The Young Pope stands before his flock, bathed in the golden glow of early morning. His white cassock ripples gently in the breeze as the first rays of sun strike St. Peter’s dome behind him. He lifts his arms and begins to speak, his voice clear, powerful, but full of warmth:
“The sun is rising. Daylight is coming for the poor.”
“Too long have you been hidden in the shadows of broken systems and false shepherds. But now, a new day begins—not for the rich, not for the powerful—but for you. For the meek. For the forgotten. For the ones the world passes by.”
He signals to a young altar boy, who taps play on an old tape deck. The scratchy prelude of Marko Perković Thompson’s “Dan Dolazi” begins to echo across the square. The song builds with intensity, warlike and triumphant, as if a lion were waking in the soul of the people.
The Young Pope closes his eyes and lets the music fill the square. He then continues:
“Listen to the words. Feel the rising of the day in your bones. Dan dolazi—the day is coming. Not by sword, but by faith. Not with vengeance, but with truth. Not with gold, but with justice.”
“You have waited long enough. The time of shame is ending. Your children will eat. Your debts will be forgiven. Your labor will not be in vain.”
As Thompson’s chorus swells, the people begin to rise to their feet. Some cry. Some lift their hands in the air. The homeless, the widowed, the tired—all begin to believe again.
And with a smile only he can wear, the Young Pope finishes:
“Let the billionaires tremble. Let the tyrants shiver in their bunkers. For the sun is not theirs.
The sun belongs to God—
And He is shining it on you.”
