The vision after 13 days of fasting, a warning for the world. I fasted for 13 days. It was an intense fast with nothing but water and prayer. On the 13th day, God showed me something that I was not supposed to keep to myself. I was supposed to share it. That is why I am here.
Everything will begin in France. Then it will spread to the United States, then to Mexico, and eventually throughout the entire world. Just as it happened during the pandemic, one country will be affected, then another, and then another. But I am not talking about a disease. It is not a virus, and it is not something that spreads through the air. It is something else entirely. I am going to explain everything I saw carefully and in detail.
My name is Elena Marcus. I'm Portuguese. I was born in a small village near Viseu, in the interior of Portugal, and I still live here today. I have been a God-fearing woman since childhood. My mother raised me that way, and I have never abandoned my faith. I attend church, read my Bible every day, and pray in the morning and at night. I never neglect it, and whenever I feel that something is wrong, I do what my mother used to do. I fast.
I know that some people will hear this story and say that it was simply the result of weakness. 13 days without food, and the woman started seeing things. I understand. If someone else were telling this story, I might think the same thing. But I ask you to listen until the end. Afterward, each person can decide what to do with what they have heard.
There is something else I need to tell you right away. It has already begun. Anyone who has been following what is happening in France can already see it. Streets filled with angry people, cars burning, shops being destroyed, police everywhere, and hundreds of people being arrested in a single day. Many people see these events and think they are nothing more than protests. They believe it is just politics and that everything will soon return to normal. I used to think the same way until God showed me what comes next.
Let me tell you how everything began. My mother's name was Maria de Deus. She was a simple country woman. My father worked in the vineyards and he died when I was still a child. My mother was left alone to raise me and my brother, Joaquim. She worked in the fields all day and even when she came home exhausted, she knelt beside her bed every night to pray. Then, in the early hours of the morning, before leaving for the fields, she would pray again. I could hear her voice through the wall. She prayed for me, for Joaquim, for our neighbors, and for everyone in the village, mentioning each person by name.
She could not read very well, but she had memorized many of the psalms. And she was the one who taught me to fast. Whenever something difficult happened, whether someone in the family became ill or we faced some other hardship, she would stop eating and devote herself to prayer. She used to tell me, "My daughter, when you fast, you hear God more clearly." I was a child and I did not understand what she meant. Today, I do.
My family is like many Portuguese families. Over time, everyone went their separate ways. My brother, Joaquim, moved to France when he was still a young man, seeking work in construction. He went to Paris, just as many men from our village did during that period. He spent his entire working life on construction sites. He married a Portuguese woman named Fernanda, who had also moved there, and they still live in a neighborhood near Paris where many Portuguese people have settled. They had two children, Paulo and Sandra, and now they have grandchildren. Their grandchildren were born in France, grew up there, and went to school there. They speak French and hardly speak Portuguese at all.
My daughter, Ines, moved to the United States. She went to Newark, near New York City, where there is an entire neighborhood of Portuguese people. There, she met Ricardo, who is also the son of Portuguese parents, and they married. She works in a restaurant, while he works for a transport company. They have two daughters, Beatriz and Matilda. They are my granddaughters. I only get to see them in person every two years, when they manage to visit during the summer. The rest of the time, we communicate through video calls on our phones.
Then there is Sister Rosa, a much-loved member of my church. She is Portuguese, too, but one day she felt God's calling and went to Mexico as a missionary. She settled in Oaxaca, in southern Mexico, where she works with impoverished families. She has been there for many years. Every month, she writes to me and tells me about the children, the mothers, and the little church they built. I keep all her letters in a box beneath my bed.
So I have loved ones in France, the United States, and Mexico. And those were precisely the three places God showed me, the three places where my heart resides.
This year, I began to feel deeply unsettled. I would wake up in the early hours of the morning with a heavy feeling in my chest, without knowing why. I would turn on the television and see nothing but conflict, riots, wars, and people killing one another. In France, it seemed to be happening every day. My brother would call me and say, "Elena, things are really bad here. I have never seen France like this before."
