When I departed from Chicago to Rome for the Jubilees of Migrants, the air at home was heavy with fear. Rumors swirled of ICE raids and the National Guard entering our neighborhoods. In the midst of that tension, nearly 100 pastoral leaders—bishops, priests, deacons, religious and lay ministers—boarded planes from throughout the country, carrying not just luggage but the prayers and letters of our migrant brothers and sisters who could not travel with us.

In Rome, we became pilgrims of hope. We crossed the Holy Doors at St. Peter’s Basilica and the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, where we prayed at the tomb of Pope Francis. We celebrated Mass at the Porziuncola chapel in Assisi, where we placed our handwritten prayers from undocumented families upon the altar of the Blessed Sacrament. Those prayers were later entrusted to the cloistered Poor Clare Sisters, who promised to continue interceding for every intention. We carried with us the voices of migrants—students who fear deportation, families separated by borders and workers whose dignity is being denied.

For months, the board and members of the National Catholic Council for Hispanic Ministry, where I serve as president, had prayed for the opportunity to see the Holy Father, but every request was met with a gentle “no.” Still, we trusted God’s timing. On Sunday, just after the Jubilee Mass for Migrants, my phone rang. It was Vatican security: “Be at the Bronze Door of the Apostolic Palace at 5 p.m. on Tuesday for a private audience with the pope.” Two days later, we found ourselves walking through the gates of the Vatican, hearts racing, prayers trembling on our lips. We were ushered into the courtyard of the Apostolic Palace where popes receive heads of state, and there we met Pope Leo XIV.

The Holy Father spoke to us in Spanish—the language of our faith, our mothers, our songs, our tears. Pope Leo XIV told us: 

You have in your hands a very great task, to accompany those who need a sign that God never abandons anyone—not the smallest, not the poorest, not the foreigner, not anyone. In the service you offer in ministry, you are clearly that witness that is so important, perhaps especially in the U.S., but in the entire world. A world that is suffering from war, violence, hate, and as we followers of Jesus, as disciples, want to live the Gospel. Thank you for all you are doing, and may God bless you and strengthen you, and may your hearts always be filled with faith and hope so you can share with others.

His words pierced the soul of a people who have too often been told they do not belong, including mine as a Puerto Rican living in Chicago and serving the Latino communities.

Pope Leo prayed the Our Father and Hail Mary in Spanish with us. At a time when speaking our language in the United States can provoke suspicion or hatred, this moment was uplifting and filled with hope. The successor of Peter was affirming our identity, our culture, our language and our dignity before the world.

Pope Leo XIV speaks to members of the National Catholic Council for Hispanic Ministry “Pilgrimage of Hope” in the San Damaso Courtyard of the Apostolic Palace at the Vatican Oct. 7, 2025. (CNS photo/Vatican Media)

When Pope Leo shook our hands, one by one, he looked into our faces—brown, weary, hopeful—overcome with tears of joy and hope; he saw the church that walks with the poor, the church that refuses to be silent. His kind gesture lifted the U.S. Latino community when we needed it most.

During the private audience with Pope Leo, Andrew Mercado, the director of ministry at Dominican University near Chicago, shared with the Holy Father letters from undocumented young people whose courage and faith have become quiet acts of resistance in the midst of fear. One senior student had written: “Our neighborhoods are beginning to resemble war zones—from Broadview to the South Shore on the South Side of Chicago, and even downtown. Our daily routines have been shattered. We wake each morning praying that today is not the day we are detained or disappeared by the kidnappers who have invaded our home.” 

Another student in his third year of college sent his own haunting reflection: “Currently, it feels impossible to step out of the house without fear. Fear of being discriminated against and not knowing whether I will be a target or make it home safe. I believe that no one is ‘illegal’ and no one should have to face the danger that people from Illinois, especially from Chicago, are facing now.”

Juan F. Soto, a member of the executive board of directors of the National Catholic Council for Hispanic Ministry, shared with me his own reflection of the papal audience. “Pope Leo’s words capture more than a moment in Rome—they express the ongoing pilgrimage of our people toward dignity, belonging and justice,” he said. 

“As organizers and ministers, we recognize in his message a mandate to turn faith into public witness and action. The Holy Father’s affirmation of our language and culture is also a call to organize, to build power rooted in love and to ensure that every migrant, every family, every worker knows that God has not abandoned them—and neither will we,” Mr. Soto, who is also the director of organizing for the Gamaliel Network, said.

We departed from the Vatican Apostolic Palace transformed. We came as pilgrims burdened by the suffering of our people; we left as witnesses of grace. In a world that often rejects the stranger, the church opened its heart. And in that sacred encounter, Pope Leo XIV reminded us that faith transcends fear, that love crosses every border and that indeed, God never abandons anyone.

Elisabeth Román is President of the National Catholic Council for Hispanic Ministry and Director of Partnerships & Communications for Instituto Fe y Vida.