Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters.
We gather today in a world that groans under the weight of its own contradictions. We possess technologies that connect us across continents in an instant, yet we witness a profound disconnection of the human heart. We have built systems of immense complexity, yet we have forgotten the simple, sacred architecture of a soul at peace with God and neighbor. The readings of our time, the headlines that scream from our devices, are not merely news; they are a spiritual diagnosis, a mirror held up to a humanity that has, in so many ways, lost its way.
Consider the city of Culiacán, where the very streets have become a war zone. The psalmist cries out to us across the centuries: “Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.” Yet what do we pursue? We pursue power, control, profit, vengeance. We pursue the false peace of the conqueror, which is merely the silence of the terrified. This violence is not a distant problem; it is the logical end of a culture that glorifies domination, that commodifies human life, that sows fear as a tool of governance. When we accept a world where children learn to duck from gunfire as they once learned to recite prayers, we have already surrendered a part of our own humanity. This insecurity is a spiritual malady, a direct result of turning from the God of peace.
And where there is violence, there is always persecution. The murder of Marielle Franco, a voice for the marginalized, echoes the ancient beatitude: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness.” Her light was extinguished by the shadows of corruption and hatred. How many more lights are being smothered? How many voices for justice are silenced by threats, by imprisonment, by the cold calculus of political power? To witness such injustice and remain indifferent is to become complicit. The Church stands with the persecuted, for we follow a persecuted Lord. When we see a brother or sister struck down for speaking truth, we must see the face of Christ in the dirt.
Yet, my brothers and sisters, we must also look with profound sorrow upon the confusion within the human heart itself. We live in an age that calls evil good and good evil. We see laws proposed not to protect human dignity, but to codify a profound misunderstanding of it. When we speak of the human person, we speak of a creation “fearfully and wonderfully made” by God, with a nature and a purpose inscribed in our very bodies and souls. To reject this created order, to call what is disordered a right, is to build our house upon sand. It leads not to liberation, but to a deeper captivity—a captivity to the self, isolated from the loving design of the Father. This is the “due penalty” of error Saint Paul describes: the inner emptiness and fragmentation that follows when we exile ourselves from the truth of who we are.
I speak these words not to condemn the world, but because I love it. I believe in its redemption. For we are not without hope. We are not without a Savior.
Envision, if you will, the world Christ calls us to build. Imagine Culiacán, not as a war zone, but as a garden of peace, where young men trade weapons for tools, and the pursuit of justice replaces the pursuit of territory. Imagine a Brazil, and every nation, where the murder of a righteous person becomes an unthinkable aberration, because the structures of society are so infused with respect for life that corruption cannot take root. Imagine a global community where every person is welcomed, loved, and guided with pastoral patience toward the fullness of their God-given identity, where law is a teacher of virtue, not an instrument of fear.
This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, and it is built by the hands of good men and women animated by Jesus Christ. It is built by the police officer who protects with courage and mercy. It is built by the journalist who exposes corruption at great personal risk. It is built by the teacher who forms young hearts in truth and beauty. It is built by the parent who prays with a child terrified by the news. It is built by you, in your parish, in your home, in your workplace. The Lord does not work miracles from clouds; He works them through our hands, our voices, our choices to “turn from evil and do good.”
Yet, the Church herself, this vessel of hope, faces a great trial in our time. We suffer from a cancer of clericalism and a culture of secrecy that has allowed the unthinkable—the abuse of the little ones—to fester in darkness. This sin has shattered trust, wounded souls, and obscured the radiant face of Christ from those who most need to see it. I call upon every one of you, the faithful People of God, to aid in solving this. Demand transparency. Support survivors. Pray fervently for purification. And above all, live with such integrity, such humble service, and such clear love for the vulnerable that you become the living antidote to this poison. The Church is not a fortress of the perfect; it is a field hospital for sinners. We must heal our own wounds to credibly heal the world.
For if we do not act—if we hear these words and feel a passing sadness before returning to our comforts—then hear a dire warning. A world that chooses violence over peace, injustice over righteousness, and confusion over truth is not a world that simply stagnates. It dies. It unravels. The war zones will expand. The corrupt will rule without challenge. The human person will become a commodity to be used and discarded, and the very concept of the sacred will be erased. We will have built not a civilization of love, but a sophisticated barbarism, a glittering hell of our own making. This is the apocalypse not of God’s wrath, but of our own collective surrender to the darkness.
But this is not our destiny! We are children of the light. On this day, when the Lenten journey calls us to repentance and renewal, let us choose a different path. Let us be the generation that sought peace and pursued it relentlessly. Let us be the voices for the persecuted. Let us be the witnesses to the beautiful, challenging truth of human love. Let us cleanse our own house with tears and resolve. Let us go forth from this place not as passive spectators to a dying world, but as artisans of a new one, with the Gospel as our blueprint and Jesus Christ as our cornerstone.
For with Him, all things are possible.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of widespread violence and insecurity, our contribution begins in the sphere of our own influence. We can consciously refuse to glorify violence in our entertainment and conversations. We can support businesses and community initiatives that offer young people alternatives to gangs and crime, such as sports programs or vocational training. Practically, this might mean donating to or volunteering with organizations that work in prevention and rehabilitation. In our daily interactions, we can be peacemakers—calming heated arguments, refusing to spread rumors, and treating everyone with a dignity that disarms hostility.
When confronted with persecution and injustice, our task is to become witnesses and allies. This means educating ourselves about cases of injustice, both locally and globally, from a place of truth-seeking rather than hearsay. We can use our voices responsibly on social media to amplify the stories of the marginalized and oppressed, always prioritizing facts over outrage. Support can be practical: writing letters of solidarity to political prisoners, financially contributing to legal defense funds for the unjustly accused, or simply standing beside a colleague who is being unfairly treated. Justice is built by countless small acts of courageous integrity.
Regarding societal shifts in morality and law, our primary practical action is to live with profound personal integrity and charity. We must ensure our own homes and hearts are places of authentic love, respect, and virtue. In the public square, we engage through reasoned and compassionate dialogue, advocating for the common good and the protection of the vulnerable, always respecting the inherent dignity of every person, even in profound disagreement. We support families, which are the fundamental building blocks of society, by offering practical help to neighbors, mentoring young couples, or creating communities where people are valued for who they are, not what they do.
Our faith is made real through hands and feet. Start in your home, extend to your street, then to your community. Choose one concrete action this week that aligns your daily life with the peace and justice you wish to see in the world.
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.