Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in the shadow of a world that groans under the weight of its own brokenness. From our places of relative safety, we hear the echoes of distant screams, we see the headlines that speak of a profound sickness in the human heart. We are confronted, daily, with a trilogy of modern sorrows: the persecution of the innocent, the corruption of the powerful, and the exploitation of the most vulnerable. These are not merely news items; they are the open wounds of Christ’s mystical body, the Church, which is all of humanity.
Look with me upon the first sorrow: the persecution of those who seek only to live in righteousness. We recall the chilling words of our Lord: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” This beatitude is not a distant ideal. It is written in the blood of a man like Dipu Das, dragged out and set on fire, not for any crime, but for the ‘crime’ of his identity. It is etched on the faces of countless others, of every faith and nation, who are hated, driven out, or killed for what they believe or who they are. This violence is a poison that seeps into the soil of societies, breeding fear and fracturing the human family. It is a direct assault on the sacred image of God present in every person.
This poison is often distilled and administered by the second great sorrow: the corruption and moral decay in leadership. “By justice a king gives a country stability,” Scripture teaches us, “but one who is greedy for bribes tears it down.” We see this tearing down everywhere. We see it when a leader, entrusted with the energy and security of a nation, is instead detained for alleged corruption, placing personal gain above the common good. This is not a problem of one nation, but a global pandemic of betrayal. When those in power worship at the altar of greed and power, the structures of justice crumble. The poor are neglected, the social fabric unravels, and the vulnerable are left utterly exposed.
And who are the most vulnerable? The “little ones.” Our Lord’s warning is fierce and tender: “See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.” Think of the child, a girl of twelve, rescued from years of unspeakable harm because a diligent agent spotted a clue on a bedroom wall in a dark web image. Her angels have seen the face of the Father throughout her ordeal. But how many little ones—children, the poor, the forgotten elderly, the unborn—have their angels weeping, because we, the collective human family, have despised them through our indifference, our inaction, our complicity in systems that exploit?
This is the world as it is. But, my brothers and sisters, this is not the world as it must be. We are not called to be mere observers of this Passion of humanity. We are called to be the agents of the Resurrection.
Envision with me, through the eyes of faith, the world that is possible. Envision a world where the blessing promised to the persecuted is not paid for with blood, but lived in peace; where followers of every creed can build together a civilization of love. Envision a world where leaders are true servants, where justice flows like a river, and integrity like a never-failing stream, creating stability and hope for all. Envision a world where no child is a commodity, where every little one is cherished, protected, and allowed to grow in wisdom and grace, their angels rejoicing rather than interceding in anguish.
This is the Kingdom of God. And it will not descend from the clouds as a finished work. It will be built, brick by brick, sacrifice by sacrifice, through the workings of good men and women who have said “yes” to Jesus Christ. It will be built by the police officer who pursues justice with mercy, by the politician who refuses a bribe, by the neighbor who defends the targeted, by the parent who teaches their child the dignity of every life, by the tech worker who designs safeguards against exploitation. It is built every time we choose communion over conflict, service over selfishness, and truth over convenience.
Yet, within our own holy Church, we face a trial that weakens our witness and dims our light. It is the scandal of division, of bitter polarization, where factions within the Body of Christ treat each other with contempt, mirroring the world’s conflicts rather than offering an alternative. We argue over liturgies and labels while the world burns. We turn inward, preoccupied with our own disputes, while the cry of the poor and the persecuted grows faint in our ears. This internal strife is a paralysis. I call on every faithful soul here and across the globe: let us lay down the weapons of words. Let us unite in our essential mission—to love God and to love our neighbor, especially the suffering neighbor. Let our common prayer, our common works of mercy, and our common adoration of the Eucharist be the forge where our unity is reforged. Only a united Church can heal a divided world.
For if we do not act—if we remain complacent, polarized, or indifferent—then we must speak of a future too terrible to contemplate. This is not the wrath of God, but the logical, apocalyptic consequence of our own collective sin. If we do not stem the tide of persecution, we will create a world of permanent, simmering war, of tribe against tribe, faith against faith, until no one is safe. If we do not purge the corruption from our halls of power and, yes, from our own hearts, our societies will collapse into cynical, lawless jungles where the strong devour the weak. If we do not become relentless protectors of the innocent, we will raise generations scarred by trauma and mistrust, incapable of love, perpetuating the cycle of harm into an endless night. We will have chosen, by our inaction, a world unfit for the human spirit, a world that rejects the gift of life itself.
But this is not our destiny! We are children of the light. We carry within us the Spirit of the Risen Christ, who has already conquered sin and death. The problems of this age, though vast, are not greater than God’s grace. They are not stronger than the mobilized force of a billion acts of love.
So go forth from this place. Be that force. Be the peacemaker in a hostile conversation. Be the voice of integrity in a corrupt system. Be the shield that stands before a vulnerable life. Heal the divisions within your own families and within this Church. Do not be afraid. For you do not work alone. You work with Jesus. And with His help, through the steadfast workings of good men and women, the darkness will not overcome the light.
Let us build that world. Let us be that people.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of such profound challenges, our faith calls us not to despair but to concrete, daily action. Our contribution is not measured in grand gestures alone, but in the steadfast, practical choices we make in our own circles of influence. Here is how we can begin.
Regarding religious persecution and violence, our first duty is to become informed and to humanize the suffering. Seek out news from reputable sources that explains the context of such conflicts, moving beyond headlines to understand the people involved. In your daily interactions, be a force for respect. Challenge derogatory jokes or stereotypes about any religious group in your workplace or social circles. Support, with your time or donations, local interfaith dialogue initiatives in your own community. Building bridges of understanding next door is the foundation for peace far away.
Confronting corruption and moral decay begins with an unwavering commitment to integrity in our own spheres. In your job, however humble or grand, refuse to cut ethical corners. Be honest in your dealings, pay what you owe, and give honest work for honest pay. As a citizen, participate thoughtfully in the civic process—vote with conscience, hold local officials accountable by attending town halls, and support transparency in government. Teach the young people in your life, by word and example, that true success is built on character, not shortcuts.
To protect the vulnerable and innocent, cultivate a posture of vigilant kindness. Pay attention to the people around you—the quiet child, the isolated neighbor, the struggling colleague. Report concerns, however small they may seem, to the proper authorities; you could be the crucial link. Support, through volunteering or donations, the organizations in your community that serve at-risk children, the homeless, and the abused. In your family, create an environment where the smallest voice is heard and protected. Teach your children about bodily autonomy and safe adults, and listen to them without judgment.
These are not distant ideals, but daily practices. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do not underestimate the cumulative power of a million small acts of justice, integrity, and protection. The world is healed household by household, street by street, through the courageous, practical love of ordinary people.
Go in peace.
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