by Marco Baratto
June 28, 1914, marked the end of an era. On that day, among the festive crowd in Sarajevo, an assassination took place that would shake the entire world. Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Habsburg, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife Sophie were murdered by Gavrilo Princip, a young Bosnian-Serb nationalist. It was the feast day of Saint Vitus, a national holiday for the Serbian people, but no celebration could drown out the echo of those gunshots. With two pistol shots fired from the crowd, not only were two lives extinguished, but so was the last light of a time of relative stability. Thus began a chain of events that would plunge Europe—and eventually the world—into the bloodiest of wars: the Great War.
That day, conventionally recognized as the casus belli of World War I, marked the beginning of a century bathed in blood. Following the assassination, the Austrian imperial government issued an ultimatum to Serbia, triggering a devastating domino effect of military alliances. Within weeks, the great powers were at war. Trenches, poison gas, and both moral and material destruction became humanity's new landscape. Peace—true, deep, lasting peace—seemed to withdraw from history.
In the solemn memory of that tragic and symbolic day, my heart now turns to Your Holiness, successor of Peter and spiritual guide to millions. Holy Father, how can we not see in that day—June 28—the sign of a pivotal moment that still calls to us, challenges us, and demands from us a spiritual and moral reckoning? Since then, with only brief interludes, the world has never again known true peace. Wars have multiplied, taking new forms and tools, but they have never left our horizon. We live in a state of permanent conflict, often invisible, but no less devastating.
This is why I appeal to you, Holy Father, with the humble fervor of a believer: proclaim June 28 as a universal day of prayer, penance, and fasting for peace. Not a mere commemorative date, not just a liturgical celebration, but a collective cry of the soul lifted to heaven, asking for the end of war, for armies to be stilled, for hearts hardened by hatred to be softened. Let us invoke the intercession of Blessed Charles of Habsburg, the last Christian emperor of Europe and a witness to peace even in the darkest times.
Holy Father, be a prophetic voice as Saint John Paul II was against the war in Iraq, and as Pius XII was in his sadly unheeded efforts to stop the Second World War. Your predecessors raised their voices in critical moments of history. Let your voice resound clearly and forcefully today in a world that has lost its way. As Saint Augustine wrote:
"Let peace be our beloved, our friend; may we live with her in our hearts in chaste union; may we taste with her a rest full of trust, a companionship without bitterness..."
These are words that cross the centuries to reach us in our time, so burdened with tension. Wars rage in Ukraine, the Middle East, the African Sahel, the Caucasus. Forgotten conflicts, and others unfolding before the world's eyes, but all rooted in the same cause: the absence of peace in human hearts, even before its absence in our institutions.
We must not resign ourselves to war as "normal." We must no longer consider evil as inevitable. The Church, in its universal mission, must offer a counter-narrative to the logic of vengeance, pride, and power. A day like June 28, indelibly marked in historical memory as the beginning of modern suffering, can and must become a threshold of conversion.
Imagine, Holy Father, millions of men and women of all faiths—Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and non-believers—united by a single desire: the end of war. In silence or in song, in churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, or their own homes, gathered in prayer or inner silence, participating in a day meant to "pause the world." It would be a profound sign, a true act of spiritual diplomacy. A day without weapons, without polemics, without bloodshed.
Call upon political leaders, too, to set aside their divisive rhetoric for that day and bow before the mystery of peace, which is born not from calculation but from the conversion of hearts. As you have already done in the past, call once again for a policy of disarmament and dialogue, not out of naivety, but out of courage. Ask families, young people, the elderly, and communities to offer fasting as a gesture of communion with those who suffer because of war.
The time has come, Holy Father, for the Church to proclaim that war is never inevitable and that peace is a gift that must be requested, protected, and defended. June 28, 1914, was the last day of peace for Europe and the world. But we can transform it into the first day of renewed hope. Memory can be a wound—but it can also be redeemed. Make of that day a redeemed remembrance. And we, as sons and daughters of the Church, will respond with open hearts.
Because peace, as Benedict XVI said, "is possible; it is a duty; it is the indispensable condition for a just future." And because, as Saint Augustine wrote, "it is not difficult to possess peace," if we only learn to love her.
