trusted God, even when circumstances seemed impossible.

This is why she became known as the patroness of impossible causes.

Not because she possessed magical solutions.

But because she believed that God’s grace could transform hearts that appeared beyond hope.

A Saint for Our Time

We live in an age of outrage.

Social media rewards vengeance.

Politics rewards tribalism.

Personal conflicts often become permanent divisions.

St. Rita offers another way.

She reminds us that mercy is not weakness.

It takes far more strength to forgive than to retaliate.

It takes far more courage to seek reconciliation than to deepen division.

It takes far more faith to entrust justice to God than to seize it for ourselves.

Mercy That Bears Fruit

The rose associated with St. Rita is a fitting symbol.

Roses grow among thorns.

Their beauty emerges from a plant that can wound.

So too with mercy.

Authentic mercy is beautiful, but it is not soft sentimentality.

It has thorns.

It confronts sin.

It calls for conversion.

It demands forgiveness.

It seeks reconciliation.

And ultimately, it bears the fragrance of Christ.

As we celebrate St. Rita today, perhaps the impossible cause God places before us is not some external problem but a wounded relationship, a lingering resentment, or a person we have quietly given up on.

St. Rita’s life reminds us that God’s grace specializes in what seems impossible.

And that true mercy—the kind that has teeth—can transform even the hardest hearts.

St. Rita of Cascia, patroness of impossible causes, pray for us. Teach us to forgive without denying the truth, to love without enabling sin, and to trust that God’s mercy is powerful enough to accomplish what we cannot.

St. Catherine of Sienna - Fire of Mercy

 

The life of St. Catherine of Siena confronts us with a truth we often resist: real mercy is not timid. It does not whisper when souls are at stake. It speaks—with clarity, urgency, and love that is willing to risk everything.

St. Catherine of Siena shows us mercy with fire—love for Christ and His Church that refused to stay silent in a moment of crisis.

A Church Out of Place

In the 14th century, the papacy was not in Rome. For decades, the popes resided in Avignon, in what is now southern France—a period we now call the Avignon Papacy. What began as a political relocation had become a spiritual and symbolic wound.

Rome stood empty.

The Church’s unity was strained. Its credibility weakened. Its shepherd seemed distant from his flock.

Many recognized the problem. Few were willing to confront it.

St. Catherine was.

A Laywoman Who Spoke Like a Prophet

St. Catherine was of course not a bishop or priest. Nor was she a theologian in the academic sense. She was not a person of institutional authority.

She was a Dominican tertiary. A laywoman. A mystic.

And yet, she wrote boldly to Pope Gregory XI, urging him to return to Rome. Her letters are astonishing—not because they are rebellious, but because they are rooted in profound obedience and love for the Church.

She called him “sweet Christ on earth.”

And then she told him the truth.

She warned against cowardice. She urged him to act with courage. She reminded him of his responsibility before God. She did not flatter him into comfort—she loved him into conversion.

This is the heart of mercy with teeth.

Mercy That Calls to Courage

In True Mercy Has Teeth, I argue that mercy is not the absence of challenge—it is the presence of truth spoken for the sake of salvation.

St. Catherine embodies this.

Her concern was not political strategy. It was the salvation of souls and the integrity of the Church. She saw that hesitation at the highest levels had consequences for everyone.

So she spoke.

Not with bitterness. Not with contempt. But with a kind of holy urgency that refused to let fear have the final word.

And remarkably—he listened.

In 1377, Pope Gregory XI returned the papacy to Rome. St. Catherine’s influence was not the only factor, but it was significant. Her courage helped move history.

The Cost of Loving the Church

St. Catherine’s story did not end in triumphal peace. The years that followed were marked by even greater turmoil, including the Western Schism. She suffered. She labored. She poured herself out for a Church that was, at times, deeply wounded.

But she never withdrew her love.

This is another mark of real mercy: it does not abandon when things get messy.

It stays.

It speaks.

It suffers.

And it hopes.

A Saint for a Wounded Age

It is easy to romanticize saints like St. Catherine—until we realize what her witness demands of us.

