Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in the sight of a world that groans, a world that bears the deep wounds of its children. We see these wounds etched in the headlines of our day, and we feel, in our hearts of faith, the echo of that primordial cry: “How long, O Lord?” We are confronted by the specter of violence and injustice, where the sacred breath of life is extinguished in our streets, as it was for Alex Pretti in Minneapolis, and for countless unnamed souls. We witness the persecution of the innocent, where even places of sanctuary, like the church in Kenya, are violated by fear and hatred. We stand helpless before the fury of creation itself, as our brothers and sisters in Mozambique cling to treetops, their lives upended by floods, their present sufferings an overwhelming tide.
To these agonies, the world often offers only the cold arithmetic of blame, the fleeting distraction of news cycles, or the paralysis of despair. But we, the People of God, are called to offer something else. We are called to offer the living witness of hope—not a naive hope that ignores the darkness, but the defiant hope that knows this darkness does not have the final word. As Saint Paul assures us, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” This is not a promise of a painless present, but the revelation of a magnificent horizon. It is the promise that every act of love, every stand for justice, every hand extended in rescue, is a particle of that future glory breaking into our present darkness.
Envision, if you will, the world Christ dreams for us. See it with the eyes of your soul. See a city street where the command of the Psalm is lived: “Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.” See communities where the strong protect the vulnerable, where systems are shaped by mercy, and where every life is regarded with an awe that prevents its destruction. See a global family where no one is persecuted for righteousness, where, as the Lord proclaimed, those who stand for truth are blessed, not targeted. See a planet where humanity, in wise stewardship, cares for our common home, mitigating suffering, and where, in disaster, the first and lasting response is a global chorus of compassion, as seen in the rescue teams from Brazil, South Africa, and the UK rushing to Mozambique. This is not a utopian fantasy. This is the Kingdom of God, seeded among us, waiting for our hands to cultivate it.
This cultivation requires a Church that is vibrant, united, and bold. Yet, one of the great trials we face in this modern time is a creeping spiritual isolation, a fragmentation where the faith becomes a private comfort rather than a public force. We see it in the loneliness of the individual believer, disconnected from community, and in the timidity of communities, hesitant to engage a complex world. We combat this not by retreat, but by a profound recommitment to communion—with Christ and with one another. Like Saints Timothy and Titus, bishops appointed to build up and strengthen the early Church, we are all called to be builders of community. I call upon every faithful soul here and across the world: be an architect of encounter. Reach out to the lonely in your parish. Invite, include, and inspire. Make our parishes not fortresses, but field hospitals and launchpads for mercy. Your active love is the mortar that will repair the cracks in our spiritual home.
For if we do not rise to this vocation—if we choose comfort over courage, indifference over engagement—then we must heed a dire warning. The apocalypse we risk is not one of divine vengeance, but of human abdication. It is a world where the cry of the weak is met with permanent silence. It is a world where the persecuted are abandoned, their blessing forgotten in the dust of their suffering. It is a world where natural calamities are compounded by human selfishness, leaving our brothers and sisters to perish not only by water, but by our neglect. This is the path we choose if we remain passive: a descent into a colder, crueler, more isolated darkness, where the image of God in each person is systematically obscured.
But this is not our destiny! We are children of the light. The problems of this age—the violence, the persecution, the suffering—are vast, but they are not greater than the collective power of a humanity animated by Christ’s love. They will be solved, not by miraculous intervention from the clouds, but through the steadfast workings of good men and women like you, filled with the Holy Spirit. You are the answer to the Psalmist’s plea. You are the hands that rescue the needy. You are the voice that blesses the persecuted. You are the hope that comforts those who suffer.
Therefore, go forth from this place with a holy urgency. Let the suffering of the world break your heart open, not paralyze you. In your families, be peacemakers. In your workplaces, be advocates for justice. With your resources, be defenders of the poor. With your voice, be a blessing to the oppressed. Build a Church so radiant with communion that it draws all people into its circle of love.
The present sufferings are real, my dear brothers and sisters. But the future glory is more real still. It begins today. It begins with you. Let us build it together.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of violence and injustice, our first practical step is to become a person of attentive compassion. When you see conflict, do not look away. If it is safe, be the one who calls for help, who stays with a person in distress, or who records an incident to ensure accountability. More broadly, support and volunteer with local organizations that provide legal aid, mentorship for at-risk youth, or support for victims of violence. In your daily interactions, refuse to participate in or tolerate gossip, slander, or jokes that dehumanize others. Choose to see the inherent dignity in every person you meet, especially those who are marginalized.
When we hear of the persecution of the innocent, our role is to be a voice and a shield. This means educating ourselves on the plight of political prisoners, religious minorities, and human rights defenders both abroad and within our own communities. Use your consumer power to support ethical companies and avoid those that profit from oppression. Write respectful letters to your political representatives, urging them to prioritize human rights in foreign policy and domestic law. Most importantly, create circles of safety and belonging around those in your own community who may feel isolated or targeted because of their beliefs, ethnicity, or background. A simple, steadfast friendship is a powerful antidote to persecution.
Confronted by suffering from natural disasters, our call is to practical solidarity. Prepare your own household so you are not a burden in a crisis, and then extend your capability to others. Keep basic emergency supplies and learn first aid. Donate financially to reputable, on-the-ground relief agencies that provide immediate food, water, and medical care—these funds are almost always the most useful contribution from afar. In the longer term, support disaster resilience by contributing to organizations that help communities rebuild stronger homes and infrastructure. In your daily life, make conscious choices that care for our common home: reduce waste, conserve resources, and advocate for policies that address the environmental challenges that often intensify such disasters.
Our faith is made real not only in prayer, but in these tangible actions. Start small, within your own sphere of influence—your family, your workplace, your neighborhood. Let your compassion be intelligent, directed, and persistent. By weaving justice, protection, and solidarity into the fabric of our ordinary days, we participate in the healing of the world.
Go in peace.
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