Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today, a people of hope, yet a people who walk through a world groaning under the weight of profound wounds. We hear the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor, but today, we must attune our hearts to another cry, one that pierces the very heart of God and must pierce our own: the cry of the wounded child, the betrayed innocent, the pilgrim whose journey ends in tragedy. These are not distant headlines; they are the fractures in our human family, and they call us to a radical examination of conscience, both personal and collective.
First, we must confront a darkness that has festered, even within the sacred walls of our own Mother Church. The scourge of sexual abuse, the violation of the innocent, is a sin that cries out to heaven for vengeance. It is a betrayal of the most sacred trust. The Psalmist cries out to us across the ages with a divine mandate: “Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.” This is not a suggestion, but a command from the Lord of Justice. When we see victims named, their trauma exposed anew in public documents, their pleas for dignity ignored by systems of power, we see a failure of humanity. The Church herself has been grievously wounded by this evil from within, and our first duty is one of relentless penance, transparent justice, and unwavering support for survivors. We must be a Church that defends, not one that deflects; that rescues, not one that retreats into silence. This is a foundational crisis of our time, a poison that destroys faith and devastates lives. If we, as a Church, do not become the foremost champions of the abused, cleansing our own house with holy ruthlessness, we will have failed in our most basic Gospel mission.
This sacred duty to protect extends from our rectories and parishes out into the vast digital landscape of the world. The family, the domestic church, is under a new and insidious assault. Our children, those “little ones” so precious to Christ, now wander not just physical streets, but the infinite, unregulated corridors of the digital world. Our Lord’s warning is terrifying in its clarity: “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” Think of this when you consider the “digital Wild West,” where innocence is commodified, childhood is stolen by predatory algorithms and content, and human dignity is flattened into a profile. Nations that seek to build digital walls of protection for the young are acknowledging a profound moral duty. But laws are not enough. We, as families and as a faith community, must be the primary guardians. We must teach reverence for the human person, created in God’s image, not for the curated avatar. We must foster real communion in our homes, not just digital connection. To neglect this is to tie the millstone around our own necks through our complacency.
And what of our journey, our pilgrimage through this life toward our eternal home? We are all pilgrims. We see the tragic image of a bus, carrying faithful souls home from a sacred journey, overturned on a roadside. Among the fifteen lives lost, three were children. We plead with the Psalmist, “The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” This is our prayer, our trust. But it is also a call to responsibility. Reverence for life is not an abstract concept. It is the concrete commitment to ensure that our brothers and sisters are safe in their coming and going. It demands we build societies where roads are safe, where vehicles are sound, where the journey of the poor and the pilgrim is valued as highly as the journey of the powerful. Every life lost through negligence, through a lack of care for the common good, is a failure of our collective stewardship of God’s greatest gift.
Yet, my brothers and sisters, we are not a people of despair. We are an Easter people. I envision a world, not a utopia of our own making, but a world transformed by grace, through the workings of good men and women who cooperate with Jesus Christ. I see a world where the Church stands as the global exemplar of compassion and justice for survivors, where her tribunals are models of transparency and healing. I see a world where families, fortified by prayer and mutual love, become sanctuaries of authenticity, raising children who know their infinite worth in God’s eyes, not in the eyes of a screen. I see a world where every pilgrimage, every journey of migrant, refugee, or seeker, is undertaken with a collective guarantee of safety and dignity. This is the Kingdom of God breaking through, and it is built by hands that choose to defend, to protect, to watch over.
But this vision demands our labor. And so, I call upon you, the faithful, to aid in solving a great problem that hinders our witness: the crisis of credibility born of scandal and secrecy. Our Church suffers from a wound of trust. You, the laity, are not passive observers. You are the living body of Christ in the world. I call you to be agents of holy accountability. Demand integrity from your shepherds. Support every effort for transparency and justice. Create, in your own parishes, circles of support and vigilance where the protection of the vulnerable is the highest priority. Let your voices, in charity and truth, insist that the Church be a light on the lampstand, not a hidden wound. By your faithful insistence on Gospel integrity, you will help heal this wound and allow the Church’s true light, the light of Christ, to shine forth once more.
For if we do not act—if we remain indifferent to the cry of the abused, passive before the exploitation of children, and complacent about the safety of our neighbors—then we are not merely failing. We are choosing a path of desolation. We will construct a world that is not a common home, but a digital Babylon of isolation and predation, built upon the broken bodies of the innocent. The millstone of history’s judgment will hang upon our civilization. The harm we failed to prevent will become the chaos that consumes us. A world that does not protect its children has no future. A Church that does not seek justice has no Gospel. A humanity that does not watch over its pilgrims has lost its way.
But this is not our destiny. We choose the path of life. We choose to be defenders, protectors, and guardians. We choose to build, with Christ, a civilization of love and life. Let us go forth from this place, not with fear, but with a fiery determination. Let us be the ones who rescue. Let us be the ones who prevent the stumbling. Let us be the ones who watch over the coming and going. For in serving the least of these, in defending the defenseless, we serve Christ Himself, and we build His Kingdom on earth.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of these profound challenges, our faith calls us not to despair but to concrete, practical action in our daily spheres of influence. Our response must be one of clear-eyed engagement with the world as it is, grounded in the fundamental principles of justice, protection, and reverence.
Regarding the pursuit of justice for victims, particularly of abuse, we must become people who listen first and believe. In our families, workplaces, and communities, we can cultivate an environment where the vulnerable feel safe to speak. This means suspending immediate judgment, offering unwavering support, and knowing the proper channels—such as local law enforcement or dedicated helplines—to direct someone toward professional help. We must also support, through our voices and our choices, institutions and laws that prioritize the dignity and privacy of victims over the convenience of systems or the protection of the powerful.
For the protection of children and the nurturing of family values, our most powerful tool is our own example and vigilance. We can consciously create technology-free zones and times in our homes, engaging in face-to-face conversation and shared activities. We must educate ourselves on the platforms our children and grandchildren use, not to spy, but to understand the digital landscape they navigate. Advocate within your child’s school for robust digital literacy programs that teach critical thinking and safety. Support businesses and policies that prioritize child safety online, recognizing that the "digital wild west" requires not just parental locks, but a societal commitment to building a healthier digital commons.
To honor life and promote safety, especially in moments of community and pilgrimage, we must embrace a culture of care in the most ordinary tasks. This means being the person who insists on seatbelts, who questions a driver’s fatigue, who volunteers to check the safety protocols for a parish trip, or who simply drives with greater patience and attention. Reverence for life extends to supporting infrastructure improvements and regulations that protect travelers. It also means providing compassionate, practical support to those who grieve after a tragedy—through meals, a listening ear, or assistance with daily chores—making our solidarity tangible.
Each of these actions, rooted in a love for our neighbor, weaves a stronger fabric of community. They are quiet, persistent efforts that defend dignity, safeguard innocence, and cherish the sacred gift of life in a world that often forgets. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
Go in peace.
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