Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today, on this Thursday of Holy Week, as our Lord prepares to give us the ultimate example of self-sacrificial love. He washes the feet of his disciples, teaching us that true authority is found in service. He institutes the Eucharist, giving us His very self as food for the journey. In this profound moment of gift, we are called to look upon our world with the same eyes of love and truth with which Christ looked upon his own.
And what do we see? We see a world groaning, a world where the echo of the first Good Friday seems to reverberate endlessly.
We hear the blast in the night in Bujumbura. Homes shattered, lives extinguished, families plunged into a grief that words cannot encompass. We are confronted with the raw, senseless violence that steals the innocent and breaks the hearts of the living. In the face of such crushing loss, where is God? The Psalmist assures us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” He is there, in the tears of the mother, in the stunned silence of the child, in the courageous hands of the rescuer sifting through rubble. But He asks us: will we be there? Will we be His hands, His comfort? For every explosion of violence, whether from a depot or from a heart filled with hatred, there must be an answering explosion of mercy, of reconstruction, of relentless peacemaking. We cannot hear of such tragedies and simply change the channel. We must allow our own spirits to be crushed in solidarity, and from that place, work to build a world where such news is no longer written.
We see this violence mirrored in the intimate space of the home. From Iran, we hear the heartbreaking words, “You are no longer my sister.” A family, the sacred domestic church, the very cell of human life and love, torn asunder by the ideological storms of the world. Christ warned us plainly, “Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand.” When the basic unity of the family fractures, the entire edifice of society cracks. We are witnessing this division not only in war zones but in our own communities, where politics, addiction, greed, or simple pride build walls between parent and child, between siblings. The family is the first school of love and forgiveness. When it fails, the world becomes a colder, harder, more hostile place. We must be artisans of reconciliation, first within our own homes, then extending that healing grace outward. We must refuse the language of permanent rupture and become living witnesses to the stubborn, patient love that says, “You will always be my brother. You will always be my sister.”
And where are our leaders in this fractured world? We look for guides who are “above reproach,” as Saint Paul instructs, “self-controlled, respectable, not violent but gentle.” Yet so often, we are met with scandal. We see it in the painful re-evaluation of a secular icon, where grave moral failure forces a society to reconsider its celebrations. And with profound sorrow and shame, we must acknowledge that this crisis of credibility, this betrayal of trust, has also scarred the face of our own Mother, the Church. The scandal of abuse, the failure of leadership to protect the little ones, the love of institutional silence over prophetic truth—this remains a deep wound in the Body of Christ. It is a shadow that obscures the light of the Gospel and causes the faithful to stumble and the skeptical to turn away in disgust. This is not merely a problem for bishops and priests to solve. It is a call to the entire People of God. We, the faithful, must aid in solving it. We must demand transparency, support true justice for survivors, foster a culture of absolute integrity and humility, and above all, surround our communities with prayer and purification. The Church must be a field hospital, not a source of infection.
My brothers and sisters, these are not separate plagues. They are symptoms of one great sickness: the turning away from God, who is Love, and the worship of the idols of power, ideology, and self. If we continue on this path, the apocalypse we fear is not a divine punishment from the clouds, but the one we are already building with our own hands. It is the world of perpetual war, where no life is sacred. It is the world of the utterly isolated individual, where no bond is permanent. It is the world where no institution can be trusted, where cynicism is the only wisdom. This is the desolation that awaits if we choose to be merely spectators to the collapse.
But we are not spectators! We are disciples of the One who, on this very night, knelt to serve and then rose to redeem. Envision with me, through the eyes of faith, the world Christ desires. See a world where the resources spent on weapons are poured into hospitals and schools. See a world where family tables are places of lively debate and unbreakable bond, where disagreements are bridged by a love deeper than politics. See a Church humbled, purified, and radiant, where every minister is a clear window to Christ, and every layperson a bold missionary of mercy. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, and it is built not by angels, but by the workings of good men and women like you, fortified by the grace that flows from this altar.
On this night, Christ gave us the commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” He did not offer a suggestion. He gave a mission. The problems of violence, division, and scandal will be solved only when an army of ordinary saints rises up to live this commandment without counting the cost. Start in your own heart. Forgive an old injury. Reach out to a estranged family member. Demand justice and support healing in your parish. Advocate for the forgotten. Vote for peace. Build something beautiful where there is now rubble.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted. Let us be the proof. Let us ensure He is close because we are there, bringing His saving love to a world that is crushed in spirit. The choice is before us: to collaborate in the building of the Kingdom, or to acquiesce to the building of a tomb. Choose life. Choose love. Choose to act.
Amen.
What can we do?
When we see violence claiming innocent lives, as in the explosions in Bujumbura, our first practical response is to become a person who refuses to add to the world's anger. In your daily interactions—in traffic, in online comments, in disagreements—choose patience over irritation, and de-escalation over confrontation. More directly, you can support, through donations or volunteer time, the humanitarian organizations that provide immediate aid and long-term trauma care in crisis zones. Become a local point of calm.
When family divisions and bitter political rifts tear communities apart, as seen in Iran and elsewhere, your practical task is to build bridges, not walls. In your own family, make a conscious effort to listen to a relative with a different viewpoint, not to argue, but to understand their story. In your community, participate in or initiate gatherings that focus on shared hopes—a neighborhood meal, a community project—rather than on divisive politics. Be the one who redefines "us" to include more people.
When leaders and institutions fail through scandal, as with the re-evaluation of Cesar Chavez's legacy, your role is to champion integrity in your own sphere of influence. Hold yourself to a high standard of honesty and accountability in your work and commitments. Support transparency and ethical conduct in local organizations, schools, and businesses you are part of. Teach the young people in your life, by word and example, that true leadership is about service and character, not just power and reputation.
These are not grand, distant gestures. They are the daily, practical choices of a faithful life: to sow peace where there is violence, to weave connection where there is division, and to live with integrity where there is corruption. This is how we mend the world, one choice at a time.
Go in peace.
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