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Dear brothers and sisters, good morning!

Today I would like to invite you to reflect on a surprising aspect of Christ's Resurrection: his humility. If we think back to the Gospel accounts, we realize that the risen Lord does nothing spectacular to impose himself on the faith of his disciples. He does not appear surrounded by hosts of angels, he does not perform spectacular feats, he does not deliver solemn speeches to reveal the secrets of the universe. On the contrary, he approaches discreetly, like any other wayfarer, like a hungry man asking to share some bread (cf. Lk 24:15, 41).

Mary Magdalene mistakes him for a gardener (cf. Jn 20:15). The disciples of Emmaus believe him to be a stranger (cf. Lk 24:18). Peter and the other fishermen think he is just a passer-by (cf. Jn 21:4). We would have expected special effects, signs of power, overwhelming evidence. But the Lord does not seek this: he prefers the language of proximity, of normality, of sharing a meal.

Brothers and sisters, there is a valuable message in this: the Resurrection is not a theatrical coup; it is a silent transformation that fills every human gesture with meaning. The risen Jesus eats a piece of fish in front of his disciples: this is not a marginal detail, it is confirmation that our body, our history, our relationships are not a shell to be thrown away. They are destined for the fullness of life. Resurrection does not mean becoming evanescent spirits, but entering into a deeper communion with God and with our brothers and sisters, in a humanity transfigured by love.

In the Pasch of Christ, everything can become grace. Even the most ordinary things: eating, working, waiting, taking care of the house, supporting a friend. The Resurrection does not remove life from time and effort, but changes its meaning and “flavour”. Every gesture performed in gratitude and communion anticipates the Kingdom of God.

However, there is an obstacle that often prevents us from recognizing Christ’s presence in our daily lives: the assumption that joy must be free from suffering. The disciples of Emmaus walk sadly because they hoped for a different ending, for a Messiah who did not know the cross. Although they have heard that the tomb is empty, they cannot smile. But Jesus walks alongside them and patiently helps them understand that pain is not the denial of the promise, but the way through which God has manifested the measure of his love (cf. Lk 24:13-27).

When they are finally seated at the table with him and break bread, their eyes are opened. They realize that their hearts were already burning, even though they did not know it (cf. Lk 24:28-32). This is the greatest surprise: to discover that beneath the ashes of disenchantment and weariness there is always a living ember, waiting only to be rekindled.

Brothers and sisters, Christ’s resurrection teaches us that no history is so marked by disappointment or sin that it cannot be visited by hope. No fall is definitive, no night is eternal, no wound is destined to remain open forever. However distant, lost or unworthy we may feel, there is no distance that can extinguish the unfailing power of God’s love.

Sometimes we think that the Lord comes to visit us only in moments of contemplation or spiritual fervour, when we feel worthy, when our lives appear orderly and bright. Instead, the Risen One is close to us precisely in the darkest places: in our failures, in our frayed relationships, in the daily struggles that weigh on our shoulders, in the doubts that discourage us. Nothing that we are, no fragment of our existence, is foreign to him.

Today, the risen Lord walks alongside each of us, as we travel our paths – those of work and commitment, but also those of suffering and loneliness – and with infinite delicacy asks us to let him warm our hearts. He does not impose himself loudly; he does not demand to be recognized immediately. He waits patiently for the moment when our eyes will open to see his friendly face, capable of transforming disappointment into hopeful expectation, sadness into gratitude, resignation into hope.

The Risen One desires only to manifest his presence, to become our companion on the road and to kindle in us the certainty that his life is stronger than any death. Let us then ask for the grace to recognize his humble and discreet presence, not to expect a life without trials, to discover that every pain, if inhabited by love, can become a place of communion.

And so, like the disciples of Emmaus, we too return to our homes with hearts burning with joy. A simple joy that does not erase wounds, but illuminates them. A joy that comes from the certainty that the Lord is alive, walks with us, and gives us the possibility to start again at every moment.

I extend a warm welcome to the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors taking part in today’s Audience, especially those coming from Australia, Denmark, England, India, Indonesia, Ireland, Japan, Malaysia, Nigeria, Northern Ireland, Norway, the Philippines, Saudi Arabia, Scotland, South Africa, South Korea, Sweden, Vietnam, Wales and the United States of America. In greeting with particular affection the religious and consecrated who are participating in the Jubilee of Consecrated Life, I encourage you to look to the Blessed Virgin Mary who is “the sublime model of consecration to the Father, union with the Son and openness to the Spirit” (Vita consecrata, 28). God bless you all!

Lastly, my thoughts turn to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. I invite everyone to turn our thoughts to Mary, invoked in this month of October as Queen of the Holy Rosary; look to her and be ready to respond to the plan of love that God has for each one of you. My blessing to you all!

08.10.25

Dear brothers and sisters,

Before praying the Angelus together, I would like to greet and thank all of you who have taken part in this Jubilee celebration dedicated to missionaries and migrants.  You are good missionaries because you came even in the rain!  Thank you.  The Church is entirely missionary and is one great people journeying towards the Kingdom of God.  Today, our missionary and migrant brothers and sisters remind us of this.  But no one should be forced to flee, nor exploited or mistreated because of their situation as foreigners or people in need!  Human dignity must always come first.

I greet all the pilgrims present, especially those from the Diocese of Pavia, led by their Bishop, as well as the faithful, including some young people from Bethlehem, who are carrying the statue of Our Lady of Revelation.

On the evening of Tuesday, 30 September, a strong earthquake struck the central region of the Philippines, particularly the province of Cebu and its neighboring provinces.  I express my closeness to the dear Filipino people, and in particular I pray for those who are most severely affected by the consequences of the earthquake.  Faced with any danger, let us remain united and supportive in our trust in God and in the intercession of our Blessed Mother.

I express my concern about the rise of antisemitic hatred in the world, as unfortunately we saw with the terrorist attack in Manchester a few days ago.  I continue to be saddened by the immense suffering of the Palestinian people in Gaza.

In recent hours, in the dramatic situation in the Middle East, some significant steps forward have been taken in peace negotiations, which I hope will achieve the desired results as soon as possible.  I ask all those in positions of responsibility to commit themselves to this path, to bring about a ceasefire and to release the hostages.  At the same time, I urge everyone to remain united in prayer, so that the ongoing efforts may put an end to the war and lead us towards a just and lasting peace.

Let us join ourselves spiritually with those gathered at the Shrine in Pompeii for the Supplication to the Virgin of the Holy Rosary.  In this month of October, as we contemplate with Mary the mysteries of Christ our Savior, let us deepen our prayer for peace: a prayer that becomes concrete solidarity with those people tormented by war.  Thank you to the many children around the world who have committed themselves to praying the Rosary for this intention.  You have our heartfelt thanks!

05.10.25 a

Dear brothers and sisters,

Today we celebrate the Jubilee of the Missions and of Migrants.  This is a wonderful opportunity to rekindle in ourselves the awareness of our missionary vocation, which arises from the desire to bring the joy and consolation of the Gospel to everyone, especially those who are experiencing difficult and painful situations.  In particular, I think of our migrant brothers and sisters, who have had to depart their homelands, often leaving their loved ones behind, enduring nights of fear and loneliness, experiencing discrimination and violence firsthand.

