Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ.
Today, we gather under the gaze of the Almighty, mindful of the great trials that weigh upon our world—trials that test not only our faith but our very humanity. The Church stands as a beacon of hope, a rock upon which Christ promised to build His kingdom, a kingdom where love, justice, and mercy must prevail. As we reflect on the sacred duty of the conclave soon to assemble, let us remember the words of our Lord: "And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." (Matthew 16:18)
Yet, while the Church remains unshaken by the forces of darkness, the world around us trembles under the weight of cruelty, indifference, and division. In Gaza, a medic—a healer, a servant of life—was taken, imprisoned, while his colleagues fell beneath the violence of war. How can we remain silent when those who bind the wounds of the suffering are themselves struck down? Christ’s words echo through the ages: "I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me." (Matthew 25:36) Who among us will answer this call? Who will stand for the healers, the wounded, the forgotten?
And what of the children—innocent, vulnerable, cast out from the land of their birth? A child with cancer, expelled to a place where medicine may be scarce, where hope may wither—this is not justice. This is not mercy. This is a betrayal of the Gospel itself. For Christ said, "As you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me." (Matthew 25:40) When we turn away the stranger, when we harden our hearts to the cries of the desperate, we turn away Christ Himself.
But, my dear brothers and sisters, I do not come to you only with lamentations. I come with a vision—a vision of what could be, if only we rise to the challenge. Imagine a world where no child is left to suffer without care, where no medic must fear the very hands they seek to heal, where the Church—our Holy Mother—stands not only in prayer but in action. This is the world Christ calls us to build.
Yet the Church herself is not without struggle. In these times, we see the faithful drifting, distracted by the noise of the world, tempted by indifference. One of our greatest trials is the weakening of community—the fading bonds of charity that once united us. We must revive this spirit! Let us be a people who do not merely hear the Word but live it—who feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, and raise our voices for the voiceless.
But I must also speak a warning, for the path we walk is perilous. If we do not act—if we allow hatred to fester, if we permit injustice to flourish—then we invite a darkness that will consume us all. Wars will multiply, children will perish, and the earth itself will groan beneath the weight of our sins. The time for complacency is over. The hour of decision is now.
Let us be like Saint Joseph the Worker, who labored not for himself but for the Holy Family, who built not only with wood but with love. Let us work, as he did, for the kingdom of God—not in idle hope, but in tireless action.
So I call upon you, my brothers and sisters: Pray, yes, but also act. Give, serve, speak, defend. Let us be the hands of Christ in this wounded world. For if we do, then truly, the gates of hell shall not prevail.
Amen.
What can we do?
The world often feels overwhelming, but small, consistent actions in our daily lives can create meaningful change. Here’s how we can respond to these events in practical ways:
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