I was worried, of course, but it was more than ordinary concern. It was something I felt in my spirit. I sensed that God wanted to tell me something. So, I decided to fast. I spoke with my pastor and with Sister Consuelo, who prays with me every Thursday, and then I began a water-only fast. I turned off the television, put my phone away in a drawer, and checked it only once a day to see whether there was anything urgent concerning my family.
I spent my days praying and reading the Bible. I read the book of Daniel, the Psalms, and the Gospels. The first few days were difficult. I felt hungry, suffered headaches, and experienced weakness in my legs. On the third day, I almost gave up, but I kept going. By the fifth day, the hunger had subsided. On the seventh day, I began to experience a profound sense of peace. Then, around the 9th or 10th day, I started crying uncontrollably whenever I prayed. I cried for my brother, my daughter, my granddaughters, and Sister Rosa. I did not understand why. I simply could not stop crying.
On the night of the 13th day, I was kneeling beside my bed as I usually did. It was already past 3:00 in the morning. I had awakened for no apparent reason and got up to pray. And then it happened.
I want to make one thing absolutely clear. I was not asleep. I was awake, kneeling with my eyes open. Suddenly, I could no longer see my bedroom. I saw an incredibly bright light, but it did not hurt my eyes. And in the middle of that light stood Jesus. I cannot describe his face. I have tried many times since then, but I cannot find the words. I simply knew it was him. I was absolutely certain of his identity in that moment, and I felt such overwhelming reverence that I could not lift my head. But it was not an evil kind of fear. It was a profound sense of respect, the awareness of knowing who was standing before me.
He called me by my name. "Elena, you asked to hear me. Now, I am going to show you something. Pay attention to everything you see, and afterward, you must tell others what you witnessed."
The first thing he showed me was France. I saw Paris. I had visited Paris twice to see my brother, so I recognized it immediately. I saw the great avenues, the old buildings, and the river, but the streets were packed with people. And it was not just one street, it was many streets. Young people and older people were all shouting. Some carried banners, others held stones in their hands. Some had their faces covered with cloth.
I saw overturned cars engulfed in flames. I saw rubbish bins burning in the middle of the streets. I saw shop windows smashed and people rushing inside to steal whatever they could find. I saw bus stops destroyed. I saw people throwing stones and bottles at the police, and the police responding with tear gas. People were running, coughing, and crying. I saw police officers beating people, and I saw people attacking police officers. I saw a very young police officer lying on the ground while his colleagues desperately pulled him by the arm.
And it was not just Paris. Jesus showed me Lyon, Marseille, Nantes, Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Lille. City after city. Everywhere, I saw the same scenes.
Then, he said, "Look carefully, Elena. This is only the beginning."
I began to notice something and asked him, "Lord, what are these people fighting against?"
He replied, "Ask them."
So, I listened to the people. One said they were protesting against the government. Another said they were fighting against the rich. Someone else blamed the police. Another person said they were against foreigners, while someone standing nearby said they were fighting in support of foreigners. One young man said it was about taxes. A young woman said she was against everything. Everyone had a different explanation, yet they were all standing in the same street destroying the same things.
Then Jesus said something I will never forget. "These people no longer know what they are fighting against. They are filled with anger, but they do not know where that anger comes from. And this is what will spread."
Then he showed me how it passed from one person to another. I saw a man leaving the underground station on his way to work carrying a briefcase. He appeared calm and ordinary. He stopped at a street corner and began watching the chaos. He watched for five minutes, then ten. A little while later, he was shouting alongside the protesters. He dropped his briefcase on the ground and joined them.
Then I saw a young woman lying on her bed at home watching one video after another on her phone. I watched her expression change. At first, she was calm. Then she became serious. Then she grew angry. She began sending the videos to her friends who became angry as well and forwarded them to other people. Within minutes, thousands of people who had never even been in the streets were carrying the same anger inside them.
Next, I saw a father having dinner with his family while the television broadcast the news. He began complaining, criticizing one person and then another, speaking loudly and angrily. His young children sat there listening. And I saw that anger entering the children's hearts too without anyone realizing what was happening.
Jesus said, "This is how it spreads, through what people see, what they hear, what they say, and what they send to one another. One person passes it to another, and those whose hearts are empty of God receive it all."