We are here because, at the tomb of the Apostle Peter, each one of us should be able to say with joy: the entire Church is missionary, and it is urgent – as Pope Francis affirmed – that we “go forth and preach the Gospel to all: to all places, on all occasions, without hesitation, reluctance or fear” (Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, 23).

The Spirit sends us to continue the work of Christ in the world’s peripheries, marked at times by war, injustice and suffering.  Faced with these menacing situations, the cry that so often in history has been raised up to God has re-emerged: Lord, why do you not intervene?  Why do you seem absent? This cry of sorrow is a form of prayer that pervades all of Scripture and, this morning, we heard it from the prophet Habakkuk: “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? … Why do you make me see wrongs and look upon trouble?” (Hab 1:2-3).

Pope Benedict XVI, who had reflected on these questions during his historic visit to Auschwitz, returned to the theme in a catechesis, affirming: “God is silent and this silence pierces the soul of the person praying, who ceaselessly calls but receives no answer … God seems so distant, so forgetful, so absent” (Catechesis, 14 September 2011).

The response of the Lord, however, opens us to hope.  If the prophet denounces the inescapable force of evil that seems to prevail, the Lord, for his part, announces to him that all of this will end, will cease, because salvation will come and it will not delay: “Look at the proud!  Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faith” (Hab 2:4).

Therefore, there is life, a new possibility of life and salvation that comes from faith, because it not only helps us to resist evil and to persevere in doing good, but it transforms our lives so as to make of them an instrument of the salvation that even today God wishes to bring about in the world.  And, as Jesus says in the Gospel, this is about a lowly strength, for faith does not impose itself by means of power and in extraordinary ways.  Indeed, it is enough to have faith the size of a mustard seed in order to do unimaginable things (cf. Lk 17:6), because it carries within it the strength of God’s love that opens the way to salvation.

This is a salvation that is fulfilled when we take responsibility and, with the compassion of the Gospel, care for the suffering of others; it is a salvation that leads the way, silently and apparently without success, in daily words and actions, which become precisely like the tiny seed of which Jesus speaks; it is a salvation that slowly grows when we become “unworthy servants”, namely when we place ourselves at the service of the Gospel and of our brothers and sisters, not seeking our own interests but only bringing God’s love to the world.

Trusting in this, we are called to renew in ourselves the fire of our missionary vocation.  As Saint Paul VI affirmed, “it is our responsibility to proclaim the Gospel in this extraordinary period of human history, a time truly without precedent, in which, at the heights of progress never before reached, there are also accompanying depths of perplexity and desperation equally without precedent” (Message for World Mission Day, 25 June 1971).

Brothers and sisters, today a new missionary age opens up in the history of the Church.

If for a long time we have associated with mission the word “depart”, the going out to distant lands that did not know the Gospel or were experiencing poverty, today the frontiers of the missions are no longer geographical, because poverty, suffering and the desire for a greater hope have made their way to us.  The story of so many of our migrant brothers and sisters bears witnesses to this: the tragedy of their flight from violence, the suffering which accompanies it, the fear of not succeeding, the perilous risk of traveling along the coastline, their cry of sorrow and desperation.  Brothers and sisters, those boats which hope to catch sight of a safe port, and those eyes filled with anguish and hope seeking to reach the shore, cannot and must not find the coldness of indifference or the stigma of discrimination!

Mission is not so much about “departing”, but instead “remaining” in order to proclaim Christ through hospitality and welcome, compassion and solidarity.  We are to remain without fleeing to the comforts of our individualism; to remain so as to look upon those who arrive from lands that are distant and violent; to remain and open our arms and hearts to them, welcoming them as brothers and sisters, and being for them a presence of consolation and hope.

There are many missionary men and women, but also believers and people of good will, who work in the service of migrants, and promote a new culture of fraternity on the theme of migration, beyond stereotypes and prejudices.  But this precious service involves each one of us, within the limits of our own means.  As Pope Francis affirmed, this is the time for all of us to let ourselves be “permanently in a state of mission” (Evangelii Guadium, 25).

This entails at least two important missionary tasks: missionary cooperation and missionary vocation.

First of all, I ask you to promote a renewed missionary cooperation among the Churches.  In the communities of ancient Christian tradition, such as those of the West, the presence of many brothers and sisters from the world’s South should be welcomed as an opportunity, through an exchange that renews the face of the Church and sustains a Christianity that is more open, more alive and more dynamic.  At the same time, all missionaries that depart for other lands are called to live with respect within the culture they encounter, directing to the good all that is found true and worthy, and bringing there the prophetic message of the Gospel.

I would like to recall the beauty and importance of missionary vocations.  I refer in particular to the Church in Europe: today there is a need for a new missionary effort by laity, religious and priests who will offer their service in missionary lands.  We need new ideas and vocational experiences capable of sustaining this desire, especially in young people.

Beloved friends, I willingly give my blessing to the local clergy of the particular Churches, to missionaries and those discerning a vocation.  Whereas, to migrants I say: know that you are always welcome!  The seas and deserts that you have crossed, Scripture calls “places of salvation”, in which God makes himself present to save his people.  I hope that you find this face of God in the missionaries that you encounter.

I entrust all of you to the intercession of Mary, the first of her Son’s missionaries, who went in haste to the hill country of Judea, carrying Jesus in her womb and putting herself at the service of Elizabeth.  May Mary sustain us, so that each of us can become co-workers for the Kingdom of Christ, the Kingdom of love, justice and peace.

05.10.25 m

Dear brothers and sisters, good morning!

The centre of our faith and the heart of our hope are firmly rooted in the resurrection of Christ. When we read the Gospels carefully, we realize that this mystery is surprising not only because a man – the Son of God – rose from the dead, but also because of the way he decided to do so. Indeed, Jesus’ resurrection is not a bombastic triumph, nor is it revenge or retaliation against his enemies. It is a wonderful testimony to how love is capable of rising again after a great defeat in order to continue its unstoppable journey.

When we get up again after a trauma caused by others, often the first reaction is anger, the desire to make someone pay for what we have suffered. The Risen One does not react in this way. When he emerges from the underworld of death, Jesus does not take revenge. He does not return with gestures of power, but rather with meekness he manifests the joy of a love greater than any wound and stronger than any betrayal.

The Risen One does not feel any need to reiterate or affirm his own superiority. He appears to his friends – the disciples – and he does so with extreme discretion, without forcing the pace of their capacity for acceptance. His only desire is to return to communion with them, helping them to overcome the sense of guilt. We see this very well in the Upper Room, where the Lord appears to his friends who are enclosed in fear. It is a moment that expresses extraordinary power: Jesus, after descending into the abysses of death to liberate those who were imprisoned there, enters the closed room of those who are paralyzed by fear, bringing them a gift that no-one would have dared to hope for: peace.

His greeting is simple, almost ordinary: “Peace be with you!” (Jn 20:19). But it is accompanied by a gesture so beautiful that it is almost disconcerting: Jesus shows the disciples his hands and his side, with the marks of the passion. Why show his wounds to those who, in those dramatic hours, had denied and abandoned him? Why not hide those signs of pain and avoid reopening the wound of shame?

