Blessings of peace, grace, and the abiding love of Christ to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in a world that groans. It is a world of profound beauty, a gift from the Creator, yet one scarred by the choices of humanity. We hear the echoes of explosions in the port of Beirut, where the cry for justice rises from the rubble and the hearts of the bereaved. We feel the tremor of tanks and the anguish of families divided in the fields of Ukraine, where the longing for peace is as deep as the soil. We witness, with sorrow, the silent and not-so-silent suffering of our brothers and sisters in Christ, who in many lands bear the cross of persecution, their bodies and spirits scarred for the sake of their faith. The prophet Micah speaks to us across the centuries with a clarity that pierces our modern confusion: “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
To act justly. This is not a passive wish. It is a divine command to rebuild what is broken, to demand accountability where power has been abused, to structure our societies so that the poor are not crushed by neglect and the victim is not forgotten. The cry from Lebanon is a cry for this very justice—not as vengeance, but as the foundation for true peace. To love mercy. This is the heart that must beat within our pursuit of justice. It is the compassion that reaches across battle lines, that remembers the humanity of the enemy, that seeks not the humiliation of the wrongdoer but their restoration. It is the spirit that whispers of reconciliation even when the wounds are fresh, as they are in Ukraine. And to walk humbly with your God. This is the anchor. For without this humble walk, our justice becomes self-righteousness, and our mercy becomes condescension. We are not the architects of salvation; we are the instruments of a loving God.
Our Lord Jesus Christ, in the Beatitudes, gives a portrait of this humble walk in a world of conflict. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” He declares, “for they will be called children of God.” A peacemaker is not merely someone who longs for quiet. A peacemaker is one who, imbued with justice and mercy, steps into the breach. They are the negotiators who risk reputation, the humanitarians who risk their lives, the ordinary families who open their homes to refugees, the citizens who reject the easy poison of hatred. They are the children of God because they do the work of God: reconciling, healing, building.
And to those who suffer for this righteousness, for clinging to Christ in the face of tyranny and violence, He offers a solemn and glorious promise: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” When we hear testimonies of captivity and torture, like that of our sister Elizabeth, we are not hearing a story of defeat. We are hearing a witness of indomitable spirit, a light that the darkness could not extinguish. The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these, and their suffering is a searing indictment of a world that still crucifies the innocent.
Let us envision, my dear friends, the world that is possible. Not through human utopian dreams alone, but through the workings of good men and women filled with the Spirit of Christ. Imagine a Beirut not only rebuilt in stone, but in trust, where justice has healed the wounds of neglect. Imagine a Ukraine where the plowshare has truly beaten the sword into itself, where peace is not a tense silence but a flourishing communion. Imagine a world where every Christian, and every person of good will, can worship and witness without fear. This is not a fantasy. This is the potential planted in creation, waiting to be unlocked by love in action.
Yet, to bring this vision to life, we must first look within our own home, within the Body of Christ. One of the great trials of the Church in our time is the scandal of division—not only the historical schisms that pain us, but the internal fractures of ideology, of gossip, of a lack of charity between those who claim the same Lord. We fracture into camps, judging one another’s fidelity, and in doing so, we cripple our witness to a fractured world. How can we preach reconciliation in Ukraine if we cannot reconcile in our own parishes? How can we demand justice in Lebanon if we are unjust in our words toward one another? I call upon every faithful soul here and across the globe: aid in solving this. Be agents of unity. Seek first to understand, then to be understood. Let your first language be charity, your first instinct forgiveness. Heal the Church from within, so she may be a credible instrument of healing for the world.
For if we do not contribute to this better world—if we choose indifference, if we fuel hatred with our words, if we hoard our resources and our compassion, if we let the cry of the poor become background noise—then we choose a different path. We walk toward a spiritual apocalypse. A world where justice permanently abandoned becomes a breeding ground for endless vengeance. A world where the refusal to make peace yields an eternal harvest of war, where our children know only the language of the bomb and the border wall. A world where the persecution of the good is met with our global silence, until the light of faith is snuffed out in region after region, leaving a cold, materialistic darkness. This is not the wrath of God imposed from above. It is the consequence of humanity, including ourselves, abdicating our divine requirement: to act justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly.
Therefore, let us depart from this place not as an audience, but as an army of peacemakers. Let the words of Micah be the checklist for your day: Where can I act justly? In my business, in my voting, in my speech? Where can I love mercy? In forgiving a family member, in welcoming a stranger, in giving to those who have nothing? How can I walk more humbly with my God? In prayer, in sacrament, in quiet service that seeks no applause?
The Lord does not require us to solve every global crisis by tomorrow. He requires us to begin. Today. In our own hearts, our own homes, our own communities. With the courage of the peacemaker, the endurance of the persecuted, and the humble trust of one who knows that, in the end, God’s justice and mercy will prevail. Let us be the hands through which that victory is gently, urgently, brought into the world.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of these profound global challenges, our faith calls us not to despair but to concrete, practical action in our own spheres of influence. Our contribution is not measured in grand gestures alone, but in the consistent, daily choices that build a culture of justice, peace, and solidarity.
Regarding the call for justice, as seen in Lebanon and elsewhere, we can start by becoming informed and responsible consumers and citizens. Seek out the truth about events from reliable sources, not just headlines. Support businesses and organizations that operate with transparency and ethical practices. In your own workplace and community, be a person of integrity. Speak up against casual dishonesty or unfair treatment, however small it may seem. Justice is built by individuals who refuse to cut corners, who honor their word, and who demand accountability from those in power through respectful but firm civic engagement.
For the cause of peace, especially in conflicts like the war in Ukraine, we must actively reject the language of division and hatred in our own conversations. Do not contribute to the spread of anger or stereotypes, online or offline. Instead, become a bridge-builder. Support humanitarian aid organizations that assist all victims of war impartially. Welcome refugees and newcomers in your community with practical help—donating supplies, offering language practice, or simply being a friendly neighbor. Peace is not merely the absence of war; it is the active cultivation of understanding and compassion in the space between people.
In response to the persecution and suffering of our brothers and sisters, our duty is one of unwavering solidarity and practical support. Educate yourself about the plight of persecuted communities. Financially support reputable charities that provide direct aid, legal assistance, and advocacy for religious freedom. Write to your political representatives, urging them to prioritize human rights in foreign policy. Most importantly, in your daily life, defend the dignity of every person. Stand against mockery, prejudice, or exclusion directed at anyone for their beliefs or background. Create circles of inclusion where every person is valued.
These actions are not extraordinary. They are the daily work of building a better world: choosing honesty over convenience, compassion over indifference, and courage over silence. It begins in our homes, our offices, and our local communities. By tending faithfully to our own corner of the world, we join a global chorus of hope and repair.
Go in peace.
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