Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ.
We gather today in the light of the Lord, yet our hearts are heavy with the suffering of the world. The cries of the innocent echo from Gaza to Darfur, from the ruins of bombed schools to the desolation of refugee tents. The blood of children stains the earth, and the wails of mothers pierce the heavens. In the face of such violence, we must ask ourselves: where is our humanity? Where is our compassion?
The Lord tells us, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." (Matthew 5:9). Yet today, peace is not merely absent—it is trampled underfoot by the boots of war, by the machinery of destruction, by the hardness of hearts that refuse to see the divine image in their brothers and sisters. We cannot stand idle while children perish under rubble. We cannot call ourselves followers of Christ if we do not raise our voices against injustice, if we do not demand an end to the cycle of vengeance.
And what of those who suffer in silence? The young woman in Sudan, fleeing war, losing her unborn child—her pain is a wound upon the Body of Christ. Saint Paul reminds us, "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18). But let us not use these words to justify inaction! The glory of God is revealed when we ease suffering, when we become His hands lifting the fallen, His voice speaking for the voiceless.
Yet, even as war and persecution tear at the fabric of our world, another sickness festers—the decay of morality. We live in an age where excess is celebrated, where human dignity is traded for fleeting pleasure. The revelations of depravity among the powerful are not merely scandal—they are a warning. When the strong exploit the weak, when the rich indulge while the poor starve, when lust replaces love, we are not merely sinning—we are unraveling the very bonds of society. "Flee from sexual immorality," (1 Corinthians 6:18) the Apostle warns, for it is a corruption of the soul, a poison that spreads.
But, my brothers and sisters, I do not preach despair. I preach hope—because Christ is our hope. Imagine a world where His love triumphs. Imagine Gaza rebuilt, where children play without fear. Imagine Sudan healed, where mothers cradle their babies in peace. Imagine a society where purity is honored, where power is used for justice, not exploitation. This is not a dream—it is our calling.
Yet the Church, too, faces trials. In this age of doubt, many turn away, disillusioned by scandal, distracted by the noise of the world. We must rebuild trust through radical love, through unwavering integrity. Let us be living witnesses of Christ’s mercy, so that none may say, "Where was God?" but instead proclaim, "There is God—in His people!"
But hear this warning: if we do not act, the darkness will deepen. Wars will spread. Suffering will multiply. The moral decay will hollow out our souls until we no longer recognize ourselves. The apocalypse is not merely an end—it is the consequence of our choices.
So rise, children of God! Be peacemakers. Be healers. Be lights in the shadows. The Kingdom is at hand—but we must work for it.
Amen.
What can we do?
The world is filled with suffering, violence, and moral decay, but each of us has the power to make a difference—starting in our daily lives. Here’s how we can act with purpose and compassion:
1. Responding to Violence in Gaza
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