Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, on this sacred Saturday, a day of reflection and preparation for the Lord’s Day.
We gather today in the shadow of great suffering—humanitarian crises, the scourge of war, and the cries of the oppressed echo across our wounded world. Yet we do not gather in despair, for we are children of the Resurrection, bearers of hope, and instruments of God’s peace. The Gospel calls us not to turn away from these tragedies but to confront them with the love of Christ, who taught us, "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in." (Matthew 25:35).
In Gaza, our brothers and sisters starve. Children go days without bread, mothers weep over empty hands, fathers dig through rubble for shelter. The world watches, debates, and delays—but the Church must act. We must demand justice, yes, but we must also extend mercy. We must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and raise our voices until the gates of compassion are flung open. If we remain silent, we are complicit. If we do nothing, we betray the very heart of the Gospel.
Yet hunger is not the only wound. War crimes stain the earth with innocent blood. The prophet Micah cries out to us across the ages: "What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8). Those who bear witness to atrocities must be heard. Those who commit them must be held accountable. But justice without mercy is a sword without a hilt—it wounds the hand that wields it. True justice must lead to reconciliation, to the healing of nations, to the peace that Christ promised when He said, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." (Matthew 5:9).
From Gaza to the borders of Thailand and Cambodia, where violence threatens to consume whole communities, we see the same pattern: fear begets hatred, hatred begets war, and war begets endless suffering. But we, the Church, are called to break this cycle. We must be the ones who stand in the breach, who refuse to let the world descend into chaos.
Yet even as we labor for justice and peace abroad, we must also look inward. One of the great wounds in the Church today is the scandal of division—between rich and poor, between nations, even within our own parishes. Too often, we allow politics, pride, or indifference to fracture the Body of Christ. This must end. If we are to heal the world, we must first heal ourselves. Let us recommit to unity, to charity, to the radical love that Christ commands.
Imagine, my brothers and sisters, a world where the hungry are fed, where wars cease, where justice and mercy embrace. This is not a dream—it is the Kingdom of God breaking into our midst. But it will not come without sacrifice. It will not come without our hands, our voices, our prayers.
And if we fail? If we turn away, if we grow complacent? Then the darkness will deepen. The cries of the starving will go unanswered, the blood of the innocent will stain the earth, and the fires of war will consume nations. This is not God’s punishment—it is the consequence of our inaction.
But I tell you today: it is not too late. The Lord is calling us—each one of us—to rise up, to be His hands and feet in this broken world. Let us answer that call with courage, with faith, with love.
Amen.
What can we do?
The world faces deep suffering, injustice, and conflict, but each of us has the power to contribute to healing and change—starting in our daily lives. Here’s how we can act:
Humanitarian Crisis in Gaza
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