Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ.
We gather today in the shadow of great crosses borne by our global family—crosses of iron and fire, of despair and abandonment. We look upon a world fractured by the ambitions of men, where the sacred dignity of the human person is trampled under the boots of conflict and the cold machinery of indifference. From the fertile plains of Ukraine, soaked with the blood of a people who simply wish to be free, to the ancient stones of Jerusalem, which weep for the children of Abraham locked in an endless cycle of retaliation, to the silent, hidden cells in Afghanistan where our sisters in Christ are forgotten by the world—we are witnesses to a profound cry of anguish that rises to the very ears of God.
What does the world offer in response to this cry? It offers the cold calculus of geopolitics. It suggests that peace can be purchased with the currency of land and liberty, that stability is worth the price of a people’s sovereignty. It whispers that some conflicts are too complex, some suffering too distant, to warrant our full hearts. This is the resignation of the world—a betrayal not only of our brothers and sisters, but of our very calling. For we are told, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." A peacemaker does not broker the surrender of the vulnerable. A peacemaker builds, defends, and sacrifices for a peace founded on justice, not on appeasement.
We look to the Holy Land, the very ground hallowed by the footsteps of our Savior, and we are commanded to "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem." Yet our prayer cannot be a passive wish. It must be the fuel for action—a fervent, unyielding demand for the swords to be beaten into plowshares, for the hostages to be returned to their families, for the mothers of Gaza and the fathers of Israel to know a morning without fear. This is not a political problem; it is a profound failure of humanity, a wound in the heart of God’s creation.
And what of our own family? In the darkness of Afghanistan and in many corners of our world, our Christian brothers and sisters are naked, they are sick, they are in prison. They cry out, "I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me," and they are met with the silence of a global community too preoccupied, too comfortable, too afraid to look upon their agony. This is not merely a tragedy; it is a judgment upon our comfort. When we choose ignorance over intervention, when we allow the suffering of the Body of Christ to become a footnote in our news, we are not merely bystanders—we are withholding the garment, denying the visit, turning away from the prison door.
Yet, my dear friends, do not let your hearts be troubled. We are not a people without hope. We are an Easter people, and "Alleluia" is our song! I envision a world, not a naive fantasy but a divine possibility, where these wounds are healed. I see a world where the children of Ukraine play in fields unmarked by trenches, because good men and women refused to accept the tyranny of the strong over the weak. I hear the songs of Jews and Arabs mingling in the streets of a Jerusalem that is truly secure for all who love her, because good men and women built bridges where others built walls. I feel the embrace of our liberated sisters, clothed in dignity and cared for in health, because good men and women finally came for them. This is the world that is possible when we, the faithful, become the hands and heart of Christ on earth.
But this vision demands our courage. And it forces us to look inward, at a great problem within our own Mother Church: our struggle to speak with one clear, prophetic voice in the digital cacophony of the modern world. We are often silent when we should be shouting, divided when we should be united, timid when we should be bold. We must overcome this. I call upon every one of you—clergy and laity alike—to become modern-day heralds. Use your voice in your homes, your communities, and online to proclaim the Gospel of life, of peace, of justice. Do not be afraid. The world is drowning in noise; it is thirsting for truth. Be that truth.
For if we do not—if we choose the comfort of our pews over the discomfort of the fight, if we allow our faith to become a private devotion rather than a public force—then we must heed a dire warning. A world without the active, courageous love of Christians is a world that descends into a hell of its own making. It is a world where maps are redrawn not with ink, but with the blood of the innocent. It is a world where the holy city becomes a perpetual monument to vendetta. It is a world where the cry of the persecuted is eventually extinguished, not by rescue, but by annihilation. This is not the wrath of God; it is the consequence of our own inaction. We will have chosen the apocalypse of indifference.
But that is not our destiny. We are children of the light. Let us then go forth from this place not as mourners of a broken world, but as its menders. Let us be the peacemakers, the prayers who become activists, the visitors who become liberators. Let us build the kingdom, here and now, with every prayer, every word, and every deed. For the hungry, we will be bread. For the oppressed, we will be freedom. For a world shrouded in night, we will be the light of Christ.
Amen.
What can we do?
In Ukraine, support organizations providing humanitarian aid to displaced families and refugees. Write to your elected representatives urging diplomatic solutions that respect national sovereignty. Educate yourself about disinformation campaigns and refuse to share unverified content. Donate to medical relief efforts for civilians caught in conflict zones.
Regarding the Holy Land, support interfaith dialogue initiatives in your own community. Contribute to neutral humanitarian organizations delivering food and medical supplies to affected civilians on all sides. Engage in respectful conversations that humanize all people involved rather than reducing them to political positions. Pressure your government to pursue balanced diplomatic engagement.
For persecuted Christians and other vulnerable groups, donate to organizations providing emergency relocation assistance, legal support, and basic necessities. Volunteer with local refugee resettlement programs. Raise awareness through social media about specific cases of persecution. Support mental health services for trauma survivors through donations to specialized NGOs.
Practice daily empathy—listen more than you speak, question your assumptions, and extend compassion even when it feels difficult. Small consistent actions create ripples that eventually transform oceans.
Go in peace.
This sermon was graciously created by AIsaiah-4.7, a tool composed of several AIs. They are just tools like any others we've created on this green Earth, used for good. For more info, inquire at info@aisermon.org.