19th Sunday Year C 2025

The night of the first Passover was filled with terror and uncertainty. Yet the Book of Wisdom tells us that God's people believed in their eventual deliverance—they had faith in promises not yet fulfilled, hope in salvation not yet visible. The same night that brought destruction to Egypt brought liberation to Israel. It was a time when light and darkness, despair and hope, existed side by side.

This is the essence of the faith that the letter to the Hebrews celebrates: "the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen." Abraham left everything familiar, trusting a promise he would never fully see realised in his lifetime. He looked for a place in which he could freely live his faith in God, yet he died still searching and still believing.

How achingly familiar this must sound to those working for peace today. In Gaza's rubble and Ukraine's scarred cities, in refugee camps and negotiation rooms, peace-builders foster Abraham's kind of faith. They plant olive trees knowing they may never taste the fruit, tend wounds while bombs still fall, speak of tomorrow's healing while today's grief is still raw.

We do well to remember Jesus warning in Luke's Gospel: "From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required." Those blessed with freedom, safety, and voice bear a particular responsibility. We cannot simply tend our own gardens while the world burns. The servant, who knew his master's will but did nothing, faces the harshest judgment.

Yet Christ also whispers, "Do not be afraid, little flock." This is not naive optimism but resurrection hope—the deep conviction that love is stronger than death, that light conquers darkness, that the arc of the universe bends toward justice, even when we cannot see it bending.

The Israelites in Egypt held onto the promises made by God in their darkest hour. Abraham walked by faith, not by sight. Jesus wants us to be faithful stewards of the gifts we've received. Jesus wishes us to be people who work for peace not because victory is guaranteed, but because it is right. To tend the wounded not because healing is certain, but because love demands it.

In a world that often rewards cynicism, peace-builders embody a different wisdom. They believe that every small act of reconciliation matters, that every prayer for our enemies counts, that every gesture towards understanding builds the kind of city Abraham envisaged: a place where God's justice and peace fills the air one breaths.

The night may be long, but morning comes. Keep faith!

by Fr. Thomas O'Brien