Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ.
Today, we gather under the gaze of the Almighty, who sees the suffering of His children and calls us—each one of us—to be His hands and feet in a world torn by violence, indifference, and despair. The cries of the afflicted rise to heaven, and the Lord asks us: What have you done for the least of these?
In Gaza, the earth trembles with the footsteps of war, and the innocent—mothers, children, the elderly—are left without bread, without shelter, without hope. The words of our Savior echo across the centuries: "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink." Yet today, roads to aid centers are closed, and the desperate are turned away. What does this say of our humanity? What does this say of our love for Christ, who dwells in the suffering?
Imagine, dear brothers and sisters, a world where the followers of Jesus rise as one—where nations lay down their arms, where the hungry are fed, where the displaced find refuge. This is not a dream, but a divine mandate. The Lord does not call us to despair, but to action. He does not abandon us to darkness, but empowers us to be the light.
And what of the sanctity of life—the sacred gift from the moment of conception? The prophet Jeremiah reminds us: "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you." Yet in Gaza and in so many corners of the earth, the miracle of new life is overshadowed by the shadow of death. Mothers beg for help, and only heaven seems to hear. But we, the Church, must be the answer to their prayers. We must defend life—not only in words but in deeds, in medicine, in shelter, in relentless advocacy for peace.
And what of those who suffer persecution, who languish in prisons, whose voices are silenced? The Apostle Peter assures us: "After you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace will Himself restore you." But we must not stand idle while our brothers and sisters endure chains. The mother on hunger strike for her son’s freedom—does she not embody the very love of Christ, who gave His life for ours? Will we ignore her sacrifice?
Yet even as we confront these great crises, we must also look inward. One of the gravest wounds in the Church today is the scandal of division—the failure of many to see the face of Christ in the migrant, the prisoner, the unborn, the oppressed. Too often, we choose comfort over courage, silence over solidarity. This must end. The Church must be a beacon of unity, a force of mercy, or it will fade into irrelevance.
Now, I tell you plainly: if we do not act, the world will descend deeper into chaos. Wars will multiply, the cries of the starving will go unanswered, and the innocent will perish unseen. But if we rise—if we pour out our love, our resources, our voices—then the Kingdom of God will break forth like the dawn.
Let us not wait for miracles. Let us be the miracle. Let us feed the hungry, shelter the displaced, defend the unborn, and free the oppressed. Let us rebuild the Church not with stones, but with acts of radical love.
The choice is ours. The time is now.
Amen.
What can we do?
The suffering in our world can feel overwhelming, but each of us has the power to make a difference—starting right where we are. Here are practical ways to respond to these crises in our daily lives:
Humanitarian Crisis in Gaza
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