Blessings of peace, and the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in a world that groans under the weight of its own creation. We hear its cries in the news reports that fill our days, and we feel its tremors in the anxiety that too often fills our hearts. We are confronted by the stark realities of human sin, manifested in structures of evil that seem too vast, too entrenched, for any one person to confront. Yet, we are not a people without hope. We are a people of the Resurrection, and our faith is not a retreat from the world, but a mandate to transform it.
Look with me upon the landscapes of human suffering. In lands torn by the commerce of death, we see the bitter fruit of violence. The Psalmist tells us, “The Lord tests the righteous, but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.” We witness this hatred of violence not in a divine indifference, but in the shattered lives of the addicted, the terrorized communities held hostage by cartels, and the blood that stains the earth. This is not a distant problem; it is the globalization of despair, where the pursuit of profit utterly annihilates the dignity of the human person, created in God’s image.
From there, our gaze turns to the open wounds of war and conflict. Our Lord Jesus, in His divine foresight, warned us, “And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet.” He did not say this to normalize war, but to fortify our hearts against despair. The conflicts that rage, the mothers who mourn, the cities reduced to rubble—these are not merely geopolitical events. They are a profound failure of our shared humanity, a rejection of the fundamental vocation to be our brother’s keeper. The economic consequences, the coping in darkness—these are the secondary tremors of the primary earthquake, which is the choice to resolve difference through destruction rather than through the arduous, sacred work of dialogue and justice.
And in the midst of this, the Church herself, the beacon of hope, is not untouched. We see our brothers and sisters persecuted for righteousness’ sake. We are reminded of this today as we recall the humble witness of Saint Francis of Assisi, whose very bones speak to us of a life poured out in radical love and poverty for Christ. The Lord proclaims, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” The martyrs, ancient and modern, are not a sign of God’s absence, but a terrifying and glorious sign of His presence, a presence so compelling that men and women will offer everything, even life itself, to remain faithful to it. The public veneration of a saint’s relics is not a morbid curiosity; it is an act of defiance against a culture of death, a proclamation that the witness of a life given in love endures forever, while the kingdoms of violence turn to dust.
Yet, my dear friends, to merely lament these realities is not enough. We must, with the eyes of faith, envision the world as it could be—as God dreams it to be. Imagine a world where, with Jesus’s help, these wounds are healed through the workings of good men and women. See it clearly: A world where the vast resources poured into the machinery of the drug trade are instead channeled into education, healthcare, and dignified work. Where soldiers are not deployed to contain violence, but communities are so fortified by solidarity, opportunity, and grace that the cartels find no fertile ground. Envision a world where the rumble of tanks is replaced by the sound of rebuilding; where diplomats, inspired by the Gospel command to peacemaking, forge not just treaties, but genuine fraternity among nations. See a global society where religious belief is not a cause for persecution, but a cherished contributor to the common good, where every person can freely seek the face of God.
This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God breaking into our history. But it will not break in by magic. It breaks in through us. It breaks in when we, the baptized, refuse to be mere spectators to history.
And here, I must speak with pastoral urgency of a great problem within our own household of faith, a problem that weakens our witness and dims our light: the scandal of indifference. Not the violent persecution from without, but the quiet, slow fading of zeal from within. The indifference that hears the cry of the poor and changes the channel. The indifference that sees the fragmentation of families and shrugs its shoulders. The indifference that treats the faith as a private comfort rather than a public mission. This spiritual lethargy is a cancer in the Body of Christ. I call on every one of you, the faithful, to rise up and combat it! Aid in solving it by rekindling your first love for Christ. Go to the sacraments with hunger. Serve in your parishes with joy. Teach your children with conviction. Engage the culture with charity and truth. Let your life become a living sermon, so that when people look at you, they do not see a comfortable bystander, but a living stone in God’s new construction.
For we stand at a crossroads. One path is paved by our active, courageous love, a path that leads toward the civilization of love Christ inaugurated. The other path is the one we are on by default—the path of apathy, division, and self-interest. And I tell you with the gravity that this moment demands: if we choose the latter, if we refuse to contribute to a better world, we are not merely opting for stagnation. We are consenting to a slow, spiritual apocalypse.
We will witness not a dramatic end of days with cosmic signs, but a far more terrible unraveling: the apocalypse of the human heart. It is the world our Scriptures warn of, made manifest: a world where violence becomes the common language, where conflict is the only logic, where faith is either extinguished or twisted into a tool for power. It is a world where love grows cold, where the image of God in our neighbor is no longer recognized, where we build our own dystopias, mile by mile, choice by choice. This is the true warning: not that God will angrily destroy us, but that we, by abandoning our vocation to be co-creators with Him, will destroy ourselves and desolate His creation.
Do not let this happen! The Lord tests the righteous, and this is our test. Wars and rumors of wars surround us, and this is our call to be unshakable peacemakers. Some are persecuted, and this is our summons to unwavering solidarity.
Let us leave this place, then, not with heaviness, but with the fierce joy of those who have a mission. Let us be the good men and women through whom Christ solves these great problems. Let us build, in our families, our parishes, and our public squares, the foreshadowing of that glorious world to come. Let us live so that future generations will look back at this troubled time and say, “There were Christians there. And they loved. And they served. And they hoped. And they changed the world.”
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of overwhelming news about cartel violence, distant wars, and the persecution of the faithful, it is easy to feel that our individual actions are insignificant. Yet, it is precisely in these moments that our personal, daily choices become a powerful form of spiritual resistance and practical peacebuilding. Our faith calls us not to despair, but to engage the world with courage and compassion. Here is how we can practically contribute.
Confronting Violence and Criminal Exploitation: The scourge of drug cartels is built on fear, corruption, and the exploitation of human need. Our practical response begins in our own communities. We can support and volunteer with organizations that offer young people positive alternatives—sports leagues, arts programs, and vocational training. We can consciously choose not to glorify the culture of violence in our entertainment and conversations. Most directly, we can support addiction recovery ministries and outreach programs, addressing the demand that fuels this trade with mercy and practical help for those suffering. By strengthening the social fabric around us, we deprive the culture of violence of its fertile ground.
Addressing the Scourge of War: While we may not negotiate treaties, we can combat the hostilities that precede conflict. In our daily lives, this means actively refusing the language of dehumanization. When discussing global events or political differences, we must consciously speak of "people" and "families" in conflict zones, not just abstract armies or regimes. We can support legitimate humanitarian aid organizations providing relief to all victims of war, regardless of side. Economically, we can make informed choices about our consumption, understanding how our purchases might indirectly support conflict. Finally, we can foster a spirit of peace in our own homes and workplaces, becoming practitioners of dialogue, patience, and reconciliation in our small spheres of influence.
Responding to Persecution and Upholding Faith: The witness of martyrs and saints is not a call to seek suffering, but a profound reminder to live our convictions with integrity. We practically support the persecuted first through informed prayer—knowing the specific situations of our brothers and sisters around the world and praying for them by name. We can advocate by writing to our political representatives, urging them to prioritize religious freedom in foreign policy. At home, we defend religious liberty for all people, ensuring our own society remains a place where conscience is respected. Finally, we embody our faith with such joy, charity, and steadfastness that it becomes an unshakeable testimony to the hope within us, inspiring others rather than confronting them.
The path forward is built not in a single heroic gesture, but in the faithful accumulation of small, daily choices. Choose community over isolation, human dignity over caricature, practical charity over distant pity, and courageous hope over resigned cynicism. In doing so, you become a living stone in the construction of a better world.
Go in peace.
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