Dear brothers and sisters,
Dear young people!

The Feast of the Transfiguration, which we are celebrating, is a mystery of light that enriches our encounter — one that is so joyful, yet also raises questions about the present and the future. In the Gospel, we find the contrast between light and shadow, silence and words, wonder and incomprehension. Today, we are in Assisi, a city to which countless pilgrims have made their way for centuries, because here everything whispers that our lives can take on a new form, radiate light and heal the world. It was here that the transformation of Francis, Clare and then thousands of other young people began. They embraced the Gospel sine glossa — we could say, in its simplicity — then the life of Jesus began anew within them.

We have come here to understand where history is heading and where we ourselves are going. In the Gospel, we see that meaning can indeed be found, that a path can be glimpsed. Like Peter, James and John, we too have been brought a little aside, and Jesus is with us. What matters is his presence. On the mountain, the apostles contemplate Jesus, who had been speaking about his own future, which had caused a misunderstanding among them. Six days earlier, Peter had taken issue with the Master for speaking openly about the cross (cf. Mt 16:21–26) because he expected glory for the Messiah, and perhaps even for himself. Peter did not consider any opposition or risks, and especially did not ask himself what glory really means. Now, in Jesus’ Transfiguration, God himself reveals his glory, which takes the form of a cloud that protects and envelops. He points to his Son and invites us to listen to him. The path of life is discovered by following him together. The beauty of this path takes on a new dimension, an unprecedented intensity, so much so that Peter would like to stay awhile and prolong that vision. He generously offers to build three tents as he would like that conversation between Jesus, Moses and Elijah to continue. However, one must enter into that conversation, not remain a mere spectator. Indeed, we are called to read the Scriptures with the Master, to interpret our own times and to make decisions by following his path. We have come here to overcome resignation and fear, to dispel the doubts that hold us back, just as they held back the apostles. Jesus calls us to engage with his story in order to write new pages of history.

As we hear that “his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light” (Mt 17:2), we recall Easter morning when an angel of the Lord rolled away the stone sealing the tomb and brought the announcement of the Resurrection. “His face was like lightning, his robe white as snow” (Mt 28:3). That is the light of a new day, toward which we are drawn, even as darkness still surrounds us — and sometimes dwells within us. We see the dawning light in the canonized saints, such as Saint Francis and Saint Clare, and in a myriad of brothers and sisters who respond to evil with good. We are not alone! In recent days you have experienced this, since you have met and listened to one another, moving beyond the clamor of overlapping and conflicting voices to the art of conversation. Today, we contemplate Jesus, who is transfigured precisely in conversation with the Father, with those who preceded him — Moses and Elijah — and with his contemporaries, the disciples.

The Church exists to lead us into this dynamic of listening and decision-making, in which we come to understand for whom we are to live and how we are to live. The Church is the community in which we learn to discern the voice of God, which never simply coincides with our own opinions, and to dare to obey the Holy Spirit, who makes bold and creative all those who choose to follow Jesus. While we are “disfigured” by separating ourselves from him and from others, we are transfigured through the bonds that nourish and call us to life. Franciscan spirituality, in which you have been formed, is among the most attentive to restoring fundamental relationships with God and with all his creatures. Today, more than ever, this is a harmony that needs to be safeguarded and cultivated.

In this regard, at the beginning of my first Encyclical, I suggested that “Each generation inherits the task of shaping its own era, of guiding history to become a place where the dignity of every person is safeguarded, justice is promoted and fraternity is made possible. Yet every era also runs the risk of creating an inhumane and more unjust world. Whenever humanity is in danger of marring its true identity, we Christians lift our eyes to the Incarnate God, knowing that it is ‘only in the mystery of the Word made flesh that the mystery of humanity truly becomes clear.’ In Jesus Christ, this humanity in its grandeur becomes the Way, the Truth and the Life, opening the path for each of us to grow toward fullness” (Magnifica Humanitas, 1).

Dear friends, the reason why Saint Francis still draws us to himself, even eight hundred years after his death, lies in the grandeur of humanity that led him to abandon familiar ways in order to find a new path that is more consistent with that of Jesus. Even in a town that had been Christian for centuries, such as Assisi, this seemed revolutionary. “Clare’s choice was even more striking: a girl who wanted to be like Francis, who wanted to live, as a woman, as free as those brothers!” (Jubilee Audience, 4 October 2025). This is the energy of Christianity — the energy of its beginnings and of its many new beginnings.

Well then, dear young people, today Europe and the whole world are looking to you to be new saints. Dare to believe in the word of the Gospel; become fully human with the freedom of Jesus Christ; embrace Sister Poverty! The title of your gathering, Go!, is a mission, a sending forth onto paths for which we have no maps, because they are opened by listening to the heart, obeying the Holy Spirit, and following the Risen One wherever he has chosen to go before us. Go! Go! Or better yet: let us go! Let’s go to the margins, where the injustice and arrogance of a few deny the dignity and dreams of many, of far too many sons and daughters of God. Pope Francis, drawing inspiration from the Poverello of Assisi, warned us against the temptation “to be that kind of Christian who keeps the Lord’s wounds at arm’s length. Yet Jesus wants us to touch human misery, to touch the suffering flesh of others. He hopes that we will stop looking for those personal or communal niches which shelter us from the maelstrom of human misfortune” (Evangelii Gaudium, 270).

We may not be understood, even by those closest to us, as happened to Saint Francis. Yet, breaking free from the culture of power, and tearing down the walls that separate human beings from one another, is never a betrayal of our families, towns or traditions. Instead, it means freeing them from their ghosts, from enemies invented out of fear or ignorance and from the violence with which people seek to impose their own limited order on a reality that surpasses us on every side. To trust in God is to rediscover, like Francis and Clare, a world of brothers and sisters to cherish and serve, not to exploit and dominate. Not a world to defend, but to embrace.

Commit yourselves, dear young people, to the civilization of love, whose first signs you have encountered in so many examples of selfless giving, and which — in the image of Christ — transforms countless peacemakers who, even today, are committed to serving life in the most tragic situations of death. Unite the best energies of your magnificent humanity: your studies, skills, work, friendships, love and prayer, so that you can bring Saint Francis’ vision to life in many different ways. I imagine you hold dear the prayer often attributed to him, a text from the last century:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me bring love.
Where there is offence, let me bring pardon.
Where there is discord, let me bring union.
Where there is error, let me bring truth.
Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.
Where there is despair, let me bring hope.
Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.
Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.

That is “where” to go. But here, especially, is “how” to go:

O Lord, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love,
for it is in giving that one receives,
it is in self-forgetting that one finds,
it is in forgiving that one is forgiven,
it is in dying that one awakens to eternal life.

Dear friends, may these days in Assisi remain etched in your memory, and may your return home, to the various countries of Europe to which you will travel, be like the descent of Peter, James and John from the high mountain of the Transfiguration. May your return be reflective, open to the future and committed to Jesus Christ. He trusts you, counts on you and remains always with you.