Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather in this sacred season of Advent, a time of hopeful waiting for the light that scatters the darkness. Yet, as we prepare our hearts for the Prince of Peace, we cannot close our eyes to the shadows that stretch across our world. We hear, even now, the echo of an ancient lament from Ramah, a voice of weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children. This is not merely a verse from scripture; it is the daily reality of mothers in Bethlehem, where the lights of the Christmas tree have only just dared to shine again after years of silence. It is the cry of fathers in Gaza, in the West Bank, in Sudan, and in so many lands where the gift of life is trampled by the boots of conflict. The Holy Land, the very ground hallowed by the footsteps of Our Lord, is torn by a sorrow that refuses consolation because children are no more. This is the bitter fruit of a world that has forgotten it is one human family.
This forgetting is a spiritual sickness, a moral decay that festers in the absence of solidarity. It is the same decay that permits the persecution of our brothers and sisters in faith across the globe, and the exploitation of the most vulnerable. We are told to be alert and of sober mind, for the enemy prowls like a roaring lion. Do we see him? He is in the calculated violence that targets believers for the sign of the cross they bear. He is in the predatory darkness that preys upon the desperate, like Esther from Nigeria, who fled one abuse only to be met with another on a perilous journey. The lion devours dignity, devours hope, devours the very notion that every person is a temple of the Holy Spirit. When we see a migrant, a refugee, a stranger, do we see a target for suspicion, or a brother, a sister, Christ Himself in distressing disguise? To ignore their suffering is to stand idle while the lion feasts.
Therefore, our calling is clear and urgent: we must become defenders. We must, as the Psalm implores, defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. This is not a political slogan, but a divine mandate. Look to Sudan, where the skies rain death upon towns, markets, and schools. These are not accidents of war; they are choices that sacrifice the sacred on the altar of power. To defend human dignity is to raise our voices against such horrors, to demand that the calculus of conflict never outweigh the infinite value of a single, unrepeatable soul created in God’s image. It is to work for a world where the strong are measured not by their capacity to destroy, but by their commitment to protect.
Yet, my dear friends, to speak to the world, we must first examine our own house. One of the great trials for our Church in this modern time is the scandal of division—not only the tragic schisms that separate Christians, but the internal fractures among the faithful. We are divided by ideology, by preference, by a stubborn attachment to camps within the Body of Christ itself. We quarrel over liturgies and disciplines while the world burns, while the hungry wait for bread and the lonely wait for a touch. This internal discord muffles our prophetic voice and weakens our healing hands. It is a counter-witness to the unity for which Christ prayed. I call upon every one of you, from the cardinals to the catechumens, to actively labor for communion. Seek first what unites us: our baptism, our Eucharist, our love for Christ and for His poor. Let us mend these tears within our own garment, so that we may be a credible sign of reconciliation for a fractured world.
Envision with me, through the eyes of faith, the world that is possible. See a world where, with Jesus’s help and through the courageous works of good men and women, the problems of our age are solved. See the Holy Land, where the weeping of Rachel is finally comforted by the embrace of a just and secure peace, where the lights of Bethlehem shine perpetually as a beacon for all nations. See the journeys of the desperate met not with exploitation, but with safe pathways and open communities, where the vulnerable are shielded by a global network of compassion. See the warplanes grounded, their bombs transformed into plowshares, and the children of Sudan playing in schools that will never know the shadow of wings of death. This is not a naive dream. It is the Kingdom of God, yearning to break through. It will be built by hands that choose to build, by voices that choose to speak, by hearts that choose to love when it is difficult.
But hear now a solemn warning, born not of despair but of love for your souls and for our common home. If we, the faithful, choose comfort over courage, if we hide our lamp under a basket of apathy or cynicism, then the shadows will lengthen into a night that may feel unending. The weeping will become a global chorus. The map of conflict will spread, the deserts of despair will expand, and the moral decay will poison the wellsprings of society until our very humanity is eroded. We will not be overrun by a foreign army, but hollowed out from within by the silent apostasy of indifference. We will have chosen, by our inaction, a path that leads away from the Resurrection and towards a human-made desolation. This is the apocalyptic danger not of divine wrath, but of human abdication.
But this is not our destiny! Advent tells us the dawn is coming. The Lord is near. He comes to us in the refugee we welcome, in the peace we broker, in the dignity we uphold, in the unity we forge within His Church. He empowers our weak hands and strengthens our feeble knees. Let us go forth from this place, then, as builders of the dawn. Let us be the alert and sober-minded people who resist the prowling lion with the fierce love of the Lamb. Let us be the defenders, the upholders, the rescuers. Let us, together, answer the weeping of the world with the concerted, loving, and tireless action that flows from a faith alive. For in serving the least of these, we serve Christ. In building peace, we prepare the way of the Lord.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of distant wars and immense suffering, like that which has silenced celebrations in Bethlehem and brought terror from the skies in Sudan, our first practical step is to become intentionally informed. Move beyond headlines. Seek out reputable humanitarian sources and local journalists who explain the human reality behind the conflicts. This informed awareness is the foundation of all meaningful action. Then, channel that awareness into concrete support. Donate consistently, even if modestly, to established charities providing food, medicine, and shelter on all sides of a conflict. In your own community, you can support refugees who have escaped these horrors by volunteering with resettlement agencies, offering practical help, or simply extending a welcoming friendship.
Confronting the exploitation and moral decay that preys on the vulnerable, like the women fleeing abuse only to face violence on their journeys, requires us to be pillars of integrity and protection in our own spheres. In your workplace, family, and social circles, refuse to participate in or tolerate language, jokes, or attitudes that degrade human dignity. Support local organizations that aid survivors of trafficking and domestic violence through volunteering or donations. Mentor a young person, offering guidance and reinforcing their inherent worth. By creating circles of respect and safety around us, we starve the culture of exploitation.
The defense of human life and dignity begins in the most immediate ways. It is found in how we treat the person serving us coffee, the colleague struggling with a burden, or the neighbor who is lonely. Practice active kindness—listen without immediately judging, offer help before being asked, and assume the good in others. In your civic life, advocate for policies that protect the poor, the unborn, the elderly, and the marginalized. Write to your representatives, vote with a conscience informed by human dignity, and support community initiatives that address hunger, homelessness, and loneliness right where you live.
Finally, cultivate peace within. The work of building a better world is a marathon, not a sprint. Dedicate time each day to quiet reflection, to grounding yourself in hope and compassion, so that you may engage with the world’s wounds not from a place of burnout and despair, but from a resilient and loving spirit. Your steady, faithful presence, committed to practical good, is a powerful force.
Go in peace.
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