Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather as one family under the gaze of our loving Father, a family that knows no borders, recognizes no stranger, and upholds the sacred dignity of every human soul. Yet, we look upon our world, this beautiful garden entrusted to our care, and we see it fractured by walls of fear and stained by the tears of the persecuted. The Spirit calls us, in this very moment, to see these fractures not as inevitable, but as a profound summons to our shared mission of healing.
Consider the migrant, the refugee, the family fleeing violence or despair. They knock upon the doors of nations, and too often hear the cold bolt of rejection. They are the living embodiment of Christ’s own 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.” When political discourse reduces these children of God to a problem, a statistic, or a threat, it is not merely policy that is debated. It is our very humanity that is on trial. It is the compassion of Christ that is being judged. Wherever a nation, any nation, chooses fear over fraternity, security over solidarity, it turns its back on the foundational call of the Gospel. The Church must always, and will always, stand with the stranger, for in their face we see the face of our Lord. To do otherwise is to build our house upon the sand of indifference, which the tides of history will surely wash away.
And what of those who suffer for their faith, for their conscience, for their very identity? In distant lands, gunmen ambush pilgrims. In courtrooms of injustice, the innocent are condemned in the shadows of tyranny. The prophet cries out to us across the centuries: “Acquitting the guilty and condemning the innocent—the Lord detests them both.” We hear of a woman, Zahra Tabari, facing death after a trial of mere minutes. We hear of Muslim travelers, our brothers and sisters in Abrahamic faith, abducted on a journey of devotion. This is not a distant headline; it is a wound in the Body of Christ. Where one member suffers, all suffer. Persecution, in any form, against any people, is an assault on the divine image within humanity. It is a declaration that power is god, and truth is its slave. But we know a different truth. We know the words of our Savior: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Their blessedness is not a call to passive acceptance, but a thunderous demand for our active defense.
My dear brothers and sisters, envision with me the world that is possible. Envision a world where borders are crossed not by desperation, but by bridges of welcome. Envision courtrooms where the scales of justice are held by the steady hand of truth, not the fist of power. Envision villages and cities where the call to prayer and the ringing of church bells are harmonious songs of a diverse creation praising one Creator. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, yearning to be made manifest through our hands, through our voices, through our courageous love. With Jesus’s help, and through the steadfast workings of good men and women, this world can be built. It must be built.
Yet, to build this world, we must first look within our own walls. One of the great trials of the Church in our modern time is the scandal of division—the way we, the faithful, so often mirror the fractures of the world. We fracture into factions, clinging to ideological camps, judging one another’s orthodoxy or compassion, while the world outside hungers for a unified witness of hope. This internal strife silences our prophetic voice and paralyzes our healing hands. I call upon you, every one of you, to aid in solving this. Begin not by demanding unity from the institution, but by practicing radical communion in your parish, in your family, online, and in your heart. Seek first to understand, then to be understood. Let charity be the lens through which you view your fellow believer. For a house divided against itself in a world on fire becomes not a beacon, but an irrelevant ruin.
Hear now a warning, spoken not in anger, but in the anguish of a father for his children. If we choose comfort over courage, if we choose cynicism over hope, if we hear the cry of the stranger and turn up the volume of our own entertainment, then we are not merely failing in a duty. We are actively consenting to a world descending into a man-made apocalypse. It will not come with celestial signs, but with the slow, chilling silence of empathy’s death. It will be an apocalypse of closed borders becoming fortified islands in a rising sea of misery. It will be an apocalypse of endless, silent persecutions, where the last lights of conscience are snuffed out one by one in forgotten cells. It will be an apocalypse of injustice so normalized that our grandchildren will read of our times as a dark age of moral slumber. This is the path we walk if we remain idle.
But this is not our destiny! We are people of the Resurrection! We are people of the Empty Tomb! Today, as we prepare to celebrate the Nativity of our Lord, we remember that God entered this world not in a palace, but in precarious vulnerability, dependent on the kindness of strangers. He was, in a profound sense, the first migrant in His own story. Let the hope of that Holy Night, which we anticipate this 24th of December, shatter the frozen ice within our hearts.
Let us go forth from this place as builders of the world that God dreams. Feed the hungry who knocks. Speak for the voiceless who is condemned. Protect the persecuted of every creed. And above all, love one another within this Church with a ferocious patience, that we may be one, as Christ and the Father are one. The future is not written by distant powers. It is written by the daily choices of ordinary people infused with extraordinary grace. Choose love. Choose action. Choose to build the Kingdom.
Amen.
What can we do?
In a world where headlines speak of division, persecution, and injustice, it is easy to feel that these vast problems are beyond our reach. Yet, the call to build a better world is answered not only in grand gestures but in the quiet, consistent practice of our humanity in daily life. Here is how we can practically contribute.
Regarding the tensions around immigration and the stranger among us, your practical task is to foster a culture of encounter. This begins by refusing to see "immigrants" as a monolithic issue and choosing to see individual human beings. In your community, this could mean volunteering with or donating to local organizations that provide direct support to new arrivals, such as offering language tutoring, helping families navigate local services, or simply sharing a meal. Advocate calmly and persistently within your own circles, correcting misinformation with facts and reminding others of the fundamental dignity of every person seeking safety and a future. Write to your political representatives to express support for compassionate and orderly policies. The goal is to build bridges of understanding, person by person.
Confronted with the persecution of religious minorities, our duty is to become defenders of religious freedom for all. This starts with education. Make a conscious effort to learn about the beliefs and practices of a faith tradition different from your own, not from headlines, but from its own adherents or credible sources. In your workplace, neighborhood, or children's schools, stand firmly against derogatory jokes or stereotypes about any religious group. Support, either through voice or resources, interfaith initiatives in your area that bring people together for dialogue or community service. When you hear of atrocities like the abduction of Muslim travelers in Nigeria, let it move you to public prayer for the victims and to contact global humanitarian organizations that work to protect vulnerable communities. Solidarity is a muscle built through consistent, respectful action.
Faced with glaring injustice and unjust trials, we are called to be promoters of justice and due process. Cultivate a habit of seeking out reliable news sources that report on global human rights issues, so you are informed. Use your voice on social media or in conversations to raise awareness about specific cases of injustice, such as that of Zahra Tabari in Iran, by sharing information from reputable human rights groups. Consider joining or supporting organizations like Amnesty International, which specialize in writing appeals and mobilizing public pressure. In your own sphere, practice justice meticulously: be fair in your judgments of others, listen to all sides of a story, and champion fairness in your local institutions, from school boards to town councils. Teach the children in your life about fairness, respect, and the courage to speak up for those who have no voice.
These are not fleeting actions, but a way of life. It is the sum of these daily choices—to welcome, to defend, to seek justice—that weaves a fabric of hope and renewal for our world. Begin today, right where you are.
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.