Pope Leo XIV, in the fifth chapter of his encyclical Dilexi te, titled “A Constant Challenge,” presents care for the poor not as a peripheral or circumstantial option of the Church, but as an essential and structural dimension of its very identity. The Church, the Pope reminds us, has throughout history been a “beacon of light” that has kept alive the flame of evangelical love for those most in need. This chapter not only revisits that heritage but updates it with a deeply pastoral and committed tone.

The text begins with a fundamental conviction: love for the poor is part of the very heart of the Gospel. It is not merely an expression of philanthropy or social justice, but a theological response to the mystery of Christ, who becomes incarnate in the marginalized, the suffering, and the forgotten. For this reason, the Pope emphasizes that every genuine ecclesial renewal has had at its center a preferential attention to the poor. Fidelity to the heart of God is measured by closeness to the little ones, by concrete compassion toward those wounded by history.

Leo XIV takes up the parable of the Good Samaritan—already central in Fratelli tutti—to rekindle every Christian’s awareness. The question “Which one do you resemble?” becomes an examination of life. The Pope denounces modern indifference, that “sick society that seeks to build itself while turning its back on suffering,” and calls for a recovery of the ability to stop, to look, and to care. True faith does not pass by: it bends down, draws near, and commits itself.

Leo XIV quotes Saint Gregory the Great and Saint John Chrysostom to teach that the poor are not a burden but our masters. In their silence and fragility, they evangelize us, for they bring us back to the truth of our own smallness and dependence. In them, says the Pope, we discover the flesh of Christ—the living incarnation of the God who draws near. Therefore, the preferential option for the poor is not a sociological topic but a Christological demand.

The Pope also denounces the internal deviations of the Church when it settles into spiritual comfort or takes refuge in a disembodied religiosity. He reminds us that it is not enough to speak of justice: we must touch the flesh of the poor, listen to their cry, and share their anguish. He warns of the danger of a “spiritual worldliness” that disguises selfishness under pious practices or sterile discourse. A community that does not commit itself to the dignity of the poor, Leo XIV says, runs the risk of dissolving from within, of emptying its soul.

Another key part of the chapter is devoted to almsgiving—an ancient practice that today is often questioned. The Pope does not idealize it, but he rescues it from superficiality. He affirms that almsgiving does not replace justice nor exempt public authorities from their responsibilities, but it remains a deeply human and spiritual gesture: to stop, to look the poor in the eye, to touch them, to share something of one’s own. In a world marked by indifference, almsgiving is a spark of communion. Leo XIV recalls the words of Proverbs and the Fathers of the Church, showing that almsgiving nurtures mercy and keeps alive the sensitivity of the Christian heart.

The chapter culminates with a hopeful and prophetic vision: Christian love knows no borders. It is a love that unites, that reconciles, that “crosses humanly insurmountable chasms.” From this perspective, Leo XIV offers us a deeply evangelical final image: a Church that does not fight enemies, but loves every man and woman. Its mission is to make every poor person feel the words of the Book of Revelation: “I have loved you.” It is the ultimate declaration of a boundless love—the very love of Christ poured out upon all.

In summary, this chapter invites us to rediscover the prophetic and missionary dimension of love for the poor—not as one option among others, but as the criterion that reveals the authenticity of our faith. In the face of the needy, the face of God is reflected. To serve, accompany, and love them is the concrete way to live the Gospel today.

Some Citations from Chapter V for Reflection

CITATION 1

Caring for the poor is part of the Church’s great Tradition, a beacon as it were of evangelical light to illumine the hearts and guide the decisions of Christians in every age. That is why we must feel bound to invite everyone to share in the light and life born of recognizing Christ in the faces of the suffering and those in need. Love for the poor is an essential element of the history of God’s dealings with us; it rises up from the heart of the Church as a constant appeal to the hearts of the faithful, both individually and in our communities. As the Body of Christ, the Church experiences the lives of the poor as her very “flesh,” for theirs is a privileged place within the pilgrim people of God. Consequently, love for the poor — whatever the form their poverty may take — is the evangelical hallmark of a Church faithful to the heart of God.
(Dilexi te, 103)

Caring for the poor is not a secondary activity or an occasional gesture of goodwill—it is a constitutive element of the Church’s identity. The Pope expresses this using images of light and of a river, two symbols that evoke the grace flowing from the Gospel into the world. This current of life carries us along if we allow ourselves to be touched by the compassion of Christ.

