Words cannot even begin to explain what we just experienced—something truly unfathomable. Just an hour and a half ago, I returned from Saint Peter’s Square, where over 100,000 people gathered to pray the rosary together for our Holy Father, Pope Francis.

I arrived about thirty minutes before most, when only a handful of people were scattered across the square. But within twenty minutes, the crowd doubled, then tripled. And then, with mere seconds left before 9:00 PM, the square stood full of the faithful. Yet, despite the vast number of people, there was no shouting, no clamor, no chaotic rush. Instead, there was a sacred hush—an unspoken understanding that we had come for something greater than ourselves.

As the prayer began, the square became still, as though all of us were holding our breath, waiting for those first words. And when they came, our voices rose together, turning to our Father in Heaven, pleading through the intercession of our Blessed Mother for Pope Francis. It didn’t matter where we came from, what languages we spoke, or even what personal beliefs we held. This moment was not about politics or divisions. It was not about our preferences or ideologies. It was about love—love for our shepherd, love for Christ, love for the Church. This was a pure act of faith, a sacrifice of prayer for our Papa.

There were no banners, no flags. No horns or trumpets. Only prayer.

I couldn’t help but think about all those around the world who were joining us at that moment. I am sure many of you reading this were praying alongside us, lifting up your own hearts for our Holy Father. I hope and pray that your moment of prayer was just as moving. But there is something striking about being physically surrounded by so many others who had come together for one purpose. There was a unity among us that transcended words—a shared devotion that gave me profound hope for the Church and for the world.

At one point, my eyes were drawn to a young boy sitting with his mother. He could not have been more than five or six years old. She held him close as she prayed, and he held a rosary in his small hands, his gaze shifting between the cross and his mother. You could see the curiosity in his face, the quiet reverence of a child witnessing something sacred. And then, as the prayers continued, I noticed something even more beautiful—he was whispering along. He knew the words. His little voice was lifted with ours, his faith formed not by speeches or lessons, but by the witness of a mother who prayed. In that moment, I realized: we all came to pray together, but we also came to learn from one another.

Too often, people come to Mass or to prayer with a sense of obligation, as though attendance is just a box to check, a duty to fulfill so as not to be labeled “bad Catholics.” What a sad misunderstanding! We do not come to church merely to avoid a “slap on the wrist” for failing in some obligation. We come because we are called into relationship—with Jesus Christ, with His and our Mother, and with our Heavenly Father. We come to offer our thanksgiving, to surrender our burdens, to be nourished by the grace of God.

Standing in that square, I was reminded of my own purpose in all of this—not only as a priest, but first and foremost as a Christian. My call is to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ to all the world. And that Good News was alive in the stillness of that crowd, in the whispered prayers, in the unity of our voices lifted to Heaven.

The silence before and during the rosary was almost as powerful as the prayer itself. It was a silence of awe, of reverence, of complete surrender to God. In that silence, we were one. Just as Jesus and our Heavenly Father and the Holy Spirit are one, we, too, were bound together in that moment—young and old, rich and poor, people of different backgrounds and nations, yet all belonging to the same Body of Christ.

As we concluded the rosary and lifted our voices in the ancient hymn of the Salve Regina, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for my priesthood, for the people I am blessed to serve, for the gifts God has given me in this life. I imagine that Pope Francis, in these past few weeks, has been making his own act of gratitude—offering up his suffering, entrusting himself to the Lord, giving thanks for the life he has spent in service to Christ’s Church.

There is so much pain in our world today, both within and outside the Church. So many people are fighting over things that, in the grand scheme of eternity, do not truly matter. What matters is our faith. We are called to trust in Jesus Christ alone, yet so often we place more trust in ourselves than in Him. And I am convinced that the best thing we can do—the most powerful thing we can do—is what just happened in Saint Peter’s Square: to come together and pray.

If we bring a political or personal agenda into prayer, if we use prayer as a tool for power or division, then we are not following Jesus Christ. Instead, we are using His gifts as a weapon of hatred. Prayer is not meant to divide—it is meant to unite. It is meant to make us one with God and one with one another.

Let us use moments like these as opportunities for unity, moments where we focus on Jesus and His plan for our world.

Let us continue to pray together in the days and weeks to come. Let us ask God to pour out His grace upon our Holy Father, to grant him comfort, courage, and peace. And may we, through our prayers, come to understand what it truly means to be one with our Heavenly Father.