Yet, the Gospel says that, seeing the Lord, the disciples rejoiced (cf. Jn 20:20). The reason is profound: Jesus is now fully reconciled with everything he has suffered. There is not a shadow of resentment. The wounds serve not to reproach, but to confirm a love stronger than any infidelity. They are the proof that, even in the moment of our failure, God did not retreat. He did not give up on us.

In this way, the Lord shows himself to be naked and defenceless. He does not demand, he does not hold us to ransom. His is a love that does not humiliate; it is the peace of one who has suffered for love and can now finally affirm that it was worthwhile.

Instead, we often mask our wounds out of pride, or for fear of appearing weak. We say, “it doesn’t matter”, “it is all in the past”, but we are not truly at peace with the betrayals that have wounded us. At times we prefer to hide our effort to forgive so as not to appear vulnerable and to risk suffering again. Jesus does not. He offers his wounds as a guarantee of forgiveness. And he shows that the Resurrection is not the erasure of the past, but its transfiguration into a hope of mercy.

Then, the Lord repeats: “Peace be with you!”. And he adds, “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you” (v. 21). With these words, he entrusts the apostles with a task that is not so much a power as a responsibility: to be instruments of reconciliation in the world. As if he said: “Who will be able to proclaim the merciful face of the Father, if not you, who have experienced failure and forgiveness?”.

Jesus breathes on them and gives them the Holy Spirit (v. 22). It is the same Spirit who sustained him in obedience to the Father and in love even to the cross. From that moment, the apostles will no longer be able to remain silent about what they have seen and heard: that God forgives, lifts up, and restores trust.

This is the heart of the mission of the Church: not to administer power over others, but to communicate the joy of those who are loved precisely when they did not deserve it. It is the strength that gave rise to the Christian communities and made them grow: men and women who discovered the beauty of returning to life to be able to give it to others.

Dear brothers and sisters, we too are sent. The Lord shows us his wounds and says: Peace be with you. Do not be afraid to show your wounds healed by mercy. Do not be afraid to draw close to those who are trapped in fear or guilt. May the breath of the Spirit make us, too, witnesses of this peace and this love that is stronger than any defeat.

I am saddened by the news coming from Madagascar, about the violent clashes between the police and young demonstrators, which have caused the death of some of them and a hundred injured. Let us pray to the Lord that every form of violence may always be avoided, and that the constant search for social harmony through the promotion of justice and the common good may be fostered.

I greet the English speaking pilgrims and visitors taking part in today’s audience, in particular the groups from England, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Denmark, the Netherlands, Norway, Australia, New Zealand, Cambodia, Hong Kong, India, Indonesia, Japan, Lebanon, Malaysia, the Philippines, Taiwan, Tanzania, Vietnam, Canada and the United States of America. 

My special greeting goes to the Seminarians from the Pontifical Irish College, who are beginning their studies, and to the diaconate class of the Pontifical North American College, together with their families and friends. 

As we begin the month dedicated to the holy Rosary, I invite you to pray it daily for peace in our world. May the peace of the risen Christ be with you all! God bless you.

Lastly, my thoughts turn to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. Today we remember Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, Doctor of the Church and patroness of the missions. May her example encourage each one to follow Jesus on the journey of life, bearing joyful witness to the Gospel everywhere.

My blessing to you all!

01.10.25

Dear brothers and sisters,

I send warm greetings to all those who have participated in this Jubilee celebration dedicated to catechists, especially those who have been instituted today for this ministry. Together with you, I extend my good wishes for a fruitful service to all catechists in the Church throughout the world! Thank you for your service to the Church. Let us pray for them, especially for those who work in difficult conditions. God bless you all!

In recent days, a very powerful typhoon has struck several Asian territories, in particular the Philippines, the island of Taiwan, the city of Hong Kong, the Guangdong region and Vietnam. I assure the affected populations, especially the poorest, of my closeness and of my prayers for the victims, the missing, the many displaced families, the countless people who have suffered hardship, as well as the rescue workers and civil authorities. I invite everyone to put their trust in God and to show solidarity with others. May the Lord give strength and courage to overcome every adversity.

I am pleased to announce that on November 1, during the Jubilee of the World of Education, I will confer the title of Doctor of the Church on Saint John Henry Newman, who contributed decisively to the renewal of theology and to the understanding of the development of Christian doctrine.

Let us now entrust ourselves to the intercession of the Virgin Mary. May she, who was the mother and first disciple of Jesus, sustain the Church’s commitment to proclaim the faith today.

28.09.25 a

Dear brothers and sisters,

The words of Jesus convey to us how God sees the world, at every moment and in every place.  We heard in the Gospel (Lk 16:19-31) that his eyes observe a poor man and a rich man: seeing one dying of hunger and the other gorging himself in front of him, the elegant clothes of one and the sores of the other licked by dogs (cf. Lk 16:19-21).  But the Lord looks into the hearts of people, and through his eyes, we can also recognize one who is in need and one who is indifferent.  Lazarus is forgotten by the one right there before him, just beyond the doorway of his house, and yet God is close to him and remembers his name.  On the other hand, the man who lives in abundance is nameless, because he has lost himself by forgetting his neighbor.  He is lost in the thoughts of his heart: full of things and empty of love.  His possessions do not make him a good person.

The story that Christ tells us is, unfortunately, very relevant today.  At the doorstep of today’s opulence stands the misery of entire peoples, ravaged by war and exploitation.  Through the centuries, nothing seems to have changed: how many Lazaruses die before the greed that forgets justice, before profits that trample on charity, and before riches that are blind to the pain of the poor!  Yet the Gospel assures us that Lazarus’ sufferings will come to an end.  His pains end just as the rich man’s revelry ends, and God does justice to both: “The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s side.  The rich man also died and was buried” (v. 22).  The Church tirelessly proclaims this word of the Lord, so that it may convert our hearts.

Dear friends, by a remarkable coincidence, this same Gospel passage was also proclaimed during the Jubilee of Catechists in the Holy Year of Mercy.  Addressing pilgrims who had come to Rome for the occasion, Pope Francis emphasized that God redeems the world from all evil by giving his life for our salvation.  God’s saving work is the beginning of our mission because it invites us to give of ourselves for the good of all.  The Pope said to the catechists: this is the center by “which everything revolves, this beating heart which gives life to everything is the Paschal proclamation, the first proclamation: the Lord Jesus is risen, the Lord Jesus loves you, and he has given his life for you; risen and alive, he is close to you and waits for you every day” (Homily, 25 September 2016).  These words help us to reflect on the dialogue in the Gospel between the rich man and Abraham.  The rich man’s plea to save his brothers becomes a call to action for us.

Speaking with Abraham, the rich man exclaims: “If someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent” (Lk 16:30).  Abraham replies: “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead” (v. 31).  Well, one has risen from the dead: Jesus Christ.  The words of Scripture, therefore, do not seek to disappoint or discourage us, but to awaken our conscience.  Listening to Moses and the Prophets means remembering God’s commandments and promises, whose providence never abandons anyone.  The Gospel announces to us that everyone’s life can change because Christ rose from the dead.  This event is the truth that saves us; therefore, it must be known and proclaimed.  But that is not enough; it must be loved.  It is love that leads us to understand the Gospel, for love transforms us by opening our hearts to the word of God and to the face of our neighbor.

