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 contradictions. A world of breathtaking technological connection, yet one where human hearts remain tragically isolated. A world that proclaims the inherent dignity of every person, yet one where that dignity is trampled daily in the dust of indifference, ideology, and conflict. The news that reaches us is not merely a report; it is a cry. It is the cry of the persecuted, the forgotten, the wounded, and the peacemaker silenced. It is a cry that echoes in the chambers of our own conscience and demands a response from every one who claims to follow Christ.
Consider the cry from a village in Nigeria, where the very act of gathering to worship became an occasion of terror. “Blood was all over,” a survivor said. This is not a distant abstraction. It is the reality for our brothers and sisters who live the Beatitude in its most painful form: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Their faith is written not in ink, but in sacrifice. They are the living stones of the Church, tested by fire. Their persecution is our persecution. Their courage must ignite our own.
Hear the cry of the child, any child, whose innocence is the first casualty of a hardened world. When a five-year-old boy is detained, when the sanctuary of his childhood is violated by the cold machinery of systems that have lost sight of the human person behind the case file, we have all failed. For in that child, and in every vulnerable life from the womb to the tomb, we encounter the face of Christ Himself. Do we remember His words? “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” Every policy, every law, every action of our societies must be measured against this sacred standard: does it protect and cherish the “least of these”?
And listen to the cry from Gaza, from Ukraine, from so many lands torn by strife. It is the cry of the journalist, the medic, the parent, the child—all victims when the tools of war eclipse the imperative of peace. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” our Lord proclaimed. Yet today, those who seek to report the truth, to heal the wounded, or to simply live in safety are cut down. To be a peacemaker is not a passive wish for quiet; it is the active, arduous pursuit of justice, the courageous building of bridges where others build walls. It is the work of the sons and daughters of God.
My dear friends, these are not three separate crises. They are one single, gaping wound upon the Body of Humanity. Persecution flourishes where dignity is denied. Violence reigns where the work of peace is abandoned. We are witnessing a fragmentation of the human family, a retreat into fear and tribalism that threatens the very fabric of our global society.
I must speak to you with a father’s heart, but also with a prophet’s urgency. If we, the faithful, do not rise—if we remain comfortable in our chapels, content with private piety while the world burns—then we are complicit in a coming darkness. A world that does not defend the persecuted will soon find no one to defend it. A civilization that does not cherish the child has no future. A culture that chooses the sword over the plowshare will reap only ashes. This is not God’s punishment; it is the logical, tragic consequence of human choices made in defiance of His love. We are crafting our own apocalypse of indifference.
But this is not our destiny! We are an Easter people, and ‘Alleluia’ is our song! I envision, with the eyes of faith, a world transformed. I see a world where the churches in Nigeria are filled not with fear, but with songs of thanksgiving, protected by the respect of all. I see a world where every child, regardless of origin, is welcomed, protected, and loved, their dignity the cornerstone of every law. I see a world where the weapons of war are silenced, not by a victor’s triumph, but by a peacemaker’s courageous treaty, where the sons of God walk recognized in every land. This is the Kingdom we are called to build, not in a distant heaven, but here, on this earth, through the workings of good men and women animated by the Spirit of Jesus.
To build this, our Church herself must be a clearer beacon. We cannot credibly preach human dignity if we are not a community of radical welcome and transparent mercy. One of the great trials of our time is the scandal of division within the Christian family itself—the fragmentation, the suspicion, the walls we have built between ourselves. How can we heal a fractured world if we are fractured? I call upon every one of you, the faithful, to be artisans of unity. Reach out. Listen. Seek understanding with those of other traditions. Let our first and greatest ecumenical act be one of shared prayer and shared service to the poor and the persecuted. Let us mend the nets of the Church so we may be fit to gather all humanity into the boat of salvation.
Therefore, my brothers and sisters, I do not merely ask for your prayers. I call for your hands, your voices, your lives. Pray, yes—pray without ceasing. But then rise from your knees and act. Support organizations that defend the persecuted. Advocate for policies that protect the immigrant, the refugee, the unborn, and the forgotten. In your families, in your workplaces, be a peacemaker—one who listens, forgives, and seeks reconciliation. Challenge the language of hatred and the logic of violence wherever you find it. Live so vividly the Gospel of Life and the Gospel of Peace that the world cannot look upon you without seeing a reflection of Christ’s own love.
The saint we remember in this Ordinary Time calls us to extraordinary love. It is the love of Christ, a love that did not flee from the Cross but embraced it to shatter its power. That same love, alive in you, can shatter the powers of persecution, indignity, and war. Do not be afraid. The Lord is with us. Let us go forth, and with His help, rebuild this wounded world.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of religious persecution and violence, our practical response is to become informed and vocal advocates. Seek out and support, through donations or volunteer work, reputable organizations—both international and local to affected regions—that provide direct aid to victims, document human rights abuses, and work for interfaith dialogue. In your own community, make a conscious effort to learn about and build relationships with people of other faiths. This grassroots understanding dismantles the ignorance that fuels persecution.
To uphold the sanctity of life and human dignity in all circumstances, we must examine our own circles of influence. Support local charities that serve the most vulnerable: food banks, shelters, and legal aid clinics. In conversations about immigration, poverty, or criminal justice, consciously speak in a way that affirms the inherent worth of every person, regardless of their status or situation. Practice seeing the individual behind the headline, and let that recognition guide your compassion and your civic engagement.
For peace and justice in distant conflict zones, our role is one of sober engagement, not passive despair. Choose to consume news from sources committed to factual, on-the-ground reporting from all sides of a conflict. Support humanitarian NGOs that deliver aid impartially to civilians caught in the crossfire. Write to your political representatives, urging them to prioritize diplomacy, civilian protection, and a just peace in their foreign policy. Reject the dehumanizing language that often surrounds conflict, and pray or hold in your thoughts not for the victory of one side, but for the safety of all families and for the courage of peacemakers.
These are not grand, single actions, but the steady, daily work of building a world that reflects our deepest values. It starts with how we choose to see, to speak, and to serve.
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.