ADDRESS OF HIS HOLINESS POPE LEO XIV
Port of Arguineguín (Las Palmas de Gran Canaria)
Thursday, 11 June 2026
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Dear brothers and sisters,
We have just heard one of the most challenging passages in the Gospel. We know that this same chapter also contains a warning that no believer can take lightly (Mt 25:41-45). Today, by the sea, the word of God becomes concrete: here so many wounded lives arrive, stripped of almost everything, but never of their dignity. Here the Gospel pulls us out of our comfortable position as spectators and places before us a brother or a sister who has arrived. It asks us if we have recognized Christ in those who disembark, marked by fear, hunger and violence, after enduring the desert, the night and the sea.
As you can see, I am wearing the ring that is called “the Fisherman’s Ring.” Its very name leads us to the Sea of Galilee, where Christ called Peter and said to him: “From now on you will be catching people” (Lk 5:10). The Church has interpreted that verse as an image of her mission. Yet here and in places like El Hierro, Christ’s command is especially powerful and painful. This island, small in size but great in humanity, has witnessed the arrival of thousands of people, torn from their homelands and entrusted to the fragility of a boat. Here, people are rescued from the sea and lifeless bodies are recovered from the waters. For this reason, the Successor of Peter cannot ignore these docks. The Church cannot ignore these waters or any place where hunger, thirst, violence, fear or exile continue to wound human dignity. Jesus’ disciples cannot dismiss the cries of those who call out in the night.
In biblical language, the sea can symbolize danger, darkness and chaos. In the sea we find the Leviathan, which represents power that devours, and Rahab, a name that evokes the arrogance of the powers that rise up against God and against life (cf. Ps 74:13–14; 89:10–11; Is 27:1; 51:9; Job 26:12). Even today, monsters lurk in these seas: mafias that profit from despair, traffickers who enslave women and children, and those whose indifference allows the poor to be swallowed up by exploitation or forgetfulness.
However, faith is not paralyzed by the power of the sea. We believe in a God who subdues chaos, limits evil and opens up paths where death seems to prevail. The people of Israel experienced this as they crossed the Red Sea to escape slavery and walk toward freedom (cf. Ex 14:21–31). We see this in Christ, who walked on water and, in the face of the storm, uttered a decisive phrase: “Peace! Be still!” (Mk 4:39; cf. Mt 14:25-27). His voice continues to resound against the forces that devour, enslave and discard so many of our brothers and sisters. If Christ commands the sea to be still, the Church cannot remain silent about those who are abandoned to its waters.
Thank you for your testimonies, for reminding us what it means to save lives. Thank you, María, for telling us about the work that Caritas, the parishes and so many people do each day. Your words show us how the conversion of our gaze begins when the migrant ceases to be “just one more,” a mere category or a statistic. Only then can we understand that that little girl could be our daughter, and that those faces could be part of our family. Then, our conscience is left with no excuses. Mercy begins with small gestures, such as sharing a few cookies and a little milk, or offering five loaves and two fish (cf. Mt 14:17-21). The goal is not to solve everything, but to place everything in God’s hands and to be present where people suffer, where resources are insufficient, where there is no common language — but where gestures can still speak. I express heartfelt thanks to all who participate in rescues, in welcoming and in accompanying others, bearing witness that concrete mercy can save and change lives.
Dear Blessing, although you are not here today, your voice is. Thank you for sharing your story with us. Your name means “blessing,” and it reminds us that every human life is a blessing from God. No one can buy, sell, use or discard it, because the image and likeness of the Creator shines forth in every person (cf. Gen 1:27). You told us that you left your country not because you wanted to, but because there was no other choice. Through your words, we hear the drama of so many people who are forced to leave because poverty, war, threats or exploitation closed off all their paths.
I hope that this message reaches you and the many other women who are victims of trafficking and exploitation. If others have put a price on your body, know that God has never ceased to recognize your inestimable worth. If others want to trap you in a painful past, God continues to make a promise for your future. If others treat you like an object, the Church wants to tell you today that you are a daughter, you are a sister, you are a blessing. Your life does not belong to those who harmed you; your body does not belong to those who took advantage of you; your days do not belong to those who wanted to chain you to fear. Your life belongs to God, who has given you a dignity that cannot be taken from you. We want to walk with you until that truth feels stronger than the pain.
Dear migrants, before saying anything else to you, I want to bow before your dignity. You are not just numbers or files. You are people who have left behind families and homes. You have dreams that no one has the right to despise. However, I also want to tell you that your lives must be protected. Do not surrender your lives to those who trade with them. Do not believe those who promise easy paradises in exchange for your body, money, silence or freedom. Those false promises are “siren songs”; they are industries of death.
This tragedy must serve as an appeal to the conscience of the nations of origin of the migrants, which must establish conditions for peace, justice and development. It is also an appeal to the conscience of the transit nations, which are called to protect the vulnerable and not leave them in the hands of criminal networks. It is likewise an appeal to the conscience of Europe, which cannot claim to uphold human dignity while growing accustomed to the Mediterranean and the Atlantic becoming unmarked graves, as well as that of the international community, which is called to effective and persevering cooperation.
The Church, too, must allow herself to be challenged. Welcoming migrants cannot be a secondary matter that is left to a few volunteers. We kneel before the altar to adore Christ present in the Eucharist, from whom we receive the strength and the motivation to live charity; for this reason, we cannot then “pass by” the small boats and rafts, for all service and every commitment spring from prayer and lead back to it (cf. Lk 10:31-32).
From this island, I would like the voices of those who spoke today to reach those who hold significant positions of responsibility — civil authorities, parliaments, governments and international organizations — as well as Christian communities, other religious traditions and all men and women of good will. It is not enough to manage arrivals, distribute statistics, reinforce borders or lament deaths after they have occurred. Every boat that arrives brings a question along with the migrants: what kind of world have we built, if so many brothers and sisters must risk death to seek life?
Human dignity demands legal and safe pathways, rescue and assistance, real cooperation against traffickers, effective protection for victims, serious processes of reception and integration, and policies that allow every person to live with dignity in their own land. While there is a right to seek refuge when life is threatened, there is also the right not to have to migrate: the right to remain in one’s own home without hunger, war, persecution, violence, the land becoming uninhabitable, corruption stealing the bread from the poor or weapons destroying the future of children. We cannot grow accustomed to counting the dead. Human dignity has no passport and does not lose its value when crossing a border.
May the God who, in the evening of life, will judge us on our love (cf. John of the Cross, Sayings of Light and Love, 57) grant us the grace to recognize him today in the poor and in foreigners, and free us from viewing the suffering of others as if it did not concern us. May Our Lady of Mount Carmel accompany those who have arrived, console those who have lost their loved ones, sustain those who welcome them and awaken the courage of mercy in all of us.
May history not accuse us of turning the pain of those who suffer into a common sight along our shores. Today, here by the sea, every individual that arrives asks us what remains of our humanity. Sooner or later, it will be known whether we protected life or whether we yielded to indifference. Thank you very much.