In this regard, as catechists you are those disciples of Jesus who become his witnesses.  The name of your ministry comes from the Greek verb katēchein, which means “to teach aloud, to make resound.”  This means that the catechist is a person of the word – a word that he or she pronounces with his or her own life.  Thus, our first catechists are our parents: those who first spoke to us and taught us to speak.  Just as we learned our mother tongue, so too the proclamation of the faith cannot be delegated to someone else; it happens where we live, above of all in our homes, around the family table.  When there is a voice, a gesture, a face that leads to Christ, the family experiences the beauty of the Gospel.

We have all been taught to believe through the witness of those who believed before us.  From childhood, adolescence, youth, adulthood, and even old age, catechists accompany us in our faith, sharing in this lifelong journey, similar to what you have done in these days on this Jubilee pilgrimage.  This dynamic involves the whole Church.  As the People of God brings men and women to faith, “the understanding of the realities and the words which have been handed down [grows]. This happens through the contemplation and study made by believers, who treasure these things in their hearts (see Luke, 2:19, 51) through a penetrating understanding of the spiritual realities which they experience, and through the preaching of those who have received through Episcopal succession the sure gift of truth” (Dei Verbum, 18 November 1965, 8).  In this communion, the Catechism is the “travel guidebook” that protects us from individualism and discord, because it attests to the faith of the entire Catholic Church.  Every believer cooperates in her pastoral work by listening to questions, sharing in struggles, and serving the desire for justice and truth that dwells in the human conscience.

This is how catechists teach – literally in Italian, by “leaving a mark.”  When we teach the faith, we do not merely give instructions, but we place the word of life in hearts, so that it may bear the fruits of a good life.  To Deacon Deogratias, who asked him how to be a good catechist, Saint Augustine replied: “Explain everything in such a way that the one who listens to you, by listening may believe; by believing may hope; and by hoping may love” (Instructing Beginners in Faith, 4, 8).

Dear brothers and sisters, let us take this invitation to heart!  Let us remember that no one can give what they do not have.  If the rich man in the Gospel had shown charity to Lazarus, he would have done good not only for the poor man but also for himself.  If that nameless man had faith, God would have saved him from all torment. But his attachment to worldly riches robbed him of the hope for the true and eternal good.  When we too are tempted by greed and indifference, the many “Lazaruses” of today remind us of Jesus’ words.  They serve as an effective catechesis for us, especially during this Jubilee, which is for all a time of conversion and forgiveness, of commitment to justice, and of sincere search for peace.

28.09.25 m

Dear brothers and sisters, good morning!

Today, again, we will look at the mystery of Holy Saturday. It is the day of the Paschal Mystery in which everything seems immobile and silent, while in reality an invisible action of salvation is being fulfilled: Christ descends into the realm of the dead to bring the news of the Resurrection to all those who were in the darkness and in the shadow of death.

This event, which the liturgy and tradition have handed down to us, represents the most profound and radical gesture of God’s love for humanity. Indeed, it is not enough to say or to believe that Jesus died for us: it is necessary to recognize that the fidelity of his love sought us out where we ourselves were lost, where only the power of a light capable of penetrating the realm of darkness can reach.

The underworld, in the biblical conception, is not so much a place as an existential condition: that condition in which life is depleted, and pain, solitude, guilt and separation from God and others reign. Christ reaches us even in this abyss, passing through the gates of this realm of darkness. He enters, so to speak, in the very house of death, to empty it, to free its inhabitants, taking them by the hand one by one. It is the humility of a God who does not stop in front of our sin, who is not afraid when faced with the human being’s extreme rejection.

The apostle Peter, in the brief passage from his first Letter that we have just heard, tells us that Jesus, made alive in the Holy Spirit, went to take the news of salvation even “to the spirits in prison” (1Pt 3:19). It is one of the most moving images, which is expressed not in the canonical Gospels, but in an apocryphal text entitled the Gospel of Nicodemus. According to this tradition, the Son of God entered the deepest darkness to reach even the last of his brothers and sisters, to bring his light down there too. In this gesture there is all the strength and tenderness of the Paschal message: death is never the last word.

Dear friends, this descent of Christ does not relate only to the past, but touches the life of every one of us. The underworld is not only the condition of the dead, but also of those who live death as a result of evil and sin. It is also the daily hell of loneliness, shame, abandonment, and the struggle of life. Christ enters into all these dark realities to bear witness to the love of the Father. Not to judge, but to set free. Not to blame, but to save. He does so quietly, on tiptoe, like one who enters a hospital room to offer comfort and help.

The Fathers of the Church, in pages of extraordinary beauty, described this moment as a meeting: that between Christ and Adam. An encounter that is the symbol of all the possible encounters between God and man. The Lord descends where man has hidden out of fear, and calls him by name, takes him by the hand, raises him up, and brings him back to the light. He does so with full authority, but also with infinite gentleness, like a father with the son who fears that he is no longer loved.

In the eastern icons of the Resurrection, Christ is depicted breaking down the doors of the underworld, stretching out his arms and grasping Adam and Eve by the wrists. He does not save only himself; he does not return to life alone, but carries all of humanity with him. This is the true glory of the Risen One: it is the power of love, it is solidarity with a God who does not want to save himself without us, but only with us. A God who does not rise again unless he embraces our miseries and lifts us up to a new life.

Holy Saturday, then, is the day in which heaven visits earth most deeply. It is the time in which every corner of human history is touched by the light of Easter. And if Christ was able to descend all the way own there, nothing can be excluded from his redemption. Not even our nights, not even our oldest faults, not even our broken bonds. There is no past so ruined, no history so compromised that it cannot be touched by mercy.

Dear brothers and sisters, to descend, for God, is not a defeat, but the fulfilment of his love. It is not a failure, but the way by which he shows that no place is too far away, no heart is too closed, no tomb too tightly sealed for his love. This consoles us, this sustains us. And if at times we seem to have hit rock bottom, let us remember: that is the place from which God is able to begin a new creation. A creation made of people lifted up, hearts forgiven, tears dried. Holy Saturday is the silent embrace with which Christ presents all creation to the Father to restore it to his plan of salvation.

Dear brothers and sisters, the month of October is now approaching, and in the Church it is dedicated in a special way to the Holy Rosary. Therefore, I invite everyone, every day of the coming month, to pray the Rosary for peace: personally, in the family, in the community.

In particular, the evening of Saturday 11 October, at 18.00, we will pray it together here in Saint Peter’s Square, during the vigil for the Jubilee of Marian Spirituality, also commemorating the anniversary of the opening of Vatican Council II.

I am happy to welcome this morning the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors, especially those from England, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Denmark, South Africa, Uganda, Australia, New Zealand, Bangladesh, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Qatar, the Philippines, Vietnam, Canada, and the United States of America. With prayerful good wishes that the present Jubilee of Hope may be for you and your families a time of grace and spiritual renewal, I invoke upon you all the joy and the peace of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Lastly, my thoughts turn to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. May friendship with Jesus be a source of joy for you, an inspiring motive for every choice, a comfort in moments of suffering and trial. My blessing to you all!

24.09.25

Dear brothers and sisters, Happy Sunday!

