Blessings of peace, and the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today, in this sacred space, as a family bound by a love that the world did not give and cannot take away. Yet, we do not gather to hide from the world. We gather to confront it with the light of Christ, a light that reveals both profound beauty and terrifying shadows. Our news, our very hearts, are heavy with the weight of these shadows. We hear echoes of the Lord’s words, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,” in the courageous, suffering witness of our brothers and sisters who, like the Iranian laureate Narges Mohammadi, are beaten and imprisoned for daring to speak truth to power. Their bodies, temples of dignity, are desecrated by chains, just as we recoil in horror at the desecration of the earthly temples of the deceased in Colorado—a violation that screams a denial of the sacred truth that our bodies are not our own; we were bought at a price. And our hearts cry out with the Psalmist, “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord!” even as we weep for those slain in the courts of the Lord in Pakistan, where a place of prayer became a place of bloodshed.
This is the cacophony of our modern world: a simultaneous yearning for God and a violent rejection of His image in the human person. It is a world where human dignity is treated as disposable, where faith is met with fire, and where the body, destined for resurrection, is treated with ultimate contempt. We look upon this and may feel a temptation to despair, to retreat into a private piety, to believe the forces of darkness are too great.
But I say to you, this is the very hour for which our faith has prepared us! We are not spectators to an apocalyptic script already written. We are, by the grace of God, the co-authors of the next chapter. God’s providence works through human hands. Imagine, my dear friends, envision with the eyes of faith, a world transformed by the relentless, humble application of Christian love. Imagine a world where the persecution of the righteous does not silence the truth but multiplies the voices that speak it, where networks of the faithful span the globe to protect, advocate for, and amplify those who suffer for justice. See in your mind a culture where every human body, in life and in death, is treated with the reverence due to a temple, where our laws, our healthcare, our funeral rites all proclaim the inherent, inviolable dignity of the person from conception to natural death. Envision a planet where every mosque, synagogue, church, and temple stands not as a target, but as a beacon of peace, where interfaith friendship is so strong that an attack on one house of prayer is felt as a wound by all, and met with a unified chorus of prayer and solidarity.
This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, breaking through, if we consent to be its instruments. Jesus does not wave a celestial wand to solve these problems. He stretches out His wounded hands through our hands. He comforts the persecuted through our advocacy. He protects the dignity of the dead through our reverence. He heals the wounds of religious hatred through our outstretched arms of fellowship.
Yet, to be effective instruments in the world, we must also have the courage to look within. One of the great problems that hinders our voice, that dampens the light we are to cast, is the scandal of division within the Christian family itself. Our own house is too often divided. How can we preach reconciliation to a fractured world when we ourselves are fractured? How can we be a credible sign of unity in Christ when disagreements, rivalries, and historical wounds keep us from a common table? This internal division is a wound in the Body of Christ, and it weakens our prophetic witness. I call upon every one of the faithful here and across the globe: let us make the quest for Christian unity a personal and communal priority. Not a unity of bland agreement, but a unity of essential love and shared mission. Pray for your separated brothers and sisters. Seek them out in dialogue and common charity. Let our work for justice and human dignity be a field where we labor side-by-side, so the world may look and say, “See how they love one another.”
For if we do not act—if we choose comfort over courage, silence over solidarity, division over unity—then we must heed a dire warning. The path we are on leads not to a technological paradise, but to a spiritual wasteland. A world that persistently desecrates human dignity will eventually forget what a human being is, reducing life to a commodity and persons to problems. A world that meets faith with violence will descend into a cycle of unending vendetta, where God’s name is buried beneath mountains of wrath. A world where the Church is preoccupied with its own internal strife will have nothing to offer a thirsting humanity but the echo of its own arguments. This is the true apocalypse: not fire from heaven, but the cold, slow death of love, the extinguishing of hope, the acceptance of a global culture of death and disrespect. This is the future we choose by our inaction.
But this is not our destiny! We are people of the Resurrection. We are people of the Empty Tomb. The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead is alive in you, in me, in this gathering. Let us leave this place, then, not merely comforted, but commissioned. Let us be defenders of the persecuted, guardians of human dignity in all its stages, and builders of bridges between all peoples of faith. Let us heal the divisions within our own family, so that our light may shine undimmed. Let us do this not with the grim face of duty alone, but with the joyful heart of those who know the ending of the story: that love is stronger than death, that light drives out darkness, and that with Jesus’s help, working through our willing hands and courageous hearts, a better world is not only possible—it is promised.
Amen.
What can we do?
When we see news of persecution, where individuals are imprisoned or harmed for their beliefs or their stand for justice, our first practical response is to become a voice for the voiceless. This does not require a grand platform. It means choosing to be informed about such cases from reliable sources. It means, when safe and appropriate, speaking their names in our conversations, writing to elected representatives urging diplomatic pressure for their release, or supporting, even with small donations, the reputable international organizations that monitor human rights and provide direct aid to political prisoners and their families. Our solidarity is a practical light in their darkness.
Confronted with the profound desecration of human dignity, such as the abuse of the deceased, we are called to reaffirm the sacredness of every person in our own spheres. Practically, this begins with how we treat the living. It means rejecting gossip and language that reduces people to objects. It means offering kindness and patience to the cashier, the stranger, the difficult colleague—seeing the inherent worth in them. It can extend to supporting local hospice care, volunteering with organizations that serve the isolated elderly, or simply ensuring our own interactions—online and offline—are respectful and lift others up. We honor the dignity of all by how we honor the person in front of us.
In the face of violence targeting places of worship, our task is to actively build bridges and defend the right of all to worship in peace. This work is local and relational. Make a point to learn about a faith tradition different from your own, not from headlines, but by accepting an invitation to a community meal or public lecture. Greet your neighbors of other faiths. Support or initiate local interfaith councils that work for community harmony and can issue swift condemnations of hatred. If an incident occurs, reach out to that community with a message of solidarity; your presence at a vigil or a letter from your community to theirs is a powerful, practical rebuke to the violence meant to divide.
These are not distant acts for others to do. They are the daily, practical choices that weave a fabric of resilience, respect, and peace. Start with one conscious action today.
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.