Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, gathered here in this sacred space and joining us from across the world on this quiet Saturday, a day for reflection and preparation for the Lord’s Day.
We gather as a family of faith, but we cannot gather in ignorance of the cries of our wider human family. The world presents us with a tapestry woven with threads of immense beauty and heartbreaking sorrow. Today, we must look with clear eyes upon some of the darkest patterns in that tapestry, not to succumb to despair, but to understand the mission Christ places before us.
We hear the echo of the Lord’s words, “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,” and we see them made flesh in the suffering of our brothers and sisters. Just days ago, in a village in Nigeria, the peace of the Lord’s Day was shattered by violence. Churches, places of sanctuary and prayer, became places of terror. The cry, “Blood was all over,” is a cry that pierces the heart of the universal Church. It is a stark reminder that for so many, to profess faith in Christ is to walk a path shadowed by the cross. This is not a distant news item; this is the lived reality of members of our one Body. Their persecution is our persecution; their steadfastness is a challenge to our own often comfortable faith.
We turn our gaze to where the God-given dignity of the human person is systematically denied. The words of Saint Paul ring out with divine truth: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Yet, in our world, this fundamental unity is shattered. We see it in the oppression of women, created equally in the image and likeness of God, whose rights to education, to safety, to full participation in society are stripped away. The recent detention of a young female athlete for the simple act of seeking physical well-being is a symbol of a great and global sickness—a refusal to see the face of God in half of humanity. When we silence the voices and shackle the potential of women, we cripple the entire human family and rebel against the Creator’s design.
And what of those hidden from sight, those in the darkness of prisons? The Lord identifies with them profoundly: “I was in prison and you came to visit me.” This is not merely a call to charity, but a radical statement of identity. Christ is present in the captive, the tortured, the forgotten. The horrific testimonies emerging from secret prisons, where sons vanish from their mothers for months, where human beings are treated as less than human, are a direct affront to the Incarnation. They represent a failure to recognize that every person, regardless of guilt or innocence, retains an inviolable dignity that no lock or chain can remove. To abuse the prisoner is to abuse Christ Himself.
My brothers and sisters, faced with this triad of anguish—persecution, oppression, and the degradation of human dignity—we might be tempted to turn away, overwhelmed. We might retreat into a private spirituality. But a faith that does not engage with this suffering is a faith asleep. The Lord did not give us the spirit of timidity, but of power, and love, and self-control.
Let us, on this Saturday, envision a different world. Imagine a world where, through the workings of good men and women animated by the grace of Jesus Christ, these wounds are healed. See with the eyes of faith a world where the persecuted Church is not alone, but surrounded by a global chorus of advocacy and practical support. Envision societies where women and men walk side-by-side, their complementary gifts flourishing for the common good, where daughters are as valued as sons. Picture justice systems that seek true rehabilitation, where prisons respect the inherent worth of every soul, and the visit to the captive is a common duty of mercy. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, for which we are commanded to work and pray. It begins when one person chooses courage over complacency, when one community chooses solidarity over indifference.
Yet, within our own holy Church, we face a profound challenge that weakens our voice and our witness in addressing these global crises. It is the scandal of division—the bitter fractures between traditional and progressive, between clergy and laity, between cultures and continents within our one Catholic faith. We spend our energy in internal disputes while the world burns. We cannot credibly preach reconciliation to a fractured world if we are a house divided. I call upon every one of the faithful—from the cardinals to the catechumens—to become relentless artisans of unity. Listen to one another with humility. Seek communion before being proven right. Let our shared love for Christ and His suffering children be the bridge over our disagreements. The world does not need our arguments; it desperately needs our united, compassionate heart.
For if we do not act—if we remain passive in the face of persecution, silent before oppression, and blind to hidden suffering—then we must heed a dire warning. A world that chooses persecution over righteousness, oppression over equality, and cruelty over dignity is not a world moving forward, but a world constructing its own apocalypse. It is a world building a tower of Babel on a foundation of sand, a civilization that will collapse under the weight of its own injustice. The chaos, the violence, the despair we see in seeds today will grow into a forest of darkness that will engulf our children. The choice is stark: we build the Culture of Life, or we will be consumed by a culture of death.
But this is not our destiny. We are an Easter people. The Resurrection is our promise that love is stronger than hate, light conquers darkness, and life triumphs over death. Let us leave this place not as passive listeners, but as active disciples. Let the cry of the persecuted Nigerian Christian, the silenced Afghan woman, and the abused Yemeni prisoner become the imperative of your daily life. Pray, yes. But also advocate, educate, donate, and volunteer. Let your voice be heard in the public square. Let your choices in the marketplace support human dignity. Let your parish be a beacon of both unity and justice.
On this day, we can recall the gentle perseverance of Saint Francis de Sales, who taught that the call to holiness and to change the world begins not with grand gestures, but with cultivating a deep, personal love for God that manifests in patience and charity towards all. Let us begin there, and allow that love to propel us into the world as healers, peacemakers, and unshakeable witnesses to the dignity of every human life.
The Lord is with us. He is our help. Let us go forth, and with His grace, rebuild this wounded world.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of such profound challenges, the question can feel overwhelming. Yet, the path forward is built not by a single grand gesture, but by the steady accumulation of small, deliberate actions in our daily lives. Our faith calls us not to despair, but to practical, persistent engagement. Here is how we can begin.
Regarding the persecution of our brothers and sisters, our first duty is to refuse indifference. Make it a daily or weekly practice to seek out reliable news from organizations that report on religious freedom. When you read a story, such as the horrific abduction in Nigeria, do not simply close the tab. Use that moment of sorrow to act. Write a brief, respectful email to your elected representative, asking them to prioritize religious freedom in foreign policy. Financially support a reputable Catholic or ecumenical charity that provides direct aid to persecuted communities, whether for legal aid, trauma counseling, or rebuilding. In your own parish, advocate for including these intentions explicitly in the Prayers of the Faithful, ensuring the community remembers those who suffer for their faith.
Confronting the oppression of women's rights requires us to examine our own circles of influence. Support women-led businesses and initiatives in your community. Mentor a young woman, formally or informally, affirming her dignity and potential. In conversations, challenge stereotypes and language that diminish the full humanity of women. Educate yourself on the systemic barriers women face, both globally and locally, perhaps by reading a book or listening to a podcast by a female author from a different culture. Then, use your consumer power: support companies with ethical supply chains and fair labor practices that uplift women, and avoid those complicit in oppression. Your choices as a citizen, consumer, and community member send ripples into the wider world.
To uphold human dignity in the face of prison abuse and detention, we must become advocates for the invisible. Research and support organizations, both secular and faith-based, that provide independent prison monitoring, legal representation for detainees, and support for their families. The story from Yemen reminds us that families are victims, too. If such an organization exists locally, consider volunteering to write letters of encouragement to prisoners or to assist families visiting loved ones. Cultivate a habit of writing to companies and investment funds, urging them to divest from or avoid contracts with entities linked to human rights abuses in detention. In your own heart, practice seeing the inherent dignity in every person, especially those society has cast out; this interior shift is the foundation of all exterior action.
These are not abstract ideas, but concrete tasks. Start with one. Choose the cause that stirs your heart most deeply, and take one small step this week. Then another next week. We build a better world by the faithful, daily work of seeing, remembering, and acting.
Go in peace.
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