Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, on this holy Sunday.
We gather today, a family of faith under one roof, called to reflect on our place in a world that groans under the weight of its own brokenness. We find our model in The Holy Family—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—a unit forged not in perfect, peaceful circumstances, but in displacement, uncertainty, and the looming shadow of political violence. They were refugees, seeking sanctuary. They understood the cost of conflict and the longing for a homeland of the spirit. It is from this sacred model that we must view our troubled world.
Look with me upon the fields of human suffering. From the cities of Ukraine, where the night sky is torn by missiles and drones, we hear the cry that peace is not desired by the aggressor. Lives, homes, and the very hope for tomorrow are shattered in a barrage that speaks not of strength, but of a profound poverty of spirit. To this, the Lord’s voice echoes through the ages: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” This is not a passive blessing for those who simply wish for quiet. It is a divine vocation, a command to build peace. It is the work of diplomats, of humanitarians, of every mother and father who teaches their child reconciliation over revenge, of every citizen who demands their leaders pursue dialogue over destruction. Imagine, my brothers and sisters, a world where this beatitude is lived! A world where the resources of nations are poured not into arsenals, but into hospitals, schools, and the green fields of a shared prosperity. With Jesus’s help, this is possible through the tireless workings of good men and women who dare to call themselves peacemakers.
And yet, as we labor for peace, we must open our eyes to those who suffer for their faith. In places like Syria, where an explosion during prayer steals lives and desecrates a house of God, we witness the ancient scourge of persecution. The victims are our brothers and sisters in humanity, often our brothers and sisters in Christ. To them, and to all who are oppressed for conscience’s sake, the Lord proclaims: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Their steadfastness is a beacon in our often-comfortable faith. They remind us that to follow Christ is sometimes to stand against the currents of the world, even at great cost. We are called to be their voice, their aid, and their relentless advocates. Envision a world where this persecution ends—not because faith has grown silent, but because righteousness and respect for the dignity of every soul have become the unshakable foundation of every society. This is the kingdom we are to build, here and now.
This building, however, brings us to the complex and often contentious relationship between the community of faith and the powers of the world. We live in societies, we are citizens of nations, and we owe a duty to the common good. Yet our ultimate allegiance is to a higher law, the law of love and truth. The Lord gave us the guiding principle: “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.” The coin bears the emperor’s image, but the human soul bears the image of God. We must engage with the state, we must be leaven in the dough of society, contributing to justice, order, and charity. But we must never surrender the things of God: our defense of the poor, the migrant, the unborn, the marginalized; our proclamation of truth, even when it is inconvenient to the powers of the day. When the Church raises her voice for the immigrant at the border, she is not engaging in politics. She is rendering unto God what is God’s: a fierce and loving defense of the human person, who belongs not to any state, but first and forever to their Creator.
Here, I must speak plainly of a shadow within our own house. One of the great trials for the Church in our time is the crisis of credibility born of our own failures—the failure to protect the little ones, the failure of transparency, the failure at times to live the radical mercy we preach. This scandal wounds the Body of Christ and mutes our voice in the world. I call upon every one of you, the faithful, to aid in solving it. Aid not through gossip or despair, but through demanding and modeling holiness, integrity, and accountability from your shepherds and from one another. Be a Church where light dispels all darkness. Your holy insistence on a purified Church is an essential work for the betterment of the global society.
For we stand at a crossroads. The path before us is split. One path is built by the peacemakers, the defenders of the persecuted, the faithful citizens of both earth and heaven. It leads to a world healed—a world where the lessons of The Holy Family guide our care for the displaced, where swords are beaten into plowshares, and where the Church, purified, shines as a city on a hill. This is the world Christ’s grace makes possible through our hands.
But there is another path, and I must warn you of its apocalyptic end. It is the path of indifference. If we choose comfort over courage, if we hear the missiles fall and simply change the channel, if we learn of persecution and offer only a distant prayer without action, if we silence the Church’s prophetic voice for the sake of earthly peace, then we choose this second path. And it leads only to a deeper, colder night. It leads to a world where conflict consumes all, where faith is extinguished in fear, where the state demands what belongs only to God, and where the human person is forever crushed between the millstones of power and apathy. It is a world without hope, a world that has chosen, step by silent step, its own desolation.
The choice is ours. This Sunday is not a day of rest from the world, but a day of resurrection for the world. We are fed by the Eucharist not to retreat, but to advance. Go forth from this place as peacemakers. Go forth as defenders of the persecuted. Go forth as faithful citizens who render to God everything that is His: your love, your justice, your voice, and your unwavering action. Build with Christ the world of blessing. For the alternative is not simply sadness; it is a spiritual and material ruin of our own making.
Let us choose life. Let us choose love. Let us choose to build.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of conflict and violence, our contribution begins with a commitment to understanding. Actively seek out news from reliable, varied sources to grasp the complexities of a situation, rather than accepting simplified narratives. In your conversations, refuse to dehumanize any group of people, even those you oppose. Support, through donations or volunteer work, the humanitarian organizations providing aid to all victims of war, recognizing the shared human dignity in every refugee, every injured civilian, and every grieving family. Cultivate peace in your own community by mediating disputes, listening patiently to those with differing views, and rejecting the language of hatred in all its forms.
Regarding the persecution of people for their faith, our practical response is one of solidarity and advocacy. Educate yourself about the plight of persecuted communities, not only Christians but people of all faiths facing oppression. Write to your political representatives, urging them to prioritize religious freedom and humanitarian protection in foreign policy. Support charities that provide direct aid—food, medicine, legal assistance—to these communities. Perhaps most importantly, build genuine friendships with people of different religious backgrounds in your own neighborhood. This creates a living network of respect that counters the ideology of division.
In matters where the demands of faith and the policies of the state seem to clash, our task is thoughtful citizenship. Engage respectfully and robustly in the public square. Study the issues deeply, informed by a conscience shaped by your values. Vote with that informed conscience. Participate in local civic meetings, write letters to editors, and support advocacy groups that work for justice in areas like immigration, care for the poor, and the protection of life. Do this not to impose a doctrine, but to contribute the ethical insights of your faith to the common good. Pay your taxes honestly, obey just laws, and work to change laws you believe are unjust through peaceful, democratic means.
These are not grand, single actions, but the steady, daily work of building a better world through clearer understanding, active compassion, and responsible participation. It is how we make our faith a living force for good in a wounded world.
Go in peace.
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