Rome, 10 October 2025 – In the golden light of an autumn morning, the Hall of Popes fell silent as Pope Leo XIV rose to speak. A delegation from Aid to the Church in Need—bearing stories of suffering, of displacement, of quiet martyrdom—had come to Rome in this Jubilee of Hope, and the Holy Father received them with solemnity and urgency.
He began with a benediction and then, leaning forward, he launched into a paean to courage and conscience—not in theological abstractions, but in human flesh.
A wounded world, still longing
“Every human being carries within his or her heart a profound longing for truth, for meaning, and for communion with others and with God.”
Pope Leo XIV
These words cut to the marrow of the human condition. To deny that longing is to deny what it is to be human. The Pope reminded his listeners—many of whom daily embed themselves in perilous frontiers of faith—that religious freedom is not optional but essential, rooted in the dignity of each person, “created in God’s image and endowed with reason and free will.”
For Leo, this is not rhetoric. When that freedom is suppressed, he warned, the very fabric of society begins to unravel: “trust gives way to fear, suspicion replaces dialogue, and oppression breeds violence.”
He invoked his predecessor’s warning—Francis, speaking “Urbi et Orbi” in April 2025:
“There can be no peace without freedom of religion, freedom of thought, freedom of expression and respect for the views of others.”
Pope Francis
Leo’s echo is plain: freedom of faith is no isolated domain. It underpins freedom of conscience, speech, and social harmony.
The Church’s duty is not passive
From the pulpit, the Pope did not merely theorize: he traced the lineage of the Church’s own courage. He recalled Dignitatis Humanae—the Second Vatican Council’s affirmation that religious freedom “must be recognized in the legal and institutional life of every nation.” Thus, he said, the defense of religious freedom “cannot remain abstract; it must be lived, protected and promoted in the daily lives of individuals and communities.” (Vaticano)
It was this conviction, he said, that gave birth to Aid to the Church in Need. Since 1947—born in the ruins and trauma of the postwar world—it has stood, according to Leo, as a living witness: not only offering material aid, but a voice, a presence, a proclamation of fraternity. (Church in Need)
He praised their Religious Freedom in the World Report, more than a dry document: “it bears witness, gives voice to the voiceless, and reveals the hidden suffering of many.” (Vaticano) And when ACN rebuilds a chapel, supports a religious sister, or provides a radio station—these are not peripheral acts: they are stitches in the fragile moral fabric of societies.
From the margins, peacemakers arise
Leo did not pretend the path is easy. He spoke of Christians in contexts of persecution and fragility—Burkina Faso, the Central African Republic, Mozambique—places where aid is not charity but lifeline. He affirmed that in such places the local Church becomes a living sign of social harmony and fraternity, showing that “a different world is possible.” (Vaticano)
This is not a message of triumphalism, but of perseverance. “Do not grow weary of doing good” (Galatians 6:9), he urged. The Pope knows that the small flame of faith often flickers under wind. Yet it endures—and sometimes becomes a blaze that illumines others.
In his closing, he invoked the consolation of the Holy Spirit and the protective presence of Mary, “Mother of Hope.” And with deep affection, he imparted his Apostolic Blessing—a pledge, he said, “of grace and peace in Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Vaticano)
The echoes and the cost
In a pontificate still in its early months, Leo XIV has already shown a distinctive tenor: direct, grave, unapologetically prophetic. In his speeches to journalists earlier this year, he insisted that “only informed individuals… can make free decisions.” (ZENIT – English) He has demanded the release of imprisoned journalists and called journalism a sacred vocation. (USCCB)
This morning’s address, though delivered not to writers but to those serving impoverished and persecuted communities, moves in the same current: truth, freedom, solidarity. Leo’s words seem to reach beyond ecclesial halls into the corridors of governments, courts, and public conscience.
It is a summons: to recognize that religious freedom is not a niche debate, but an axis of human dignity. To trust that mercy and justice are not antithetical. To walk with those for whom faith is a burden borne under threat, not a comfortable calling.
Yet, the cost is real. Aid workers return to lands of uncertainty. Bishops must weigh advocacy against reprisal. Governments must decide whether they will protect difference or suppress it. The Pope knows this cost. But he holds before us a clarion: where one member suffers, all suffer together (1 Corinthians 12:26).
He offers not illusion, but hope. Hope rooted in memory and solidarity. In communion and courage. In the promise that faith, even battered and beleaguered, still speaks to the core of human aspiration.
In the silence that followed, the delegation from Aid to the Church in Need did not merely depart with blessings—they carried a mandate: to stay close to suffering, to tell hidden stories, to insist that no one’s conscience be shrouded in fear. In a world ever more fragmented, Pope Leo’s words remain a summons: to peace, but a peace that begins in freedom.
