Offaly columnist stands with Pope Leo XIV when he proclaims 'no more war'

A few Sundays before last, we stood before the mystery of the Merciful Sacred Heart on Divine Mercy Sunday and once again we were invited into the deepest truth of the Christian life, that God is mercy. Not a distant mercy. Not a selective mercy. But an infinite, overflowing, relentless mercy.

The Latin misericordia, 'miseria and cor', reminds us that mercy is a heart that enters misery. It does not avoid suffering. It does not pass by on the other side. It bends low. It stays. It feels. It acts. Saint Augustine called it “heartfelt sympathy for another’s distress,” but in Christ it becomes something even greater, love that suffers with, and love that refuses to abandon. “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36). And yet, as we look at our world today, we must admit that this command feels more urgent than ever.

“No more war” - A cry that must not fade

I stand in unity with the Church’s continuing call for peace, echoing the voice of the Holy Father, Pope Leo XIV, and the prophetic words of his predecessors when it says, “No more war.” As innocent people are killed and displaced, as families are torn apart, as futures are destroyed before they even begin, we are confronted with a truth we cannot escape, that the human cost of war is incalculable. And silence is not an option.

As Christians and as people of conscience, we are called to keep our eyes open to suffering, not close them. To name injustice, not ignore it. To pray, yes but also to become instruments of peace. For as Pope Leo has reminded us in continuity with the Church’s social teaching, prayer is never an escape from the world. It is a turning toward God within the world, where suffering is real, where wounds are open, and where grace is still at work.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9). And if we call God “Father,” then there is no suffering anywhere on earth that is foreign to us. We are one human family. Wounded. Beautiful. And in desperate need of mercy.

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The Church as a field hospital of mercy

Pope Leo XIV and his predecessor Pope Francis have spoken of the Church as a “field hospital”, a place not for the perfect, but for the wounded. A mother who carries both saints and sinners in her arms. A place where mercy does not wait for healing before it touches the wound, but enters into the wound in order to heal. God’s mercy, he reminds us, does not come with thunder and accusation. It comes quietly, “on tiptoes,” as though afraid to disturb a bruised heart. It does not condemn first. It saves. It does not reject the broken. It lifts them. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18). And the Eucharist, he reminds us, is not simply a ritual we attend, it is the living encounter with that mercy. It is there that Christ gives Himself so that our hands might become His hands, our hearts His heart, our lives His presence in a suffering world.

The mercy we struggle to believe

There is perhaps no greater struggle in the spiritual life than believing that mercy is truly real for me. We can believe it for others. We can preach it. We can admire it. But to receive it, to let God forgive what we ourselves cannot forgive, this is where the battle often lies. Yet the Gospel is unambiguous: “If we acknowledge our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us” (1 John 1:9). And again: “There is no one… who may not confidently hope for forgiveness, provided his repentance is honest” (CCC 982). No exception is made. No wound is beyond Him. No fall is too deep. The mercy of God is not cautious. It is not rationed. It is not afraid of your past. It is love that runs toward you even when you are running away.

The story we all carry

And still, so many live as though mercy were not true. Like the man in that haunting story, carrying one mistake, one tragedy, one moment that became a lifetime of self-condemnation. Forty years of inner imprisonment. Forty years of believing there was no return. Until mercy arrived. Not in theory. Not in the distance. But in the human face of a priest, saying, "I forgive you." And the prison collapsed. This is what mercy does. It breaks chains we no longer believe can be broken. It restores life where only survival remained. “Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more” (Romans 5:20).

The saints of mercy and the cry of our time

From Saint Faustina, who quietly wrote of the visions of Christ’s mercy, to Saint John Paul II, who declared that “there is nothing man needs more than Divine Mercy,” to Pope Benedict XVI, who taught that mercy and justice are not opposites but fulfilment, that the Church has consistently returned to this one truth and that is that, 'God is richer in mercy than we are in sin.' Pope Francis reminded the world that the Church must be an “oasis of mercy,” and Mother Teresa showed what that looks like in flesh and blood by touching the untouchable, loving the forgotten, seeing Christ in those whom the world had already discarded. And now, in our own time, Pope Leo XIV continues this same mission, to call the Church back to the heart of the Gospel, which is mercy in action, not mercy in theory. Because mercy that is not lived becomes an abstraction. But mercy that is lived becomes revolution.

Mercy that must become action

It is not enough to speak beautifully about mercy. We must become it. In a world fractured by division, we are called to be reconcilers. In a world hardened by judgment, we are called to be gentle and encouraging. In a world wounded by violence, we are called to be peace. “Let us not love in word or speech, but in deed and truth” (1 John 3:18). Mercy means, forgiving when it is costly, loving when it is inconvenient, staying when it would be easier to walk away, giving when it hurts, listening when we would rather speak, seeing Christ in those we would rather avoid. And perhaps most difficult of all, believing that we ourselves are still loved.

A heart on fire for a broken world

Saint Isaac of Nineveh once wrote that a merciful heart is one that burns with compassion for all creation, even for those who cause harm, even for enemies, even for those who seem far from redemption. A heart that cannot bear indifference. A heart that weeps for the world. A heart that prays even when it does not understand. A heart that acts even when it feels small. This is the heart of Christ. And it is the heart we are invited to receive.

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Thought for the week

As your thought for the week, let me give you a serious invitation to not let mercy remain an idea. Let it become your decision. Ask yourself honestly: Where have I been withholding forgiveness? Where have I grown indifferent to suffering? Who in my life needs my patience, not my judgment? What small act of love have I been postponing? And then do not postpone it again. Go and do it. Because someone’s healing may be waiting on your mercy. Let me leave you with a prayer I wrote, called, "A Prayer for a Wounded World." - "Lord Jesus, Prince of Peace, look upon our fractured world with mercy. Where there is war, sow peace. Where there is hatred, sow love. Where there is despair, sow hope. Make our hearts like Yours, not hardened by fear, not closed by judgment, but open to mercy. Teach us to see every person as our brother and sister, formed in Your image and loved beyond measure. Make us instruments of Your peace, builders of reconciliation, bearers of mercy in a wounded world. Jesus, I trust in You. Because in the end, the question will not be how much we achieved, but how much we loved. And love…when it becomes mercy…becomes the very presence of God in the world. And even the smallest act of mercy, may echo forever. Amen."