• To love the Church enough to speak truth, even upward
• To call leaders to holiness without rejecting their authority
• To refuse both silence and cynicism
• To act, not from outrage, but from charity

St. Catherine shows us that reform in the Church has always come from saints who were willing to risk misunderstanding for the sake of fidelity.

She did not seek power.

She sought holiness—and trusted that truth, spoken in love, could move even the heart of a pope.

Mercy That Burns

St. Catherine of Siena shows us the fire of mercy.

Mercy that burns away cowardice.

Mercy that refuses to let fear dictate decisions.

Mercy that calls the Church back to where she belongs.

Today, her voice still echoes:

“Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.”

May we have the courage to live a mercy like that—not comfortable, not passive, but alive with truth and love.

St. Catherine of Siena, pray for us—and teach us how to love the Church enough to call her higher.

St. Katharine Drexel: Mercy That Refused to Delegate

 

It is sometimes easier to write a check than to give your life.

For many of us, mercy feels complete once we have donated, signed up, or encouraged someone else to step forward. We mean well. We care. But we often prefer to support mercy rather than embody it.

St. Katharine Drexel shows us a different path.

Born Into Privilege — Called Into Poverty

Katharine Drexel was born in 1858 into one of the wealthiest families in the United States. Her father was a powerful banker, and she grew up surrounded by comfort, refinement, and opportunity. Yet from childhood, she witnessed something else: her parents quietly opened their home to the poor. She learned that wealth was not possession, but stewardship.

After her parents died, Katharine inherited millions. She could have lived a life of philanthropy from a distance, funding schools, sponsoring missionaries, supporting charitable institutions while remaining safely removed from hardship.

And at first, she did just that.

She used her wealth to assist missions to Native American communities and to African Americans who were suffering under the brutal injustices of post–Civil War America. But the more she learned, the more restless she became.

Money was helping.
But it wasn’t enough.

“Why Don’t You Become a Missionary?”

During an audience in Rome, Katharine pleaded with Pope Leo XIII to send more missionaries to serve Native Americans. His response startled her.

He asked, “Why don’t you become a missionary?”

That question pierced her heart.

Mercy, for Katharine, could no longer be something she outsourced.

She realized she had been asking someone else to carry a cross that Christ might be asking her to bear.

Mercy With Skin in the Game

Katharine founded the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament and dedicated her life to serving African American and Native American communities, communities marginalized, oppressed, and largely abandoned by broader society.

She did not merely fund schools. She built them.

She did not simply advocate for dignity. She lived among those denied it.

She established over 60 schools and institutions, including what would become Xavier University of Louisiana, the only historically Black Catholic university in the United States.

This was not fashionable work. It was controversial. She faced racism, threats, and fierce opposition. Some resented her efforts to educate Black and Native children. Others thought such work was imprudent, even dangerous.

But mercy with teeth is never timid.

The Temptation to Delegate

There is a subtle temptation in all of us.

We see a need and say:

• “Someone should do something.”

• “The Church should address this.”

• “We should pray for more vocations.”

Katharine Drexel heard those same inner whispers and refused them.

Mercy, for her, meant asking not Who will go? but Lord, is it me?

This is often uncomfortable. It disrupts our plans. It risks reputation and security. It sometimes requires proximity to suffering.

But mercy without proximity can become abstraction.

A Question for Us

Most of us are not heirs or heiresses of immense fortunes. We are not being asked to found a religious congregation.

But we are being asked something.

Where are we tempted to ask others to serve rather than become servants?
To recommend rather than respond?
To encourage rather than engage?

Katharine’s life reminds us that mercy is not complete when the check clears. It is complete when love becomes incarnate.

Christ did not delegate the Cross.

And sometimes, neither can we.

Reflection on "Call No Man Father"

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says:

“Call no one on earth your father; you have but one Father in heaven.” (Matthew 23:9)

At first glance, that sounds absolute. Catholics are often questioned, and even condemned, over it. But Catholics understand this passage in light of the whole of Scripture—and especially in context.

