‘Carlo Acutis, the first millennial saint, now stands as both a witness and a question to our generation: In a world where everything changes, what remains true?’
LAST Sunday, on the eve of the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Church declared Carlo Acutis a saint, the first millennial to be canonized. The timing could not have been more symbolic: a new saint born into eternity on the day the Church celebrates the birth of Mary, the first to say yes to God’s call.
Seventeen years old when he died in 2006, Carlo was just another teenager in Nike sneakers, coding websites between PlayStation rounds, scrolling through memes, and collecting Pokémon cards. On the surface, he was one of us, navigating a world of broadband speeds and endless distractions. But he saw something many of us miss: that holiness was possible even here, even now, even in the age of the algorithm, a timely way for the Church to affirm that holiness is within reach of all, made possible not through extraordinary acts but through faithfulness in the ordinary.
Pope Francis once called him “God’s Influencer,” and not without reason. Carlo understood influence differently from the way it is sold to us today. He didn’t curate a brand; he cultivated a life. He wasn’t chasing likes or followers; he was chasing truth. While so many use technology to project an image, Carlo used it to point beyond himself, to God, to meaning, to the sacred and pure.
Carlo’s sainthood matters because he lived exactly where we live: in a noisy, connected, restless world. He knew what it meant to scroll endlessly, to refresh timelines, to feel the tug of belonging through likes and comments. But unlike so many of us, he never let his worth be dictated by a screen.
At just 14, he launched a website cataloging Eucharistic miracles across the globe, believing that even in a digital space, wonder could still flourish. While his peers perfected their selfies, Carlo built a map to the sacred.
In one of his diary entries, he wrote:
“All people are born as originals, but many die as photocopies.”
In a time when sameness spreads faster than truth, Carlo chose to remain original, not by standing out, but by standing rooted.
Modernity promises us connection but often delivers only fragmentation. We curate timelines yet lose our sense of time. We collect followers but still struggle to belong. We scroll endlessly for meaning, yet are left hungrier than before.
Carlo lived at the dawn of this digital revolution, the early days of Facebook and YouTube, but he refused to be consumed by it. He embraced technology without surrendering to it. He coded, played, and scrolled, but he also prayed, reflected, and loved. He reminds us that to be fully human is not to reject modernity, but to navigate it with clarity about what matters.
His sainthood also mirrors a larger truth about oneness, something society is still learning. Just as the Church calls its members to unity in faith, our fragmented world is called to rediscover harmony in diversity.
I was reminded of this same realization during the 4th Season Concert of the Manila Symphony Orchestra, “Yellow River – Butterfly Lovers Concerto,” held last Sunday at the Aliw Theater, the same day that Carlo became a saint. It brought together musicians from China and the Philippines, young and old, voices and instruments, to perform pieces like The Yellow River Piano Concerto, The Butterfly Lovers Concerto, and Lucio San Pedro’s Ang Buwan sa Kabundukan. Under the batons of guest conductors He Jianguo of China and Michael Jacinto of the Philippines, it became more than a concert; it became a metaphor for what Carlo’s life also represents: that true harmony is born when differences listen to each other not only with respect but also with genuine happiness.
In an orchestra, violins and drums, sopranos and erhu, pianos and flutes, all distinct, all necessary, blend into one breathtaking whole. The Church is meant to be the same. So is humanity. Carlo reminds us that holiness does not pull us away from one another; it binds us closer.
Carlo’s influence did not come from clever captions or curated aesthetics; it came from authenticity. His “followers” did not measure in numbers but in lives touched, hearts stirred, and souls drawn closer to meaning.
He is the antidote to an age where influence has been stripped of substance. To be God’s Influencer is to point not to the self but beyond the self, toward what is infinite, what is enduring, what is true.
And this makes him a universal model, not just for Catholics but for all young people wrestling with modernity’s questions:
Who am I when I am offline? What is real when everything feels curated? What remains true when the world is always updating?
In being declared a saint on the eve of Our Lady’s nativity, Carlo’s life gains an even deeper resonance. Just as Mary’s “yes” opened the way for the incarnation, Carlo’s “yes” shows us that sanctity is possible even here, even now, in this fractured, fast-moving century.
He reminds us that technology is not the enemy; emptiness is.
Modernity is not the threat; meaninglessness is. The challenge is not to escape the digital age, but to redeem it, to live fully present, fully human, fully alive.
Carlo Acutis, the first millennial saint, now stands as both a witness and a question to our generation: In a world where everything changes, what remains true?
For Carlo, the answer was clear. Holiness was not about withdrawing from the world but embracing it, loving it enough to seek what lasts.
In him, the Church has given us not just a saint but a signpost: that in a fragmented world, it is still possible to live whole, and that in a culture obsessed with self-promotion, the most radical thing we can do is point beyond ourselves.
Carlo’s life was brief, but his influence will endure. He lived as though eternity mattered and perhaps that is the truest form of relevance.
