Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, on this Saturday, a day of quiet anticipation for the Lord’s Day.
We gather in a world of profound movement, where the foundations of human dignity are both assailed and, by the grace of God, reaffirmed. We see the arc of history bending, not by some unseen force, but by the collective will of humanity, a will that we, as disciples of Christ, are called to shape and sanctify. Today, we reflect on three great struggles of our age: the defense of life, the pursuit of peace, and the cry for justice for the persecuted.
First, we confront the sacred mystery of life itself. In recent days, we have witnessed a nation change its laws regarding the unborn. This is not merely a political shift; it is a shift in the human heart’s capacity to recognize a neighbor. The Lord tells us that before He formed us in the womb, He knew us. Every life is a thought of God from eternity, a unique and irreplaceable vocation inscribed upon a soul from its very conception. When a society chooses to widen the door to end that life, it is not progressing; it is forgetting who it is. It is forgetting that the measure of our civilization is not in its power to choose who may live, but in its courage to love the most vulnerable, the most hidden, the most dependent. Imagine, my brothers and sisters, a world where this choice is unthinkable, not because a law forbids it, but because love compels us to welcome every child. A world where families are supported, mothers are cherished, and every life is seen with the eyes of faith—as a prophet to the nations, with a destiny written by God. This is the world we must build, with the tenderness of Christ.
Second, we face the ancient scourge of war and the call to arms. In a land holy to three great faiths, we see tension over who must serve in the military. This conflict mirrors a deeper, universal tension in the human spirit: the tension between the duty to defend and the call to perfect peace. The prophet Isaiah gave us a vision so beautiful it aches: “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.” This is not a naive dream. It is our ultimate destination, promised by God. The path to that destination is walked by courageous peacemakers, by those who, in conscience, object to violence, and by those who serve with the solemn hope that their service will one day be obsolete. We must work for a world where conscription is a fading memory, not because we are undefended, but because we have built a global society so just, so interconnected in fraternity, that training for war becomes as absurd as training to hate one’s own family. This is the peace of Christ, and it must begin in our hearts, in our communities, in our relentless diplomacy and works of reconciliation.
Third, we hear the cry of the persecuted, which echoes from dark prisons into the halls of heaven. We have just learned of athletes, of fellow human beings, held for eighteen years without trial. Their ordeal is a stark testament to the words of our Lord: “I was in prison and you came to visit me.” When justice is denied to one, it is denied to all. When a person is stripped of their dignity, locked away and forgotten, the image of God within them is veiled by our collective sin of indifference. Yet, their recent liberation is a flicker of hope, a testament to the power of persistent advocacy and prayer. We must envision a world where such prisons stand empty, not because there is no sin, but because justice is swift, fair, and tempered with mercy. A world where no one is a political pawn, where religious belief is never a crime, and where the visit to the prisoner is a common act of solidarity, not a rare act of courage. This is the justice of Christ, for which we must hunger and thirst.
Yet, as we strive for this better world, we in the Church must also look inward with humility. One of the great trials of our time is the scandal of division—within our own communities, between Christians, and between peoples of faith. Too often, we have turned inward, tending to our own gardens while the world’s field lies parched. We have allowed the language of encounter to be drowned out by the noise of argument. I call upon every one of you, the faithful, to be architects of unity. Be the ones who bridge divides in your families, your workplaces, and your online forums. Heal the fractures with intentional kindness. Let the Church be known not for her walls, but for her bridges, built by your hands.
For if we do not act—if we remain complacent, if we choose the comfort of silence over the cost of love—then we must heed a dire warning. A world that does not protect life is a world that has lost its future, becoming a hollow, aging shell echoing with the silence of children who never were. A world that trains for war but not for peace is a world forever on the brink, where the plowshare is a forgotten relic and the sword is the only language spoken. A world that ignores the prisoner and the persecuted is a world building its own dungeon, brick by brick of apathy, until one day we all find ourselves captive within it. This is not the fire and brimstone of a distant apocalypse; it is the slow, cold apocalypse of a humanity that chose to look away, that forgot it was its brother’s keeper.
But this is not our destiny! We are an Easter people, and “Alleluia” is our song! The problems of our age are vast, but they are not greater than the love of God poured into our hearts. They will be solved, not by miracles from the sky, but through the daily, humble, heroic workings of good men and women like you, animated by the Spirit of Jesus. With His help, we will build a civilization of life and love. We will forge the tools of war into instruments of human flourishing. We will visit the prisoner and welcome the stranger until justice rolls down like waters.
Let us go forth from this place, on this Saturday, with the courage of the saints who have gone before us. Let us build that world, starting today. Let us be the answer to our own prayers.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of these complex global currents, our faith calls us not to despair but to practical, loving action. Our contribution is not measured in grand gestures alone, but in the consistency of our daily choices. Here is how we can practically build a more just and peaceful world.
Regarding the profound respect for human life from conception: Your most powerful tool is compassionate support. Volunteer or donate to organizations that provide tangible, non-judgmental aid to pregnant women and families in need. This includes pregnancy resource centers, food banks, and programs offering childcare, housing assistance, or job training for parents. In your personal circles, strive to be a person of listening and practical help, not just of opinion. Foster a culture of life by supporting families within your own community—offer respite care, meals for new parents, or mentorship to young people. Advocate for policies that genuinely support both mother and child, ensuring no woman feels economic or social pressure alone dictates her choice.
Concerning the deep longing for peace and the moral dilemmas of conflict: Cultivate peace in your own heart and sphere. Actively seek to understand perspectives different from your own, especially those of people from nations or communities in conflict. Support and engage with veterans' groups, trauma healing programs, and peace-building NGOs that work on reconciliation and dialogue. In your civic duty, advocate for and support robust programs for conscientious objectors, ensuring peaceful service is a respected and viable path. Promote diplomatic solutions and humanitarian aid in your conversations and in the causes you support. Remember, building a culture of peace starts with how we resolve our own disputes, forgive offenses, and teach our children to handle conflict with respect.
In response to injustice and persecution: Make the needs of the suffering concrete. Research and support reputable international charities that provide legal aid, advocacy, and essential supplies to prisoners of conscience and persecuted communities. Write respectful, factual letters to your elected representatives, urging them to prioritize human rights in foreign policy and trade agreements. In your own community, be a welcoming presence. Many who have fled persecution now live nearby. Simple acts—offering friendship, helping with language skills, assisting with job searches—are profound. Support local refugee resettlement agencies. When you hear of someone being marginalized or maligned because of their faith or ethnicity, have the courage to speak a word of kindness and correction.
Our task is to be builders. We build a culture of life by supporting families. We build a foundation for peace by fostering understanding. We build a haven of justice by extending our hands to the oppressed. Start where you are, use what you have, and do not underestimate the cumulative power of a million small, faithful acts of love.
Go in peace.
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