Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today, having celebrated the light of The Epiphany, that glorious revelation that God’s salvation is for all peoples. Yet, as we look upon our modern world, we see so many places where this light seems dimmed, where the star of hope is obscured by clouds of human failing. We are called not to look away from this darkness, but to carry the light we have received into its very heart.
We see it in the scourge of Political Persecution and Injustice, where power is twisted to condemn the righteous and justify the wicked. The ancient wisdom rings true: such acts are an abomination, a perversion of the order God wills for human society. We witness nations torn by such conflicts, where the very notion of truth and justice is held captive by ideology and vengeance. When leaders are vilified or vindicated not by their virtue but by their allegiance, the foundations of our common life crumble. This is not merely a political problem; it is a profound spiritual crisis, a failure to recognize the inviolable dignity etched by the Creator into every human soul.
We see this darkness most horrifically in the Violence and Loss of Innocent Life. From the villages of Nigeria, where families are shattered in relentless attacks, to the countless unnamed corners of conflict, the cry of the brokenhearted rises to heaven. These are not statistics; they are beloved children of God, crushed in spirit. The Lord is close to them. But He asks us: through whom will His closeness be made tangible? Through whose hands will He act to save? When we become numb to these reports, when we accept such violence as the inevitable noise of a fallen world, we distance ourselves from that divine proximity. We declare ourselves far from the brokenhearted.
And so, rightly, we find ourselves in Mourning and Comfort in Tragedy. We see it in the tears and embraces of a community in Switzerland, grieving a sudden, senseless loss. To mourn is human; it is to love in the face of absence. Christ Himself promised comfort to those who mourn. But this divine comfort is not a passive anesthetic. It is the stirring of a mighty compassion meant to flow through the entire Body of Christ. It is a comfort that empowers us to stand with all who grieve—the mother in Niger, the prisoner of conscience, the family displaced by war—and to become agents of the healing we pray for.
My brothers and sisters, envision with me the world Christ dreams of, a world made possible when good men and women, filled with His Spirit, rise to their baptismal calling. Imagine a world where courts seek truth over triumph, where the powerful see their role as servants of justice for the least among them. Imagine a world where the sword is finally beaten into the plowshare, where villages sleep in peace, and children go to school in safety. Imagine a world where every tragedy is met not with isolation, but with the overwhelming, practical love of a global family of faith. This is not a utopian fantasy. This is the Kingdom of God, yearning to break through, and it will, through the workings of good people who cooperate with His grace.
Yet, to be these “good people,” we must first look within our own home. One of the great trials for our Church in modern times is the scandal of division—within our own ranks, and with our separated brothers and sisters. How can we hope to heal a fractured world if we are content to be a fractured Church? How can we preach reconciliation to nations when we cling to prejudices and pride within our own communities? This internal weakness saps our credibility and our spiritual strength. I call on every one of the faithful, from the cardinals to the catechumens: let us make the pursuit of Christian unity—in charity, in dialogue, in humble service—a personal mission. Let our first act for the betterment of the global society be to mend the tears in the seamless garment of Christ.
For if we do not act—if we choose comfortable indifference, if we hide our light under the bushel of our own preoccupations—then we must heed a dire warning. The path we are on leads not to a brighter dawn, but to a deepening twilight. A world that persistently justifies the wicked and condemns the righteous will soon know no justice at all, only the law of the ruthless. A world that accepts the crushing of the innocent spirit will find its own spirit crushed, descending into a cycle of vengeance without end. A world that has forgotten how to mourn together will find itself alone in its grief, comfortless. This is the apocalypse not of God’s wrath, but of human abdication. We will have chosen the shadow over the star.
But that is not our destiny. The Epiphany reveals our calling. We are to be the bearers of the light. Let us go forth from this place as agents of justice in a world of persecution, as protectors of life in a culture of violence, as ministers of comfort in an age of mourning. Let us heal the divisions within our Church, so that we may be a credible instrument to heal the world. Do not wait for another. Do not think the task is for others. Christ asks you. The brokenhearted of the world need you. The future of God’s creation depends on the courage of your love, today.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of political persecution and injustice, our practical contribution begins with a commitment to truth and integrity in our own spheres. We can educate ourselves on global events from multiple, credible sources, resisting the temptation to reduce complex situations to simple narratives. We can support, through our time or resources, organizations dedicated to legal aid, human rights monitoring, and transparent journalism. In our daily conversations, we can refuse to engage in or tolerate casual slander, choosing instead to speak with charity and a desire for factual understanding. We can write to our own political representatives, urging them to advocate for just and peaceful resolutions in international conflicts, prioritizing the dignity of all people over partisan interests.
When confronted with violence and the loss of innocent life, our response must be active compassion. We can directly support humanitarian organizations that provide immediate aid, such as food, medicine, and shelter, to those fleeing conflict. We can foster a culture of non-violence in our own homes and communities by modeling peaceful conflict resolution, teaching our children empathy, and rejecting violent rhetoric in all its forms. We can also make a conscious effort to patronize businesses and support economic policies that promote stability and fair opportunity in regions plagued by violence, understanding that despair is often a root cause of conflict.
In times of profound mourning and tragedy, our role is to be a tangible presence of comfort. This means reaching out personally to those who grieve, not with platitudes, but with a listening ear, a shared meal, or practical help with daily tasks. We can honor the memory of those lost by supporting causes they cared for or by advocating for improved public safety measures where relevant. We can create spaces, both physical and social, where people feel safe to express sorrow without judgment. Furthermore, we can challenge the stigma around mental health, encouraging and supporting access to counseling and community support groups for those navigating grief.
Our faith calls us not to distant observation, but to engaged and loving action. By cultivating integrity, practicing active compassion, and embodying steadfast comfort, we participate in the healing of our wounded world. Each small, consistent act in our daily lives weaves a stronger fabric of justice, peace, and solidarity for all.
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.