June 28, 1914, marked the end of an era. On that day, among the festive crowd in Sarajevo, an assassination took place that would shake the entire world. Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Habsburg, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife Sophie were murdered by Gavrilo Princip, a young Bosnian-Serb nationalist. It was the feast day of Saint Vitus, a national holiday for the Serbian people, but no celebration could drown out the echo of those gunshots. With two pistol shots fired from the crowd, not only were two lives extinguished, but so was the last light of a time of relative stability. Thus began a chain of events that would plunge Europe—and eventually the world—into the bloodiest of wars: the Great War.
That day, conventionally recognized as the casus belli of World War I, marked the beginning of a century bathed in blood. Following the assassination, the Austrian imperial government issued an ultimatum to Serbia, triggering a devastating domino effect of military alliances. Within weeks, the great powers were at war. Trenches, poison gas, and both moral and material destruction became humanity's new landscape. Peace—true, deep, lasting peace—seemed to withdraw from history.
In the solemn memory of that tragic and symbolic day, my heart now turns to Your Holiness, successor of Peter and spiritual guide to millions. Holy Father, how can we not see in that day—June 28—the sign of a pivotal moment that still calls to us, challenges us, and demands from us a spiritual and moral reckoning? Since then, with only brief interludes, the world has never again known true peace. Wars have multiplied, taking new forms and tools, but they have never left our horizon. We live in a state of permanent conflict, often invisible, but no less devastating.
This is why I appeal to you, Holy Father, with the humble fervor of a believer: proclaim June 28 as a universal day of prayer, penance, and fasting for peace. Not a mere commemorative date, not just a liturgical celebration, but a collective cry of the soul lifted to heaven, asking for the end of war, for armies to be stilled, for hearts hardened by hatred to be softened. Let us invoke the intercession of Blessed Charles of Habsburg, the last Christian emperor of Europe and a witness to peace even in the darkest times.
Holy Father, be a prophetic voice as Saint John Paul II was against the war in Iraq, and as Pius XII was in his sadly unheeded efforts to stop the Second World War. Your predecessors raised their voices in critical moments of history. Let your voice resound clearly and forcefully today in a world that has lost its way. As Saint Augustine wrote:
"Let peace be our beloved, our friend; may we live with her in our hearts in chaste union; may we taste with her a rest full of trust, a companionship without bitterness..."
These are words that cross the centuries to reach us in our time, so burdened with tension. Wars rage in Ukraine, the Middle East, the African Sahel, the Caucasus. Forgotten conflicts, and others unfolding before the world's eyes, but all rooted in the same cause: the absence of peace in human hearts, even before its absence in our institutions.
We must not resign ourselves to war as "normal." We must no longer consider evil as inevitable. The Church, in its universal mission, must offer a counter-narrative to the logic of vengeance, pride, and power. A day like June 28, indelibly marked in historical memory as the beginning of modern suffering, can and must become a threshold of conversion.
Imagine, Holy Father, millions of men and women of all faiths—Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and non-believers—united by a single desire: the end of war. In silence or in song, in churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, or their own homes, gathered in prayer or inner silence, participating in a day meant to "pause the world." It would be a profound sign, a true act of spiritual diplomacy. A day without weapons, without polemics, without bloodshed.
Call upon political leaders, too, to set aside their divisive rhetoric for that day and bow before the mystery of peace, which is born not from calculation but from the conversion of hearts. As you have already done in the past, call once again for a policy of disarmament and dialogue, not out of naivety, but out of courage. Ask families, young people, the elderly, and communities to offer fasting as a gesture of communion with those who suffer because of war.
The time has come, Holy Father, for the Church to proclaim that war is never inevitable and that peace is a gift that must be requested, protected, and defended. June 28, 1914, was the last day of peace for Europe and the world. But we can transform it into the first day of renewed hope. Memory can be a wound—but it can also be redeemed. Make of that day a redeemed remembrance. And we, as sons and daughters of the Church, will respond with open hearts.
Because peace, as Benedict XVI said, "is possible; it is a duty; it is the indispensable condition for a just future." And because, as Saint Augustine wrote, "it is not difficult to possess peace," if we only learn to love her.