The parable that we hear in today’s Gospel (Lk 16:1-13) makes us reflect on our use of material goods and, in general, how we administer the most precious good of all, our very life.

In the story we see a steward summoned by the rich man for “an accounting” of his management. Here we are presented with an image that conveys something important: we are not the masters of our lives or of the goods we enjoy; everything has been given to us as a gift by the Lord, who has entrusted this to our care, our freedom, and our responsibility. One day we will be called to give an account of how we have managed ourselves, our possessions and the earth’s resources – before both God and humankind, before society, and especially before those who will come after us.

The steward in this parable had, up to this point, sought only his own profit. When the day comes for him to give an account and the position is taken away from him, he has to consider what to do to secure his future. In this difficult situation, he realizes that the accumulation of material goods is not the highest value, for the riches of this world are passing. Then he has a brilliant idea: he calls the debtors and “cuts” their debts, renouncing the portion that would have gone to him. In this way, he loses material wealth but gains friends who will be ready to help and support him.

Taking his cue from the story, Jesus exhorts us: “Make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes” (v. 9).

Indeed, the steward in the parable, even while managing the dishonest wealth of this world, succeeds in finding a way to make friends, leaving behind the solitude of his own selfishness.  How much more, then, must we, who are disciples living in the light of the Gospel, use the goods of this world and our very lives with a view to the true wealth, which is friendship with the Lord and with our brothers and sisters.

Dear friends, the parable invites us to ask ourselves: how are we managing the material goods, the resources of the earth and our very lives that God has entrusted to us? We can follow the way of selfishness, placing wealth above all else and thinking only of ourselves. But this isolates us from others and spreads the poison of competition, which often fuels conflict. Instead, we can recognize everything we have as a gift from God, to be managed and used as an instrument for sharing – to create networks of friendship and solidarity, to work for the common good, and to build a world that is more just, equitable and fraternal.

Let us pray to the Virgin Mary, that she may intercede for us and help us manage well, with justice and responsibility, what the Lord has entrusted to us.

I warmly greet all of you present in Saint Peter’s Square and those connected through the media.

I address, first of all, the representatives of various Catholic associations engaged in works of solidarity with the people of the Gaza Strip. Dear friends, I appreciate your initiative and many others throughout the Church that express closeness to our brothers and sisters who are suffering in that tormented land. Together with you and with the Pastors of the Churches in the Holy Land, I repeat: there is no future based on violence, forced exile, or revenge. The people need peace; those who truly love them work for peace.

I also offer a special remembrance for people suffering from Alzheimer’s and ataxia.

Thank you all, and I wish everyone a blessed Sunday!

21.09.25 a

Dear brothers and sisters,

In our journey of catechesis on Jesus our hope, today we will contemplate the mystery of Holy Saturday. The Son of God lies in the tomb. But this “absence” of his is not emptiness: it is expectation, a restrained fullness, a promise kept in the dark. It is the day of the great silence, in which the sky seems mute and the earth immobile, but it is precisely there that the deepest mystery of the Christian faith is fulfilled.  It is a silence laden with meaning, like the womb of a mother who carries her unborn but already living child.

The body of Jesus, taken down from the cross, is carefully wrapped, as one does with something precious. John the Evangelist tells us that he was buried in a garden, inside “a new tomb where no one had ever been laid” (Jn 19:41). Nothing is left to chance. That garden recalls the lost Eden, the place where God and man were united. And that tomb, never used, speaks of something that has still to happen: it is a threshold, not an end. At the beginning of creation, God planted a garden; now the new creation also begins in a garden: with a closed tomb that will soon be opened. 

Holy Saturday is also a day of rest. According to the Jewish Law, no work is to be done on the seventh day: indeed, after the six days of creation, God rests (cf. Gen 2:2). Now, the Son too, after completing his work of salvation, rests. Not because he is tired, but because he loved up to the very end. There is nothing left to add. This rest is the seal on the completed task; it is the confirmation that what should have been done has truly been accomplished. It is a repose filled with the hidden presence of the Lord.

We struggle to stop and rest. We live as if life were never enough. We rush to produce, to prove ourselves, to keep up. But the Gospel teaches us that knowing how to stop is an act of trust that we must learn to perform. Holy Saturday invites us to discover that life does not always depend on what we do, but also on how we know how to take leave of what we have been able to do.

In the tomb, Jesus, the living Word of the Father, is silent. But it is precisely in that silence that the new life begins to ferment. Like a seed in the ground, like the darkness before dawn. God is not afraid of the passing time, because he is also the God of waiting. Thus, even our “useless” time, that of pauses, emptiness, barren moments, can become the womb of resurrection. Every silence that is welcomed can be the premise of a new Word. Every suspended time can become a time of grace, if we offer it to God.

Jesus, buried in the ground, is the meek face of a God who does not occupy all space. He is the God who lets things be done, who waits, who withdraws to leave us freedom. He is the God who trusts, even when everything seems to be over. And we, on that suspended Sabbath, learn that we do not have to be in a hurry to rise again; first we must stay and welcome the silence, let ourselves be embraced by limitation. At times we seek quick answers, immediate solutions. But God works in depth, in the slow time of trust. The Sabbath of the burial thus becomes the womb from which the strength of an invincible light, that of Easter, can spring forth.

Dear friends, Christian hope is not born in noise, but in the silence of an expectation filled with love. It is not the offspring of euphoria, but of trustful abandonment. The Virgin Mary teaches us this: she embodies this expectation, this trust, this hope. When it seems to us that everything is at a standstill, that life is a blocked road, let us remember Holy Saturday. Even in the tomb, God was preparing the greatest surprise of all. And if we know how to welcome with gratitude what has been, we will discover that, precisely in smallness and silence, God loves to transfigure reality, making all things new with the fidelity of his love. True joy is born of indwelt expectation, of patient faith, of the hope that what has been lived in love will surely rise to eternal life.Dear brothers and sisters,

In our journey of catechesis on Jesus our hope, today we will contemplate the mystery of Holy Saturday. The Son of God lies in the tomb. But this “absence” of his is not emptiness: it is expectation, a restrained fullness, a promise kept in the dark. It is the day of the great silence, in which the sky seems mute and the earth immobile, but it is precisely there that the deepest mystery of the Christian faith is fulfilled.  It is a silence laden with meaning, like the womb of a mother who carries her unborn but already living child.

The body of Jesus, taken down from the cross, is carefully wrapped, as one does with something precious. John the Evangelist tells us that he was buried in a garden, inside “a new tomb where no one had ever been laid” (Jn 19:41). Nothing is left to chance. That garden recalls the lost Eden, the place where God and man were united. And that tomb, never used, speaks of something that has still to happen: it is a threshold, not an end. At the beginning of creation, God planted a garden; now the new creation also begins in a garden: with a closed tomb that will soon be opened. 

Holy Saturday is also a day of rest. According to the Jewish Law, no work is to be done on the seventh day: indeed, after the six days of creation, God rests (cf. Gen 2:2). Now, the Son too, after completing his work of salvation, rests. Not because he is tired, but because he loved up to the very end. There is nothing left to add. This rest is the seal on the completed task; it is the confirmation that what should have been done has truly been accomplished. It is a repose filled with the hidden presence of the Lord.