The expression “to immerse oneself in this river of light” suggests an interior movement: the passage from indifference to communion, from calculation to gift. It is not enough to speak about the poor; we must enter their world, listen to their voice, and discover in their faces the very face of Christ. The Vincentian spirituality—which profoundly inspires this teaching—has always repeated that love for the poor is love for Jesus Christ himself.

The Pope also affirms something decisive: fidelity to the heart of God is measured by closeness to the poor. A Church that forgets the least ones loses its evangelical identity; a community that lives out concrete charity, on the other hand, becomes a luminous sign of the Kingdom. In a world that often hides suffering or marginalizes those who do not produce, the Church is called to be a “beacon of light” that not only denounces but also consoles and accompanies.

Living out this call means allowing ourselves to be transformed by the Gospel, rediscovering that serving the poor is not a duty but a privilege: they are a sacrament of the living presence of God among us.

Questions for Reflection

1. In what moments of my life have I encountered the face of Christ in the poor or in those who suffer?
2. In what ways does my community “invite us to immerse ourselves” in this river of light and compassion?
3. Could I say that my relationship with the poor is a sign of fidelity to the heart of God?

CITATION 2

No Christian can regard the poor simply as a societal problem; they are part of our “family.” They are “one of us.” Nor can our relationship to the poor be reduced to merely another ecclesial activity or function. In the words of the Aparecida Document, “we are asked to devote time to the poor, to give them loving attention, to listen to them with interest, to stand by them in difficult moments, choosing to spend hours, weeks or years of our lives with them, and striving to transform their situations, starting from them. We cannot forget that this is what Jesus himself proposed in his actions and by his words.”
(Dilexi te, 104)

The poor are not “others”; they are “one of us.” This simple yet profoundly evangelical expression reveals a conversion of heart that the Church is called to live constantly. It is not only about alleviating needs but about recognizing mutual belonging: we are part of the same family—the family of God’s children.

The Pope denounces the temptation to turn charity into an office, a functional department within the Church’s structure. True charity, he teaches, is measured by the capacity to share life. Serving the poor requires time, closeness, presence, and tenderness. In a culture that values efficiency, performance, and image, this proposal seems subversive: it asks us to slow down in order to see, listen, and accompany.

Saint Vincent de Paul spoke of loving the poor with affection, with a fraternal heart, and also through action. The Pope invites us to that same dynamism: not to look from above, but from within—to walk with the poor as fellow travelers.

When the Church approaches in this way, her witness gains credibility. It is not about philanthropy or welfare projects but about real communion. In the face of the wounded brother or sister, we recognize our own fragility, and in their hope we rediscover the living faith that sustains the Christian community.

Questions for Reflection

1. Do I truly consider the poor as “our own,” part of my human and spiritual family?
2. Do I dedicate time—not just resources—to being with those who suffer the most?
3. How can my community move from mere assistance to true fraternity with the poor?

CITATION 3

The dominant culture at the beginning of this millennium would have us abandon the poor to their fate and consider them unworthy of attention, much less our respect. Pope Francis, in his Encyclical Fratelli Tutti, challenged us to reflect on the parable of the Good Samaritan (cf. Lk 10:25-37), which presents the different reactions of those confronted by the sight of a wounded man lying on the road. Only the Good Samaritan stops and cares for him. Pope Francis went on to ask each of us: “Which of these persons do you identify with? This question, blunt as it is, is direct and incisive. Which of these characters do you resemble? We need to acknowledge that we are constantly tempted to ignore others, especially the weak. Let us admit that, for all the progress we have made, we are still ‘illiterate’ when it comes to accompanying, caring for and supporting the most frail and vulnerable members of our developed societies. We have become accustomed to looking the other way, passing by, and ignoring situations until they affect us directly.”
(Dilexi te, 105)

In the face of a throwaway culture that pushes the poor to the margins, the Pope puts his finger on the wound: we are illiterate when it comes to accompanying and caring. It is a harsh statement, but profoundly true. Technical and economic progress has not been matched by moral progress; our societies may be advanced, yet at the same time deeply dehumanized.