Then Jesus took me inside the churches of France. I saw large, ancient stone churches that had taken centuries to build. They were empty. There were tourists taking photographs. People were selling postcards and souvenirs near the entrances. Tour guides explained who had built the churches and in what year. But nobody was praying. Nobody was kneeling. In one church, I saw a sign beside the altar displaying the opening hours and the price of a ticket to climb the tower.
Then Jesus said, "These people have removed me from their lives. Their grandparents prayed here. Their parents still came occasionally. But they no longer come. And when people remove God from their lives, their lives do not remain empty. Something else takes his place. What you saw in the streets is what has entered that empty space."
But Jesus also showed me something different. In a small church in a neighborhood of Paris, I saw an elderly woman sitting alone in the front pew praying with a rosary in her hand. She was Portuguese. I recognized her by the way she carried herself and by the scarf covering her head. She went there every day.
Jesus said, "She is one of the few who still come. Remember her."
Then he took me to my brother's neighborhood. It was near Paris with tall apartment buildings and many small houses. There was a Portuguese bakery, a Portuguese cafe, and a Portuguese community association. I knew the neighborhood well. And I saw that the unrest had reached it too. A car had been burned on the street behind my brother's house. A shop had a badly dented metal shutter. Young people from the neighborhood, including some children of Portuguese families, had become involved in the disorder.
Then I saw my brother Joaquim sitting in his living room watching television. Joaquim was getting old. He had spent his entire working life in construction and his back was badly damaged. He sat there watching everything with profound sadness. His wife, Fernanda, was in the kitchen. I heard her say, "Joaquim, perhaps we should return to Portugal."
He replied, "And what about our children and grandchildren? They belong here."
Then I saw Paulo, my brother's son, having a terrible argument with his own son. The boy wanted to go out and join the protests, but Paulo refused to let him. The young man shouted at his father saying things no child should ever say to a parent. He slammed the door and stormed out. Paulo remained sitting on the bed holding his head in his hands.
Then Jesus showed me Lea. Lea is my brother's granddaughter, Sandra's daughter. She is a young student. She was sitting alone on the kitchen floor of her apartment crying with her phone in her hand. She had spent the entire night watching videos. She was frightened and angry. She had argued with her friends and fallen out with her mother.
She did not know what to do and she wanted to pray. I could see that she wanted to pray. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together just as she had seen her great grandmother do during the few times she had visited Portugal as a child. But no words came. She did not know what to say. Nobody had ever taught her how to pray. She did not even know how to begin. She opened her eyes again and continued crying.
My mother had prayed every day. I pray every day. Yet my mother's great granddaughter did not know how to pray. I wept bitterly. Then Jesus said, "This is what happens when parents and grandparents keep their faith to themselves instead of teaching it to their children and grandchildren. Your brother stopped going to church when he arrived in France. His children never went. His grandchildren do not even know who I am. And those who have never learned to seek me do not know how to stand firm when these things arrive."
Right there, I asked for forgiveness because I had also failed to speak to my brother's grandchildren about God. When they visited Portugal, I gave them sweets, took them to the beach, and cooked them bacalhau. But I never prayed with them. I thought it was not my responsibility. I assumed that one day they would seek God for themselves. But they never did.
Then Jesus showed me what would happen next in France. He showed me schools closing because teachers were afraid and parents refused to let their children go outside. He showed me trains standing still and railway stations sitting empty because workers had stopped working. He showed me supermarkets with half-empty shelves because delivery trucks could not reach their destinations. He showed me people afraid to leave their homes at night. He showed me small family-owned shops, businesses their owners had spent their entire lives building, closing forever because they had been destroyed and their owners had no way to start again.
Then he showed me a government that did not know what to do. One official said one thing, and another said something completely different. One blamed one political party, while another blamed its rival. Nobody had an answer. And the more they argued on television, the more people fought in the streets. Jesus said, "They look everywhere for a solution except to me."
Then he told me, "Now look at how this will spread to the United States." He showed me how it would happen. It would not spread by plane or by ship. It would spread through television, the internet, and mobile phones. What was happening in Paris would appear on people's phones in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles within minutes. They would see videos of burning cars, destroyed shops, and police officers beating people. People in America would watch those scenes, especially the young, and think, "If they can do it there, we can do it here too." They would begin feeling the same anger and rage.