We struggle to stop and rest. We live as if life were never enough. We rush to produce, to prove ourselves, to keep up. But the Gospel teaches us that knowing how to stop is an act of trust that we must learn to perform. Holy Saturday invites us to discover that life does not always depend on what we do, but also on how we know how to take leave of what we have been able to do.

In the tomb, Jesus, the living Word of the Father, is silent. But it is precisely in that silence that the new life begins to ferment. Like a seed in the ground, like the darkness before dawn. God is not afraid of the passing time, because he is also the God of waiting. Thus, even our “useless” time, that of pauses, emptiness, barren moments, can become the womb of resurrection. Every silence that is welcomed can be the premise of a new Word. Every suspended time can become a time of grace, if we offer it to God.

Jesus, buried in the ground, is the meek face of a God who does not occupy all space. He is the God who lets things be done, who waits, who withdraws to leave us freedom. He is the God who trusts, even when everything seems to be over. And we, on that suspended Sabbath, learn that we do not have to be in a hurry to rise again; first we must stay and welcome the silence, let ourselves be embraced by limitation. At times we seek quick answers, immediate solutions. But God works in depth, in the slow time of trust. The Sabbath of the burial thus becomes the womb from which the strength of an invincible light, that of Easter, can spring forth.

Dear friends, Christian hope is not born in noise, but in the silence of an expectation filled with love. It is not the offspring of euphoria, but of trustful abandonment. The Virgin Mary teaches us this: she embodies this expectation, this trust, this hope. When it seems to us that everything is at a standstill, that life is a blocked road, let us remember Holy Saturday. Even in the tomb, God was preparing the greatest surprise of all. And if we know how to welcome with gratitude what has been, we will discover that, precisely in smallness and silence, God loves to transfigure reality, making all things new with the fidelity of his love. True joy is born of indwelt expectation, of patient faith, of the hope that what has been lived in love will surely rise to eternal life.

I express my profound closeness to the Palestinian people in Gaza, who continue to live in fear and to survive in unacceptable conditions, forcibly displaced – once again – from their own lands.

Before God Almighty, who commanded “Thou shalt not kill”, and in the sight of all of human history, every person always has an inviolable dignity, to be respected and upheld.

I renew my appeal for a ceasefire, the release of hostages, and a negotiated diplomatic solution, fully respecting international humanitarian law.

I invite you all to join in my heartfelt prayer that a dawn of peace and justice may soon arise.

I greet all the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors taking part in today’s Audience, particularly the groups from England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, the Netherlands, Ghana, Kenya, Australia, India, Indonesia, Japan, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Taiwan, Vietnam, Canada and the United States of America. With fervent prayers that the present Jubilee of Hope be a time of grace and spiritual renewal for you and your families, I invoke upon all of you the joy and peace of the Lord Jesus.

Lastly, my thoughts turn to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. Always be faithful to the Gospel ideal, and put it into practice in your daily activities.

And, before concluding, I would like to thank all of you for the good wishes you have expressed on this day of my name day. Thank you very much!

My blessing to you all!

17.09.25

Dear brothers and sisters, Happy Sunday!

Today the Church celebrates the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross, commemorating the discovery of the Cross by Saint Helen in Jerusalem in the fourth century, and the return of the precious relic to the Holy City by the Emperor Heraclius.

But what does celebrating this feast mean for us today? The Gospel reading that the liturgy places before us (cf. Jn 3:13-17) helps us to understand it. The scene unfolds at night: Nicodemus, one of the leaders of the Jews, a righteous and open-minded person (cf. Jn 7:50-51), comes to meet Jesus. He needs light and guidance: he seeks God and asks the Teacher of Nazareth for help because he recognizes him as a prophet, a man who performs extraordinary signs.

The Lord welcomes him, listens to him, and eventually reveals to him that the Son of Man must be lifted up, “so that whoever believes in him may have eternal life” (Jn 3:15), adding: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life” (v. 16). Nicodemus, who perhaps does not fully comprehend the meaning of these words in the moment, will certainly do so when he helps to bury the Savior’s body after the crucifixion (cf. Jn 19:39). It is then that he will understand that God, in order to redeem humanity, became man and died on the cross. 

Jesus speaks of this to Nicodemus, recalling an episode in the Old Testament, when the Israelites were bitten by venomous snakes in the desert and were healed by looking upon the bronze serpent that Moses had fashioned and mounted on a pole in obedience to God’s command (cf. Num 21:4-9).

God saves us by showing himself to us, offering himself as our companion, teacher, doctor, friend, to the point of becoming bread broken for us in the Eucharist. In order to accomplish this task, he used one of the cruelest instruments that human beings have ever invented: the cross.

That is why today we celebrate the “exultation”: for the immense love with which God has transformed the means to death into an instrument of life, embracing it for our salvation, teaching us that nothing can separate us from him (cf. Rom 8:35-39) and that his love is greater than our own sin (cf. Francis, Catechesis, 30 March 2016).

Let us then ask, through the intercession of Mary, the Mother who was present at Calvary near her Son, that the saving love of her Son may take root in us and grow, and that we too may know how to give ourselves to each other, as he gave himself completely to all.

Dear brothers and sisters!

Tomorrow marks the 60th anniversary of the establishment of the Synod of Bishops, a prophetic intuition desired by Saint Paul VI so that Bishops might increase and improve their exercise of communion with the Successor of Peter. It is my hope that this anniversary will inspire a renewed commitment to the unity and mission of the Church. *synodality

Dear friends, it seems that you know that today I turn seventy years old. I give thanks to the Lord and to my parents; and I thank all those who have remembered me in their prayers. Many thanks to everyone! Thank you! Have a good Sunday!

14.09.25 a

Dear brothers and sisters,

Good morning, and thank you for your presence: a beautiful witness!

Today we will contemplate the culmination of Jesus’ life in this world: his death on the cross. The Gospels attest to a very precious detail, which is worthy of contemplation with the intelligence of faith. On the cross, Jesus does not die in silence. He does not fade away gradually, like a light that burns out, but rather he leaves life with a cry: “Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed his last” (Mk 15:37). That cry contains everything: pain, abandonment, faith, offering. It is not only the voice of a body giving way, but the final sign of a life being surrendered.

The cry of Jesus is preceded by a question, one of the most heart-rending that could be uttered: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”. It is the first verse of Psalm 22, but on Jesus’ lips it assumes a singular weight. The Son, who always lived in intimate communion with the Father, now experiences silence, absence, the abyss. It is not a crisis of faith, but the final stage of a love that is given up to the very end. Jesus’ cry is not desperation, but sincerity, truth taken to the limit, trust that endures even when all is silent.

At that moment, the sky darkens and the veil of the temple is torn (cf. Mk 15:33,38). As is as if creation itself was participating in that pain, and at the same time revealing something new. God no longer dwells behind a veil – his face is now fully visible in the Crucified One. It is there, in that broken man, that the greatest love manifests itself. It is there that we can recognize a God who does not remain distant, but who traverses our pain to the very end.

The centurion, a pagan, understands this. Not because he has listened to a speech, but because he saw Jesus die in that way: “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mk 15:39). It is the first confession of faith after the death of Jesus. It is the fruit of a cry that did not vanish in the wind, but touched a heart. At times, what we are unable to say in words, we express with the voice. When the heart is full, it cries. And this is not always a sign of weakness; it can be a profound act of humanity.

