Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in a world that is at once beautiful and broken, a world of breathtaking connection and of profound isolation. We see the image of God in every human face, yet we also witness a tide of suffering that challenges our faith and our courage. The Lord has placed us at this moment in history not as passive observers, but as active participants in the great drama of salvation, called to be artisans of peace and builders of a civilization of love.
Consider the great movement of peoples, our brothers and sisters who leave their homelands not by choice, but driven by desperation, by violence, by the hope of a life of dignity. They knock at our doors, and we are given a sacred choice. We can see a threat, a problem, a stranger. Or, guided by the law written not only on stone but on the human heart, we can see ourselves. “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” This is not merely a political issue; it is a profound test of our Christian identity. To see the news of nations regularizing the status of hundreds of thousands is to see a flicker of that gospel logic—a recognition that every person is a bearer of rights and deserves a place at the table of the human family. Imagine, with the help of Christ, a world where no child is born a refugee, where borders are not walls of fear but bridges of solidarity. This is not a naive dream; it is the Kingdom of God breaking through, whenever we choose welcome over suspicion, integration over exclusion.
Yet, what drives so many from their homes? Too often, it is the very violence and injustice we are called to combat. We hear the cries, echoed in the Psalms, rising from streets where the innocent are crushed: “Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.” From lands where young people, the very hope of their nations, are cut down for daring to seek freedom, to nations where a so-called “war” on social ills devolves into the wholesale slaughter of the poor and the desperate, sanctifying murder under the guise of order. The commandment “You shall not murder” is not a suggestion; it is the foundational barrier between civilization and barbarity. When it is eroded by the state, by ideology, or by indifference, we descend into a moral darkness that cheapens all life.
This is the core of the crisis: a decay in our understanding of the sanctity of life itself. When life is seen as disposable—the life of the migrant, the life of the protester, the life of the addict—we have already begun to tear at the sacred fabric of creation. We have forgotten that every soul is a universe of divine love, irreplaceable and destined for eternity.
But I tell you, this is not the end of the story. Envision, through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the tireless work of good men and women, a world healed. See a world where the stranger is greeted as a brother, where justice flows like a mighty river, cleansing the halls of power and the human heart alike. See a world where the commandment to love is the highest law of every land. This is our mission. This is our hope.
Yet, to be credible heralds of this hope in the modern world, we must also look within. One of the great trials for our Church in this age is the scandal of division—the way in which we, the Body of Christ, are fractured by ideology, by nationalism, and by a failure to listen with humble hearts. We turn the faith into a banner for our own camps, rather than a tent of meeting for all humanity. This internal discord weakens our witness and muffles the joyful song of the Gospel. I call upon every one of the faithful, from the cardinals to the children preparing for First Communion: be agents of unity. Seek first to understand, then to be understood. In your families, in your parishes, in the public square, model the communion you wish to see in the world. Let the Church be a living testament to what reconciliation looks like.
For if we do not act—if we choose comfort over courage, silence over prophecy, and walls over bridges—then we must heed a dire warning. A world that persistently rejects the sacred, that commodifies life and worships power, is not a world progressing, but a world preparing its own tomb. It is a world building not a civilization, but a dystopia of isolation and fear, where the cry of the poor becomes the constant soundtrack of a humanity that has forgotten its own name. This is the apocalypse of our own making: not fire from heaven, but the cold, slow death of solidarity, leaving a spiritual desert where nothing can grow.
But that is not our destiny. We are people of the Resurrection. We are followers of the One who welcomed the stranger, who defended the persecuted, who proclaimed the infinite value of every life unto the cross. Let us go forth from this place, inspired by our call, fortified by the Eucharist, and united in purpose. Let us build, with our hands and our hearts, the world Christ dreams of—a world of welcome, of justice, and of sacred, unyielding love.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of these profound challenges, our faith calls us not to despair but to purposeful action. Our contribution is not measured in grand, sweeping gestures, but in the consistent, practical choices of our daily lives. Here is how we can begin.
Regarding the treatment of migrants and immigrants, look first to your own community. Practical charity is paramount. You can volunteer with or donate to local organizations that provide language classes, job training, or essential supplies like food and clothing to new arrivals. In your personal interactions, choose curiosity over judgment. Make an effort to know the foreign-born people in your neighborhood, workplace, or parish. Listen to their stories. Simple hospitality—an invitation for coffee, assistance navigating local bureaucracy, or tutoring a child—builds bridges of human dignity that policies alone cannot.
Confronting violence and injustice against the innocent requires a commitment to truth and support. You can actively support reputable international humanitarian and human rights organizations through your donations, bringing material aid and legal advocacy to those in peril. Cultivate a well-informed conscience. Seek out news from reliable, on-the-ground sources about conflicts and oppression, not to feed outrage, but to fuel informed prayer and dialogue. In your own circles, be a voice that names and rejects all forms of bullying, slander, and abuse. Protect the vulnerable in your immediate sphere by offering a steadfast presence and a willingness to intervene.
To uphold the sanctity of life in a culture that often cheapens it, start with a reverence for the dignity of every person you meet. This means actively rejecting gossip, harsh judgments, and the language of hatred in your speech. Support local crisis pregnancy centers, hospice care facilities, and organizations that offer alternatives to violence and assist those struggling with addiction. In your civic duty, engage respectfully with the political process, advocating for policies that protect the weak and promote rehabilitation over mere punishment. Teach the children in your care, by word and example, that every life is precious and that conflicts should be resolved with words and justice, not with fists or weapons.
Ultimately, our most powerful practical tool is the orientation of our own hearts. We must examine our daily choices: what we buy, what we laugh at, what we ignore, and who we overlook. Let us build a world of welcome, one conscious act of kindness at a time. Let us be defenders of the truth, in small matters and large. Let us treat every human encounter as a meeting with the sacred.
Go in peace.
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