By Jeannie Vazquez

From Journal - June 2026, By Jorge Wilczyk (Jorge Urantiano) Argentina on June 1, 2026
Let’s start with a spoiler.
The answer is yes. He knew about it and studied it.
Confirmed.
But to explain how I learned this, I need to tell you a story.
 

For several years, I was on hemodialysis due to chronic kidney failure. Dialysis sessions can be tedious: four to five hours at a time, three times a week. Like everything in life, it had a positive side. Sitting comfortably in a recliner for that long gave me an excellent opportunity to read and study my favorite book (you know which one I mean).
The dialysis unit was a long corridor, about fifteen meters (roughly fifty feet) in length, with six recliners facing each other on each side. It looked something like a hospital ward, except that instead of beds there were recliners, with dialysis machines positioned between them. At times, this arrangement encouraged conversation and interaction among patients, much like the different friendships and affinities that naturally develop in a school classroom.
 

In 2012, a new patient arrived: Jorge Castelli, Archpriest of the Antiochian Orthodox Church, which according to tradition was founded in the first century by Peter and Paul in what is now Antakya, Turkey, and later separated from Roman Catholicism during the Great Schism of 1054.
 

Like every new patient who arrived at the clinic, he was introduced by name, and from his clothing we could tell that he was a member of the clergy.
 

From where I was sitting, Jorge was positioned diagonally across from me. From his recliner, he could clearly see a thick blue hardcover book resting on the armrest of my dialysis recliner. As he later told me, he initially assumed it was a Bible.
I knew it wouldn’t take long before his curiosity and my blue book eventually led to a conversation. Like a patient fisherman, I waited for the question to come.
 

It arrived at the end of his first week there (he would remain on dialysis for only three years).
From where he sat, he could see both the front and back covers of my book, which I admit I had intentionally positioned so they would be easy to notice. He could clearly read the gold lettering at the top and see the three concentric circles below.
“That’s not a Bible,” he said, looking at me as though he were answering his own question out loud.
“Not exactly,” I replied immediately. “Although you could say it’s an update.”
 

Jorge tilted his head to one side, pursed his lower lip, and quietly said:
“Well, look at that…”
He said nothing more.
Neither did I.
I went back to reading.
 

(I have no doubt that our Thought Adjusters had already started a WhatsApp chat.)
Jorge Castelli in his office in Buenos Aires
In his seventies, Jorge Castelli was a serious man with an almost military voice, yet he knew how to let his sense of humor show without ever breaking character.
 

He was a trained theologian with scientific knowledge. A true all-rounder, something of a blend between a Jesuit and a Salesian.
He came from a traditional and affluent Argentine family whose history reached back to Argentina’s first national government in 1810. Yet from a very young age he devoted himself completely to living for, among, and on behalf of those most in need.
In his community of San Fernando, Buenos Aires, he opened streets in poor neighborhoods, built and taught others how to build; he baked bread and taught others how to bake it. Classroom by classroom, he helped create a school that grew into what it is today: an educational institution serving about 850 students of different ages and levels.
He was a man of faith who truly lived his faith.
 

He sought to do God’s will in every sense of the expression.
Although I do not remember exactly how it came about, at some point a comment led us into a conversation about the origin of life.
He told me that what the Bible describes should not always be understood literally.
That gave me the opening I needed.
“Right, like Adam and Eve, the serpent, and the apple… As a matter of fact, The Urantia Book contains entire papers devoted to Adam and Eve.”
 

At that moment Jorge revealed something important about himself: he was a man of strong convictions but also an open mind. He did not react defensively.
Instead, he said:
“That’s very interesting. I’d like to read it.”
And almost immediately followed with:
“What is Urantia?”
 

I gave him what I jokingly referred to as the standard “Wikipedia summary” that tends to come naturally to many of us, always trying not to make anyone uncomfortable or create unnecessary confrontation. Then I concluded with something that I knew would appeal to him:
“I think it would be better if I lend you the book for a couple of days. You’ll probably find the first pages especially interesting because you have a theological background. Take a look, and then we’ll talk.”
He spent the entire weekend with the copy I gave him.
 

