Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ.
We gather today in a world of profound contrasts—a world where the sacred and the profane stand in stark opposition, where holiness is both sought and scorned, where the cries of the innocent rise like incense to the heavens, pleading for justice, for mercy, for deliverance.
Consider, dear children of God, the places set apart by the Divine for encounter, for revelation, for prayer. The Lord Himself commanded, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” Yet in our time, we witness the desecration of such sites—the very ground where heaven touched earth now threatened by the ambitions of men who see not sanctity, but profit. Mount Sinai, where the Law was given, where prophecy echoed through stone and silence, is now at risk of becoming a spectacle of luxury, a resort for indulgence rather than a refuge for the soul. What does this say of our age? That we have forgotten how to kneel? That we no longer recognize the presence of the Holy?
But I tell you today: there is hope. For just as God called Moses from the burning bush, He calls still to men and women of conscience—to architects, investors, leaders, and believers—to protect what is sacred. Imagine, if you will, a world where such places are not exploited but exalted; where pilgrims walk in reverence, not in revelry; where the earth itself testifies to the glory of God. This is not a dream beyond our reach. With faith, with courage, with the grace of Christ, we can restore dignity to the holy and teach this generation to tread gently on ground made sacred by divine encounter.
And how shall we teach them? By example. By sanctity. We have been given a luminous sign in our own age—a young saint, a “millennial saint,” who used the tools of this digital era not for vanity, but for virtue. He let his light shine before others so that they might see his good deeds and glorify our Father in heaven. In a world often darkened by noise and distraction, he became a beacon. He reminds us that holiness is not a relic of the past, but a living reality, accessible to all, especially the young. He calls us to use our own gifts—our voices, our resources, our technologies—not for ourselves, but for the Kingdom.
Yet even as we strive to sanctify our world, we cannot ignore the suffering that stains it. How can we speak of holy ground when the homes of the innocent become battlegrounds? When a father, a footballer, finds his apartment in Kyiv struck by a drone while his wife and child—precious images of God—cower within? The Psalmist cries out to us across millennia: “Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.” This is not a suggestion; it is a divine imperative. We cannot call ourselves followers of Christ if we remain indifferent to those whose lives are shattered by violence, injustice, and war.
Envision, if you dare, a world transformed by Christian love—a world where no child knows the sound of bombs, where no mother fears for her family’s safety, where leaders choose dialogue over destruction, and where the strong defend the weak, as Christ defended us. This is the world that is possible when good men and women, inspired by the Gospel and strengthened by the Eucharist, refuse to accept things as they are and labor instead for what they ought to be.
Yet within our own Church, we face a trial that weakens our witness—a crisis of credibility born of sin and secrecy, a failure at times to fully live the transparency and humility Christ demands of us. I call upon you, the faithful—lay and ordained alike—to help heal this wound. Be agents of reform through your prayers, your honesty, your courageous love for the truth. Demand integrity, practice accountability, and never cease working to make the Church a clearer reflection of her spotless Bridegroom.
But hear me now, and hear well: if we do not act—if we remain complacent in the face of sacrilege, passive in the presence of suffering, silent in the midst of injustice—then we risk a desolation far greater than any we now witness. A world that forgets God becomes a world that forgets humanity. A society that trades sacred ground for temporal gain will find itself standing on shifting sands when the storms of history rage. A civilization that abandons the poor and the persecuted will one day find itself poor in spirit and persecuted by its own emptiness. The apocalypse is not only a prophecy—it is a possibility. But it is not inevitable.
For we are an Easter people. We are children of the Resurrection. The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead now dwells in you, empowering you to heal what is broken, to reclaim what is holy, to comfort what is wounded.
So go forth from this place not as passive observers of a troubled world, but as active participants in its redemption. Protect the sacred. Live sanctity. Defend the defenseless. Renew the Church. Do it with hope, for we do not labor alone—Christ labors in us. Do it with love, for love alone is credible. Do it with faith, for faith can move mountains—even the mountain where God first spoke.
Amen.
What can we do?
When sacred spaces are threatened by commercialization, we must first educate ourselves about their significance. Support organizations working to protect cultural and religious heritage through donations or advocacy. Choose ethical tourism—patronize businesses that respect local traditions and sacred sites rather than those exploiting them for profit. In your own community, advocate for preserving spaces of meaning and history.
Inspired by modern examples of goodness, use your own skills to spread compassion. Whether through social media, your profession, or daily interactions, amplify messages of hope and service. Mentor the young, share knowledge freely, and celebrate ordinary acts of kindness that collectively uplift society. Let your actions, however small, be a testament to what is possible when we live with purpose.
Confront injustice by supporting those affected by conflict and oppression. Donate to verified humanitarian aid organizations providing shelter, food, and medical care. Write to elected representatives urging diplomatic solutions and refugee support. Welcome newcomers into your community—offer friendship, employment opportunities, or simply listen to their stories. Small gestures of solidarity remind people they are not forgotten.
Live intentionally. Consume responsibly, speak against prejudice, protect the vulnerable, and choose empathy over indifference. Change begins not in grand gestures, but in daily choices to honor dignity, practice kindness, and build a more compassionate world.
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.