“Fidel is doing fine. He arrived at the end of the year. He didn’t believe it either. The mercy of God is infinite! And for this, we give Him thanks.” Maria writes me this message in the afternoon of the first day of the year, to wish me a happy 2026. The story is incredible and needs to be told. Let’s take a step back and go to the previous 6th of August. The hour is around 3 in the afternoon. The temperature is over 100 degrees. I go into the Emergency Room of the hospital of Leganes, a city next to Fuenlabrada, where I live. I ask where to find the Dialysis department and encounter a graciousness that amazes me from a janitor: it seems almost like they were waiting for me. I pass by beds that are full of elderly: some of them, perhaps, are living their final hours of life. I go up the stairs and, passing through a labyrinth of hallways, I arrive at the room of Fidel. A doctor welcomes me. While we wait for his wife, he tells me that the situation is serious, or better, that the patient does not have much time left. He speaks to me thinking that I am a relative. I tell him that I am a priest and that I came to give Last Rites to Fidel. He asks me about the gesture I will perform presently. I explain that Last Rites is a sacrament with which God shares the suffering of the sick person, accompanying him in his illness and toward the final encounter with Him. The sick person can also receive a plenary indulgence, which means that he is freed from the punishment that he would have had to suffer for his sins.
Perhaps never before have I realized something as clearly as I do now: how God listens to the words of a priest.
I begin the prayer, and the doctor stands beside María, his wife. Meanwhile, the hospital chaplain arrives as well. A small Christian community gathers around Fidel’s bed. I am surprised when, as I recite the Lord’s Prayer, the doctor takes María’s hand and together they recite the first prayer that Jesus taught his disciples. It is a simple but very touching gesture. I conclude the ritual by reciting a Hail Mary.
Fidel doesn’t seem to have noticed anything; he’s sleeping, and every now and then a rattle escapes from his mouth. I’ve been through similar situations before, and I can tell when a person has little time left to live. But I’m at peace. This isn’t the first Anointing of the Sick I’ve performed, but perhaps never before have I realized something as clearly as I do now: how God listens to the words of a priest. He agrees to forgive the punishment for the sins committed by one of His children, entering his body through the Holy Spirit simply because a priest has invoked Him and asked that this happen. Incredible! Perhaps this is the great miracle of the sacraments!
Twenty-four hours pass, and I expect to receive a message about Fidel’s death. Instead, as often happens, the patient recovers. His wife writes to me, deeply moved, telling me that he ate some yogurt and a little vegetable soup, and she sends me a photo of her husband getting out of bed. Days go by, and Fidel, whom the doctors had given up on, returns home. The doctors can’t explain what happened. More than four months have passed. The Lord has granted him over 100 days of life so he can be with his family. The situation remains serious; complications persist, and Fidel’s physical condition is still weak. But all of this is illuminated by the light of hope and gratitude. It is from these feelings that his wife’s message arises: she recognizes that the greatest gift God has given her is her husband’s very life.
