LETTERS

Self Awareness
The following
was written to a colleague who had extended an invitation to Beginning Day.
Dear Al:
I don’t know why, but reading those stories (i.e., Father Aldo’s and Vicky’s witnesses) made me tremble.  I was also trembling yesterday, listening to concepts I am well aware of and that I live daily, which you and Father Carrón call faith. I tremble as I read Vicky’s words: “If there is a call, one cannot but answer yes.” I tremble because I see how easy it is to talk about yourself and express your humanity, and how, instead,  the world can make it so complicated. While everybody hides behind reasons like “reserve, dignity, modesty, fear, and difficulty” to avoid opening up, you talk about the most intense experiences in the world as if you were talking about pasta.
In order to justify their reticence, people say, “It’s my nature; I’m built that way; we are not all the same,” while I think that we are all the same, indeed. I think love is love, and pain is pain, and those who aren’t able to express it like Vicky and that priest are in a worse situation. I wrote some of my friends about the meeting I attended, and I related to them some of the sentences that struck me, like the one on obedience, or the one about living with no other criteria but the correspondence to one’s heart. I don’t know whether or not they will understand me; maybe they will think it is all sentimental. But I tried anyway, because once you have experienced this vertigo there is no turning back.  You don’t want to turn back because you truly experience fullness of heart. All the rest is boredom. Even volunteering, if faced as an office chore, is boring. Even love between a man and a woman is boring because, in the end, without this fullness, it only becomes the semblance of something unreachable. Thank you for helping me to become aware of something that–I assure you–was already inside of me, but to which I could not give a shape or a name. Many, myself  included, end up on a shrink’s couch in order to reach a self-awareness and a self-expression that is already at hand: simple, clear, and, on top of that, for free. I told my analyst (who was so happy about my “progress”), “Listen, there is some help I’m getting from somebody else, and I would dare call it more intense.” At this point, it would be impossible for me not to let myself be fascinated by this path.
Barbara

Being at Home
Dear Father Julián:
I study Italian at the Fu Jen Catholic University of Taipei (where I have been given the name “Valeria”). I am a Taoist girl from Taiwan, and I go to temple with my family. We pray for peace in our home and for success with my studies. The Catholic religion was completely unknown to me, as well as to the vast majority of Taiwanese. While attending an elective class entitled “Religion and Art,” taught by Father Paolo Costa, I started to learn the story of Jesus. Little by little, I became friends with three priests (who are professors of mine as well)–Father Paolo Cumin, Father Emmanuele (“Lele”) Silanos, and Father Paolo Costa–but most of all, I started attending Mass. In July, I came to Italy to study Italian in Perugia, and I currently live with a few Catholic students who belong to the Movement. I am happy because my life now is full of interesting and new things. Being in a foreign country and becoming friends with foreigners is very beautiful. Following Father Emmauele’s invitation, I went to Rimini to participate in the Meeting. During one of the Meeting’s lectures, Father Emmanuele recounted the experience of the two years he spent in Taiwan. That day, as soon as I saw Father Emmanuele in the meeting hall, I felt I was at home–I never would have thought that an Italian man could make me feel at home. Before the beginning of his speech, we watched a clip from the film dedicated to Taiwan (The Wind of God), showing the three priests playing with some children in the churchyard and teaching Italian at school. Because of their faith, these priests left their homes and moved to a foreign country; they had to learn to understand a completely different culture; they had to learn Chinese in order to spread the good news of Jesus Christ. The most important thing is not how many people converted to Christianity after meeting the three of them, but that they have become our friends, that they accompany us as we grow together, in good times and in bad times. A satisfied man is a happy man: through Paolo Costa and Lele, I have known a joy that, while simple, impacts others. Even though I am not baptized, I think I understand Jesus’ true teaching: the capacity to love.
Du Kan Qian, Taipei

Under the Mantle
Dear Julián:
I am an elementary school teacher, and I want to tell you about the beginning of our year. Like every year before, we found ourselves in front of the children and their parents, with their huge need for companionship. Many families feel isolated, and see us almost as a lifesaver to cling to as they ask for help in the difficult task of education. Many times we, the teachers, pointed out to each other that we don’t have a magic wand, and we can only entrust to the Virgin our common efforts in staying with their children as well as with our own. You once told us that children observe adults and the way they live. We have had proof of this, seeing the constant changes, some miraculous, in our pupils. This year, I started teaching first graders, and within the struggle that dealing with such small kids entails, I understood that all I can and must do is to accompany them together with their parents, and to educate them to raise their gaze and look at reality as a whole. The kids are fantastic, because they force me to continually give reasons for what we do and live. On October 25th, we will dedicate our school to the Virgin Mary, so that she can intercede for us and our children, and keep us always under her mantle. This year, a Muslim girl enrolled. She participates in all our initiatives with astounding simplicity. Her parents sent her to us because they want her to learn a correct attitude toward life. Every day, I am in awe at the spectacle of God’s mercy in action among us.
Veronica, Fidenza, Italy