1. Jesus Is Condemning Pride, Not Titles

In Gospel of Matthew 23, Jesus is rebuking the scribes and Pharisees for loving honor, status, and public recognition. The issue isn’t vocabulary—it’s spiritual pride and self-exaltation.

If Jesus meant this as a literal prohibition of the word “father,” then we would also have to stop calling:

• Our biological fathers “father”

• Abraham “our father in faith” (cf. Romans 4)

• Any teacher “teacher,” since the same passage also says, “You have but one teacher”

Yet Scripture itself continues to use these terms.

2. St. Paul Calls Himself a Father

In First Letter to the Corinthians 4:14–15, St. Paul writes:

“I am not writing this to shame you, but to admonish you as my beloved children. Even if you should have countless guides to Christ, yet you do not have many fathers, for I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel.”

Paul explicitly calls himself their father in Christ.

He does it again in:

• First Letter to the Thessalonians 2:11 – “We treated each one of you as a father treats his children.”

• Letter to Philemon 1:10 – He refers to Onesimus as “my child, whose father I have become in my imprisonment.”

If calling a spiritual leader “father” were inherently sinful, Paul would not describe himself this way under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.

3. The Meaning of “Father” in Catholic Practice

When Catholics call a priest “Father,” we don’t mean:

• He replaces God the Father

• He is the ultimate source of life

• He is superior to others

We mean that he exercises spiritual fatherhood—bringing people to new life in Christ through:

• Preaching the Gospel

• Baptism

• The Sacraments

• Spiritual guidance

Just as Paul said he became a father “through the gospel.”

4. The Biblical Pattern of Spiritual Fatherhood

Scripture frequently uses fatherly language for spiritual relationships:

• Abraham is called “our father in faith”

• Elders in Israel were called fathers

• Paul uses fatherly imagery for ministry

The fuller context implies that titles, like phylacteries and tassels, mean nothing with out the humble service that ought to be present. Our Lord condemns usurping God’s authority but not acknowledging spiritual fatherhood as participation in God’s fatherhood.

St. Margaret Mary Alocoque and Mercy With Teeth

Today is the Memorial of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, the humble Visitation nun through whom the Lord revealed His Sacred Heart—a heart burning with love, wounded by sin, and overflowing with mercy.

St. Margaret Mary lived in a turbulent era. The Church in 17th-century France was marked by a rigorist spirit, particularly through the rise of Jansenism—a movement that distorted the faith by emphasizing fear, severity, and human unworthiness over divine mercy. Many of the faithful were led to believe that God’s justice left little room for love. People were discouraged from approaching the Eucharist, terrified of receiving unworthily. Even some bishops and priests forbade their parishioners to receive Communion, believing it safer to stay away from Christ than risk offending Him.

Into that fear, Jesus revealed His Heart to Sr. Margaret Mary—a Heart that beats not with condemnation, but with compassion. He did not deny sin or the need for repentance; rather, He showed that mercy is stronger than fear. His Sacred Heart burns with love for sinners and longs to heal, not to harm; to invite, not to intimidate.

The Lord’s revelation to St. Margaret Mary was, in its time, a form of “mercy with teeth.” It was not sentimental or permissive—it was courageous. It confronted a distorted image of God and called the Church back to the truth: that holiness flows from love, not terror; from trust, not despair. Divine Mercy does not erase justice—it fulfills it. The Sacred Heart is both pierced and powerful, tender yet strong, embracing humanity’s wounds while calling souls to conversion and deeper intimacy with Christ.

In a world that still wrestles with both extremes—either cheap grace or paralyzing fear—the message of the Sacred Heart remains urgent. Mercy with teeth is the mercy of that Heart: love that defends, heals, and restores, but also names sin and calls the sinner home.

May St. Margaret Mary teach us to approach the Lord’s Heart with confidence and awe, trusting that in His mercy we find both strength and salvation.

“Behold this Heart which has loved men so much…” — Our Lord to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

#mercywithteeth

My Book, True Mercy Has Teeth is available on Amazon or at www.mercywithteeth.com