León XIV at Devoto Prison: where darkness seemed to reign, Jesus had already lit a light

13 November, 2026

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Ana Tina Colussi

Leo XIV , Papal Trips

11 November, 2026

13 min

León XIV at Devoto Prison: where darkness seemed to reign, Jesus had already lit a light

“You have an opportunity to start anew”: On the final day of his visit to Argentina, the Holy Father chose to begin his morning with individuals deprived of their liberty. He listened to stories of pain, repentance, and hope, and reminded them that a new life is possible—a visit in which the Gospel was expressed through his gaze, his listening, and his closeness

Leo XIV’s last day in Argentina began early. And it began with a bang. Not among crowds or in front of the grand stages that had marked his visit, but behind the walls of a prison, where so many stories remain invisible to society.

The Holy Father arrived at the Federal Penitentiary Complex in Villa Devoto, Buenos Aires, to meet with some 70 inmates. But, as he has demonstrated since the beginning of his trip, he didn’t come simply to fulfill an item on his agenda. He came to listen.

There was time for everyone. Eyes met, hands clasped, words moved, and silences also seemed to have something to say.

The authorities facilitated the meeting and received the Pope’s gratitude. But the true protagonists were those men who had a story to tell. Difficult stories, marked by wrong decisions, addictions, losses, wounded families, and missed opportunities.

They weren’t trying to justify their past. They wanted to share what happened afterward.

Because, in the midst of confinement, they had discovered something unexpected: a light.

“I was in jail and you came to visit me.”

The Archbishop of Buenos Aires, Monsignor Jorge García Cuerva, recalled at the opening those words of Jesus that we find in the Gospel of Matthew: “I was in prison and you came to visit me” (Mt 25:36).

A familiar phrase, heard so many times, but that morning it took on a different depth.

Because visiting a person deprived of their liberty is much more than walking through a door. It is recognizing their dignity, listening to their story, and reminding them that they are still loved by God.

And that is what Prison Ministry tries to do every day.

The work of Father Matías De Martini, chaplain of the prison, and of so many pastoral agents constitutes a silent, persevering and profoundly evangelical presence.

Long before Leo XIV arrived, they had accompanied the inmates in prayer meetings and a spiritual retreat that helped prepare their hearts to receive him.

They had listened to their pain, shared their concerns, and accompanied personal processes that often progress slowly, between falls and new beginnings.

The Pope didn’t come to bring Jesus to that prison for the first time. He came to meet a community where Jesus was already present.

A small chapel, a new opportunity

The testimonies were one of the most moving moments.

Three men shared their stories with the Holy Father. Two were still in prison, and one had been released.

They spoke of difficult paths, the damage caused, addictions, broken family ties, and the desire to change.

But they also spoke of a small chapel.

There, in the midst of confinement, they found a space to stop, pray, feel heard, and begin to look at their lives in a different way.

One of them, Maximiliano, 32, recounted how drugs and alcohol had distanced him from his family and daughters. He acknowledged the lost time, expressed his regret, and shared how his encounter with Jesus began to transform his life.

His wish was simple and enormous at the same time: to get his family back, to work, to build a home and to show his daughters that their father can change.

There were requests for forgiveness. Words that surely were not easy to pronounce and that were not easy to hear either.

And then a deep connection appeared with what had happened just a few hours before.

During the meeting with young people in Buenos Aires, Leo XIV had spoken of Reconciliation, of freedom and of the possibility of rising after a fall.

Now, those words were taking on concrete faces.

Yesterday I was urging young people to rise up. Today I was listening to men who, from their own wounds, were trying to do so.

Mercy ceased to be just a word and became a face-to-face encounter.

A new life is possible

Leo XIV did not choose a lukewarm message. Nor one that ignored the gravity of the evil or its consequences.

He spoke of the mistakes, the suffering caused, the different forms of dehumanization, and what can lead human beings to lose sight of their own dignity and that of others.

He referred to drugs, the false power of easy money, violence, and corruption.

But he did not allow the darkness to have the last word.

“A new life is possible,” the Holy Father affirmed.

And he recalled that even the most painful experiences can become a starting point for rebuilding the future.

His message was not an invitation to forget what had happened or to shirk personal responsibility. It was a much more demanding proposal: to acknowledge the harm done, to accept the consequences, and to discover that it is still possible to choose a different path.