I asked, "Lord, but the United States is so far away from France." He replied, "Today, nothing is far away, Elena. What one person sees here, another person sees there in the very same minute. It is just like the pandemic. At first, people thought it was something happening in China, somewhere far away. Then it reached Italy. After that, it was in their own homes."
Then I saw how everything began. It started in a single city. A small protest sparked by something that seemed insignificant. By nightfall, it had become a riot involving fires and smashed shop windows. The next day, another city was affected. Then another. Then five cities at once. It was just like the pandemic, when we watched the news and saw the number of cases rising in one state after another, with each passing day bringing more.
I saw New York with crowded streets and police vehicles flashing their lights. Helicopters circled overhead. I saw Philadelphia, Chicago, Atlanta, and Los Angeles. I also saw small towns whose names I did not even recognize. Everywhere, the same scenes I had witnessed in Paris were repeated. It was as though someone had copied what happened in France and reproduced it across America.
And then I saw the fear. People went to supermarkets and filled their shopping carts with food, water, and toilet paper, just as they had at the beginning of the pandemic. I saw empty shelves. I saw enormous queues outside gun shops with people buying firearms who had never owned one before. I saw neighborhoods where residents gathered together and built barricades at the entrances to their streets. I saw shopkeepers boarding up their windows before nightfall.
Then Jesus took me to Newark, to my daughter's house. Ines lives on a narrow street in the Portuguese neighborhood there. There is a Portuguese bakery on the corner, a Portuguese flag in a neighbor's window, and a restaurant that serves roast chicken. I know the area well. I have visited three times. And I saw that the unrest had reached there too. There was a protest on a nearby avenue, and sirens could be heard throughout the night. The restaurant where Ines worked had closed early because the owner was afraid.
I saw my daughter arriving home exhausted, repeatedly looking behind her as she hurried inside. Then I saw her alone in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning. Ricardo was asleep. The girls were asleep. Ines held a cup of tea while staring fearfully through the window at the street outside. She was wondering whether she should let the girls go to school the following day. There had been a serious fight between students at Beatrice's school. The children had been watching videos on their phones, taking opposing sides, and one boy had ended up in hospital.
I also saw Ines sitting down to work out the household finances. Everything had become more expensive: food, petrol, and rent. And because the restaurant was closing earlier, she was earning less money. She did not want to tell Ricardo because she did not want to make him worry. I desperately wanted to embrace my daughter. I wanted to tell her, "Pray, my daughter, pray." But I could only watch.
Then Jesus showed me families fighting with one another. That was one of the saddest things I saw. He showed me a large dining table on a holiday with an entire family gathered around it: grandparents, children, and grandchildren. In the middle of dinner, someone mentioned politics. An argument began. The voices grew louder and louder until one of the sons stood up, took his wife and children, and left. The grandmother remained at the table in tears, surrounded by the food she had spent the entire day preparing.
And I saw the same thing happening in countless homes. Parents who no longer spoke to their children, brothers and sisters who had stopped speaking to one another, lifelong friends who blocked each other on their phones because of politics, personal opinions, or things they had seen on the internet. People who had loved each other for years suddenly becoming enemies.
But what frightened me most was seeing this happen inside churches. I had thought that such things would never enter the church, but they did. I saw a large, beautiful church filled with people with a worship band and bright lights. Yet after the service, in the car park, two members of the same congregation were shouting at each other. One nearly struck the other. I saw people singing praises on Sunday and spreading hatred on their phones on Monday, insulting others and wishing them harm. I saw pastors who, instead of preaching about Jesus, climbed into the pulpit to talk about politics, leaving their congregations even angrier than before. I saw one church split in half. One half went in one direction, and the other half went in the opposite direction.
I asked Jesus, "Lord, but the United States has so many churches. It is one of the countries that sends the most missionaries into the world. How can this happen there?" He answered, "They have many churches, Elena, but few people on their knees. They sing about me, but they do not walk with me. They come on Sundays, but they do not seek me during the week. And those who do not walk with me eventually follow whatever everyone else is doing."
