The readings today sound like the evening news:
empires rising and falling, nations trembling, earthquakes, plagues, fear.
But they’re not there to frighten us — they’re there to remind us that
God’s Kingdom alone stands forever.

King Nebuchadnezzar dreams of a great statue — dazzling, strong, terrifying.
Its head is gold, its chest silver, its belly bronze, its legs iron, and its feet a mix of iron and clay.
A mighty image of human power.

Then, in the dream, a small stone — uncut by human hands — strikes the statue’s feet.
The whole thing collapses into dust and blows away like chaff in the wind.
But that little stone grows and becomes a mountain that fills the whole earth.

Daniel interprets it:
the statue represents the kingdoms of men — Babylon, Persia, Greece, Rome —
each powerful for a time, but each destined to crumble.
The stone that destroys them is the Kingdom of God,
which begins quietly, almost invisibly,
but grows until it fills the world.

And that, brothers and sisters, is what the Church is.
We are that small stone,
cut not by human hands,
built not on human power,
but on divine grace.

Empires fall.
Kingdoms come and go.
But the Gospel never dies.

History proves Daniel right.
The mighty empires of the world — Egypt, Babylon, Rome, the British Empire, Soviet Russia —
they all thought they would last forever.
Today they’re museum exhibits.

And yet, the Church of Christ still stands —
founded by a carpenter’s son, spread by fishermen, sustained by martyrs,
still proclaiming the same truth:
Christ is King.

The Church has been persecuted, mocked, divided, misunderstood —
but never destroyed.
Because her foundation is not in politics, money, or numbers,
but in the living God who said,

“The gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

That’s why we should never panic when the world shakes.
The faith may be tested, but it cannot be erased.
The stone cut by no human hand is still rolling through history.

In the Gospel, Jesus looks at the magnificent Temple in Jerusalem.
The disciples admire its beauty — the stones, the jewels, the offerings.
And Jesus says something shocking:

“The days will come when not one stone will be left upon another.”

And He was right.
Within a generation, the Temple was destroyed by Rome.
But what seemed like tragedy was actually transition:
from the old Temple made of stone
to the new Temple made of living hearts — the Church.

God allows what is temporary to fall
so that what is eternal can rise.

We all have “temples” in our lives —
things we think will last forever: success, comfort, health, certainty.
And when they collapse, it feels like the end of the world.
But Jesus says:

“Do not be terrified. These things must happen first.”

When the world trembles,
the believer stands — not because we are strong,
but because our foundation is Christ, not clay.

We are living in our own age of shaking —
faith under pressure, morality under attack, truth traded for noise.
The temptation is fear or cynicism.
But faith says: “This is exactly what Jesus told us to expect.”

So what do we do?
We do what Daniel did: stay faithful in exile.
We do what Jesus said: endure, trust, and keep witnessing.

You don’t stop building God’s Kingdom just because the world looks unstable.
That’s exactly when the world needs it most.

Our task is not to predict history, but to be faithful in it.
To live the Gospel, one day at a time,
so that when everything else shakes, people see that our hope doesn’t.

When Daniel saw the statue crumble, he wasn’t afraid — he worshipped.
He saw what history always hides:
that God, not man, writes the final chapter.

The kingdoms of this world are impressive but temporary.
The Kingdom of God is hidden but eternal.

The cross looked like defeat, but it became a throne.
The Church looks fragile, but she is built on rock.

So today, when you see the world tremble,
remember the dream:
a stone, small and uncut, striking the idols of power,
growing quietly into a mountain that fills the earth.

That’s Christ.
That’s His Church.
And that’s our hope.