The Pope does not speak as an outsider; he uses the first-person plural—“we must recognize”—inviting the whole Church to an examination of conscience. At its core, the drama is not only material poverty but the loss of sensitivity to the suffering of others. Indifference has become a form of self-defense: we prefer to look the other way so as not to complicate our lives. But the Gospel does not allow such neutrality.

Vincentian spirituality teaches us to see, to draw near, and to touch the wounds of Christ in the poor. The true Christian does not look away but allows himself or herself to be challenged. The parable of the Good Samaritan, which the Pope evokes here, becomes a mirror of our daily life: we are either those who pass by or those who stop.

Leo XIV reminds us that faith cannot be lived “by looking the other way.” To love our neighbor requires learning a new language—the language of care. And this learning begins with one simple yet revolutionary gesture: stopping before pain. In a world that accelerates, the disciple of Christ chooses to stop, to look, and to serve.

Questions for Reflection

1. In what concrete situations do I “look the other way” in the face of others’ suffering?
2. What does it mean for me to “accompany” the most fragile rather than simply help them?
3. How can I educate my heart not to grow accustomed to indifference?

CITATION 4

Not infrequently, our prosperity can make us blind to the needs of others, and even make us think that our happiness and fulfillment depend on ourselves alone, apart from others. In such cases, the poor can act as silent masters for us, making us conscious of our presumption and instilling within us a rightful spirit of humility.
(Dilexi te, 108)

The poor, whom we believe we are helping, are in fact our masters. In a world that idolizes self-sufficiency and measures happiness by independence, the Pope reminds us that wealth—whether material or interior—can become a form of blindness. When we are self-sufficient, we stop seeing, listening, and needing others; and that is the deepest root of spiritual poverty.

The Pope does not condemn wealth in itself, but the way it can deform the heart. Wealth becomes a veil when it leads us to believe that fulfillment consists in “doing without others.” Christian faith teaches the opposite: we are happy insofar as we give of ourselves and allow ourselves to be helped. Mutual dependence is not weakness—it is communion.

Vincentian spirituality has always seen in the poor a “sacrament” of encounter with God. Saint Vincent de Paul used to say: “The poor are our masters and lords.” What might seem like a gesture of humility is, in reality, a theological affirmation: in them, God teaches us the truth of the Gospel. Every poor face brings us back to the earth, rescues us from pride, and reminds us that we are creatures in need.

Leo XIV invites us to recognize these “silent masters” who, often without words, evangelize us through their patience, gratitude, and hope. They bring us back to “true humility,” the virtue that opens the heart to grace. Where the world sees weakness, the Christian learns wisdom; where others see lack, we find revelation.

Questions for Reflection

1. What do the poor teach me about my own fragility and dependence?
2. In what ways has my “wealth” (material, cultural, or spiritual) made me blind to others?
3. How can I allow myself to be evangelized by the poor, recognizing them as silent masters?

CITATION 5

For us Christians, the problem of the poor leads to the very heart of our faith. Saint John Paul II taught that the preferential option for the poor, namely the Church’s love for the poor, “is essential for her and a part of her constant tradition, and impels her to give attention to a world in which poverty is threatening to assume massive proportions in spite of technological and economic progress.” For Christians, the poor are not a sociological category, but the very “flesh” of Christ. It is not enough to profess the doctrine of God’s Incarnation in general terms. To enter truly into this great mystery, we need to understand clearly that the Lord took on a flesh that hungers and thirsts, and experiences infirmity and imprisonment. “A poor Church for the poor begins by reaching out to the flesh of Christ. If we reach out to the flesh of Christ, we begin to understand something, to understand what this poverty, the Lord’s poverty, actually is; and this is far from easy.”
(Dilexi te, 110)

Pope Leo XIV draws on the teaching of Saint John Paul II to remind us that the preferential option for the poor is not a pastoral accessory but a determining principle of Christian faith. The love of God, made flesh in Christ, cannot be understood without this concrete incarnation: the Lord becomes flesh in those who suffer from hunger, thirst, illness, or imprisonment.

The Pope rejects any disembodied spiritualism that speaks of God without touching the wounds of the world. Poverty is not a sociological abstraction but a theological place—it is the space where the presence of Christ is revealed most tangibly. For this reason, serving the poor is not only a work of mercy but an act of faith. Whoever draws near to the one in need is, perhaps unknowingly, entering into the mystery of the Incarnation.