Because Christian hope does not consist in denying the darkness, but in believing that God’s grace can open a door even where everything seems closed.

The image of that small chapel regained its meaning.

In the place where many only see bars, confinement and pain, some had begun to discover an inner freedom they did not know existed.

And Leo XIV also recalled that this transformation needs a society willing to support the processes of recovery and reintegration.

Mercy does not eliminate justice. But neither does it allow a person to be reduced solely to their mistakes.

The gifts that crossed the walls

Towards the end of the meeting came the exchange of gifts.

Among the gifts were a stole made by inmates from Ezeiza, a book that compiled messages written by people deprived of liberty from different prisons in the country, and handcrafted pieces made in penitentiary establishments.

The stole had been woven by men undergoing addiction recovery. The pottery pieces made in San Martín expressed, through their craftsmanship, the experiences of those seeking a new opportunity.

They were much more than gifts.

In those hands that had woven, molded and written there were also stories of effort, waiting and hope.

The book, in particular, carried to the Holy Father the voices of those who had not been able to be present.

Somehow, they too had crossed the walls to meet Peter.

The Gospel made into action

Leo XIV took his leave by shaking hands with those present, offering his closeness and his blessing.

Once again, as in so many moments of his visit to Argentina, there was time to look, listen and meet.

No grand gestures were needed to convey a profound message. The mere presence of a pastor who chose to be where society so often prefers to look was enough.

That morning, the words of the Gospel recalled by Monsignor García Cuerva seemed to take on a life of their own:

“I was in jail and you came to visit me.”

The Pope had crossed the walls of Devoto. He had heard stories of pain and repentance. He had received gifts made by hands seeking to rebuild their lives. And he had left a message of hope.

But he had also witnessed something that began long before his arrival: the daily presence of a Church that accompanies, listens, and remains.

A Church that does not wait for the wounds to disappear before reaching out.

A Church that recognizes the dignity of each person, even in the midst of their mistakes.

Because where many only see bars, confinement and darkness, mercy is able to discover a small light.

And perhaps that is the most profound image of this morning: Leo XIV arrived at the prison to visit those who live deprived of liberty, but found that Jesus was already there, walking among them.

Full text:

APOSTOLIC JOURNEY OF HIS HOLINESS POPE LEO XIV
TO URUGUAY, ARGENTINA AND PERU
6–17 November 2026

VISIT TO THE BUENOS AIRES FEDERAL PENITENTIARY COMPLEX

GREETING OF HIS HOLINESS POPE LEO XIV

Visit to the Federal Penitentiary Complex
Villa Devoto, Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires)
Wednesday, 11 November 2026

___________________________________

Good morning to all of you!

I am happy to be here with you today. Thank you for welcoming me and giving me the opportunity to have this encounter with you. I thank the Archbishop of Buenos Aires, Jorge García Cuerva, the Minister of Security, the Minister of Justice, the Chief of the Prison Service, as well as the Chaplain, Father Matías and all of you – especially those who have shared their testimonies. I hope that all of us, myself included, can carry in our hearts this message that a new life is possible. It is the hope we need. I am deeply grateful to Cristian, Maximiliano and Reinaldo, who have shared these testimonies. Thank you.

I would like to share with you a reflection on something we all have in common by virtue of being human: the experience of our limitations. Society often presents everything that constitutes a limitation — incapacity, illness, old age and suffering — as if they were a defect to be corrected, while offering an abundance of possibilities that, in some way, can make us feel “immortal” (cf. Magnifica Humanitas, 118). We can see this in certain troubling realities that are all too familiar to us: the sense of omnipotence produced by drugs, the false power that comes from easy money, the cowardly sense of security that comes from inflicting violence upon the weakest, and the impunity that results from corruption.

We often become aware of our limitations through sin and its consequences, whether by making a mistake, suffering from an illness or experiencing the death of a loved one. For this reason, “over the years, we carry within us lessons that leave their mark like scars, the memories of a journey shaped by freedom and failure, dreams and disappointments” (ibid., 120).

Certainly, the evil that assails the human heart wreaks havoc on society and on the lives of many people, sometimes reaching extremes of inhumanity. Nevertheless, “even when persons dehumanize themselves and bring about tragedy, a small light continues to shine […] one that can be rekindled, with God’s grace, along paths of conversion and reconciliation” (ibid., 121).

