Some things are worth keeping.

Mercy & Light is a small American house making illustrated books about the life of Jesus and the Scriptures, beginning with CHRIST. Bound in cloth and sewn to last, they’re made to be left out on the coffee table of a Christian home, opened on quiet mornings and, one day, handed down.

CHRIST open at Jesus walking on the water across a teal velvet armchair, a second copy on a brass side table

CHRIST on a glossy lacquered coffee table beside a cognac suede sofa, in hard afternoon sun

CHRIST on a round bouclé ottoman, window-pane shadows falling across it

Made for the rooms you’ve spent years getting right.

Illustration of Jesus walking on the stormy Sea of Galilee — Galilee, mid-storm, from inside CHRIST.

CHRIST on a cane and chrome chair beside a striped cushion — On the cane chair, in the last of the afternoon sun.

Rows of CHRIST covers laid edge to edge — One cover you’ll know from across the room.

Detail of a hand resting in a lamb’s wool, from the Good Shepherd illustration — The Good Shepherd, close enough to see the hand in the wool.

A monumental CHRIST standing in desert dunes at sunset, a lone walker below — Out in the desert, where so much of the story begins.

CHRIST on a smoked glass and chrome table beside a cup of matcha — Morning tea, and a few quiet minutes before the day starts.

A note from us

Welcome in.

If you could keep only one book out on your coffee table, which would it be? In a Christian home, we think it should be one about Him, and it should be as beautiful as anything else you’ve chosen to live with.

People of faith have always made beautiful things as a way of saying thank you, from illuminated Gospels to windows full of colored light. We’re a small house, and we’d like to carry a little of that into the homes we live in now.

CHRIST on a round brushed-steel side table beside a cup of black coffee and an olive velvet armchair, morning sun cutting across it

Faith can live in your home as beautifully as anything else in it.

So we take our time over the things you feel before you notice them: a woven cloth cover with the title pressed into it, heavy matte paper that keeps the color soft, and pages sewn with thread so the book opens flat and lasts.

We picture it on the table where your grandchildren pull it onto their laps to ask about a page, and beside your coffee on the mornings you come back to it yourself. If something here feels considered, it’s because it was.