Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, gathered here on this Saturday, a day we set aside for reflection and preparation for the Lord’s Day.
We gather in a world that cries out. It cries out from the dust of ruined churches and the rubble of shattered mosques. It cries out from the silent terror of those who are searched and stripped of their dignity, and from the weeping of those who bury their loved ones, slain at prayer. The news that reaches us is a litany of sorrow: our brothers and sisters in Nigeria persecuted for their faith, massacred for righteousness' sake; innocent lives in Pakistan, created in the very image and likeness of God, obliterated in an act of sacrilegious violence; and in the Holy Land, the children of Abraham, Israeli and Palestinian alike, trapped in a cycle of fear and retribution, where the checkpoint has become a symbol of division, not a path to peace.
These are not distant headlines. They are the open wounds of Christ’s mystical body, the Church, spread across the globe. They testify to a profound sickness in the heart of humanity—a failure to recognize the divine spark in every person, a failure to seek peace, a failure to protect the sacred right to worship the God of love. When we hear of those “blessed… who are persecuted for righteousness' sake,” we must understand that this beatitude is not a passive consolation for victims, but a fiery mandate for us, the universal Church. We are called to be their voice, their shield, and their advocates. We are called to be the peacemakers, the blessed children of God who do not merely pray for peace, but actively build it with the bricks of justice and the mortar of mercy.
Yet, if we look only upon the darkness, we risk a despair that is alien to our faith. We are an Easter people, and “Alleluia” is our song! I ask you to envision with me, not the world as it is, but the world as, with Jesus’s help and through the workings of good men and women, it can be. Envision a world where the courage of the persecuted Nigerian community inspires not more violence, but a global uprising of prayer and practical support, leading to a lasting peace where faith is a bridge, not a weapon. Envision a world where the sanctity of every life, from conception to natural death, is so fiercely protected that the horror of a mosque or church bombing becomes an unthinkable relic of a barbaric past. Envision Gaza, envision Jerusalem, envision every war-torn corner of our common home, not as open wounds, but as healed scars—testaments to a justice that flowed like a river, and a righteousness that embraced all sides, reconciling them as brothers and sisters under one loving Father.
This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, for which we are commanded to labor. But this labor requires a Church that is united, bold, and radiant with holiness. And here, we must confront with humility and courage one of the great problems that weakens our witness in the modern world: the scandal of division within our own household of faith. How can we preach reconciliation to warring nations when, within the Body of Christ, we are fractured by ideology, by preference, by a stubborn clinging to factions that prioritize culture over communion? How can we credibly proclaim the God of peace when our own dialogues are marked by suspicion and harsh judgment? This internal strife silences our prophetic voice and drains the spiritual energy we so desperately need to pour out upon a wounded world.
Therefore, my dear faithful, I call upon you today. I call you to be the architects of this new world, beginning within the very walls of the Church. Let your first act for the betterment of global society be the active, deliberate pursuit of unity with your fellow Catholic. Reach across the aisles of disagreement. Listen to understand, not to rebut. In your parishes, be a force for communion, not contention. For only a united Church can be a credible instrument of peace. From this foundation of renewed charity, let your action flow outward: support organizations that defend religious freedom globally. Advocate for policies that protect human dignity at all stages and in all circumstances. Pray and work tirelessly for diplomatic solutions that prioritize the human person over political victory. Be a peacemaker in your family, your workplace, your online forums.
For if we do not take up this cross of active love—if we remain comfortable in our pews, indifferent to the cries of the persecuted, numb to the degradation of human dignity, and complacent in the face of endless conflict—then we choose a different vision. We choose the apocalypse of our own making. A world where the image of God in humanity is systematically erased, not by a single antichrist, but by a million small surrenders to hatred, greed, and apathy. It is a world where the light of faith is extinguished in a new dark age of tribalism and violence, where our children inherit not a legacy of hope, but a scorched earth of our neglect. This is not the wrath of God poured out from heaven; it is the consequence of humanity, and yes, of a sleeping Church, refusing its divine vocation.
But that is not our destiny! We are children of the light. On this Saturday, let us prepare. Let us examine our consciences, heal our divisions, and fortify our resolve. Let us go forth from this place not as passive observers of a tragic age, but as active participants in the great drama of redemption. Let us be the good men and women through whom Christ solves these great problems. Let us build, with His help, a world worthy of the children of God.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of such profound suffering—from targeted violence against communities of faith to brutal attacks on places of worship and the daily indignities of conflict—it is easy to feel that these vast problems are beyond our reach. Yet, the call to build a better world is answered not in a single heroic act, but in the consistent, practical choices of our daily lives. Our faith must become action, and that action begins right where we are.
First, educate yourself with compassion. When you hear of religious persecution or an attack on a mosque, church, or synagogue, resist the quick headline. Seek out the stories of the individuals and communities affected. Read sources that explain the context without dehumanizing any group. Understanding is the first, crucial step toward genuine solidarity. It prevents us from reducing entire peoples to stereotypes and fuels a more just response.
Second, use your voice and your resources locally. The global struggle for human dignity is mirrored in your own community. Actively support and defend your neighbors of all faiths and backgrounds. If a local mosque or synagogue faces prejudice, stand with them publicly. Donate to reputable international charities that provide direct aid to victims of violence and persecution, and to those working for interfaith dialogue and peacebuilding. Your financial support is a tangible lifeline.
Third, practice radical hospitality and witness to dignity. Every person you meet carries an inherent dignity that conflict seeks to erase. In your workplace, family, and social circles, be the one who listens without prejudice, who offers kindness without condition, and who refuses to engage in or tolerate derogatory speech about any group. This daily commitment to respect is a direct rebuke to the forces that fuel hatred.
Fourth, engage politically as an advocate for peace. Be an informed citizen. Contact your political representatives and advocate for foreign policies that prioritize human rights, protect religious minorities, and seek diplomatic solutions over escalation. Support humanitarian aid and refugee resettlement programs. Politics, at its best, is an instrument for justice; your engagement helps steer it.
Finally, cultivate peace within your own heart. We cannot give what we do not have. The work for justice is exhausting and can breed its own bitterness. Dedicate time to prayerful silence, to forgiveness, and to letting go of the personal conflicts and resentments in your own life. From this inner wellspring of peace, your outward actions will draw strength, perseverance, and a spirit that truly seeks reconciliation, not just victory.
These are not grand gestures, but they are profound ones. They weave a network of light against the darkness. We start where we stand, with what we have, trusting that these small, faithful actions combine into a mighty force for good.
Go in peace.
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