Blessings of peace, and the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in a world that groans, a world that cries out for the healing touch of its Creator. We look upon the face of our time and see fractures: fractures in the bonds of human fraternity, fractures in the understanding of human dignity, and fractures even in our own spiritual focus. Yet, we are not a people of despair. We are an Easter people, and “Alleluia” is our song, for we know that with Christ, and through the cooperation of good men and women, no wound is too deep to heal, no chasm too wide to bridge.
First, we look upon the terrible fracture of war. The news that reaches us speaks of a profound desecration, not only of land, but of the human soul. We hear of soldiers, children of God, forced into unspeakable acts, and of commanders who have forgotten that every life they command is a sacred trust, a unique reflection of the Divine. This is not strategy; this is a failure of humanity. It is the opposite of the beatitude proclaimed by our Lord: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” To be a child of God is to resemble the Father, and our Father is a God of life, not of death; a God of reconciliation, not of endless vendetta. Envision, if you will, a world where this beatitude is lived. It is a world where the immense resources poured into weapons are redirected to plowshares, to medicines, to schools. It is a world where diplomats, activists, and ordinary citizens of courage work with the perseverance of Christ to build understanding, to demand accountability, and to bind up the wounds of hatred. This is the work of peacemakers. This is our call.
This call is rooted in the foundational truth of the Sanctity of Life. The commandment “You shall not murder” echoes from Sinai not merely as a prohibition, but as a glorious affirmation. It declares that every human person, from conception to natural death, is willed, is known, and is loved by God. When we see this sanctity violated on a battlefield, we must also see it violated in the quiet despair of a soul who sees no way out. The tragic loss of a life to the hidden battle of mental illness is a profound sorrow. It reveals a world that often fails to surround the suffering with the “great cloud of witnesses” mentioned in the Letter to the Hebrews—a cloud of supportive community, compassionate care, and relentless hope. To venerate life is to build a society that does not discard the vulnerable, whether they are the unborn, the elderly, the refugee, or the one battling invisible demons in the mind. It is to say with our actions: your life has immeasurable worth. Envision a world where no one suffers in isolation, where the healing ministry of the Church reaches every darkened corner of the human heart, and where every person is upheld as a treasure.
This leads us to consider the nature of true Religious Veneration. We are blessed to have the witness of the saints, those who have run the race before us. The public veneration of a saint’s relics, such as those of Saint Francis of Assisi, is not a gaze backward into nostalgia. It is a potent reminder. Francis threw off everything—wealth, status, comfort—to run with perseverance the race marked out for him: a race of radical poverty, profound peace, and tender care for all of God’s creation. To venerate him is to be challenged by him. Do our lives reflect that same single-minded pursuit of the Gospel? Or has our veneration become comfortable, a matter of ritual without transformation? Here, I must speak of a general problem that weakens our witness in the modern world: the scandal of division within the Body of Christ itself. Our quarrels, our factions, our failure to embody the unity for which Christ prayed, are a stumbling block to a world desperate for authentic community. We cannot credibly preach peace to nations if we are at war within our own household of faith. We cannot fully testify to the sanctity of life if we wound the Body of Christ through gossip, judgment, and exclusion.
Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, the call of this moment is urgent. We are called to be the peacemakers in a culture of conflict. We are called to be the defenders of life in a culture of disposal. We are called to be the united, persevering witnesses in a culture of fragmentation.
Envision with me the world that awaits if we answer this call. See a generation of children who know war only from history books. See communities where the despairing are met with a loving embrace and expert care. See a Church whose radiant unity draws all people to the love of the Father. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, breaking through, as we cooperate with His grace.
But hear now a warning, spoken not in anger, but in the anguish of a father for his children. If we choose indifference—if we hear the cry of the Ukrainian soil and do not pray and work for peace; if we see the crisis of mental anguish and turn away; if we enjoy the comforts of our faith while neglecting its demanding unity—then we choose a different path. We will become architects of a spiritual apocalypse. A world without active peacemakers descends into perpetual, consuming violence. A world that does not hold life sacred becomes a cold, utilitarian machine, grinding the weak into dust. A Church that is divided in itself will collapse in upon itself, its light extinguished, leaving a world in deeper darkness. The chaos we fear will not come from outside; it will be the harvest of the seeds of apathy we sow today.
The choice is ours. On this day, when the Lenten journey calls us to repentance and renewal, let us not merely give up chocolates, but let us take up the cross of courageous action. Let us pray for peace, then advocate for it. Let us affirm life, then personally accompany the troubled. Let us venerate the saints, then imitate their fiery love. Let us heal the divisions in our own parishes and hearts.
The Lord does not ask us to succeed by the world’s measure. He asks us to be faithful. He asks us to work, to hope, and to love, trusting that He will bring the increase. Let us go forth from this place not as passive spectators to a fracturing world, but as active, joyful, and united builders of the civilization of love.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of war and violence, our practical contribution is to become builders of peace in our own spheres. This means actively refusing to dehumanize others in our conversations, whether speaking of world leaders, soldiers, or entire nations. Seek out and support reliable journalism that reports on conflict with nuance and compassion, not just sensationalism. In your daily interactions, be the one who disarms tension with a kind word, who listens more than they argue, and who models respectful dialogue, especially with those who hold different views. Support humanitarian organizations providing aid to all victims of conflict, remembering that suffering knows no borders.
Regarding the sanctity of every life, we are called to a profound and practical reverence. This means educating ourselves about mental health, breaking the stigma by speaking of it with compassion, and checking in sincerely on friends and family who may be struggling. Support local organizations that provide crisis intervention and mental health services. In daily life, practice a kindness that acknowledges the inherent dignity in every person you meet—the cashier, the stranger on the bus, the colleague who seems withdrawn. Your simple, consistent respect can be a lifeline that reminds others they are not invisible or alone.
The veneration of holy witnesses is not about distant admiration, but about drawing inspiration for our own race. Let the example of those who lived for peace, service, and joy move you to concrete action. Identify one "weight" that hinders you—perhaps cynicism, comfort, or indifference—and consciously set it aside. Then, choose one "race" to run: a consistent commitment to volunteer at a shelter, to reduce your consumption for the sake of creation, or to patiently mentor someone in need. Let the legacy of the saints compel you not to pilgrimage, but to perseverance in your own ordinary, daily acts of love.
Start precisely where you are. The world's healing begins not with a grand plan, but with a million small, faithful choices in homes, streets, and communities. Choose one of these paths today and walk it with quiet determination.
Go in peace.
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