In times of tremor and rupture—when families call into ruins, when disease moves faster than rescue, when power silences dissent and nations trade strikes—the impulse is to ask where mercy has gone. Yet the prophet’s word speaks not of mercy as reward for the righteous, but as the ground we stand on each morning, whether we deserve it or not. Even in a day scarred by catastrophe and injustice, there are congregations crossing political lines to forgive debt, and diaspora communities finding pride in persistence. These small acts do not erase the suffering, but they testify to something the morning insists on: that compassion is not earned back into existence each dawn—it is already there, waiting to be recognized and received.