God’s Design
Dear Editor:
I learned of your existence after a letter I received from my brother, who has been in jail for the past three month for an alleged extortion plan. I’m writing to you because never before have I perceived so much hope in my brother’s words. We are a family of faithful and practicing Catholics, even more so now that we realized how only God’s light and guidance are allowing us to persevere. My brother sent me some photocopies from one of your publications, in which there were letters from five inmates of the Brucoli prison to Andrea, a boy with leukemia, who later died (Traces, Vol. 7, No. 7 [July/August] 2005, pp. 20–22).
My brother told me to read those letters and see what an inmate can do! I cried, and I am still crying now because I eagerly read those letters and I realized that God’s mercy and His justice reach places that man can’t touch. I know they touched my brother’s heart, because I could read between the lines that the only thought that allows him to go on and not give up in the fight to prove his innocence is the belief that all of his pain and desperation are the fruit of God’s design. If it is true that all the suffering we are going through will win us a reward from Jesus Christ, we will go on fighting.
Barbara

Saying “Yes”
We met Kadija at a pottery class that Carmela taught in the afternoon at her school. Carmela had been immediately struck by the curiosity of this Moroccan girl and by Kadija’s passion in following her. We invited her to an outing of the Knights of the Holy Grail (junior high youth group). From that moment on, Kadija’s story became intertwined with Carmela’s, so that the following year, after graduating middle school, she enrolled in the high school adjacent to the middle school where Carmela had been transferred. Being “school neighbors,” they started meeting every morning before class, for a word of encouragement, or simply a brief hello and a quick prayer, that each of them recited according to their own religion. Kadija, who by then had attended one of the Knights vacations as well as all their weekly meetings, started to tell her other friends about this friendship she was living, and she invited them to join. At the end of the summer vacation, she stopped by to tell us the latest news regarding her family who, because of her mother’s health problems, would have to return to Morocco. She told us of her will to remain in Italy, not to give up the life that she found here as well as our friendship (she will come of age next March), and she asked us to welcome her into our family, together with our children. Her request left us speechless, and we felt the need to share this event with our friend Tonino, to help us face it. We still don’t know how the Lord will continue writing our story with Kadija; we only know that, for now, we said, “Yes.”
Mario and Carmela, Salerno, Italy

A New Beginning
On October 5th, Francesco died. He was a two-and-a-half-year-old child who attended nursery school at La Carovana School in Modena (which also includes kindergarten, elementary, and middle school), where I have been working for the past year. This fact represented a new beginning for the teachers, as well as for the parents of the nursery school kids, and the kindergarten class (attended by Francesco’s little sister). This new beginning was possible thanks to Anna (the kindergarten and elementary principal) who, together with Sabrina and Giovanni (respectively the nursery school principal and the elementary school principal), decided to write a letter to all the parents.
Dear parents:
There is a question that, in front of events like Francesco’s death, becomes urgent:  why do I live? Why do I work? Why do I scramble every day, why do I face the struggle of educating my kids? Being moved is not enough–as one of you mothers said, after a few days we forget everything.
Let’s not waste the great grace that Francesco made possible; let’s not forget this question that represents the opportunity to discover that which is worth living, loving, suffering, and rejoicing for. This question can transform us into true men, who witness to each other the promise of good we were created for. We are together for this: to remind each other of this great question, and to support each other on life’s path. Certain events put things into perspective and give to each thing its true value; it is as if we are not allowed to be superficial anymore. This mysterious event questions the way we live affection within our families, with our friends, with our colleagues. It asks us to recognize what is the true value of our relationships. Accepting this challenge is the most beautiful memory that we can dedicate every day, every minute, to Francesco and his family.
In the following days, we went back to daily life, and things started happening: in the classrooms between teachers and students; in the school atrium between parents and teachers; in the car and at home between fathers, mothers, and children… To prevent these little facts from slipping away, the Friends of the Carovana (a group of families who support the educational proposal of the school) and Anna called for an assembly, and on October 13th, the school auditorium was packed. Anna pointed out: “We aren’t here for a commemoration, but to help each other to stay in front of what has happened, so that we can all benefit from it.” It was surprising to listen to the contributions of many mothers who “bared everything,” sharing the drama that was awakened in them by the child’s death, and the difficulties of explaining it to their children. Even more, it was disarming to recognize the simplicity and the depth of the way the children lived those days. Driving home from school, a mother told her son, “I have to tell you something really sad…” He interrupted her: “What? About Francesco’s death? Mom, we can’t do anything about it, but we can play with his little sister.”  Another mother said, “With Francesco’s death, all my little certainties crumbled; I wouldn’t want to find myself in his parent’s shoes, and now I pray and ask, because I am in need…” That need is real; it is the need for an Other.
Cristina, Modena, Italy

