The Economy of Divine Mercy

There is a kind of arithmetic at the heart of today’s readings that confounds our instincts. In a world calibrated to reciprocity; likes for likes, favors for favors, return on investment; the Gospel speaks of invitations that expect nothing back, of a mercy that refuses to be revoked, and of a truth that frees not by winning arguments but by abiding love. Saint Paul bursts into doxology before this mystery; the psalmist cries from affliction and finds himself heard; Jesus rewrites the guest list of our lives. The message is not simply to be kinder. It is an invitation to live by a different economy; God’s.

The Irrevocable Call and the Wide Horizon of Mercy

Paul’s claim is audacious: “The gifts and the call of God are irrevocable.” He speaks of Israel and the nations, of disobedience and mercy, and then surrenders to wonder: “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!” The Church has learned to read these lines with humility. God’s covenant with the Jewish people stands; it is not canceled. No one can boast. The story of salvation is larger than any community’s perspective, and God is not outmaneuvered by human failure.

That is more than a historical note; it is a lifeline. How many live under the suspicion that a past failure has disqualified them from God’s purpose? How many assume that after certain mistakes, the best they can hope for is to keep their head down? Paul’s confession unlocks a prison: God does not revoke his call. He reweaves it, refines it, and returns to us with mercy. Disobedience does not have the last word; mercy does. This is not moral laxity but theological realism. We were never saved by our competence. We were, and are, saved by grace.

From there, Paul does the only fitting thing; he worships. Before mysteries we cannot master, the honest response is praise. Doxology is not escapism; it is alignment. It places us inside the truth that from God, through God, and for God are all things. Living that way changes how we see our past, our neighbors, and even our enemies.

Remaining in the Word in a Fractured Age

“If you remain in my word,” Jesus promises, “you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth.” Remaining is a slow verb. It is patience in an age of scroll and churn. Many feel battered by competing narratives, doom cycles, and the exhaustion of keeping up. Jesus does not offer a tactic for winning debates; he offers himself. Truth, in this Gospel, is not merely a proposition but a Person to dwell with; day after day.

Remaining looks ordinary: a few minutes with the Gospels before notifications; carrying a line of Scripture into a meeting; asking, before a tough conversation, “What does Jesus’ word invite here; mercy, clarity, courage, silence?” Over time, remaining forms our instincts. The heart steadies. Freedom grows. We become less reactive, more truthful, and surprisingly tender.

Who Is on Our Guest List?

At a Pharisee’s table, Jesus dismantles the norm of reciprocity: Do not invite those who can pay you back; invite those who cannot. In God’s economy, blessing is decoupled from repayment. The reward is shifted from social capital now to resurrection joy later.

Consider the “banquets” we host; our calendars, group chats, dinner tables, conferences, and platforms. Whom do we naturally include? Who never makes the list? Today’s poor and “lame” are not only those in material poverty, though they surely are first in the Lord’s heart. They are also the chronically ill, the disabled whose access needs are ignored, the immigrant without a local network, the elderly neighbor isolated by grief, the co-worker whose quietness is misread as indifference, the single parent choosing between meals and rent.

The Gospel does not condemn friendship or family meals. It unmasks the closed loop of mutual advantage. To follow Jesus is to puncture that loop with gratuitous welcome. Such welcome will be inconvenient. It may be awkward. It will also be radiant; because it is Godlike.

Saint Martin de Porres: Mercy That Crosses Lines

On this optional memorial, the Church remembers Saint Martin de Porres (1579–1639), a Dominican lay brother of Lima, Peru, born of an Afro-Peruvian mother and Spanish father. Marked by racial prejudice and poverty, he answered with astonishing gentleness. Barber-surgeon, almoner, healer, friend of orphans and animals, he swept floors and mended bodies with the same love. When people closed doors, Martin opened them wider; often giving away his own bed.

Martin did not wait to be invited by the powerful; he invited the poor, the sick, the enslaved, and the despised into the circle of God’s tenderness. His life harmonizes perfectly with today’s Gospel: mercy offered where repayment was impossible. He stands, too, as a patron for racial reconciliation and for all who work in public health; a reminder that holiness often looks like steady, competent care.

In an era still riven by racism and suspicion, Martin’s quiet courage is a map. He shows how truth and mercy meet in acts of concrete service, how contemplation fuels action, and how Christian hospitality is not sentiment but sustained self-gift.

When Afflicted Hearts Pray

Psalm 69 gives language to those in pain: “I am afflicted and in pain; let your saving help, O God, protect me.” Many carry invisible weights; medical diagnoses, addiction, family estrangement, financial strain, burnout. The psalm insists that God hears the poor and does not spurn those in bonds. Sometimes the Lord’s answer arrives as interior strength, sometimes as a timely friend, sometimes as the long work of justice. Often, he invites us to become part of the answer to someone else’s prayer.

Practices for a Different Economy

• Practice inconvenient hospitality: Once this week, share a meal or coffee with someone who cannot advance your interests; a neighbor on a fixed income, a new immigrant, someone often left out. Listen more than you speak.
• Set a “mercy line” in the budget: A modest, regular gift for needs that yield no tax receipt or recognition; groceries for a struggling family, transit passes, medical co-pays.
• Make space for access: When planning gatherings, choose locations and formats that welcome those with disabilities. Inclusion is not an add-on; it is Gospel-shaped hosting.
• Remain in the Word: Ten unhurried minutes daily with the Gospel of Luke this week. End by asking, “How might I live one line today?”
• End with doxology: Each night, hand your day back to God with Paul’s words; “From you, through you, for you are all things.” Let this unhook you from the need to control outcomes.
• Honor your irrevocable call: Name the vocation God has entrusted to you in this season; parent, student, caregiver, craftsman, peacemaker. Where you have failed, ask mercy. Where you have grown, give thanks. Do not resign from your call; receive it again.

The Last Word Is Mercy

The readings move toward a single horizon. God’s wisdom exceeds our grasp; his mercy outpaces our sin. Truth frees those who remain with Jesus. The kingdom advances not by perfect plans but by uncalculated welcome. Saint Martin de Porres shows what it looks like when a human life consents to that mercy: ordinary tasks become sacraments of love, and closed circles open.

The world urges life by transaction. The Gospel offers life by gift. Choose the gift. And when it feels too costly or too uncertain, borrow the psalmist’s prayer: “Lord, in your great love, answer me.” Then trust that the One from whom and through whom and for whom are all things will not fail to repay; at the resurrection, and often, in ways already breaking in now.