In a time where mercy has become scarce, where people rush past suffering without a second glance, a virtuous scholar from Al-Azhar does something simple. Something that doesn’t require money or status or recognition. He goes down to the street and feeds hungry dogs. Not once. Not as a photo opportunity. But regularly. Quietly. With no cameras. No social media posts. No expectation of thanks or praise. Simply because mercy is an action, not just a word.
He kneels on the pavement, surrounded by stray dogs who’ve learned to trust him. Dogs who’ve been kicked, ignored, shooed away by most people. Dogs who’ve survived on scraps and luck and the rare kindness of strangers. And this scholar, dressed in his traditional robes, sits with them. Feeds them. Speaks to them gently. Treats them with the dignity most people reserve only for humans. Because to him, mercy doesn’t have boundaries. It doesn’t discriminate. It extends to every creature struggling to survive.
People who see him sometimes stop and watch. Some are moved. Some are confused. Why would a respected scholar spend his time feeding street dogs? Doesn’t he have more important things to do? More prestigious ways to spend his time? But he doesn’t see it that way. He understands something profound: that mercy is an act of worship. That caring for the vulnerable, human or animal, is one of the highest forms of devotion. That even the simplest act of feeding a hungry dog can change a life, plant love in hearts, and remind us that goodness still exists.
The dogs recognize him now. When they see him coming, they gather. Not aggressively. Not fearfully. But with the cautious hope of creatures who’ve learned that this man is safe. That he won’t hurt them. That he brings food, yes, but also something more valuable: respect. Recognition. The knowledge that they matter to someone. And in a world that treats them as nuisances, as problems to be removed, that recognition is everything.
He doesn’t lecture people about mercy. Doesn’t post sermons on social media. Doesn’t demand that others follow his example. He just does it. Lives it. Shows, through his actions, what mercy looks like when it’s real. When it’s not performative or conditional. When it’s simply a response to seeing suffering and choosing to ease it, no matter how small the gesture seems.
This is what faith looks like when it’s embodied. When it’s not just prayers and rituals, but action. When it’s not just words about compassion, but actual compassion, extended to the beings most people overlook. The scholar knows that feeding these dogs won’t solve all the world’s problems. Won’t end poverty or injustice or cruelty. But it will ease suffering for these specific creatures in this specific moment. And that matters. It matters to them. And it should matter to us.
Whoever does this knows that mercy is an act of worship. That being merciful to animals, to humans, to every creature our Lord has created, is one of the most profound expressions of faith. That you don’t need wealth or power or a platform to make a difference. You just need to see suffering and choose to respond. With food. With kindness. With presence. With the simple recognition that every living being deserves care.
Even the simplest act of mercy can change a life. Can plant love in hearts. Can remind us that goodness still exists, despite the harshness of our times. The scholar feeding dogs on a dusty street corner is proof of that. Proof that mercy isn’t dead. That compassion hasn’t disappeared. That there are still people who choose to act, not for recognition or reward, but simply because it’s right. Simply because suffering exists and they have the ability to ease it, even in the smallest way.
So be merciful to animals, to humans, and to every creature. Not because it’s easy or convenient. But because mercy is what separates us from cruelty. Because in a world that often feels cold and indifferent, acts of mercy are revolutionary. They remind us of who we could be. Who we should be. Who we are when we strip away ego and pride and fear, and just respond to the needs in front of us with open hearts and willing hands.
This scholar, kneeling on the pavement, feeding dogs that no one else cares about, is a teacher. Not through lectures. But through example. Through the quiet, consistent practice of mercy. And his lesson is clear: mercy is an action. And every action, no matter how small, matters. Every creature fed, comforted, recognized, is proof that goodness endures. And that’s the most powerful reminder of all.