Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in the light of Christ, a light that seeks to penetrate every shadow of our world. We look upon the face of our times, and we see a reflection of both our profound capacity for grace and our tragic propensity for sin. The news that fills our days is not merely a chronicle of distant events; it is a spiritual diagnosis of the human heart, a call to conscience for every one of the baptized.
Consider the ancient and terrible specter of war, which even now casts its pall over the plains of Europe and the Middle East. We hear of negotiators meeting, of crossings that may or may not open, of populations trapped between the thunder of artillery and the silence of despair. This is not abstract geopolitics. This is the wound of Cain, reopened generation after generation. Christ proclaimed, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” But peacemaking is not the quiet work of diplomats alone. It is the loud, persistent, and prayerful work of every soul who refuses to accept hatred as inevitable, who sees in the stranger not an enemy but a brother or sister for whom Christ died. To be a child of God in this age is to be an architect of reconciliation in our families, our communities, and to raise a tireless voice that says, “Enough!” to the logic of violence that treats human lives as pawns on a board.
This logic finds its most grievous expression in the assault on human life and dignity. When we read of populations besieged, of families desperate for food, water, and safety, we are not reading a news bulletin. We are hearing the voice of Christ Himself, who identifies utterly with the suffering: “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in.” Christ is in the rubble of Gaza. He is in the frightened eyes of the refugee. He is in the weary body of the migrant. To ignore their cry, to become numb to their plight through the constant stream of headlines, is to turn away from the Lord at the very moment He reveals Himself to us. Our faith is not a private comfort; it is a public mandate to protect, to welcome, and to cherish every person, from conception to natural death, for each bears the indelible image of the Creator.
Yet, what undermines our witness? What weakens our hands when we strive to build peace and uphold dignity? It is the scandal of moral corruption, which poisons the well of trust. We see it in the halls of power, where investigations into favoritism and fraud betray the common good. And with a heart heavy with sorrow, I must acknowledge that we see its shadow within the very walls of our Church. The betrayal of trust through abuse, the clinging to worldly prestige, the manipulation of authority—these are the “fruitless deeds of darkness.” The Apostle commands us, “Have nothing to do with them, but rather expose them.” This is a call to painful but necessary purification. We cannot credibly preach justice to the world if we tolerate injustice within our own house. We cannot offer Christ the healer if we hide wounds that fester in our own body. The faithful have a sacred right and duty to demand transparency, to support survivors, and to pray fervently for a Church that is ever more humble, holy, and conformed to her crucified Lord.
My brothers and sisters, envision with me the world that is possible—not through human effort alone, but through the workings of good men and women cooperating with the grace of Jesus Christ. Envision a world where negotiators are guided by the courage of true peace, not the calculus of power. See a world where borders are places of humane encounter, not barriers of fear. Imagine a Church whose light is so undimmed by scandal that all who look upon her see only the merciful face of the Father. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, pressing in upon our history, waiting for our yes.
But I must also speak a dire warning. If we choose complacency—if we hear the cry of the war-torn and change the channel, if we see the degradation of human life and simply sigh, if we witness corruption in our societies and our Church and look away—then we are not merely failing in a duty. We are actively constructing a different world. We are building a dystopia of the soul, a global society where the strong dominate the weak, where truth is forever subordinate to convenience, and where the human person is reduced to a commodity or a problem to be managed. This is the apocalypse not of divine wrath, but of human abdication. It is a world without hope, because it is a world where love has grown cold.
Therefore, I call upon you, the faithful of the world, to act. Begin in prayer, which roots us in God’s will. Then, let your prayer become feet that walk to the lonely, hands that write to your leaders demanding peace and justice, voices that speak support for the vulnerable, and resources given generously to sustain life. And within our Church, I call upon you to be agents of that light which exposes darkness. Support the work of healing and renewal. Demand integrity. Be a community where the little ones are safe, and where every member lives the radical call of the Gospel with authenticity.
Today, we remember Saint John Damascene, a defender of the integrity of faith in a time of great conflict and confusion. He used his reason and his pen to articulate the truth against formidable opposition. In our own time of conflict and moral confusion, we are all called to be defenders—defenders of human dignity, defenders of peace, defenders of the purity of our faith. Let us take up this mantle not with the weapons of the world, but with the invincible weapons of truth, charity, and unwavering hope.
The future is not written by distant forces. It is written by the choices we make today, in this moment, for love or for indifference. Let us choose love. Let us, with Jesus’s help, solve these great problems and build a civilization worthy of the children of God.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of distant conflicts and high-level negotiations, our practical contribution to peace begins in our immediate sphere. We can consciously choose to be reconcilers in our own families, workplaces, and communities. This means listening to understand before seeking to be understood, refusing to perpetuate gossip that divides, and de-escalating arguments rather than fueling them. Support humanitarian organizations providing aid to all victims of war, as this tangible assistance is a universal language of peace. Advocate, through respectful communication with elected officials, for policies that prioritize human dignity and diplomatic solutions.
When we see news of human suffering and closed borders, our response is to actively protect dignity in our own city. This can be as direct as volunteering at or donating to a local food bank, homeless shelter, or clinic that serves the vulnerable. It means offering a kind word and practical help to a new neighbor or colleague from another country, making them feel welcomed. In our daily choices, we can refuse to engage in dehumanizing rhetoric about groups of people, remembering that every person possesses inherent worth. Support businesses and charities that provide essential goods and services to those in crisis, both locally and internationally.
Confronted with stories of corruption and scandal, our duty is to foster integrity in our own conduct. In our professions, we must insist on transparency and fairness, refusing to cut ethical corners for personal gain. We should support independent journalism and institutions that investigate and expose wrongdoing. As consumers and citizens, we can choose to patronize businesses with ethical practices and hold our local leaders accountable for honest governance. Perhaps most challenging, we must have the courage to speak up when we witness dishonesty or exploitation in our own circles, not with self-righteousness, but with a commitment to truth.
These are not grand, single actions, but the steady, daily choices that weave a fabric of peace, dignity, and justice. It is in the small, consistent acts of courage, kindness, and principle that the world is genuinely transformed.
Go in peace.
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