Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather in a world that often feels fractured, a world where the news we receive daily can seem like a litany of sorrows. We hear of avalanches that claim the lives of the young and adventurous, leaving families shattered, their hearts broken by a sudden, crushing loss. We hear, from distant and war-torn lands, the harrowing cries of our sisters in humanity, women subjected to unspeakable violence because of their faith or their community, their very bodies made into battlegrounds. And we witness, in the halls of power and commerce, the slow, corrosive decay of morality, where trust is betrayed, darkness is concealed, and the powerful speak of being deceived only after the deeds are done.
These are not merely news items; they are the symptoms of a profound spiritual crisis. They speak of a world that has, in so many ways, forgotten its sacred character. They speak of a culture that treats human life as disposable, human dignity as negotiable, and truth as a commodity. When the skier is lost to the mountain, when the woman is brutalized in a conflict, when the billionaire is “conned” by a man of profound evil, we are witnessing the same fundamental rupture: a failure to see the image of God in one another, a failure to honor the sanctuary of the human person.
The Psalmist tells us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” He does not promise to prevent the avalanche, but He promises His unshakable presence in its aftermath. He is there in the hands of the rescuers digging through the snow. He is there in the comfort offered to the grieving. He is in the spirit of those who, though crushed, do not surrender to despair. Our Lord hears the screams in the night of those who suffer persecution, and He proclaims, “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” This blessing is not a dismissal of their agony, but a divine promise that their suffering is not the final word, that the cruelty of man will not triumph over the justice of God. And to a world enamored with shadows, the Apostle Paul gives a clear command: “Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.” We are called to be children of light, to reject the comfortable conspiracy of silence that allows corruption and abuse to fester in our institutions, even, we must confess with sorrow, at times within our own Church.
For one of the great wounds the Church bears in this modern time is a crisis of credibility born of scandal. When those entrusted with the care of souls betray that sacred trust, when the light of the Gospel is obscured by the deeds of darkness, the entire Body of Christ suffers. The world looks on, and its cynicism deepens. This is not a problem for bishops alone to solve. It is a call to every one of the faithful—to demand transparency, to support justice, to pray for purification, and above all, to live with such radiant integrity that we become living stones in the rebuilding of a trustworthy and holy Church. You, the laity, are not passive observers. You are the essential leaven in this necessary work of healing and renewal.
I ask you to envision, with the eyes of faith, a world transformed. See a world where the expertise of geologists and the courage of rescuers, guided by a profound respect for life, prevent such tragedies of nature from claiming the innocent. See a world where the international community, driven by a shared moral conviction, does not look away from persecution but acts decisively to protect every man, woman, and child whose right to worship God is threatened. See a world where boardrooms and legislatures are filled with men and women who expose fruitless deeds of darkness not for fame, but for justice, who build economies of communion rather than exploitation. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, breaking into our history through the hands of good men and women who cooperate with the grace of Jesus Christ. He is the help of the helpless. He is the hope of the persecuted. He is the light that scatters the darkness. But His hands in this world are our hands. His voice is our voice. His compassion is our compassion.
Yet, we must also speak with a prophetic urgency. If we choose complacency, if we hear these calls and close our hearts, if we believe the problems of the avalanche victim, the persecuted minority, or the scandal-ridden institution are “not our concern,” then we are building a tomb for our own humanity. A world that does not mourn its dead with solidarity, that does not rage against injustice, that winks at moral decay, is a world preparing its own apocalypse. It is not an apocalypse of divine wrath, but of human making—a slow, cold death of the spirit, a descent into a collective heart of stone where no one is safe, no one is sacred, and no one is saved. The chasm of indifference is wider and more deadly than any crevasse in the mountains. The silence of the bystander is more damning than any lie told in Congress.
Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us depart from this place not with hearts burdened by despair, but ignited by a holy and urgent purpose. Let us be the ones who draw close to the brokenhearted, in our own families, our own communities, and across the world through our prayers and our advocacy. Let us be the voice for the persecuted, remembering them at every Mass, supporting those who aid them. Let us be the light that exposes darkness, starting with the examination of our own consciences and extending to a courageous demand for integrity in every sphere of life, especially within our beloved Church.
The path before us is the path of the Cross, the way of self-giving love. It is the only way that leads from the avalanche’s shadow, from the prison of persecution, from the scandal of sin, to the empty tomb and the glory of the Resurrection. Let us walk it together, with faith, with hope, and with unyielding love.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of such profound suffering and moral confusion, our faith calls us not to despair, but to concrete, practical action. Our contribution is not measured in grand gestures alone, but in the daily choices that shape the world around us. Here is how we can begin.
Confronting Violence and Loss: When tragedy strikes, as with the avalanche, our first duty is to solidarity with the grieving. Practically, this means consciously rejecting indifference. Reach out to those in your own community who are suffering loss—a note, a meal, or simply your presence can be a lifeline. Support, through donations or volunteer hours, the first responders and rescue organizations who rush toward danger. In your daily conversations, choose words that heal rather than wound, and be a peacemaker in conflicts, however small.
Addressing Persecution and Suffering: For our brothers and sisters enduring persecution, our practical response is awareness and advocacy. Educate yourself about the realities of religious persecution worldwide through reliable sources. Then, use your voice. Write to your elected representatives, urging them to prioritize religious freedom and humanitarian aid in foreign policy. Support, financially if you can, reputable Catholic and international charities that provide direct aid, legal support, and resettlement help to refugees and victims of violence. In your own sphere, welcome newcomers and defend the dignity of every person, regardless of their background.
Countering Moral Decay and Scandal: In a world of exposed corruption and ethical failure, our most powerful tool is personal integrity. Begin by examining your own life. In your work, be scrupulously honest, even when it costs you. In your consumption of media and entertainment, consciously choose what uplifts human dignity and reject what degrades it. Support businesses and leaders who demonstrate transparency and ethical practices. Most importantly, in your family and friendships, model a life of integrity—keep your promises, speak the truth with charity, and take responsibility for your mistakes. This creates a ripple effect of trust.
These actions are not a program to save the world by our own power, but a faithful participation in the work of healing. We plant seeds of peace, justice, and light in the soil of our ordinary days. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
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.