Homily at the Mass for Migrants and Refugees

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

Today’s liturgical readings invite us to reflect on faith: not faith that is grand or triumphant, but faith that is little, humble, persevering, like the mustard seed. Faith like that of Prophet Habakkuk in the First Reading, crying out to God amid violence. Faith like that of Saint Paul in the Second Reading, enduring chains and persecution with courage from the Holy Spirit. Faith like that of the Apostles in the Gospel, who ask, “Lord, increase our faith.”

We have just heard the cry of Prophet Habakkuk, which is painfully familiar to all of us: “How long, O Lord? I cry for help, but you do not listen! I cry out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not intervene”. His anguish is not merely an ancient lament. It is the sigh of humanity even in our own time: it is the whispered prayer of a mother on a crowded boat, the sob of the refugee trudging through desert lands, the restless plea of families torn apart by war, injustice, and crushing poverty. Habakkuk’s protest is not unbelief, but faith that dares to wrestle with the silence of God.

Here we discover an important path of biblical faith: it does not drown out the cry of the poor, but rather elevates it as prayer before God. We learn from the Prophet Habakkuk that faith is the humble admission that we human beings, who often cause destruction, are also limited in our capacity to repair it. Faith is to continue imploring God who alone saves and who alone can draw us out of the very ruins that we ourselves have wrought. 

Saint Paul writes, before his martyrdom, his final letter to Timothy from prison. Despite his captivity, Saint Paul’s faith remains unshaken and proclaims: “God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but of power and love and self-control.” Here we have a glimpse of the essence of martyria, that is witness, which lies at the heart of Christian discipleship. To follow Jesus is to endure hardship in His name, to bear our share of the cross, not with bitterness but with fortitude, trusting willingly in the Holy Spirit’s transforming power. Authentic faith confesses Christ with courage, even in chains. 

The Holy Father, Pope Leo XIV, in his Message for this annual commemoration of the World Day of Migrants and Refugees, reminds us that their courage and tenacity “bear heroic testimony to a faith that sees beyond what our eyes can see and gives them the strength to defy death on the various contemporary migration routes.” Let us think for a while of those who walk for days, who pass long cold nights, who wait in endless lines at checkpoints, and yet remain clinging to God and hoping in the humanity of those who receive them. Their suffering itself becomes a witness, a testimony, not spoken in words but revealed in resilience; for when the cross is carried with hope, it is transformed into a living proclamation that God our Father walks with His children and will never abandon them. 

In the Gospel, Saint Luke reports to us that the Apostles plead with Jesus to increase their faith. Perhaps they expected Jesus to give them more miracles, more authority, more power. However, Jesus says something surprising: “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, ’Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” The first hearers of Jesus already knew the mulberry tree for its deep and stubborn root system, which made it almost impossible to uproot. Yet Jesus tells the Apostles that even the tiniest faith can uproot it and “plant it in the sea”. This sounds all the more absurd because we know that mulberry trees do not take root in salt water. We naturally ask ourselves, “Why, then, does Jesus teach us that a mustard-seed faith can move the immovable and plant where none can be planted?” Because Jesus wants us to understand that the power to accomplish the impossible is not in us, but in God. Faith, however small, is powerful because it rests in God’s hands, not ours. It is not about having “more”, as the Apostles might have expected, but about being small, humble, lowly. To increase in faith is to embrace littleness. It is precisely little faith that makes room for the greatness of God: only God can truly come to the aid of the often-desperate situation of so many migrants, and stir the hearts of men and women of good will to serve, with steadfast love and dedication, these brothers and sisters in their shared humanity. 

In the second part of the Gospel, Jesus reinforces this teaching on faith with a lesson on humility. Jesus offers us the image of a servant who, after working in the fields, returns home only to continue serving his master. At the time of Jesus, the master had every right to do this. It was not cruelty, but expectation: the servant owed his master complete availability, and the master felt no obligation to reward what was already required.

This reminds us that before God we stand in a similar relationship: not as masters of our own merit, but as beggars of grace, for everything we have is His gift. This is why the disciple, even after much labor in the vineyard of the Lord, must say, “We are unprofitable servants; we have done what we were obliged to do.” Such words do not diminish us, but they free us. In accepting this posture of humility, we open ourselves to God’s generosity. When we serve our brothers and sisters with humility, without seeking entitlement to recognition or privilege, the Lord himself becomes our recompense. 

To all of us who are able to engage in the noble mission of serving migrants, refugees, and displaced persons, we remind ourselves that genuine service in this field is rarely met with applause, nor should such desire dwell within us. More often it is a hidden, demanding, and costly service. And yet, it is precisely in this humble contribution that God’s Word comes alive. To confess ourselves as unworthy servants is not to belittle our mission, but to root it in faith and allow it to bear fruit in love. For in the end, it is the Lord who walks with His pilgrim people, and it is He who can make our engagement bear fruit. 

Finally, let us entrust all migrants and refugees, and those who work tirelessly to accompany them, to the maternal protection of the Virgin Mary, Comfort of Migrants. May she keep hope alive in their hearts and strengthen them in their faith for the journey to the Kingdom of God, our true homeland.