Saint Vincent de Paul taught that “to serve the poor is to go to God,” because in them we encounter the living flesh of Christ. Thus, every gesture of compassion becomes a sacred encounter. Leo XIV insists that the Church cannot limit itself to proclaiming doctrines—it must embody them. The credibility of the Gospel depends on this coherence between word and flesh, between faith and justice.

In a time when poverty takes on “gigantic forms,” this call resounds with urgency. It is not enough to believe in Christ; we must recognize and love him in the wounded bodies of our brothers and sisters. There beats the heart of the Gospel.

Questions for Reflection

1. Do I see in the poor the living flesh of Christ, or do I consider them only a social reality?
2. How is the preferential option for the poor expressed in my life?
3. What does it mean today to “become incarnate” alongside those who suffer from hunger, thirst, illness, or imprisonment?

CITATION 6

Indeed, “any Church community, if it thinks it can comfortably go its own way without creative concern and effective cooperation in helping the poor to live with dignity and reaching out to everyone, will also risk breaking down, however much it may talk about social issues or criticize governments. It will easily drift into a spiritual worldliness camouflaged by religious practices, unproductive meetings and empty talk.”
(Dilexi te, 113)

Here the Pope is not addressing the world but speaking directly to the Church. He warns us of a real danger: a community that is content merely to talk about the poor without committing itself to them is destined to wither from within. Indifference disguises its sterility with religious activities, but the result is the same—the loss of the evangelical soul.

The expression “spiritual worldliness”—often denounced by Pope Francis and now taken up by Leo XIV—describes a deep ecclesial illness: seeking security, prestige, or comfort under the appearance of holiness. A worldly community may seem active, but its meetings are “barren” and its words “empty” because they lack concrete love—the living contact with the suffering flesh of Christ.

Saint Vincent said, “We must leave God for God,” meaning we should interrupt prayer if a poor person knocks at the door. A truly evangelical community cannot lock itself into spiritual comfort while the poor suffer outside. Faith remains alive only when it is transformed into service.

Leo XIV does not propose mere assistance but creativity and effectiveness in the service of human dignity. Love is neither passive nor naïve—it seeks new ways to include, to liberate, and to accompany. When the Church lives in this way, it flourishes; when it turns inward, it dissolves. Fidelity to the Gospel is measured by the fruitfulness of love, not by the number of words or rituals.

Questions for Reflection

1. Does my community run the risk of “living comfortably” without truly engaging with the poor?
2. How does “spiritual worldliness” manifest itself today in our religious practices?
3. What concrete steps could we take so that our faith is expressed through creative and fruitful works?

CITATION 7

Nor is it a question merely of providing for welfare assistance and working to ensure social justice. Christians should also be aware of another form of inconsistency in the way they treat the poor. In reality, “the worst discrimination which the poor suffer is the lack of spiritual care… Our preferential option for the poor must mainly translate into a privileged and preferential religious care.” Yet, this spiritual attentiveness to the poor is called into question, even among Christians, by certain prejudices arising from the fact that we find it easier to turn a blind eye to the poor. There are those who say: “Our task is to pray and teach sound doctrine.” Separating this religious aspect from integral development, they even say that it is the government’s job to care for them, or that it would be better not to lift them out of their poverty but simply to teach them to work. At times, pseudo-scientific data are invoked to support the claim that a free market economy will automatically solve the problem of poverty. Or even that we should opt for pastoral work with the so-called elite, since, rather than wasting time on the poor, it would be better to care for the rich, the influential and professionals, so that with their help real solutions can be found and the Church can feel protected. It is easy to perceive the worldliness behind these positions, which would lead us to view reality through superficial lenses, lacking any light from above, and to cultivate relationships that bring us security and a position of privilege.
(Dilexi te, 114)

The evangelization of the poor is not limited to material assistance. The greatest suffering they endure is not merely the lack of goods but the lack of spiritual attention. The Pope denounces the temptation to reduce pastoral work to a soulless philanthropy—to a kind of humanitarianism that forgets the poor also need the nourishment of faith, the hearing of the Word, and the comfort of the sacraments.

There is no true charity without evangelization, without the proclamation of the Good News of the Gospel for all. Saint Vincent de Paul insisted that we must care for both the body and the soul of the poor. The preferential option for the poor therefore demands a “privileged religious attention”—that is, an incarnate faith that brings Christ precisely where he is most needed.

