Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather in this holy season, in the spirit of the Christmas Octave, a time that celebrates the Light entering our shadowed world. This Light, the Word made flesh, came not to a paradise, but to a world of conflict, suffering, and searching—a world not unlike our own. Today, we must have the courage to look upon that world with clear eyes, to see both its wounds and its hope, and to understand our sacred duty within it.
Look first to the lands scarred by war. We hear of ceasefires and phases, of threats and warnings. The ancient rhythm of violence and retaliation seems unbreakable. In places like Gaza, and in so many other forgotten conflicts, the children of God are pitted against one another, and the true enemy—the enemy of peace itself—rejoices. Our Lord proclaimed, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” To be a child of God, therefore, is not a passive inheritance; it is an active vocation. It is a call to build bridges where there are trenches, to speak reconciliation where there is hatred, and to demand justice that serves life, not vengeance. Imagine, beloved, a world where the energy spent on war is poured into healing, where borders become meeting places, not battle lines. This is not a naive dream. This is the kingdom of God, and it is built by the hands of peacemakers. If we do not take up this work, we risk a hell of our own making—a world perpetually ablaze, where our grandchildren inherit only ashes and the bitter legacy of our inaction.
Now, let your heart turn to the most vulnerable among us. Consider the story of a child, an orphan, whose brief life was a chronicle of torture and whose death is a scream against our collective conscience. This is not a distant horror. It is the face of suffering in our time—in the forgotten corners of Somalia, in the shadows of our own cities, in the silent despair of the abandoned. Christ has identified Himself utterly with this suffering. “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” When we ignore the cry of the abused child, the forgotten elder, the refugee in the cold, we turn our face from Christ Himself. But envision a world where that child is swaddled in love, where every life is regarded as an icon of the divine, where systems of care protect the weak. This is the civilization of love we are commanded to build. To refuse this duty is to invite a spiritual apocalypse—a world where compassion is extinguished, where the human person is reduced to an object, and where the image of God in us grows so dim it flickers out.
And what of our faith in this world? We see the struggle for religious identity, the tensions in communities, like a small town in Tennessee, where fear and misunderstanding can twist the beautiful gift of faith into a tool for division. We are reminded to “revere Christ as Lord” in our hearts, and to always be prepared to explain our hope with gentleness and respect. Our faith is not a fortress from which to lob judgments, nor a banner of tribal conquest. It is a humble, joyful, and compelling witness to the love that has saved us. It must be proposed, not imposed. A world where faith is free is a world where the human spirit can soar toward its Creator. If we fail in this, if we allow our witness to become harsh or defensive, we contribute to a different kind of poverty—a famine of hope, where souls are starved of meaning and drift into the cold void of despair.
Yet, within our own beloved Church, we face a trial that weakens our voice for all these causes. It is the scandal of division—the bitter polarization that pits brother against brother, sister against sister, within the very Body of Christ. We fracture into factions, left and right, traditional and progressive, wasting our inheritance on internal strife while the world hungers for the Gospel. This division is a wound that cripples our mission. I call upon every one of you, the faithful, to be healers within your own parishes and families. Listen more than you speak. Seek communion before you correct. Let charity be your first language. We cannot heal a fractured world if we are a fractured Church.
The promise of Christmas is that God did not remain distant from our conflicts, our sufferings, or our searches. He entered into them. And He now invites us, His people, to be His hands, His feet, and His heart in this world. The problems are vast, but our God is vaster. The night seems dark, but the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Do not be afraid. Be peacemakers. Be protectors of the least. Be gentle witnesses of hope. Be healers of division. Envision with me that world made new—not by distant magic, but through the daily, persistent, loving work of good men and women, animated by the Spirit of Christ. For if we do not labor for this better world, we must foresee the dire alternative: a descent into greater chaos, deeper suffering, and a loneliness of spirit that mocks our creation. The choice is before us. Let us choose, this day and every day, to build the kingdom.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of distant conflicts, our most practical contribution is to become architects of peace in our own spheres. This means actively refusing to perpetuate division in our conversations, especially online. When discussing polarizing topics, challenge yourself to represent the other side's viewpoint fairly before stating your own. Support and listen to those in your community who come from regions in turmoil, offering not solutions, but solidarity and a compassionate ear. Advocate for and donate to reputable humanitarian organizations that deliver aid to all sides of a conflict, focusing on the relief of suffering as a primary goal.
Confronting the suffering of the persecuted and abused begins with vigilant, local love. Make it your business to know the signs of neglect, abuse, or isolation in your own neighborhood, workplace, and family circles. Support and volunteer with local shelters, foster care programs, and food banks—these are the front lines of defense for the vulnerable. Choose to be the person who intervenes, whether by offering help to a struggling parent, reporting suspected abuse to authorities, or simply ensuring that the quiet, withdrawn individual in your community is seen and checked on.
In matters of faith and identity, your daily work is to live with such integrity and openness that it invites curiosity rather than conflict. Be so grounded in your own convictions that you feel no need to diminish the beliefs of others. Engage in conversations with a genuine desire to understand, not to convert or win. In your workplace and social groups, be a firm but gentle advocate for the dignity of every person, creating spaces where people of all faiths or none can contribute. Defend the right of others to hold beliefs different from your own, modeling that a strong identity does not require the weakening of another's.
These are not grand gestures, but the quiet, persistent work of building a better world through the texture of your daily life. It is in these practical, worldly actions that faith becomes a tangible force for good.
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.