Dear brothers, this means that even amid the evil, pain and deepest failures you may have experienced or caused, your present circumstances can become an opportunity to begin your lives anew, as you have shared with us in your testimonies. Indeed, human beings do not flourish in spite of their limitations, but often through them (cf. ibid., 118). It is precisely when our limitations become tangible in our lives that we can discover a new wisdom, experience the closeness of others, and encounter the presence of the Lord (cf. ibid., 119).

Your time in this institution can be an opportunity to begin anew, making peace with God and returning without fear to the embrace of your families and society. For the experience of our limitations, “when truly accepted, does not diminish us but opens us to recognizing the face of God and others” (ibid., 122).

I know that this place, both in its structure and in its organization, makes the harsh reality of limitation painfully clear: being unable to leave freely, being unable to embrace your children each day and even having to endure other forms of deprivation. I can imagine your sleepless nights, while you miss your loved ones or think about those you may have hurt. I know that you are disappointed that you did not find a friendly hand, someone who trusted you, helped you get back on your feet and encouraged you to move forward when you needed it most. And it may seem that all of this is an open wound that can never heal.

For this very reason, I would like to emphasize all the more that prison is also a witness to profound changes and conversions, to growth, learning and the acquisition of new skills and knowledge. After experiencing human fragility in its most painful form, many have learned to transform the desert of their own existence into a fruitful garden. Indeed, with God’s grace, it is possible to move beyond total darkness and kindle small lights of hope. These glimmers of light also radiate beyond these walls: into your families, among those who work here and throughout society.

First of all, let us consider your families. They too are waiting for and need these glimmers of light to help them carry on. I would like to address a few words to them. Dear fathers and mothers, dear wives and children, dear families of those who are incarcerated: I would like to remind you that Jesus Christ, when speaking of the importance of charity, identified himself with a prisoner (cf. Mt 25:36). He himself, before giving his life to save us, was deprived of his freedom despite being entirely without sin (cf. Jn 18:12). That is why we must turn to him and implore him on behalf of our loved ones who are in prison. Let us ask Jesus, who was himself a prisoner, to grant them all strength and wisdom, so that this time of solitude and isolation will not be in vain, but will become a time of grace and salvation (cf. Titus 2:11).

I would like to offer a word to the penitentiary service personnel and all the professionals and volunteers who carry out their work in the prisons of this country, as well as those engaged in prison ministry. Dear brothers, you may be tempted to think that nothing will ever change for the better, or to feel powerless in the face of the “structures of sin” (Saint John Paul II, Sollicitudo Rei Socialis, 36) and of death, in the face of deception and corruption that do not disappear but are reinforced through various forms of aggression. I would like to remind you that your work is also an opportunity for growth and personal development. Dear brothers, let us remember that visiting those in prison is a work of mercy to which we are all called. I encourage you to be firm in faith and to anchor your lives in Christian hope, so that you may face the many challenges that arise each day and help make this environment more humane and respectful, one that truly fosters rehabilitation and reintegration into the community.

Finally, to the authorities and the whole of Argentinian society, I would like to say that it is precisely within our limitations that compassion, sincere concern for the needs of others and generosity find a place (cf. Magnifica Humanitas, 119). We are part of the same human family. Let us promote whatever contributes to the good of all. Let us accompany especially our children and young people, educating them in authentic values, caring for them and protecting them, so that they do not fall into the pernicious networks of criminality. The Lord will call us to account for what we have done for each of our brothers and sisters.

May Our Lady of Mercy shelter you all beneath her heavenly mantle. And may the blessing of almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, come down on you and remain with you forever. Amen.

Ana Tina Colussi

Periodista, comunicadora y catequista. Diplomada en Comunicación Católica y Animadora Bíblica de la Pastoral. Desde hace más de siete años acompaña la comunicación de la Iglesia a través de distintos medios y proyectos de evangelización. Comparte diariamente "Un minuto con Jesús", una sencilla reflexión del Evangelio que puede seguirse en sus redes sociales y que busca acompañar la vida de fe con la fuerza de las pequeñas palabras. Cree en la simpleza de las palabras, en la fuerza del encuentro y en el poder de la comunicación para sembrar esperanza, tender puentes y acercar a las personas a Dios.