Pope Leo XIV at Olympic Stadium with Youth Discusses Mental Health, Suffering, and More saying "For God wants nothing to be lost, and even now he desires to give us eternal life"

At a prayer vigil with young people at Barcelona’s Lluís Companys Olympic Stadium on Tuesday evening, Pope Leo XIV responded to three testimonies touching on conversion, mental health, suffering, violence, and forgiveness.
Addressing a newly baptised young man, Ferran, who spoke of the emptiness he experienced despite pursuing success and recognition, the Pope said that such restlessness is not something to be feared but embraced.

The second testimony came from Carmina, a young woman who spoke openly about her struggle with depression and a past suicide attempt.
The third and final testimony came from a young woman called Cecilia who recounted a childhood marked by domestic violence, addiction, and separation from her family. Having discovered faith through the support she received in a Catholic care centre, she asked how she could forgive her father for attempting to kill her mother and how she could be reconciled with God.
Lluís Companys Olympic Stadium,
Tuesday, June 9, 2026
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Dialogue of the Holy Father with Young People

1.Holy Father, we grow up being told that the only goal in life is to produce, be successful, and take care of our image. I myself tried, but I only found an immense emptiness. Searching for answers, my life took a turn, and this Easter I received Baptism. Now that I find myself on this new path, I ask you: how can we keep our gaze fixed on what truly matters, when society pushes us to constantly look downward or only at ourselves? How can we discover our true vocation within this current?

Pope Leo XIV - Thank you for this testimony. First of all, I would like to share your joy and that of all those who, during Easter this year, received the sacrament of Baptism. Many young people and adults are rediscovering the Christian faith, perhaps after a period in their lives when they had distanced themselves somewhat from God. This is a truly important step. Indeed, everything we discover, embrace, and gradually experience along the way certainly contributes to our growth, our maturity, and to expanding the spaces of life within us; but, at the same time, amidst the joys, successes, and failures, we realize that we need another water to quench our thirst more deeply. Our desire for truth and happiness requires a broader horizon. And this restlessness is a gift that God himself has given us: we are made for the infinite, and for this reason every finite horizon, every step, every conquest, while satisfying us, at the same time pushes us forward and invites us to continue seeking, to seek by moving forward, but, above all, to seek by "descending inwardly," that is, by going deep.

And here I return to the question with two brief reflections. The first: it is necessary to cultivate that healthy restlessness. In our societies, in fact, the idolatry of profit and performance, the frenzy of always having to produce and be winners, as well as the cult of one's own image, are nothing more than anesthetics that numb our conscience and adapt it to a certain idea of ​​society. When people learn to pause, to value important things, to appreciate time in a new way, and to reflect on their lives, allowing themselves to be enlightened by the Gospel, they also develop a critical thinking towards a social system that does not place the person at the center and creates situations of injustice and existential poverty on various levels. This is why restlessness is frightening, as is the discovery of interiority, of spirituality, and even more so, of the Gospel. The second reflection: it is in this world that we must cultivate restlessness, not in another. It is within this society that you and so many others have discovered the value of a more human, fuller life, open to the encounter with God and the joy of faith. This means that, despite the difficulties, the place where God makes himself present and where we must find his traces is always the reality in which we find ourselves. We believe that the Holy Spirit acts and works silently in all situations of life and history, even those that seem most difficult. But we must cultivate this restlessness and make room for it; as I said, "search within ourselves," trying not to be overwhelmed by external rhythms and seductions, cultivating moments of silence, perhaps stopping for a few minutes each day to read the Gospel and speak with God, and also trying to walk this interior journey together with others, allowing ourselves to be accompanied on ecclesial journeys and engaging with priests, religious, and others who, like us, have undertaken this journey.

2. Holy Father, in a world where things are shouted out, there are aspects of life that remain hidden, out of shame, such as depression, a silent illness that strikes many people, young and old, and brings with it darkness, isolation, and immense pain. Sometimes this pain is so overwhelming that the idea of ​​disappearing seems like the only way out. I myself fought to overcome this illness, silently for years, and one Friday night I lost the battle and attempted to take my own life. I am here because God gave me a second chance, and I will be eternally grateful; but there are many others who continue to face this darkness. Therefore, I ask you with all my heart: where can we see God when the darkness is total and we can no longer bear it? How can we trust in God when it seems that nothing, not even ourselves, is worth it?

Pope Leo XIV - First of all, thank you for sharing your experience of suffering today. I'm moved that you can talk about it, that you're here among us, and that you've found the strength to embrace this second chance the Lord has given you. You got up and continued your journey, and this is a wonderful miracle we see in many Gospel characters: in contact with Jesus, even those who feel lost regain faith in life, are healed from illness, and can rise again to live.

In your question, you first referred to the "silent disease" of depression, and it's important to recognize how mental health is increasingly threatened in societies that consider themselves advanced. This signals something profoundly wrong with a certain idea of ​​growth that subjects people to pressures, expectations, and tensions that undermine fundamental balances. This is why we need a healthcare system that includes this invisible and widespread malaise, which also affects young people, among its priorities.

