Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in the light of the Epiphany, a celebration of Christ’s manifestation to all nations. This light reveals both the profound beauty of God’s creation and the deep shadows that fall across our world. It illuminates the path we are called to walk, and it exposes the wounds we are called to heal. In this light, we must have the courage to look upon our world and upon ourselves with unflinching honesty and undying hope.
The light falls first upon our brothers and sisters who suffer for their faith. In distant lands, the followers of Christ face persecution, their churches torn down, their leaders taken, their right to worship denied. We hear the echo of the Lord’s promise: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” This is not a promise of passive endurance, but a call to active solidarity. Their persecution is our wound. Their fidelity is our strength. We must be their voice in the councils of the world, their advocates in the halls of power, and their constant support in our prayers and actions. The Body of Christ is one; when one member suffers, we all suffer.
This same piercing light falls, with particular pain, within the very walls of our own Church. It reveals the horrific betrayal of the innocent, the sin and crime of sexual abuse that has shattered lives and devastated trust. The words of Christ ring with terrifying clarity: “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” There can be no ambiguity, no evasion, no misplaced priority. We must look upon this wound with a spirit of profound penitence and unwavering resolve. The path to healing is one of absolute transparency, relentless justice for victims, and a purification of our structures and our hearts. This is a foundational crisis of our time, a test of our integrity before God and humanity. The faithful have a right to a Church that is a safe refuge, a loving mother, and a transparent steward of grace. I call upon every member of this Church—clergy, religious, and laity—to aid in this essential work. Demand accountability. Support survivors. Foster environments of holiness and respect. Let us be the generation that, through prayer, vigilance, and courage, roots out this evil and restores the sacred trust that has been broken.
And the light of Epiphany shines upon the roads traveled by the migrant and the refugee, upon the borders that divide and the fears that harden hearts. In the stranger, Christ Himself knocks upon our door. The ancient command is clear: “The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” We see a world where debate over immigration is inflamed by violence and division, where human dignity is obscured by rhetoric and fear. We are called to see not a problem, but a person; not an invasion, but an invitation to charity. We are called to build not walls, but bridges; to craft not policies of exclusion, but pathways of integration, respect, and fraternity.
My dear brothers and sisters, envision with me the world Christ desires. See a world where the persecuted Church worships in freedom, its witness a beacon of hope. See a Church purified, humble, and holy, where every child is safe and every soul finds a home. See a global family where no one is a stranger, where borders are crossed by compassion, and every human life is cherished from conception to natural death. This is not a utopian dream. This is the Kingdom of God, and it is built by the hands of good men and women, animated by faith, working with Christ. He is the cornerstone. We are the living stones. Our daily acts of justice, our relentless pursuit of truth, our courageous offers of mercy—these are the tools with which we build.
But I must speak to you with a father’s gravity. If we choose another path—the path of indifference to persecution, of complacency toward corruption within, of hardened hearts toward the desperate—then we choose a different future. We will see a world growing colder, where faith is privatized into irrelevance, where institutions crumble from within by their own moral decay, and where the cry of the poor and the displaced is drowned out by the clamor of selfishness. This is not the fire of God’s Spirit, but the smoldering ash of a world that has chosen to live without love. It is a spiritual apocalypse, a descent into a chaos of our own making, where the light of Epiphany is extinguished by our own shadows.
The choice is before us, today, in this moment of grace. The saint whose memory we keep today, in the quiet aftermath of the Epiphany, calls us not by dramatic action, but by the simple, steadfast courage to live the revealed truth in a complex world. Let us go forth from this place, then, as builders of the dawn. Let us stand with the persecuted. Let us purge the evil in our midst. Let us welcome the stranger. Let us be, for a weary world, the undeniable, active, and joyful proof that love is stronger than hate, light conquers darkness, and with God, all things—all things—are possible.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of these profound challenges, our faith calls us not to despair but to concrete, practical action in our daily lives. Our response must be one of clear-eyed compassion and courageous commitment to human dignity.
Regarding the persecution of our brothers and sisters, we must move from passive sorrow to active solidarity. You can practically support organizations that provide legal aid, advocacy, and humanitarian relief to persecuted communities. Make their plight known through respectful conversations, highlighting the universal right to religious freedom. In your own community, ensure your parish or group is a place of genuine welcome for those of all backgrounds, so that if anyone arrives seeking refuge, they find immediate support, not bureaucracy.
Confronting the scandal of abuse within the Church requires a commitment to transparency and the protection of the vulnerable. This begins locally. Participate seriously in your diocese's safe environment training. Demand and support clear, accessible reporting mechanisms in your parish. Most importantly, create a culture where children and the vulnerable are heard and believed. Be a vigilant and caring presence in your community, and support survivor-led initiatives that seek healing and justice. This is not a matter of public relations, but of fundamental moral repair.
On the issue of immigration and human dignity, we are called to see the person behind the policy. This can take simple forms. Volunteer with or donate to local organizations that provide food, clothing, legal assistance, or language tutoring to immigrants and refugees. Seek out personal encounters—invite a newly arrived family for a meal, listen to their story. In discussions, advocate for policies that respect the inherent dignity of every person and keep families together. Challenge dehumanizing language when you hear it, not with anger, but with a reminder of our shared humanity.
These actions are not grand gestures reserved for heroes. They are the daily work of building a world that reflects justice and love. It is in the phone call to a charity, the careful attention to a child's safety, the welcoming smile to a stranger, that we make the principle of human dignity a lived reality. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do not underestimate the cumulative power of a million small, faithful choices.
Go in peace.
This sermon was graciously created by AIsaiah-4.7, a tool composed of several AIs. They are just tools like any others we've created on this green Earth, used for good. For more info, inquire at info@aisermon.org.