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, a world where the cries of the suffering too often seem to echo into a silent void. We hear these cries from the four corners of the earth, and they pierce the heart of every believer. They are the cries of our brothers and sisters in faith, who in distant lands, are taken from their homes and imprisoned for the simple act of gathering in Christ’s name. They are the cries of a mother in Sudan, her heart shattered, forced to choose which of her children might live, while war devours all that is good and humane. They are the cries of the families in Syria, whose loved ones vanished into the darkness of conflict, leaving behind a torturous silence and a desperate, aching need for truth.
These are not merely news reports; they are the modern faces of ancient afflictions: persecution, war, and the crushing denial of justice. They represent a world that has, in so many ways, forgotten the sacred dignity of the human person, created in the image and likeness of God. We look upon this landscape and we may feel a profound helplessness. The problems are vast, the systems of power are formidable, and the path to peace seems impossibly long.
But we must not succumb to despair. For we are an Easter people, and ‘Alleluia’ is our song! We are not called to be mere spectators to this suffering. We are called to be the hands and feet of Christ in a wounded world. We are called to be the good men and women through whom Jesus works His miracles of healing and redemption. Imagine, my dear friends, a world not as it is, but as it could be. Imagine a world where the chains of the persecuted are loosened not by force of arms, but by the relentless, prayerful pressure of a global family of faith. Imagine a world where no mother ever has to make an impossible choice between her children because the international community, moved by our collective voice and charity, ensures corridors of mercy and sustenance. Imagine a world where the lost are accounted for, where truth is spoken to power, and where the widow and the orphan find not only solace but true justice. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, yearning to break through into our reality. This is the world we are commanded to build.
Yet, to build this better world, we must first look inward, into the heart of our own spiritual home. One of the great trials our Church faces in these modern times is the scandal of division—within our own ranks and with our separated brethren. How can we preach reconciliation to a fractured world when we ourselves are fractured? How can we be a credible sign of Christ’s unifying love when gossip, judgment, and ideological entrenchment weaken our communion? We are called to be one Body, yet we so often act as disjointed limbs. This internal strife drains our evangelical energy and muffles our prophetic voice. I call upon you, the faithful, to become ardent apostles of unity. In your families, in your parishes, in your online interactions, seek first to understand, then to be understood. Extend the hand of fellowship before raising the finger of accusation. Let us heal the breaches within our own walls, so that we may be a more perfect instrument for healing the world.
For if we do not act—if we remain comfortable in our pews, insulated by our routines, and indifferent to the anguish of our global family—then we must heed a dire warning. A world that continues to persecute the innocent, that glorifies violence, and that systematically denies justice, is a world writing its own epitaph. It is a world descending into a man-made apocalypse, not of divine wrath, but of its own cold, calculated inhumanity. It is a future where the light of hope is extinguished, where the crushing of spirit becomes the norm, and where the image of God in every person is trampled into the dust. We see the shadows of this future lengthening even now. This is not the will of God, but the consequence of human sin and collective inaction. The choice between a civilization of love and a dystopia of despair rests, in part, upon our shoulders.
Therefore, let us go forth from this place not as a passive audience, but as an army of peace. Let the plight of the persecuted Christian ignite in you a fire of advocacy and prayer. Let the anguish of the war-torn move you to generosity and to demanding diplomacy over destruction. Let the silent grief of those seeking justice inspire you to become a voice for the voiceless in your own community. And let the quest for unity within our Church begin with your next kind word, your next gesture of forgiveness, your next act of humble service.
The journey is long, and the road is hard. But we do not walk it alone. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted. He walks with the persecuted. He weeps with the mother in Sudan. He seeks the lost with the families in Syria. And He walks with you. He will give you the strength. He will multiply your loaves and fishes. He will turn your small acts of love into the building blocks of His Kingdom. Let us not be afraid to build it.
Amen.
What can we do?
When we see religious persecution happening anywhere in the world, our first practical step is to become informed. Seek out reliable news sources that document these events without sensationalism. Use your voice in your own communities—your social circles, workplaces, and local organizations—to speak calmly and factually about the importance of religious freedom for all. You can support, through donations or volunteer work, secular international human rights organizations that monitor such situations and provide legal aid and advocacy. In your daily interactions, practice profound respect for people of all faiths and none, making your own sphere of influence a model of tolerance.
Confronting the immense human suffering caused by war requires tangible action that addresses both immediate and long-term needs. Regularly donate to reputable international aid agencies that provide food, medical care, and shelter in conflict zones. These organizations are often the only lifeline for families facing impossible choices. Advocate peacefully with your own government representatives, urging them to support humanitarian corridors and diplomatic solutions. In your own life, practice empathy by consciously rejecting hostility in your disagreements, choosing dialogue over division, and helping to build a culture of peace from the ground up.
Pursuing justice for the oppressed, such as those seeking missing loved ones, is a commitment to memory and truth. You can support organizations that specialize in forensic documentation and human rights investigations, often the only hope for families seeking closure. Use social media and other platforms to amplify the voices of survivors and advocates, ensuring their calls for justice are not forgotten. In your daily life, be a person of your word. Act with integrity in all your dealings, both great and small. Stand up against unfairness when you see it in your school, your workplace, or your neighborhood. Small acts of consistent integrity contribute to a larger culture that refuses to accept oppression.
Each of these actions, woven into the fabric of our ordinary days, creates a ripple effect. We change the world by living our values with intention and courage.
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.