Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, on this holy Saturday, as we gather in the light of Christ’s resurrection and the hope of a world renewed by His love.
Today, our hearts are heavy with the suffering of our brothers and sisters in Gaza, where hunger gnaws at the bodies of children, where medicine is withheld from the sick, and where the cries of the imprisoned echo unheard. The words of our Lord in the Gospel of Matthew ring with piercing urgency: "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink… I was sick and you looked after me." These are not mere words—they are a divine command, a call to action. If we call ourselves followers of Christ, then we cannot turn away while our fellow human beings starve, while hospitals crumble, while the innocent suffer under the weight of war and blockade.
Yet, Gaza is not the only land torn by conflict. In Ukraine and Russia, the drums of war still thunder, and though there are fleeting moments of negotiation, true peace remains distant. "Blessed are the peacemakers," Christ tells us—but where are the peacemakers today? Where are those who will stand in the breach, who will labor tirelessly for reconciliation, who will refuse to let hatred dictate the fate of nations? The world groans under the weight of violence, and if we do not act—if we do not become instruments of God’s peace—then the spiral of vengeance will only deepen, consuming generation after generation.
And what of justice? In a courtroom in New York, a man was sentenced for an act of violence meant to silence a voice. Justice was served, yes—but where is the mercy? Where is the humility that Micah speaks of? "To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God." Justice without mercy is a sword without a hilt, wounding the hand that wields it. We must seek not only punishment but redemption, not only retribution but healing.
My dear brothers and sisters, the Church herself is not without wounds in these times. One of our greatest trials is the growing divide between the faithful—between those who cling to rigid tradition without love, and those who embrace change without wisdom. We must bridge this chasm, for a house divided cannot stand. Let us not be Pharisees, so concerned with the letter of the law that we forget its spirit. Nor let us be like the seed that falls on rocky ground, quick to sprout but quick to wither when tested. Instead, let us be the living stones of a Church that is both steadfast and compassionate, rooted in truth yet overflowing with mercy.
But I must warn you—if we do not act, if we do not rise to meet these challenges, then the world will descend into deeper darkness. The hunger in Gaza will spread, the wars will multiply, justice will become a hollow word, and the Church will fracture further. The apocalypse is not merely a prophecy—it is a possibility, one we court with our indifference.
Yet, I tell you with all the hope of Easter burning in my heart: this is not God’s final plan. Imagine, instead, a world where no child goes to bed starving, where swords are beaten into plowshares, where justice and mercy embrace. This is the Kingdom we are called to build—not in some distant heaven, but here, now, through our hands, our voices, our sacrifice.
So let us leave this place today not as passive observers, but as soldiers of Christ’s mercy. Let us feed the hungry, make peace where there is war, demand justice tempered with love, and heal the wounds of our Church. The time for words has passed. The time for action is now.
Amen.
What can we do?
The world is full of suffering, conflict, and injustice, but each of us has the power to make a difference—starting right where we are. Here’s how we can take practical steps in our daily lives to contribute to a better world.
Humanitarian Crisis in Gaza
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