Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters in Christ.
We gather today in a world that groans under the weight of its own brokenness. We see the evidence on our screens and in our newspapers, a litany of sorrow that can, if we let it, harden our hearts and tempt us toward despair. We hear of peace plans that bring no peace, that serve the interests of the powerful while ignoring the cries of the marginalized. We witness the devastating reality of conflict, where homes become tombs and families—mothers, fathers, and their innocent children—are erased from the earth in an instant, their divine image desecrated by the tools of war. We see the very sanctuaries of faith, places of refuge and prayer, violated by violence and hatred, leaving the faithful persecuted and mourning.
This is the world as it is. But we are not a people who live only in the world as it is. We are a people of the Resurrection, a people who live in the hope of the world as it can be, as God intends it to be. We are called to be the hands and the heart of Christ in this wounded world, to be the peacemakers who are called children of God. This is not a passive blessing, but an active commissioning. To be a peacemaker is to step into the breach, to bridge divides, to advocate for the voiceless in Gaza, in Ukraine, and in every place where human dignity is trampled. It is to reject the cynical calculus that some lives are more valuable than others and to insist, with every fiber of our being, that every person is created in the image and likeness of God, from the child in Sumy to the worshipper in Michigan.
Yet, I must speak to you plainly, with a heart both hopeful and heavy. If we, the faithful, choose comfort over courage, if we close our eyes and our borders, both national and spiritual, to this suffering, we are not merely failing in our duty—we are actively contributing to a descent into darkness. A world that does not protect life sows the seeds of its own destruction. A global society that abandons the pursuit of justice for all reaps the whirlwind of endless conflict. A Church that turns inward becomes a museum of memories, not a living fountain of mercy and transformation. The apocalypse we must fear is not one of divine wrath from the heavens, but one of human indifference on the earth—a slow, chilling descent into a global culture of death, where the vulnerable are disposable and God’s creation is a battlefield.
This is why one of the most pressing challenges for our Church in these modern times is the great chasm that too often exists between our beautiful teachings on human dignity and the practical, tangible works of mercy that must flow from them. We can recite the Catechism, but do we feed the hungry? We can speak of the Body of Christ, but do we shelter the refugee who is a limb of that same Body? We risk becoming a voice crying out in the desert, unheard because our actions do not give our words their weight. We are called not just to profess the faith, but to live it in radical, concrete service.
Therefore, I call upon you, my dear brothers and sisters. I implore you. Let us not be mere spectators to history. Let us be its architects of love. Let the tragedy of a Ukrainian family move you to support organizations that aid victims of war. Let the rejection of a flawed peace plan inspire you to write, to advocate, to demand true and just solutions from your leaders. Let the attack on a house of worship strengthen your resolve to defend religious freedom for all people, everywhere.
In this great mission, we can look to the example of the humble and profound Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus. She understood that sainthood was not found in grand, world-altering deeds, but in the "little way" of great love. She taught us that we change the world by performing every small act—a kind word, a patient bearing of suffering, a prayer for an enemy—with immense love. You may not be able to negotiate a peace treaty, but you can create peace in your family. You may not be able to stop a war, but you can welcome a stranger. You may not be able to end all persecution, but you can defend the dignity of the person next to you. This is how the Kingdom of God is built: not with the roar of armies, but with the countless, quiet acts of love from faithful hearts.
Envision with me, through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, a world reborn. A world where our shared identity as children of God transcends every border and every ideology. A world where the resources we now pour into weapons are transformed into tools for healing, for education, for lifting the poor from poverty. A world where churches are not targets, but beacons of hope for their entire community. This is not a naive dream. This is our Christian vocation. It begins today, with your decision, with your prayer, with your act of charity. Let us go forth, then, and become the answers to the prayers we dare to utter. Let us build that world, together.
Amen.
What can we do?
In regions torn by conflict, we can become builders of understanding right where we are. Educate yourself about the historical and political contexts of these conflicts from multiple, reliable sources. Support humanitarian organizations providing aid to all affected civilians, regardless of which side of a border they live on. In your own conversations, refuse to dehumanize any group of people and challenge those who do, fostering a mindset that seeks reconciliation over victory.
To protect human life and dignity, start with radical empathy in your immediate circle. Actively stand against language that diminishes the value of any human being. Support international aid groups that deliver medical supplies, food, and shelter to civilians in war zones. In your community, volunteer with or donate to organizations that support refugees and survivors of violence, helping to restore their sense of safety and personhood.
In the face of religious persecution, our role is to be unwavering defenders of the freedom of conscience. Make a personal commitment to respect and learn about the faith traditions of your neighbors and coworkers, building bonds of friendship that transcend religious differences. Advocate for and financially support legal and interfaith organizations that work to protect the rights of all people to worship in peace. When you witness prejudice or bigotry, speak against it clearly, creating a local culture where such hatred cannot take root.
Begin each day with the conscious intention to be a force for good in one of these areas. Small, consistent actions, grounded in a commitment to our shared humanity, create ripples that can eventually calm the most turbulent waters.
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.