Let us allow Mary to guide us... - AI Image
Dear friend,
As May begins, I cannot help but think of what happened just over a hundred years ago in Fatima. I am sure you know the story, yet allow me to recall it with you.
It begins like an ordinary day. The sun stands high over the Cova da Iria, the countryside is quiet, and three children walk slowly, watching their small flock. Lucia, the oldest, is 10; beside her are her cousins Francisco and Jacinta, 9 and 7, bound by the closeness of those who share games and dreams. Nothing seems unusual, and yet that morning of May 13, 1917, quietly opens a page of history no one could have imagined.
Then something happens. A sudden light – not a flash that frightens, but a brightness that draws the heart. The children stop, sensing that something beyond their understanding is unfolding. Among the branches of a small holm oak stands a luminous presence, gentle yet authoritative. There are no complicated words, no dramatic gestures – only a quiet voice inviting them to pray, to return to God, and not to be afraid.
When everything fades, the landscape looks the same – the wind, the earth, the sky – yet nothing is the same. The three little shepherds know they have encountered Heaven.
At first, no one believes them. Their words are met with doubt and questioning. Yet they return month after month, faithful to a call stronger than their fears.
On October 13, before a vast crowd, something happens that many never forget: the sun seems to dance in the sky, sealing a journey begun months earlier in the silence of the fields. It is the final encounter. Mary leaves a message both simple and demanding: keep praying, turn back to God, build peace.
Within a few years, Francisco and Jacinta, marked by illness, leave this world still children, and Lucia carries the memory of those encounters for the rest of her life. Meanwhile, the message entrusted to them – prayer, conversion, hope – spreads far beyond that small village, reaching millions of hearts.
As I think about their story, I cannot help but notice how it unfolded in a time not so different from our own. Portugal was living through tension and suspicion toward the Church, and Europe was torn apart by war. In a wounded world, Mary’s voice sounded not as a warning of fear, but as an invitation to rediscover God and, with Him, peace of heart.
Today, we too live in a challenging time for faith. In many places, religious practice has weakened; many have stopped attending Mass, and God often seems to slip to the margins of daily life. It is not always a conscious rejection; more often it is distraction, fatigue, or a loss of meaning.
The images of war that continue to reach us, the innocent victims filling our news, and men and women still suffering and dying because of their faith remind us how fragile peace is and how deeply we need hope.
For this reason, I return to a simple and ancient gesture: taking the Rosary into my hands. It is a humble prayer, yet one that can create spaces of peace within us and in the world.
As Saint John Paul II reminded us, “With the Rosary, the believer learns from Mary to contemplate the beauty of the face of Christ and to experience the depth of his love.”
This invitation crosses time and reaches us today. Let us allow Mary to guide us, so that even now, in the folds of history, we may rediscover a hope that truly accompanies our daily lives.
Be assured of my prayers.
Updated on April 29 2026