But then he showed me the other side of the story, and I want you to listen carefully because this is very important. He took me to a small town in the southern United States, to a street lined with simple wooden houses. In one of those houses lived an older black woman. She was kneeling beside her bed praying aloud. She prayed for her country, her neighbors, her grandchildren, and even the people governing the nation. She was alone in her room. Jesus told me that she had been doing this for many years, every single day.
And in her neighborhood, the unrest did not take hold in the same way. Her neighbors were frightened, but they came knocking on her door to ask her to pray for them. Her grandchildren were safe and peaceful in her home. One young man from the street was on his way to join the protests when he passed her door. She called him over, gave him a plate of food, and prayed for him. He never went to the protest.
Then Jesus said, "She sustains more than many pulpits do. Where people truly pray, this does not gain a foothold. It is not because those people are better than everyone else. It is because they are walking with me."
He showed me other people like her throughout the country. I saw a man wearing a suit and tie in an office high up in a building. He closed his office door, removed his tie, knelt on the floor, and began to pray. I saw a young woman watching videos on her phone. She switched it off, opened a drawer, took out the Bible that had belonged to her late grandmother, and began reading. I saw a father gather his wife and three children around the kitchen table. He turned off the television and prayed with them. I saw a small church with about 30 members open its doors and begin distributing food to people who had lost their jobs. They were not many, but they were doing what they could.
And wherever they were, the unrest did not have the same power. I also saw a small Portuguese church in New York where members gathered at night to pray. Jesus said, "Your daughter walks past this church every day on her way to work, but she never goes inside." I began crying again.
Then Jesus said, "Now look at Mexico." I saw the unrest moving from the United States into Mexico, following the same pattern. It spread through mobile phones, television, the things people watched and heard, and the people traveling back and forth between the two countries. Mexicans living in the United States sent videos to their relatives in Mexico. Young people in Mexico watched those videos and wanted to imitate what they saw.
But the situation became even more serious in Mexico because violence and suffering were already widespread in many places. When this new wave of unrest arrived, it found conditions that made things worse. Jesus first showed me Mexico City. I had never been there, but he showed it to me. It was an enormous city that seemed to stretch endlessly, with avenues filled with people, protests, shouting, and fire. I saw a vast square with an enormous flag in the middle. It was packed with people. Then I saw the police arriving and the disorder spreading.
After that, Jesus showed me Guadalajara, Monterrey, Puebla, and the border cities of Tijuana and Ciudad Juarez. The same scenes were repeated everywhere. I saw places where an already difficult situation became even worse. In some cities, people no longer dared to leave their homes after dark. By 6:00 in the evening, the streets were empty. Shops closed, and mothers brought their children indoors. I saw roads that nobody dared to use because armed men were stopping cars. I saw burned-out trucks beside the highways. I saw food delivery trucks that never reached the cities because they were attacked along the way.
Then I saw the mothers. That was the most difficult part of the vision for me. I saw mothers walking through the streets holding photographs of their children and asking everyone they met, "Have you seen my son?" I saw mothers putting missing person posters on telephone poles. I saw mothers sitting in the doorways of their homes waiting for a child who never returned.
I saw very young boys holding guns. Children who should have been in school, 14 or 15 years old, with the same expression I had seen on the faces of young people in Paris and New York. The same look. Empty, yet filled with anger at the same time. Different languages, different countries, but the same look in their eyes.
Jesus said, "Do you see, Elena? It is the same thing. It began in France, passed through the United States, and arrived here. But here it found more poverty, more suffering, and more weapons. That is why the situation is worse here."
Then he took me south to Oaxaca, where Sister Rosa lived. Oaxaca is a beautiful region filled with mountains and many impoverished communities. Many indigenous people live there speaking languages other than Spanish. Sister Rosa often wrote to me about them. I saw the city, its cobbled streets, and its colorful houses. And I saw that the unrest had reached there too. People had gathered in the main square. Highways were blocked. There were shortages of petrol, and food was becoming scarce in the markets.
