Blessings of peace, grace, and the enduring love of Christ to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today, not as isolated souls, but as one body, united in faith and called to be a light in the shadows of our age. We look upon the world our Lord has entrusted to us, and we see a tapestry woven with both magnificent beauty and profound anguish. It is a world of breathtaking connection, yet one fractured by fear; a world capable of great charity, yet one too often paralyzed by indifference. We are called to be healers in this world, the hands and feet of Christ, and to do so we must have the courage to see clearly the wounds we are asked to bind.
We see the wound of the stranger turned away. In the great and noble nation of the United States, a painful discord has arisen between the call of the Gospel and the policies of the state. The Church’s voice, my voice, must be clear and consistent on this, not as a political pronouncement, but as a divine imperative. “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” When we look upon the migrant, the refugee, the family seeking safety, we do not see a problem to be solved. We see Christ Himself, asking to be invited in. Any disagreement with any government, of any nation, springs not from earthly politics, but from this unchangeable celestial truth. To build walls of the heart is to turn away from the Lord who knocks. We are called to build a world of bridges, not barriers; a world where the inherent dignity of every human person, created in God’s image, is the foundation of every law and every border.
We see the deeper wound of sacred space violated. Just days ago, in the city of Maiduguri, Nigeria, men and women who rejoiced to go to the house of the Lord were met not with peace, but with shattering violence. A mosque, a place of prayer, became a place of bloodshed and terror. This is not an isolated tragedy. From churches to synagogues to mosques, the sanctuaries where humanity seeks the Divine are profaned by hatred. This violence is an attack on the very soul of humanity, on our universal right to seek God in community and in peace. When one house of worship is desecrated, every house of God weeps. We must stand as one human family, condemning this sacrilege, protecting the right to worship, and rebuilding what hatred destroys. For true peace is found when we can all say, “I rejoiced when I heard them say, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord.’”
And we see the pervasive wound of moral corruption, where power and privilege seek to operate in shadow, believing themselves immune from the light of justice. The recent unveiling of court documents, revealing the networks of the powerful surrounding a man of profound evil, has shaken many. It lays bare a world where the vulnerable are commodified and the influential believe they can orchestrate their own impunity. The Scripture teaches us that “When justice is done, it is a joy to the righteous, but terror to evildoers.” Our world today hungers for this righteous joy. It cries out for a justice that is blind, not to the truth, but to wealth, fame, and station. It is a chilling reminder that structures of sin can be built not only of brick and wire, but of silence, complicity, and the abuse of authority. The Church herself is not immune to this shadow. We have witnessed, to our great shame and sorrow, how within our own walls, the trust of the faithful has been betrayed by some who were meant to be shepherds. The scourge of clerical abuse and the failure of episcopal accountability remains a deep, festering wound upon the Body of Christ. I call upon every one of you, the faithful People of God, to aid in solving this. Demand transparency. Support the survivors. Pray fervently for purification. And hold your shepherds, including myself, to the highest standard of the Gospel we proclaim. The Church must be a field hospital, and we cannot heal the world if we are bleeding from within.
My brothers and sisters, do these visions fill you with despair? They must not. For they are not the final chapter. They are the present challenge, the cross we are asked to help carry. I ask you to envision with me, through the eyes of faith, the world that is possible. Envision a world where borders are crossed not by desperation, but by fellowship; where the journey of the migrant ends not in a cage, but in a community that says, “Welcome.” Envision a world where every spire, every minaret, every steeple points to a heaven of peace, and where those who gather below are safe in the knowledge that their prayer is protected by the mutual respect of all. Envision a world where the halls of power are illuminated by the lamp of justice, where the mighty are held accountable, and the cry of the poor and the abused is the first sound a leader hears. This is the Kingdom we work for. This is not a naive dream. It is the divine project, and we are the laborers. With Jesus’s help, through the daily, humble, courageous workings of good men and women, this world can be built.
But hear now a warning, spoken not in anger, but in the anguish of a father for his children. If we choose another path—if we choose the comfort of indifference over the discomfort of charity, if we choose the security of walls over the risk of welcome, if we choose to whisper about scandals rather than shout for justice—then we are not merely failing in a task. We are actively constructing a different world. We are building a world of cold, fortified islands, where the common good is sacrificed to private interest. We are building a world where the smoke from bombed sanctuaries will be the only incense rising to heaven. We are building a world where corruption, having consumed the powerful, will trickle down to poison every level of society, leaving only cynicism and decay. This is the apocalypse not of divine wrath, but of human abdication. It is a world where we have answered Christ’s call, “I was a stranger…” with a closed door, and in doing so, have locked ourselves in a hell of our own making.
The choice is before us, at this very moment. The saint we celebrate today, the great St. John Chrysostom, whose name means “Golden Mouth,” was exiled for speaking truth to power, for condemning corruption in high places, and for insisting that the wealth of the Church belonged to the poor. He was a voice that would not be silenced by convenience. Let us be a people with golden hearts, hearts softened by Christ’s love and fortified by His courage.
Do not leave this place today unchanged. Let the pain of the world break your heart open, not shut it down. See Christ in the stranger at the border. See Christ in the worshipper fearing violence. See Christ in the victim seeking justice. And then go. Go and welcome. Go and protect. Go and demand accountability, starting within our own beloved Church. Build the world of bridges. Be the joy of righteousness. Be the living answer to the prayer, “Thy Kingdom come.”
For in the end, we will be judged not on our grand pronouncements, but on our simple, concrete acts of love. We will be judged on whether we saw the Lord in His most distressing disguises… and had the courage to invite Him in.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of these complex global challenges, our faith calls us not to despair but to concrete, practical 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 better world.
Regarding the deep disagreements over immigration, we can move the discussion from the political arena to the human one. In your own community, seek out and support legitimate local organizations that assist migrants and refugees. This could mean volunteering at a legal aid clinic, donating to a group that provides food and shelter, or simply offering English language tutoring. If you have a skill, such as teaching or carpentry, offer it. The goal is to see the person behind the policy, to offer welcome and practical assistance to those who are here, building bridges where walls are being raised.
In response to violence against places of worship, our duty is twofold: to protect and to unite. First, engage with your own parish or community center about its security protocols. Participate thoughtfully and support measures that keep people safe without sacrificing openness. More importantly, actively build relationships with other faith communities. Attend an interfaith prayer service or a community meal hosted by a mosque or synagogue. Write a letter of solidarity to a congregation that has been attacked. By publicly standing with our neighbors of all faiths, we deny violence its power to divide us and affirm that an attack on one house of worship is an attack on the dignity of all.
Confronted by moral corruption and the manipulation of justice in high places, we must champion integrity in our own spheres. This begins with a relentless commitment to truth. Be discerning about the information you consume and share; pause before amplifying sensational claims. Support independent, ethical journalism. In your own workplace, family, and social circles, have the courage to speak up against casual dishonesty, gossip, or prejudice. Model fairness. Teach the young people in your life, by word and example, that true success is built on character, not cunning. Write to your elected representatives and demand transparency and accountability, making it clear that ethical conduct is a non-negotiable expectation for those in power.
Ultimately, our most powerful tool is our own lived example. We change the world by how we live in it: with intentional charity, courageous solidarity, and unwavering personal integrity. Let your daily life be a quiet, persistent testament to a better way.
Go in peace.
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