The Pope also warns against the danger of a worldliness disguised as prudence: taking refuge in comfortable circles, justifying oneself with economic or sociological reasons, or leaving the commitment to the poor to “others.” Spiritual worldliness acts like anesthesia: it extinguishes evangelical passion, replaces faith with calculation, and love with convenience.

Serving the poor, then, is neither a luxury nor one pastoral option among others—it is a demand of living faith. Spiritual attention to the poor renews the Church from within, purifies it of its routines, and brings it back to the heart of Christ. Every encounter with a poor person is also an encounter with God, who waits to be loved, heard, and recognized.

Questions for Reflection

1. Do I offer the poor authentic spiritual attention, or only material help?
2. What forms of “spiritual worldliness” do I recognize in my pastoral or community environment?
3. How can I live the option for the poor as an experience of faith and not merely of solidarity?

CITATION 8

 I would like to close by saying something about almsgiving, which nowadays is not looked upon favorably even among believers. Not only is it rarely practiced, but it is even at times disparaged. Let me state once again that the most important way to help the disadvantaged is to assist them in finding a good job, so that they can lead a more dignified life by developing their abilities and contributing their fair share. In this sense, “lack of work means far more than simply not having a steady source of income. Work is also this, but it is much, much more. By working we become a fuller person, our humanity flourishes, young people become adults only by working. The Church’s social doctrine has always seen human work as a participation in God’s work of creation that continues every day, also thanks to the hands, mind and heart of the workers.” On the other hand, where this is not possible, we cannot risk abandoning others to the fate of lacking the necessities for a dignified life. Consequently, almsgiving remains, for the time being, a necessary means of contact, encounter and empathy with those less fortunate.
(Dilexi te, 115)

Pope Leo XIV recovers the profound Gospel meaning of almsgiving—a word that, in contemporary language, often sounds outdated or even uncomfortable. Far from being a merely charitable practice, almsgiving is presented here as an act of human and spiritual communion, a gesture of encounter that connects us with the concrete life of another person.

The Pope acknowledges that integral human development—dignified work, social justice, and structures of solidarity—are the primary paths forward. Yet while those conditions are not fully realized, we cannot abandon anyone to their fate. In the heart of every Christian there must remain the willingness to share what one has, even if it is little. Giving alms is not a gesture of superiority but of fraternity: it is to touch another’s fragility with respect and to recognize that their life concerns me.

It is not about waiting for ideal conditions before acting, but about responding to the present moment with what we have. Almsgiving, understood in this way, is a concrete expression of mercy and a school of empathy: the one who gives is transformed as much as the one who receives.

Leo XIV invites us, ultimately, to see almsgiving not as a relic of the past but as a pedagogy of the heart. He teaches us to stop, to look into another’s eyes, and to allow their suffering to touch our lives. In every small gesture of generosity, the human bond broken by indifference is restored.

Questions for Reflection

1. What meaning does almsgiving have for me in a context of social justice and solidarity?
2. Do I know how to stop, to look, and to encounter someone in need of concrete help?
3. How can I practice almsgiving in a way that also transforms my own heart?

CITATION 9

Saint John Chrysostom is known for saying: “Almsgiving is the wing of prayer. If you do not provide your prayer with wings, it will hardly fly.”
(Dilexi te, 118)

With this saying—taken from an ancient homily attributed to an author from the circle of Saint John Chrysostom—Pope Leo XIV masterfully unites two inseparable dimensions of the Christian spirit: prayer and charity. The image is beautiful and deeply theological: prayer needs wings to rise, and those wings are concrete works of love. Without charity, prayer becomes sterile; without prayer, charity loses its soul.

The Pope recovers this teaching to remind us that faith cannot separate what God has joined. In the Vincentian tradition, this unity is expressed in the motto: “To love God with the work of our hands and the sweat of our brow.” To pray and to serve are two movements of the same heart. When we give to the poor—whether it be money, time, listening, or comfort—we allow our prayer to take flesh. When we pray for the poor, we nourish the roots that sustain our service.

The phrase “if you do not give wings to prayer, it will not fly” also exposes a common spiritual danger: religiosity without commitment. The one who prays but does not open themselves to the suffering of others ends up enclosed within themselves. True prayer, on the other hand, propels us toward action, because whoever contemplates the love of God cannot remain indifferent to the pain of others.

