Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, gathered here today and across the world, united in faith and in hope.
We live in a world that cries out—a world where the innocent fall under the shadow of violence, where the most vulnerable are exploited in darkness, and where those seeking refuge meet a cold and unforgiving sea. These are not merely headlines; they are wounds in the very Body of Christ. They are the modern Golgotha upon which humanity is being crucified by indifference, by greed, by the failure of love.
Consider the violence that stains our earth. In hospitals, places meant for healing, we see instead the instruments of death. Journalists, voices of truth, are struck down. Leaders speak of "tragic mishaps," but we must ask—when will the tragedies cease? When will we, as children of God, truly become peacemakers? For it is written, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." Peace is not passive. It is not the absence of conflict, but the active, courageous pursuit of justice, of understanding, of reconciliation. It demands that we lay down the weapons of hatred—not only those held in hand, but those nurtured in the heart.
And what of the little ones? What of the children, whose purity and trust are violated by the most profound betrayals? To those who exploit them, who trade their innocence for pleasure or profit, the words of Christ ring with terrifying clarity: "If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea." This is not merely a condemnation of the abuser, but a solemn charge to all of us. We must be their protectors. We must be the ones who stand between them and the darkness, who demand justice, who create a world where no child is ever a commodity.
And then there are the strangers, the migrants, our brothers and sisters who flee desperation only to meet death on the waves. Three sisters—children—drowned in the sea, their dreams extinguished, their future stolen. When we hear of such suffering, do we see the face of Christ? Do we hear His words: "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"? He does not say, "I was a stranger and you debated my legal status." He identifies Himself with the outcast, the forgotten, the perishing. To turn away from them is to turn away from Him.
Yet, my dear brothers and sisters, I do not stand before you only to name the shadows. I stand before you to proclaim the light. For we are an Easter people, and "Alleluia" is our song! I envision a world—a world made possible by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the tireless work of good men and women—where hospitals are sanctuaries of life, not targets. A world where every child is cherished, protected, and allowed to flourish in safety and love. A world where no one is forced to risk their life for a chance at life, where borders are managed with compassion and hearts are open with welcome. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, and we are called to build it here, on earth, with our own hands.
But to build it, we must first heal our own house. One of the great trials for the Church in this modern time is the crisis of credibility born from our own failings, from the sin and scandal that have caused so much pain and disillusionment. We cannot preach a gospel of love if we do not practice radical integrity, profound humility, and absolute justice within our own walls. I call upon every single one of the faithful—clergy and laity alike—to aid in solving this. Be agents of transparency. Be voices for the voiceless within our own communities. Demand accountability. Work tirelessly to restore trust through your own unwavering virtue and compassion. Let the Church be a beacon of light, untainted by the shadows it seeks to dispel.
For if we do not act—if we choose comfort over courage, silence over solidarity, indifference over love—then a dire future awaits. A world where violence becomes the only language, where the innocence of children is systematically destroyed, where human dignity is drowned in a sea of apathy. This is not God’s punishment; it is the natural consequence of our own collective sin. We will have built our own apocalypse, a world devoid of hope, a civilization that has chosen death over life.
But that is not our fate. That must not be our future. The power to change the world resides in you. In your prayers, in your voices, in your actions. Offer your hands to be Christ’s hands. Offer your heart to be Christ’s heart. Let us go forth from this place not as passive observers of a broken world, but as active architects of a new one—a world of peace, of justice, of mercy. A world worthy of the children of God.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of violence and loss of innocent life, we must become active peacemakers in our own spheres. This means consciously rejecting inflammatory language in our conversations, especially online. Support organizations that provide humanitarian aid to conflict zones through donations or volunteering. Educate yourself on complex global issues from multiple perspectives before forming opinions, and have the courage to challenge misinformation when you encounter it.
Regarding child exploitation, take practical steps to protect the vulnerable. Report suspicious online content to the proper authorities immediately. Support and donate to organizations that combat human trafficking and provide recovery services for victims. Teach children in your care about digital safety and create environments where they feel safe to share concerns. Pressure technology companies through petitions and consumer choices to prioritize safety measures that protect minors.
For migrant suffering, extend practical compassion locally. Support refugee resettlement programs in your community through volunteering, donations, or offering temporary housing. Advocate for humane immigration policies by contacting elected representatives. Learn about the root causes of migration to better understand the complex challenges. Offer simple human kindness—a meal, language assistance, or friendship—to newcomers in your community who may be struggling with isolation.
Every small action matters when performed with consistency and genuine care. Begin with what is within your reach today, and let that practical compassion grow into lasting change.
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.