Your words, however, also showed us that pain tests our faith and the meaning we give to life. This applies to everyone, not just those who, at a given moment, must face the test of illness.

As I listened to you, I thought of those hours of darkness, anguish, and pain that Jesus experienced as the hour of his death approached. The Gospels, at the Last Supper and the prayer in Gethsemane, emphasize that afternoon was falling, that night was falling, just as shortly before his death on the cross they tell us that "darkness came over the whole land" (Mt 27:45; Lk 23:44). But, in reality, it is not just a matter of personal suffering; the Son of God is taking into his own flesh all the anguish, loneliness, and suffering of humanity. In those dark hours, dying on the cross, Jesus shares our pain and reveals to us the face of a compassionate God, who bears the weight of our sorrows, who suffers with us, weeps our tears, and remains at our side with his presence full of love and mercy.

Living this experience is difficult, as Sacred Scripture repeatedly testifies; there are moments of darkness and suffering that our society silences, because certain cultural models always want us to be victorious and perfect. Therefore, limitations, fragility, and pain must be eliminated, confined to the deafening silence of solitude or even shame. And in these moments, we can instinctively think that God, too, has abandoned us. But the cross of Jesus tells us that God does not abandon us, that He remains crucified with us in moments of pain and extreme loneliness, that He gathers not only our tears, but the cry of our suffering that others do not hear, a cry that Jesus made his own on the cross, saying: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mt 27:46).

There is a catechesis on the last hours of Jesus , in which Benedict XVI states that his suffering is transformed into prayer and cry, and that this also applies to us: faced with the most difficult and painful situations, when God seems absent, we must once again entrust to Him the burdens we carry in our hearts, even crying out to Him, even protesting like Job, confident that somehow He makes Himself present and is close even when He seems silent. But I think we cannot do this alone. In hours of pain, at least as much as possible, we must open ourselves to someone who helps us express a simple prayer, who accompanies us discreetly without rushing to explain that pain, who takes us by the hand and leads us out of that cry. These experiences also offer a message to us believers, to the entire Church: we must not spiritualize pain, superficially attributing it to "God's will" or some mysterious plan of His, because this risks minimizing that suffering, silencing it, and hurting people. God doesn't want suffering; He brings it with us and invites us to trust in Him with perseverance. Let us remember what Pope Francis said : with God, life is always reborn.

3. Good evening, Holy Father. I come from a family from a very poor neighborhood in Barcelona. When I was little, my father tried to kill my mother, who was saved only by the intervention of a young man who lost his life. My father ended up in prison, and my mother fell into the world of drugs. At ten years old, social services took me into custody and took me to the San José de la Montaña juvenile reception center. At first, it was hard, because I had built a wall around myself to protect myself, where I wouldn't let anyone in. But little by little, I experienced the love of a family for the first time, and my heart opened. There, they spoke to me about Jesus, I began to pray, and I was baptized. But during my adolescence, I rebelled against God many times. They invited me to a retreat, and there, for the first time, I experienced God's love. But a few months have passed, and I still struggle to forgive my father. And sometimes I look up to heaven and ask, "Where were you when I was a child?" Holy Father, how can I forgive my father, who was about to leave me motherless? How can I truly reconcile with God?

Pope Leo XIV - Thank you for your testimony, and thank you also for the question about forgiveness. It is truly a sign of God's grace that this question arises from a past so marked by suffering, and that, despite the pain, we have the courage to ask ourselves how it is possible to forgive those who have hurt us. I would also like to say two things here.

The first completes what I was saying before about God's presence in moments of our suffering; after all, you too ask this question about your childhood, but the context in which the events of your life unfolded requires us to broaden the scope of our question: should we ask ourselves "where was God?" or should we question ourselves about man and humanity, about how we are sometimes prisoners of evil to the point of becoming violent towards others, about how we fail to cultivate love and respect others in their dignity and freedom?

Many crime stories, even today, reflect a toxic climate in family relationships, characterized by abuse and oppression, and in particular by violence against women, which unfortunately often results in femicide. We are all called to confront this dramatic reality—which has anthropological and cultural roots—both personally and as a society, because it is up to us to address it in all its dimensions. We cannot attribute to God what has been entrusted to us; we cannot imagine that God from above will automatically respond to our needs or miraculously prevent evil from happening; He has endowed us with intelligence and will, given us a conscience, invested us with dignity and freedom, and above all, he has come to us to show us, in his Son Jesus Christ, the path we must follow so that our lives may be fully human and justice, peace, and fraternity may reign in our society. He has given us his own Spirit, precisely so that love may be the key to all our human relationships. If violence exists, if selfishness triumphs, if even love between family members turns to hate, we must ask ourselves some questions about ourselves, about the dynamics of our society, about the culture of individualism, about the temptation to violence, and not about God.