An Unexpected Grace
Dear Juliàn:
I am writing to tell you what I had to live through this past year, and what I still go through now. I am twenty years old. In January, my illness reached an all-time high, and I completely stopped living. Inside of me, something rebelled, something would not accept this situation–it was my heart. My heart was not silenced, not even in front of a disease that destroys any desire for happiness. I was suffering because of this double life of mine: on one side the disease, on the other the desire to be well and happy. In May, I agreed to be hospitalized. At the beginning, I was very angry at God! I would cry out to Him: “If You love me, why do You allow me to suffer like this?”–but I would not ask for help. I almost believed Him to be responsible for my suffering, and I did not seek Him. I didn’t even want to hear people talk about Him.  One day, I was walking in front of the chapel and I went in. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I opened that door. For the first time, my heart was leading me. I made the sign of the Cross, I looked at Christ on the Cross and at Mary’s face, and I started crying. I found myself asking Jesus to help me, to stay with me, because I felt alone. I found myself asking for forgiveness for having abandoned Him. I thought back on all the suffering that I had to go through in life, to all the things that happened to me and that I would have never chosen; I remembered how all of those things had led me to something a thousand times greater. Therefore, this enormous cross, too, had to be for an equally enormous gain for me. Then I said, “Lord, I accept this disease because I am certain that this time too you want to take me somewhere, even if now I don’t understand where that is.” I felt at peace for the first time. From that day on, my desperate cry became a question: “What do You want to tell me?” Every day, I felt the need to ask for His help, because I couldn’t make it on my own. I spent three months in the hospital, and it was a very hard experience. When I got out, I immediately started studying, to get back on track with my exams. I was focusing solely on my studies. I passed two exams with 30 cum laude (the top grade), but what surprised me most was to see how unhappy I was. I wondered, “Why am I still so sad?” I felt something was missing. Two days ago, after a long absence, I went back to diaconia, but I was slightly annoyed, because I had a thousand things to do. We talked about obedience, and Pietro said something that struck me: he told us his father was glad in front of his illness, because he accepted the good design of an Other. That touched the depth of my heart, and I started crying for joy. When I left, I was happy as I had never been before in my life. I found a unique correspondence! I understood that I didn’t need anything else but to stay with Him! I spent the whole evening thanking God for the grace of this disease. I’m not crazy; I can now call it a grace because it has opened my eyes, it has made me understand that which is the only thing I need to be truly happy. Up to now, I was happy when I got a good grade, when I was working well, when I received a compliment (which is all fine), but I now understand that there is an abyss between this kind of joy and the one I felt the other night. Now I can say that my illness has a meaning, that it is a wonderful gift. I was very moved yesterday as I was recounting this at School of Community, and in the evening I received a lot of messages from people thanking me for what I had said. This makes me even more determined to affirm that my illness is a grace, because the Lord reached somebody’s heart through me. He made me His tool, and now I am even more grateful. It was the most beautiful experience of my life! The Lord is answering me; He is revealing Himself to my eyes.
Gloria, Parma, Italy

Living Reality
Dearest Father Carrón:
After the summer vacation–which was the opportunity to live a fullness of experience and communion fostered by the CL vacation, another vacation with my Fraternity group, and by the days I spent at the Meeting in Rimini–I felt a certain uneasiness, because my desire for that fullness to permeate my work, my family, and my daily life was disproportionate to the reality. Everything was apparently arid. What was lacking in the work I was doing? At the Beginning Day, talking about School of Community, you challenged us to continuously make a comparison between reality and our experience. After 25 years, I actually discovered that what I lack is a real work on School of Community. Not that I did not attend, but I would always just talk about what Father Giussani was saying. A few weeks back, I went to see a client to collect an overdue payment. I was determined to get what she owed me, but when I met her, looking into her eyes and listening to her recount the recent tribulations that caused a crisis in her company (a mandatory move for her business that coincided with her husband’s illness and death, her subsequent forced absence from work, the crisis, a few opportunists…), I found myself looking at her with the kind of compassion that Christ must have felt for the widow of Nain, who had lost her son. Comparing this fact with the reason why I had gone there, something wasn’t right. Something was telling my heart that there was something else at stake, something more. I couldn’t limit her to that detail of how much she owed; I couldn’t do anything else but obey my heart and reconsider my initial plan. What allowed me to move in a different way? It was remembering what you have been telling us lately, that is, to live in reality experiencing Christ, having in our eyes and in our hearts that mercy that stooped down to embrace our nothingness. If we live like this, even what seems arid can change and, wherever we are, we build a segment of transformed humanity, the Church.
Franco, Abbiategrasso, Italy