Leo XIV invites us to reclaim this unified spirituality. There is no authentic contemplation without active compassion. Almsgiving—understood broadly as every act of mercy—lifts our prayers because it transforms them into life. Love makes prayer fly: it makes it free, fruitful, and truly Christian.

Questions for Reflection

1. Does my prayer have “wings”—that is, does it translate into concrete gestures of love?
2. How do I experience the union between contemplation and service in my daily life?
3. What works could give greater flight to my prayer and that of my community today?

CITATION 10

Christian love breaks down every barrier, brings close those who were distant, unites strangers, and reconciles enemies. It spans chasms that are humanly impossible to bridge, and it penetrates to the most hidden crevices of society. By its very nature, Christian love is prophetic: it works miracles and knows no limits. It makes what was apparently impossible happen. Love is above all a way of looking at life and a way of living it. A Church that sets no limits to love, that knows no enemies to fight but only men and women to love, is the Church that the world needs today.
(Dilexi te, 120)

Christian love stops at nothing: it crosses borders, disarms enmities, breaks cultural and political barriers, and reaches into the darkest corners where human life cries out for hope. This love is neither sentimental nor abstract; it is prophetic, transformative, and capable of accomplishing “the impossible.”

The Pope defines love not only as a feeling but as a way of seeing and living life: the Christian does not love because circumstances demand it, but because love is their very identity. Where the world sees limits, the disciple of Christ sees opportunities to reveal divine mercy.

The final sentence summarizes the dream of a truly evangelical Church: a Church that knows no enemies. Not because it ignores evil, but because it chooses to respond always from love. This is the greatest revolution of the Gospel—and at the same time, the hardest to live. In a world divided by ideologies, violence, and fear, Leo XIV proposes the disarming power of love as the path to renewal.

This passage is a call to a love without borders—a love that does not distinguish between rich and poor, near or far, but embraces all. Such love is the visible face of God in history. A Church like this—one that loves without limits and without enemies—is, in the Pope’s words, the Church the world needs today: prophetic, compassionate, and luminous.

Questions for Reflection

1. What personal barriers or prejudices prevent me from loving without limits?
2. How can my community live out a prophetic charity that transforms reality?
3. What does it mean today to be a Church “that knows no enemies, but only men and women to love”?

Community Prayer

Lord Jesus,
You who became poor to enrich us with your love,
look upon your Church, spread throughout the earth,
and rekindle within us the fire of your compassion.

Let your Spirit descend upon our communities
and awaken us from the sleep of indifference.
Do not allow us to pass by the wounded along the way,
nor let our hearts grow hard before the cry of the small and forgotten.
Grant us the grace to stop, to see, and to touch the wounds of the world
as one who touches the sacred flesh of Christ.

Lord, teach us to recognize your face in the poor,
to find you in the forgotten elderly, in the voiceless children,
in those who search for refuge, for work, or for bread.
May each of them become for us a silent master,
a mirror of humility, and an altar where we may adore you.

Purify, Lord, your Church from all spiritual worldliness,
from the comfort that disguises itself as prudence,
from the empty words that never become deeds,
from the faith that does not touch reality.
Give us a charity that is both creative and effective,
capable of transforming structures and also hearts.

Make us a Church that is poor for the poor,
a family where no one feels like a stranger,
a home open to all, where every wound finds comfort
and every hope finds room to blossom.
May we not seek power or prestige,
but the joy of serving, of sharing, of giving.

Fill us with the courage of the Good Samaritan,
who neither calculates nor fears,
but draws near, heals, and sustains.
Teach us to love as you do—without limits or borders,
without enemies to fight,
only brothers and sisters to embrace.

May our prayer have wings, Lord,
wings of mercy, tenderness, and action.
Let every gesture of love be a living prayer,
and let every prayer move us to love more deeply and truly.

We ask this of you, Father of the poor,
through the intercession of Saint Vincent de Paul,
Saint Louise de Marillac,
and all the saints who served you in the poor.
Make of us witnesses of a boundless love—
a prophetic love, capable of working miracles,
capable of believing in the impossible.

Thus, Lord, may your Church truly become your Body in the world:
a light that never fades,
hands that lift up,
a heart that beats in rhythm with your mercy.

Amen.