Then Jesus took me to Sister Rosa's little church. It stood in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of the city along an unpaved road. It was a simple building with unfinished brick walls, a concrete floor, and white plastic chairs.
A wooden cross hung on the front wall. I recognized it because Sister Rosa had once sent me a photograph. It was 4:00 in the morning. Sister Rosa was there, kneeling alongside several women from the neighborhood. They were simple women wearing long skirts, their hands rough and worn from years of hard work. One of them was Doña Lupita, whom Sister Rosa often mentioned in her letters. She had lost her husband and was raising her grandchildren alone.
They were all kneeling on the concrete floor praying. Then I heard Sister Rosa mention my name. "Lord, please protect Sister Elena there in Portugal. She has been fasting for many days, and I feel that she needs prayer." At that very moment, Sister Rosa was praying for me without knowing that I was witnessing all these things. And then I saw something that gave me hope. I want you to pay attention to this because it is very important.
In France, the churches were empty. In the United States, churches were fighting among themselves. But in Mexico, the small churches began to fill up. The poor churches, the simple churches with concrete floors and plastic chairs. I saw people knocking on the door of Sister Rosa's little church in the early hours of the morning asking for prayer. Some had never stepped inside a church in their lives.
I saw a mother arriving with her teenage son, holding his hand. The boy was dirty, and his eyes were red. She had gone out and brought him back from the streets. She knelt beside him and said, "Pray, my son. Pray with me." The boy began to cry. I saw another young man enter the church at night with a pistol tucked into his waistband. The women were frightened, but Sister Rosa approached him. He removed the pistol, placed it on a chair, fell to his knees, and said that he could no longer bear what he was going through.
Sister Rosa and Doña Lupita prayed for him until morning. I saw entire families arriving with food to share. Those who had a little beans brought them. Those who had tortillas brought those. Everyone ate together in the church. Nobody went hungry. And it was not just Sister Rosa's church. Jesus showed me many others throughout Mexico, in small mountain villages, in poor neighborhoods of large cities, and beside the highways.
Small churches filled with people praying. People singing in the early hours of the morning. People kneeling on dirt floors. Then Jesus said, "Those who have little still know that they need me. Those who have much have forgotten to ask for my help. In France, they believe they do not need me. In the United States, they believe they already have me. But here, they know they cannot endure without me."
I will never forget those words. After that, Jesus showed me the rest of the world. I saw the unrest spreading beyond Mexico to other countries, following the same pattern as the pandemic. I remember those maps shown on television, with countries turning red one after another. It was the same. It spread to Guatemala, Honduras, and throughout Central America. Then it moved into Colombia, Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina, and Chile.
It returned to Europe, reaching Spain, Italy, Germany, England, and finally Portugal. It reached my own country. I saw Lisbon and Porto. I saw people gathering in the streets here too. The same scenes appeared again. I saw young people from my own village, people I had known since they were children, with that same anger in their eyes. Then it spread into Africa, Asia, and everywhere else. Not a single continent was spared.
Everywhere, the scenes were the same. Angry people in the streets. Families divided. Neighbors afraid of neighbors. Governments unable to find answers. Supermarket shelves empty. Schools closed. But the worst part was that people did not realize what was happening to them. They believed they were right. They believed their anger was justified. It was like someone carrying a virus without showing any symptoms and unknowingly passing it on to others.
Then Jesus reminded me of what is written in Matthew chapter 24: because wickedness would increase, the love of many would grow cold. He said, "That is what you are seeing, Elena. The love of many growing cold throughout the entire world. It is not a disease of the body. It is a disease of the heart. And there is no medicine for it that you can buy at a pharmacy."
I asked, "Lord, is there no remedy? Can nobody be saved?"
He answered, "Those who remain with me will be saved." Then he showed me the people I had seen throughout the world. The Portuguese woman praying in the church in Paris. The black woman praying in the southern United States. The man kneeling in his office. Sister Rosa and Doña Lupita, and countless others in different countries. People praying, families gathering to read the Bible, small simple churches helping those in need instead of fighting among themselves, people bringing food to their neighbors, people refusing to get involved in the conflict, refusing to respond with hatred, and refusing to spread everything they saw on their phones.
They were few compared
