Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, on this Saturday, a day we set aside for reflection on the Blessed Virgin Mary, our model of quiet strength and unwavering faith in God’s plan.
We gather as a family, a global communion of souls, while the world outside our doors echoes with cries that pierce the heart of God. We hear the cries from the streets of Minneapolis, Houston, and Philadelphia, where the sacred flame of a human life, a life named Renee Good, was extinguished. These protests are a raw, human scream against the violation of the most fundamental commandment etched not only on stone but on the human conscience: Thou shalt not kill. This divine law is the bedrock of all civilization, the inviolable boundary that proclaims every person, from conception to natural death, is a unique and beloved creation of the Father. When this law is forgotten, when life is treated as disposable, society does not progress; it unravels from within. We are called to be builders of a culture of life, where justice is not a slogan but a sacred duty, where every institution, every law, and every heart defends the inherent dignity of the other.
And from the east, we hear another cry—the thunder of missiles and the weeping of the vulnerable. The news tells us of a new weapon, a spear of fire with a fearsome name, striking the land of Ukraine. It speaks of a world that has forgotten the Psalmist’s vision: He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder. This is not a distant, ancient hope; it is God’s promise and our mission. We are to be the instruments through which Christ breaks the bows of aggression. We are to be the fire that burns the chariots of hatred, not with weapons, but with the relentless, courageous pursuit of peace. To protect the vulnerable is not geopolitics; it is the Gospel. It means seeing in the refugee, the displaced child, the terrified family, the face of the Holy Family itself, fleeing into Egypt.
Further still, we hear the cry for freedom. From Iran, we hear of souls yearning to breathe, to speak, to be, and we hear the tragic rhetoric that dismisses this holy yearning as mere vandalism. To these our brothers and sisters, and to all who labor under the yoke of any bondage—of oppression, of poverty, of fear—we must proclaim with Saint Paul: Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free. The freedom Christ won is not license, but liberation into our full humanity, into the responsibility to love and to build up. It is a freedom for excellence, for truth, for self-gift. When this God-given dignity is crushed, the human spirit, made in the image of the Creator, rebels. We must stand with them, not with the weapons of the world, but with the weapon of truth and the shield of prayer.
My dear friends, envision with me the world that is possible. Envision a world where, through the workings of good men and women animated by Jesus, these cries are transformed into a symphony of communion. See a world where police and citizen, where nation and nation, where government and people, meet not as adversaries but as guardians of one another’s dignity. See a world where the resources spent on crafting new spears are spent instead on healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and teaching the child. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, for which we pray every day: “Thy Kingdom come.” And it comes through our hands, through our choices, through our voices.
Yet, to be a credible witness to this glorious vision, we must, with humility and courage, confront a shadow within our own house. One of the great trials for the Church in our time is the scandal of division—the fragmentation among the faithful into camps, ideologies, and factions that mirror the world’s divisions more than they reflect the unity of Christ’s Body. We quarrel over liturgies, we judge one another’s piety, we build walls of suspicion where bridges of communion should stand. This internal discord cripples our mission. It muffles our prophetic voice to a world that desperately needs to see a people truly united in love. I call on every one of you, the faithful, to aid in solving this. Begin in your families, in your parishes. Seek first to understand, then to be understood. Forgive. Listen. Embrace the one you see as your opponent in the pew beside you. Let our first act of justice, peace, and defense of dignity be within the heart of the Church herself.
For if we do not contribute to this better world—if we remain passive, indifferent, or divided—then we must heed a dire warning. The apocalypse is not merely a fantastical end in a distant future. It is the revelation of what we become when we abandon our vocation. A world that persistently chooses death over life, war over peace, bondage over freedom, is not punished by an angry God from afar. It simply reaps the harvest of the seeds it has sown. It becomes a world of cold isolation, of perpetual fear, where trust is impossible and the human person is reduced to a problem, a threat, or a tool. It is a world where the image of God within us grows so dim it is nearly extinguished. This is the true abyss: not fire from heaven, but the inner chill of a humanity that has forgotten it is loved and called to love.
But this Saturday, we remember Our Lady. She heard the direst of prophecies, a sword that would pierce her own soul. Yet, she did not despair. She believed. She said “yes.” And through her “yes,” the Savior entered our history. You, each of you, are being asked for your “yes.” Your yes to life, your yes to peace, your yes to the dignity of every person. Do not be afraid. The Lord is with you. Go forth from this place not with fear, but with the holy conviction that you are an instrument of God’s peace, a defender of His little ones, a bearer of the liberty of the children of God. Build, with your daily actions, the civilization of love. The world is waiting for your “yes.”
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of news that speaks of violence, conflict, and the crushing of human dignity, it is easy to feel overwhelmed and powerless. Yet, the call to build a better world is answered not in a single grand gesture, but in the faithful accumulation of small, daily choices. Our task is to translate our deepest values into practical, worldly action. Here is how we can begin.
Regarding the Sanctity of Life and Justice, when we see protests erupting over the loss of life, our duty is to become builders of a culture that truly honors every person. This starts with a radical commitment to listening. Seek out and listen to the stories of people in your community whose experiences are different from your own, especially those who feel marginalized or unheard. In your daily conversations, refuse to engage in or tolerate dehumanizing language. Support, with your time or resources, local organizations that provide alternatives to violence, such as conflict resolution programs, or that offer direct aid to those caught in cycles of poverty and desperation. Advocate calmly but firmly for policies and leaders who prioritize the protection of all life and the pursuit of restorative justice over mere punishment.
Concerning Peace and Protection of the Vulnerable, as wars rage and advanced weapons strike distant cities, our mission is to become peacemakers in our own sphere and advocates for the displaced. Cultivate peace in your home, your workplace, and your online interactions by being a mediator in conflicts, choosing understanding over accusation. Actively support the vulnerable close to home: visit the isolated elderly, mentor a struggling young person, or offer practical help to a refugee family resettling in your area. On a broader scale, support humanitarian agencies that deliver aid to war zones and educate yourself on the complex roots of conflicts, so you can advocate for diplomatic solutions with informed compassion, rather than with simplistic blame.
For the Defense of Human Dignity and Freedom, when voices are silenced and protesters labeled as vandals, we must become unwavering defenders of intrinsic human worth. This means practicing solidarity. Use your consumer power to support businesses that uphold human rights and fair labor practices. Write letters, through reputable organizations, to support prisoners of conscience across the globe. Most fundamentally, examine your own life: do your daily interactions affirm the dignity of everyone you meet—the cashier, the colleague, the stranger? Defend the right of others to speak their conscience, even when you disagree, and challenge systems or jokes that reduce people to categories, stereotypes, or political pawns.
This work is not dramatic, but it is profound. It is the slow, steady construction of a world more reflective of our shared hope. Begin today, in your own home, on your own street. Let your life be a practical, persistent testament to life, peace, and dignity.
Go in peace.
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