When I arrived at the dialysis unit on Monday, he was already sitting in his recliner.
Before he even greeted me, eager to share his reaction, he said:
“That book is the most wonderful thing I have ever read in my life!”
He accompanied his words with such an dramatic gesture of his hands that the patients at the far end of the room thought he was scolding me.
 

From that moment on, every dialysis session became an ongoing exchange between the two of us. Since we both had strong voices, we often ended up, unintentionally, turning the people closest to us into listeners to our conversations. The patients’ running joke was: “So, what’s today’s conference about?”
 

I eventually gave Jorge a copy of The Urantia Book—if I remember correctly, one of the last hardcover copies that Carlos Rubinsky still had available. Another patient, whose health was quite fragile, became interested after overhearing our conversations, especially the teachings about the morontia worlds and what comes afterward. The certainty and precision of those ideas brought him comfort. He remained a reader during the final days of his life. My conversations with Jorge continued naturally.
 

We learned a great deal from one another (I learned more from him). We became friends.
I came to know details of his life that truly deserve to be told. The inspiration he found in The Urantia Book reinforced ideas that had long been present in his mind, ideas that conventional theology had never fully satisfied. He eventually began a secondary activity alongside his traditional religious work: he used concepts from the Fifth Revelation in training seminars for seminarians, without revealing the source.
And this brings us to the part about Pope Francis.
 

Jorge had formed a group with other religious figures with whom he regularly exchanged letters, documents, reflections, and ideas. Some were from Argentina, while others participated by correspondence from various Latin American countries, including Colombia, Peru, and Venezuela.
 

I don’t remember their names, but I do remember that at least one of them held a prominent position within the Catholic Church in his country.
One of the prominent figures in Argentina who belonged to what I might describe as Jorge’s “study group” was a high-ranking clergyman within the Argentine Catholic Church. I won’t mention his name because he is still active today.
When I heard his name, I immediately associated him with his well-known closeness to Jorge Bergoglio. The question was inevitable:
“Does Francis know about The Urantia Book?”
 

“He knows it and studies it. I know this from ‘……'” (and he mentioned the other person’s name).
“And there are others, too, but very few have the guts to say so openly, because it would be impossible for the Curia to handle.”
(Actually, he didn’t say “guts.” He used a more vulgar expression, one that suited him much better.)
Jorge Castelli died in 2015 following a domestic accident.
 

That same year, Pope Francis told educators around the world:
“Educating in truth, goodness and beauty leads to a full life.”1
Now you need no longer doubt the origin of that phrase.
 

From that entire experience, I learned that revelation does not seek to impose itself, but to be shared.
The book is only a means. What matters is what it awakens in those who encounter it, and knowing how to offer each person something from our beloved text that may be useful to them.
 

Jorge Castelli did not need to change religions in order to see more clearly. He was a man of genuine faith.
His Inner Spark confirmed truths that he had already sensed. He recognized truth when he encountered it, and he was moved by it.
That is life.
 

Sometimes you think you are simply going to a dialysis session… and you end up keeping an appointment with the Father’s will.
What for some might have seemed routine or suffering became a setting for service, friendship, and sharing light.
I learned a great deal from those experiences and from many other situations I lived through there over the course of nine years.
For that, I thank our Great Father.
 

I learned that there is no moment, no place, and no circumstance in which the spirit cannot work through us.
I learned that we should not speak about the book, but from its teachings.
That truth, when it is genuine, does not need labels.
 

And that we are not here to convince anyone, but to live in such a way that others may wish to find the source, drink from it, and then begin carrying living water to those who do not yet know they are thirsty.
 

Speech to the World Congress of Catholic Education, November 21, 2015 ↩︎
Jorge Wilczyk lives in Argentina and has been active in the Urantia Book community since 1998. A professional journalist since 1994, he is currently president of the Urantia Association of Argentina.
 

Read the interview with Jorge Wilczyk.
Images: Jorge Castelli in his office in Buenos Aires.
Jorge Wilczyk with his caregivers during dialysis treatment, 2012.