We are accustomed to thinking of crying out as something disorderly, to be repressed. The Gospel confers an immense value to our cry, reminding us that it can be an invocation, a protest, a desire, a surrender. It can even be the extreme form of prayer, when there are no words left. In that cry, Jesus gave all that he had left: all his love, all his hope.

Yes, because there is this too, in crying out: a hope that is not resigned. One cries out when one believes that someone can still hear. One cries not out of desperation, but out of desire. Jesus did not cry out against the Father, but to him. Even in silence, he was convinced that the Father was there. And, in this way, he showed us that our hope can cry out, even when all seems lost.

To cry out therefore becomes a spiritual gesture. It is not only the first act of our birth, when we come into the world crying: it is also a way of staying alive. One cries when one suffers, but also when one loves, one calls, one invokes. To cry out is saying who we are, that we do not want to fade away in silence, that we still have something to offer.

In the journey of life, there are moments in which keeping something inside can slowly consume us. Jesus teaches us not to be afraid to cry out, as long as it is sincere, humble, addressed to the Father. A cry is never pointless, if it is born of love. And it is never ignored, if it is delivered to God. It is a way to not give in to cynicism, to continue to believe that another world is possible.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us learn this too from the Lord Jesus: let us learn the cry of hope when the hour of extreme trial comes. Not to hurt, but to entrust ourselves. Not to shout at someone, but to open our hearts. If our cry is genuine, it can be the threshold of a new light, of a new birth. As with Jesus: when everything seemed to be over, in reality salvation was about to begin. If it is made manifest with the trust and freedom of the children of God, the suffering voice of our humanity, united with the voice of Christ, can become a source of hope for us and for those around us.

I am happy to welcome, this morning, the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors, especially those from England, Ireland, Scotland, Denmark, Malta, Norway, Uganda, India, Indonesia, Israel, Malaysia, Singapore, Canada, Dominica and the United States of America. With prayerful good wishes that the present Jubilee of Hope may be for you and your families a time of grace and spiritual renewal, I invoke upon you all the joy and the peace of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Lastly, my thoughts turn to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. I assure each one of you of my prayers: for you young people I ask the Lord for the gift of an ever more mature faith; for you sick, an ever stronger faith and for you newlyweds an ever deeper faith. My blessing to you all!

10.09.25

Dear brothers and sisters,

Before concluding this long-awaited celebration, I would like to greet and thank all of you who have come in such large numbers to celebrate these two new Saints!  I cordially greet the bishops and priests.  I respectfully welcome the official Delegations and distinguished civil Authorities.

In this atmosphere, it is marvellous to recall that yesterday the Church was also enriched by two new Blesseds.  In Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, Jesuit Archbishop Edoardo Profittlich was beatified.  He was killed in 1942 during the Soviet regime’s persecution of the Church.  In Verszprém, Hungary, the young laywoman Maria Maddalena Bódi was beatified.  She was killed in 1945 for resisting soldiers who intended to assault her.  Let us praise the Lord for these two martyrs, courageous witnesses to the beauty of the Gospel!

To the intercession of the Saints and the Virgin Mary, we entrust our unceasing prayer for peace, especially in the Holy Land and Ukraine, and in every other land blood-stained by war.  To those in power, I repeat: listen to the voice of conscience!  The apparent victories achieved with weapons, which sow death and destruction, are in reality defeats and never bring peace or security!  God does not want war, he wants peace, and he strengthens those who are committed to leaving behind the spiral of hatred and taking the path of dialogue.

07.09.25 a

Dear brothers and sisters,

In the first reading, we heard a question: [Lord,] “who has learned your counsel, unless you have given wisdom and sent your holy spirit from on high?” (Wis 9:17).  This question comes after two young Blesseds, Pier Giorgio Frassati and Carlo Acutis, were proclaimed saints, and this is providential because in the Book of Wisdom, this question is attributed to a young man like them: King Solomon.  Upon the death of his father David, he realized that he had many things: power, wealth, health, youth, beauty, and the entire kingdom.  It was precisely this great abundance of resources that raised a question in his heart: “What must I do so that nothing is lost?”  Solomon understood that the only way to find an answer was to ask God for an even greater gift, that of his wisdom, so that he might know God’s plans and follow them faithfully.  He realized, in fact, that only in this way would everything find its place in the Lord’s great plan.  Yes, because the greatest risk in life is to waste it outside of God’s plan.

Jesus, too, in the Gospel, speaks to us of a plan to which we must commit wholeheartedly.  He says: “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:27); and again: “none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions” (v. 33).  He calls us to abandon ourselves without hesitation to the adventure that he offers us, with the intelligence and strength that comes from his Spirit, that we can receive to the extent that we empty ourselves of the things and ideas to which we are attached, in order to listen to his word.

Many young people, over the centuries, have had to face this crossroad in their lives.  Think of Saint Francis of Assisi, like Solomon, he too was young and rich, thirsty for glory and fame.  That is why he went to war, hoping to be knighted and adorned with honors.  But Jesus appeared to him along the way and asked him to reflect on what he was doing.  Coming to his senses, he asked God a simple question: “Lord, what do you want me to do?” (Legend of the Three Companions, cap. II: Fonti Francescane, 1401). From there, he changed his life and began to write a different story: the wonderful story of holiness that we all know, stripping himself of everything to follow the Lord (cf. Lk 14:33), living in poverty and preferring the love of his brothers and sisters, especially the weakest and smallest, to his father’s gold, silver and precious fabrics.

How many similar saints we could recall!  Sometimes we portray them as great figures, forgetting that for them it all began when, while still young, they said “yes” to God and gave themselves to him completely, keeping nothing for themselves.  Saint Augustine recounts that, in the “tortuous and tangled knot” of his life, a voice deep within him said: “I want you” (Confessions, II, 10,18). God gave him a new direction, a new path, a new reason, in which nothing of his life was lost.

In this setting, today we look to Saint Pier Giorgio Frassati and Saint Carlo Acutis: a young man from the early 20th century and a teenager from our own day, both in love with Jesus and ready to give everything for him.

Pier Giorgio encountered the Lord through school and church groups — Catholic Action, the Conferences of Saint Vincent, the FUCI (Italian Catholic University Federation), the Dominican Third Order — and he bore witness to God with his joy of living and of being a Christian in prayer, friendship and charity.  This was so evident that seeing him walking the streets of Turin with carts full of supplies for the poor, his friends renamed him “Frassati Impresa Trasporti” (Frassati Transport Company)! Even today, Pier Giorgio’s life is a beacon for lay spirituality.  For him, faith was not a private devotion, but it was driven by the power of the Gospel and his membership in ecclesial associations.  He was also generously committed to society, contributed to political life and devoted himself ardently to the service of the poor.

Carlo, for his part, encountered Jesus in his family, thanks to his parents, Andrea and Antonia — who are here today with his two siblings, Francesca and Michele — and then at school, and above all in the sacraments celebrated in the parish community.  He grew up naturally integrating prayer, sport, study and charity into his days as a child and young man.

