Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather in the shadow of a new year, a time often marked by hope and resolution. Yet, our hearts are heavy, drawn across continents by the cries of our human family. From a village in Nigeria to a bar in Switzerland, the news we share is written in tears. We hear of flames that consumed not just a building, but forty unique and beloved lives, a young man of sixteen among them. We hear of brutal attacks that slaughter the innocent in their homes, leaving communities shattered by a fresh wave of grief. These are not distant reports; they are fractures in the one Body of Christ. They speak of a world wounded by two profound and interconnected plagues: the relentless specter of violence that steals innocent life, and the crushing weight of persecution and injustice that seeks to extinguish the light of human dignity.
The Lord, we are promised, is close to the brokenhearted. He hears the cry of the crushed spirit in Nigeria, in Switzerland, in every hidden corner where pain dwells. And He asks us, His Church, His hands and feet on this earth, to be His proximity. He asks us to fulfill the sacred duty to mourn with those who mourn. We have seen this beautiful, painful response in the raw emotions of a community gathered in Mass, embracing one another, their shared tears a liturgy more eloquent than any homily. This is the Church at its most essential: not a distant institution, but a living community of shared sorrow and sustained love.
But mourning, while holy, cannot be our only response. We must ask why the human heart remains capable of such cruelty. We must confront the ideologies of hatred, the greed for power or resources, the despair that festers into violence, and the global indifference that allows conflicts to simmer and persecutions to go unchallenged. We are called to be not only comforters but builders of a world where such mourning is no longer a constant refrain.
Imagine, with the eyes of faith, a world transformed by the relentless application of Christian love. Imagine a world where the blessedness of those who hunger for righteousness is fulfilled not in heaven alone, but begins here, in societies founded on justice. It is a world where the village in Nigeria lives in security, where its children go to school without fear, where the fire in Switzerland remains a tragic memory of a past we have outgrown. This is not a naive dream. It is the Kingdom of God, yearning to break through. It will be built by the daily, determined work of good men and women—by police and firefighters who protect, by diplomats who forge peace, by teachers who instill respect, by ordinary faithful who refuse to gossip, sow division, or ignore the suffering at their doorstep. It will be built by us, each time we choose forgiveness over vengeance, generosity over selfishness, and solidarity over isolation.
Yet, to build this world, we must first heal our own house. One of the great trials of the Church in our time is the scandal of division—within our communities, between nations, and across the digital forums that so often breed cynicism and spite. We fracture into camps, judging one another’s orthodoxy or virtue, while the world, desperate for unity, looks on in confusion. How can we preach reconciliation to a fractured world if we are a symbol of fracture ourselves? I call upon every one of you, the faithful, to be an artisan of unity. In your families, your parishes, and your online interactions, seek first to understand, to listen, to bridge gaps with charity. Let our first identity be that of disciples in love, not combatants in debate. This is a vital service to a world tearing itself apart.
For the path we are on leads to a precipice. If we, the people of God, retreat into comfort, if we allow our faith to become a private comfort rather than a public force for good, then we consent to a deepening darkness. A world that does not learn to mourn with its victims will become numb. A world that does not fight injustice will be consumed by it. The apocalypse we risk is not one of divine wrath, but of human failure—a cold, silent world where the brokenhearted are truly alone, where persecution is met with a global shrug, where community is a forgotten concept. It is a world without hope, because it is a world without active love.
But this is not our destiny. We are an Easter people. We follow a Lord who entered into the deepest mourning and conquered it. Today, as we remember the saints who walked in His light in the days after His birth, let us recall that their holiness was forged in the ordinary, in the steadfast choice to love when it was difficult. Let us go forth from this place with hearts both tender and courageous. Let us be the ones who draw close to the brokenhearted, who stand with the persecuted, who bind up the wounds of our communities and our Church. Let us build, with the patience of saints, the world Christ envisions—a world where every tear is shared, every injustice challenged, and every life cherished. For in doing so, we do not merely improve society; we participate in the very work of redemption.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of such profound sorrow—from the sudden, tragic loss of life in a fire to the brutal cycles of violence and persecution abroad—the scale of suffering can make us feel powerless. Yet, our faith calls us not to paralysis, but to practical, loving action woven into the fabric of our daily lives. Our contribution begins not with grand gestures, but with a conscious orientation of our hearts and hands toward healing.
First, cultivate a posture of compassionate presence. When news of tragedy strikes, resist the urge to turn away from the discomfort. Instead, pause. Let the reality of others' pain touch you. In your own communities, this means being the person who is not afraid to sit with a grieving colleague, to send a simple note to a neighbor who is struggling, or to offer a patient, listening ear without rushing to offer solutions. This quiet solidarity is a powerful counter to the isolation that suffering creates.
Second, educate yourself with charity. In a world of instant headlines, make a commitment to understand the roots of conflicts and injustices more deeply. Seek out reputable sources that explain the complex histories behind events, like the violence in Nigeria. This informed awareness prevents us from reducing human beings to statistics and lays the groundwork for wiser, more effective support.
Third, support tangible healing. Direct your resources to organizations that are professionally equipped to act where you cannot. This could mean donating to international Catholic relief services that provide both emergency aid and long-term development in persecuted regions, or to local victim support funds and mental health charities that help survivors and families rebuild their lives. Let your financial giving be intentional and sustained.
Fourth, build circles of peace. Injustice and violence are often fueled by division. Actively work against this in your own sphere. Refuse to engage in or tolerate prejudiced speech. Mentor a young person, creating a space of safety and encouragement. Volunteer for a community group that bridges social or economic divides. By strengthening the bonds of respect and understanding in your immediate environment, you fortify the foundation of a more just society.
Finally, live with intentional gratitude and care. The best defense against despair is a life actively engaged in goodness. Cherish and protect the innocent joy in your life. Be meticulous about safety in your home and workplace to prevent preventable tragedy. Express appreciation to first responders and community caregivers. This daily practice of gratitude and responsibility creates a ripple effect of mindfulness and care.
Our calling is to be agents of the Lord's closeness in a wounded world. We make the world better by deliberately choosing, each day, to be a source of comfort, a voice for understanding, a channel for support, a builder of bridges, and a guardian of the good entrusted to us.
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.