In October 2025, an eight-day spiritual retreat planted an unexpected call in my heart: to be with the teenagers of our parish. The retreat centre, nestled in the middle of the city of Havana, was an invitation to listen, and it slowly opened me to a vocation I had never considered. It was not about teaching or organising. It was simply about being with them.
But when I returned, there was no set programme. Even so, I discovered that in the parish there was already a small group of teenagers who met every Friday evening at the parish centre. There were about seven or eight of them, guided by two young catechists who, with great dedication, accompanied their first steps in the faith. I felt a deep attraction to that group and, somewhat shyly, I approached them. I asked their permission to join their Friday gatherings. With a generosity that moved me, they opened their doors wide to me.
That is how I began to share with them. At first, I only observed and listened. Little by little, I came to know a fourteen-year-old girl who dreams of becoming a teacher and of working with little children; a boy who carries the weight of his family's expectations; another girl whose laughter fills the room, but whose eyes reveal deeper struggles; a twelve-year-old boy who asks the most difficult questions about faith; and two quieter ones, who observe and listen with a moving attentiveness. All of them, accompanied by the young catechists, formed a small group full of life and searching.
In time, I began to visit their homes, sharing snacks and games, listening to their anxieties about the future and their most intimate hopes. Each of them has been a gift, a window onto the realities faced by so many young people in Cuba today.
It was in January 2026, during one of those Friday-evening gatherings, that I offered a simple teaching on silent prayer. I spoke of Jesus withdrawing to lonely places to pray, of Elijah hearing God not in the wind or the earthquake, but in a gentle whisper. I showed them that silence is not emptiness, but fertile ground where God plants his seed. When I finished, an expectant silence enveloped us — different from our usual liveliness. It was then that the six teenagers exchanged determined glances, and the young catechists nodded enthusiastically. One girl, her eyes shining, whispered fervently: "Sister, we want more of this. Will you teach us to stay in this silence with God?"
The following Tuesday, we were in the chapel. We have not missed a single Tuesday since. That little prayer circle — the six teenagers and the two young catechists — has become the beating heart of my ministry. There, we read the Gospel three times, letting the silence between each reading do its sacred work. I watch them write in their journals, pouring out their deepest questions, their rawest emotions, their sighs of gratitude. Their notebooks are becoming written testimonies of their spiritual journey. At dusk, as the Caribbean sun sets, our voices rise together in Vespers, weaving the ancient with their fresh and courageous faith. It is a moment of grace that transcends our small lives.
They have taught me more than I have given them. They have shown me resilience in the face of uncertainty and a faith that questions and still believes. I have shared in their joys: a passed exam, a first love, the simple gift of friendship. But the greatest joy is to see them grow in faith, every Tuesday, in our little circle.
We have no formal programme. Only our sacred appointment. I have learned that ministry is not about having all the answers, but about showing up, again and again, with an open heart. The Lord called me from a retreat to a parish, from observation to participation, from uncertainty to this prayer circle that is my greatest joy. I am deeply grateful to the young catechists for their generosity in opening the doors of their group to me. These eight young people have opened my heart wide. They are my teachers, my family and my daily prayer. May God continue to guide this journey, and may this experience inspire other sisters and educators to trust in the transforming power of silent presence and shared prayer with young people.
Sister Sylvia Ma. G. Jopillo, R.A.
Missionary in the Province of Central America and Cuba