Both Pier Giorgio and Carlo cultivated their love for God and for their brothers and sisters through simple acts, available to everyone: daily Mass, prayer, and especially Eucharistic Adoration.  Carlo used to say: “In front of the sun, you get a tan. In front of the Eucharist, you become a saint!”  And again: “Sadness is looking at yourself; happiness is looking at God.  Conversion is nothing more than shifting your gaze from below to above; a simple movement of the eyes is enough.”  Another essential practice for them was frequent Confession.  Carlo wrote: “The only thing we really have to fear is sin;” and he marveled because — in his own words — “people are so concerned with the beauty of their bodies and do not care about the beauty of their souls.” Finally, both had a great devotion to the saints and to the Virgin Mary, and they practiced charity generously.  Pier Giorgio said: “Around the poor and the sick, I see a light that we do not have” (Nicola Gori, Al prezzo della vita: L’Osservatore romano, 11 February 2021).  He called charity “the foundation of our religion” and, like Carlo, he practiced it above all through small, concrete gestures, often hidden, living what Pope Francis called “a holiness found in our next-door neighbors” (Apostolic Exhortation Gaudete et Exsultate, 7).

Even when illness struck them and cut short their young lives, not even this stopped them nor prevented them from loving, offering themselves to God, blessing him and praying to him for themselves and for everyone.  One day Pier Giorgio said: “The day of my death will be the most beautiful day of my life” (Irene Funghi, I giovani assieme a Frassati: un compagno nei nostri cammini tortuosi: Avvenire, 2 agosto 2025).  In his last photo, which shows him climbing a mountain in the Val di Lanzo, with his face turned towards his goal, he wrote: “Upwards” (Ibid).  Moreover, Carlo, who was even younger than Pier Giorgio, loved to say that heaven has always been waiting for us, and that to love tomorrow is to give the best of our fruit today.

Dear friends, Saints Pier Giorgio Frassati and Carlo Acutis are an invitation to all of us, especially young people, not to squander our lives, but to direct them upwards and make them masterpieces.  They encourage us with their words: “Not I, but God,” as Carlo used to say. And Pier Giorgio: “If you have God at the center of all your actions, then you will reach the end.”  This is the simple but winning formula of their holiness.  It is also the type of witness we are called to follow, in order to enjoy life to the full and meet the Lord in the feast of heaven.

07.09.25 m

Dear brothers and sisters,

At the heart of the account of the Passion, in the most luminous and at the same time darkest moment of Jesus’ life, the Gospel of John gives us two words that contain an immense mystery: “I thirst” (19:28), and immediately afterwards: “It is finished” (19:30). These are his last words, but they are filled with a whole lifetime, revealing the meaning of the entire existence of the Son of God. On the cross, Jesus does not appear as a victorious hero, but as a supplicant for love. He does not proclaim, condemn or defend himself. He humbly asks for what he, alone, cannot give to himself in any way.

The thirst of the Crucified Lord is not only the physiological need of a tortured body. It is also, and above all, the expression of a profound desire: that of love, of relationship, of communion. It is the silent cry of a God who, having wished to share everything of our human condition, also lets himself be overcome by this thirst. A God who is not ashamed to beg for a sip, because in that gesture he tells us that love, in order to be true, must also learn to ask and not only to give.

I thirst, says Jesus, and in this way he manifests his humanity and also ours. None of us can be self-sufficient. No-one can save themselves. Life is “fulfilled” not when we are strong, but when we learn how to receive. It is precisely at that moment, after receiving from unknown hands a sponge soaked in vinegar, that Jesus proclaims: It is finished. Love has made itself needy, and precisely for this reason it has accomplished its work.

This is the Christian paradox: God saves not by doing, but by letting himself do. Not by defeating evil with force, but by accepting the weakness of love to the very end. On the cross, Jesus teaches us that man does not realize himself in power, but in trustful openness to others, even when they are hostile and enemies. Salvation is not found in autonomy, but in humbly recognizing one’s own need and in being able to express it freely.

The fulfilment of our humanity in God’s plan is not an act of strength, but a gesture of trust. Jesus does not save with a dramatic twist, but by asking for something that he cannot give himself. And it is here that the door to true hope opens: if even the Son of God chose not to be self-sufficient, then our thirst too – for love, for meaning, for justice – is a sign not of failure, but of truth.

This truth, seemingly so simple, is difficult to accept. We live in a time that rewards self-sufficiency, efficiency, performance. And yet the Gospel shows us that the measure of our humanity is not given by what we can achieve, but by our ability to let ourselves be loved and, when necessary, even helped.

Jesus saves us by showing us that asking is not unworthy, but liberating. It is the way out of the hiddenness of sin, so as to re-enter the space of communion. Ever since the beginning, sin has begotten shame. But forgiveness – real forgiveness – is born when we can face up to our need and no longer fear rejection.

Jesus’ thirst on the cross is therefore ours too. It is the cry of a wounded humanity that seeks living water. And this thirst does not lead us away from God, but rather unites us with him. If we have the courage to acknowledge it, we can discover that even our fragility is a bridge towards heaven. It is precisely in asking – not in possessing – that a way of freedom opens up, because we cease to pretend to be self-sufficient.

In fraternity, in the simple life, in the art of asking without shame and offering without ulterior motives, a joy is born that the world does not know. A joy that restores us to the original truth of our being: we are creatures made to give and receive love.

Dear brothers and sisters, in Christ’s thirst we can recognize all of our own thirst. And to learn that there is nothing more human, nothing more divine, than being able to say: I need. Let us not be afraid to ask, especially when it seems to us that we do not deserve. Let us not be ashamed to reach out our hand. It is right there, in that humble gesture, that salvation hides.

Dramatic news is coming from Sudan, in particular from Darfur. In El Fasher, many civilians have been trapped in the city, victims of famine and violence. In Tarasin, a devastating mudslide has claimed many lives, leaving pain and desperation in its wake. And, as if that were not enough, the spread of cholera is threatening hundreds of thousands of already stricken people. I am closer than ever to the Sudanese population, in particular families, children and the displaced. I pray for all the victims. I make a heartfelt appeal to leaders and to the international community to guarantee humanitarian corridors and implement a coordinated response to stop this humanitarian catastrophe. It is time to initiate a serious, sincere and inclusive dialogue between the parties to end the conflict and restore hope, dignity and peace to the people of Sudan.

I greet all the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors taking part in today’s Audience, particularly the groups from England, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Austria, Denmark, Malta, the Netherlands, Switzerland, Cameroon, Australia, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Japan, the Philippines, Vietnam and the United States of America. 

I ask all of you to join me in praying for those affected by the recent mudslides in the Marra Mountains of Sudan.  Let us ask the Almighty to grant eternal peace to all who have died, as well as solace and strength to their loved ones.  Even in the midst of such tragedies may we never lose hope in God’s love for us.

Upon all of you and upon your families, I invoke the blessings of Almighty God.

Lastly, my thoughts turn to the young people, the sick and the newlyweds. Today we celebrate the liturgical memorial of St Gregory the Great, whose body rests in St Peter's Basilica. This Pope is called "the great" for his exceptional activity as pastor and teacher of faith in very difficult times for society and the Church: a "greatness" that drew strength from trust in Christ. I hope that each one of you will recognize in the Lord the only true force of existence.

My blessing to you all!

03.09.25