Blessings of peace to all of you, my brothers and sisters, on this Third Sunday of Easter, a day when we celebrate the risen Lord who walks with us, even when we, like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, are slow to recognize His presence in the midst of our world’s turmoil.
We gather today in a world that groans under the weight of division and fear. Just this week, we have seen the Lord’s hatred for violence made manifest in the tragedy of Kyiv, where innocents were killed and held hostage in a place of daily sustenance. The psalmist tells us, “The Lord tests the righteous, but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.” This is not a distant, ancient truth. It is a searing indictment of our present reality, where human life is treated as a commodity to be bargained with or a target to be eliminated. Violence, in all its forms, is a rejection of the God of life, a blasphemy against the Creator who breathed His spirit into each and every one of us.
In the face of such darkness, we are called to be agents of a different reality. We hear of the French peacekeeper who gave his life in southern Lebanon, a man who stood in the breach, seeking to calm the storm of conflict. Our Lord proclaimed, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” This blessing is not a passive wish; it is a vocation, a dangerous and holy calling to step into the chaos, not with weapons of destruction, but with the courageous tools of dialogue, justice, and relentless compassion. This peacemaker now rests in the arms of the Father, but his work remains unfinished. It falls to us. Who will take his place? Who will dare to be a bridge where others build walls?
Yet, even as we strive for this peace, we find our path obscured by another modern affliction: the poison of misinterpretation and the fog of division. We see how words spoken for unity can be twisted to sow further discord, as happened this very week. This should not surprise us. Did not our Lord warn us, “Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves”? We live in an age of wolves, where communication is weaponized, where truth is fragmented, and where the sincere call for justice and human dignity is often distorted to serve political agendas or fuel hatred. This is a profound challenge for the Church, for we are called to speak the truth in love, yet we find our voice drowned out in a cacophony of noise and malice. One of the great trials of our time is this very crisis of communication, where the Gospel is reduced to a soundbite and the Church’s teaching is caricatured before it can even be understood. I call upon every one of you, the faithful, to aid in solving this. Be not only hearers of the Word but communicators of its true spirit. In your families, in your workplaces, on the digital continent, practice the wisdom of the serpent to navigate the complexities, but never, ever surrender the innocence of the dove—the purity of heart that seeks only love and truth.
But let us not dwell only in the shadow of the cross. Let us fix our eyes on the empty tomb. Envision with me, my brothers and sisters, a world transformed by the living Christ working through the hands of good men and women. Imagine a world where the supermarket in Kyiv is only a place of nourishment and community, never a prison of terror. Imagine southern Lebanon, and every place of conflict, not as a graveyard for peacekeepers, but as a garden tended by them, where security blossoms from mutual respect. Imagine a public square where dialogue is not a duel but a sacred search for the common good. This is not a naive dream. This is the Kingdom of God, and it is planted as a seed in the heart of every baptized person. With Jesus’s help, through our humble, persistent works, this seed can grow. We are the workers in His vineyard, and the harvest is a civilization of love.
Yet, the path to that dawn is chosen now. And I must speak with a father’s grave concern for his children. If we, the people of God, do not rise to this moment—if we choose comfort over courage, indifference over engagement, cynicism over hope—then we choose a different future. We risk a spiritual and societal apocalypse, not one of divine wrath, but of our own making. A world where violence becomes the only language, where truth is utterly extinguished, and where the peacemaker is not merely rare, but extinct. We will inhabit a wasteland of our own selfishness, a hell of isolation where the image of God in our neighbor is finally unrecognizable. The darkness will not be overcome by wishing, but by doing.
Therefore, on this Sunday of Resurrection, I implore you: Do not leave this place as you entered. Carry the light of Easter into the shadows of our world. Be a peacemaker in your street. Be a truthful communicator in your conversations. Support those who risk their lives for peace, and demand that leaders pursue it. Live in such a way that the hope of the Resurrection is not a doctrine we confess, but a reality we create.
The Lord tests the righteous. The test is now. Will we be found to be sheep among wolves, wise and innocent, building His Kingdom? Or will we be silent? The world waits for our answer. Let it be one of relentless, active, contagious love.
Amen.
What can we do?
In the face of violence that shatters communities and takes hostages, our practical contribution begins with a commitment to non-violence in our own spheres. This means actively de-escalating conflicts in our daily interactions—with family, colleagues, and strangers. It means refusing to share or endorse violent rhetoric online and in conversation. Support organizations, both local and international, that work in trauma counseling, hostage recovery, and community rebuilding. A practical step is to financially support or volunteer with a group that helps victims of violence rebuild their lives. Cultivate peace in your own heart, so it may overflow into your actions.
When public discourse becomes polarized and words are twisted to create division, we are called to be agents of clarity and charity. Practice discernment. Before sharing a news story or a heated commentary, pause. Verify the source. Seek out the full context, not just the provocative headline. In your own speech, strive for precision and honesty. Avoid exaggeration and labels that dehumanize others. When you see misinterpretation spreading, gently offer a more complete picture, not to "win" an argument, but to serve the truth. Be a patient listener, especially to those with whom you disagree, modeling the thoughtful dialogue our world desperately needs.
The death of a peacekeeper reminds us that the work of building peace is arduous and often dangerous, but it is the only work that endures. We honor such sacrifice by becoming peacemakers in our own right. This is intensely practical. It means mediating a dispute between friends. It means reaching out to bridge a divide in your neighborhood or parish. Support diplomatic and humanitarian efforts through your advocacy and your donations. Teach the next generation, by word and example, that reconciliation is a greater strength than domination. Choose to see the human being behind the opposing viewpoint, political party, or different faith.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do not underestimate the cumulative power of a million daily, quiet acts of integrity, kindness, and courage. The world is healed not by a single grand gesture, but by the steadfast commitment of ordinary people to live justly, love mercy, and walk humbly each day.
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.