A second point concerns forgiveness. We must learn to view forgiveness, a powerful remedy against evil that heals our inner wounds, as part of a process, a journey. The Gospel itself, if we read it as a book of instructions, commandments, and duties, risks causing us great discouragement and frustration, because while Jesus invites us to forgive, we realize we are incapable of it. But this is not the case. Above all, we must invoke forgiveness from the Lord; we must continue to ask—perhaps throughout our lives—that the Lord expand the space of love within us precisely where we have been wounded, that he help us reconcile with ourselves and with that part of our history marked by suffering, that he slowly transform resentment into mercy and compassion. It is a long journey, a process that requires great patience, it is work we must do on ourselves, both personally and through other paths of guidance and inner reconciliation. And we must not be discouraged: forgiveness proceeds in small steps.

Reconciliation with history is a gradual process, and above all, we shouldn't think that forgiveness always means returning to the previous situation or establishing a full relationship with the person who hurt us, especially when the incident was also characterized by violence. We can maintain a good heart toward the person, reject any form of hatred or revenge, strive to mend the relationship as much as possible, and perhaps even pray for him or her: this helps us to increasingly enter into the dynamic of forgiveness and to reconcile ourselves with God and with others.

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FULL TEXT Homily of the Holy Father

Dear brothers and sisters, beloved sons and daughters of God, we too are like Nicodemus, pilgrims in the night. This evangelical icon offers us, first and foremost, a message about the journey of life. Our journey, our desires, and everything we embrace and experience daily, in joys and failures, in aspirations and plans, is the expression of our constant search: we are beggars of love, we hunger and thirst for truth, we seek a full meaning that sustains us, encourages us, and helps us understand the mystery of our life.

As we advance slowly, step by step, we are called to dialogue with the shadows of our own human condition: we lack the full truth, we lack a profound understanding of the mystery of ourselves and the true face of others, we are not always able to grasp the hidden truth of the reality that surrounds us and the events unfolding before our eyes. We seek a light to illuminate our path.

But Nicodemus also speaks to us of the journey of faith. It is not a parallel path to that of our human existence, but rather these two journeys are always intertwined. As we heard in the Gospel, God so loved the world that he gave us his only-begotten Son and, in Him, he united himself forever to our flesh. He is always beside the Father and beside us; thus, every time the mystery of our life unfolds in the light of a new day, in all that we are and do, we are in God's presence and are protected by his eternal embrace: our life "is hidden with Christ in God" (Col 3:3). Yet, at times we experience the darkness of faith, the struggle to believe, spiritual weariness, a sense of inadequacy in the face of the Gospel's call, the bitterness of our failures, and the fear of not being up to it.

Brothers and sisters, Nicodemus teaches us that these nights—which accompany our lives, our journey of faith, and the history in which we live—are a place of blessing, a space for rebirth, a womb that always generates new life. These nights strip us bare and bring us back to the essential; they remove the human and religious masks we wear during the day, so as not to be recognized or to project an image of ourselves different from what we are; they leave us naked, in our lights and our shadows, bringing us back to the humility of knowing how to look at ourselves in truth, beyond the presumption of thinking that our journey is already complete and that we advance as if we had a clear light on everything, on everyone, and even on God.

This "empty space" that the night creates, even when it presents itself in the form of suffering or dissatisfaction, disappointment or disbelief, can be an opportunity to receive new life, to change and renew oneself, to be "born from above," as Jesus tells Nicodemus. God, in fact, did not come to judge the world with its sin and the night of its infidelity, but sent his Son to save it, to give the world eternal life.

For this reason, we too are called not to judge the "nights"; neither the nights of our lives, nor those of the Church, nor those of the society around us. Instead, in the night, we must set out like Nicodemus, continuing to call upon the Lord, opening ourselves to the wind of the Spirit, to welcome the night no longer as a sign of failure, but as the beginning of a new life.

And thinking of our personal journey, but also of the nights of our ecclesial journey and of Spain, of its cities, of its poverty, both ancient and new, of its society and culture, we can then ask ourselves: what are the nights we are living through? What do they suggest to us? By entering into them and looking humbly and without prejudice at the reality of who we are, what are we called to change? Where do we need to renew ourselves, in what direction do we want to go, what kind of society do we want to build?

Let us never stop seeking, questioning, and dialoguing, with God and with one another, even in the dead of night. Let us walk together in the faith that harmonizes the diversity of our ideas and sensibilities, to seek the truth that guides us toward the common good, so that this country may be a welcoming place for all, where each person is respected in their dignity and loved for who they are. Let us open ourselves to the gift of the Spirit, seeking the Lord like Nicodemus and welcoming the light of his Gospel, with the certainty that we will experience within ourselves a new life, a presence that blesses, a gratuitous love that will help us pass from night to light. For God wants nothing to be lost, and even now he desires to give us eternal life, to lead us to the happiness that knows no end.

May the Lord grant us, through the intercession of the Virgin Mary, to open ourselves to Him and to be shaken by the wind of His Spirit.

Source - Vatican News Bulletin