letters

Letters

A motorcycle daytrip
Some time ago, I took a motorcycle daytrip through Italy’s regions of Marche and Umbria. The weather was wonderful, and I was having a lot of fun riding on those sunbathed and perfectly paved roads. Every now and then, I would say to myself: how delightful! Everything was just right and I was enjoying the experience. All of a sudden, a thought popped up in my mind: if Christ weren’t here, what would remain of all this joy and satisfaction? Nothing; nothing that is really worthwhile. Not that the ride had suddenly lost its appeal, but the depth of the enjoyment, the greatness of that simple and ephemeral experience depended on Him. Either this, or I can get off my bike and sell it. He was giving the significance of eternity to a beautiful, but inherently finite, gesture. From that moment on, I enjoyed the ride a hundred times more. The evidence that Christ was the content even of such a “useless” action appeared in all its power, and while I was thinking about this, I couldn’t but affirm a familiar and carnal Presence upon which my consistency depends. What multiplies the thrill of a ride on my Ducati is a “You.” There is no need to make an effort. Thinking back to that day, I say that what happened then can happen again, even in a circumstance that apparently has only a negative connotation. This is what urges me to ask Him to see His presence, to beg for the ability to judge according to my true nature. Everything becomes more “human,” more “for me.”
Gigi, Italy

In front of Death
toward Destiny
The following letter was written to community friends by Tim, whose father is in the end stages of pancreatic cancer.
Every trip home for the past few weeks, I’ve begged for the courage to speak to my father about the Mystery, about Christ, about death, about life. I tried “working up” the courage to speak with him and it never happened. I went through what I would say in my head, over and over, but it never worked. I was ashamed for my cowardice. One Saturday night, my father and I were watching TV, and he asked me to help him plan his funeral: pallbearers, funeral home, etc.  My sister (who’s a Presbyterian minister), my step-mother (who hasn’t been to church for 10 years, except Christmas and Easter), and my family were there. We started the planning of his funeral and developed a to-do list.  When that conversation was completed, we sat for a moment in silence, then I told him that I’ve become convinced that death is not the end of him and I told him in brief about the work I’ve done to be able to say this. I recognized myself saying it as a fact and not as a “leap of faith,” not as a “belief.”  In tears, he said that it was easy for me to say this, that it might be that way for me, but he didn’t think it would be that way for him. I found myself telling him that it didn’t matter what he “thought,” that it is a fact that death is not the end. In that moment, it was and it remains so overwhelmingly obvious that the courage to speak was being given to me exactly when I needed it and not a second before I needed it.  What I said to him was not the script I ran through my head dozens of times–even the words to speak were given to me. It is so painfully and joyfully obvious that I don’t make myself, that I am made, that I am completely dependent. On the drive home, I was listening to the Spiritual Fraternity Exercises and at the point when Fr. Carron quoted St. Paul, “For to me to live is Christ,” I realized that St. Paul and I are the same, his experience is my experience: it is the same Christ and I too am a slave to Christ.           
Tim Larsen, Aitkin,
Minnesota (USA)

EverytHing works
for the good
Dear Father Carrón: Our third son, Gabriele Maria, was born on August 24th. When the doctors told us that he had Down’s Syndrome, after a moment of bewilderment, we were able to focus on reality: with Gabriele Maria, the mysterious face of Christ came to dwell in our family, and we–who have an intense desire to be a holy family–can’t but be grateful and moved for being chosen as the recipients of this precious gift. What enabled Pasquale and me to welcome and accept Gabriele’s illness was the same judgment that each of us reached in a personal and independent way. Within minutes, we both started to painfully remove the sediment surrounding our hearts that was making us think that a “perfect family, with beautiful and healthy children,” was everything we could ask for, and we started instead to look at the whole breadth of our hearts’ desire, having already experienced that only Jesus can fulfill it. Up to that point, though, it had been easy, so much so that I had often asked myself whether I would still have had faith in front of a trial that unhinged my “I.” In that moment, a prayer sprang from our hearts: “Lord, we know You love us infinitely and that You only want our good. We are certain that precisely this child, just the way he is, is the road toward our happiness.” As I kept repeating, “Lord, Your will is my Heaven,” the torpor of pain gave way to a peace in my heart and to a lucid clarity, both fully shared by Pasquale: it isn’t that we have to become accustomed to something less, but that we have to open up to something more. A few days after the birth, our little Gabriele was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, a relatively rare and aggressive form of cancer. The prognosis was uncertain, and despite the following worsening of his condition, our hearts were filled with unimaginable gladness and peace. In the past, I had often felt trapped by circumstances I didn’t want to live, but at the time of these particular events, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. We are certain that “in everything, God works for the good of those who love Him” and that not one of our tears is in vain. Therefore, we have embraced our dear cross with love and with great anticipation for the flower of grace that will bloom and that is already becoming visible. Many, many people prayed, and still pray, for Gabriele and for our family–because of our friends’ and relatives’ love, the word got around and reached various cities, thus uniting our communities, as well as different charisms, in one prayer. We experienced how faith can really withstand even the most dramatic circumstances. I have never felt this loved, accompanied in every instant, and at the same time able to embrace everything, without eliminating anything I am living. The Virgin listened to our prayers, and Gabriele’s leukemia is on the mend. There is still the possibility of a relapse, and we are told that we have our work cut out for us in raising a baby with Down’s Syndrome, but we are not afraid; we are at peace and serene “like a little child in its mother’s arms” (Psalm 131). We keep supporting each other through prayer, begging the Holy Virgin for Gabriele’s complete healing, and even more for the grace of faith, so that we can love God’s will above all things, whatever it may be.
Simona and Pasquale,
Pescara (Italy)

“What do you think?”
Dear Fr. Carrón: Reality is complex, always full of contradictions, but what is really worrisome is the immobility, which is fuelling a widespread resignation, that actually extinguishes the hope for a real change. Dealing with troubled young people we intervene on single cases, we expend energy, but everything seems to be emergency intervention, without goals, and the confusion is escalating. Before the summer, I had a conversation about it with my colleagues, pointing out how it has now become a habit for many to delegate their role and responsibilities. I decided to start anew with the people who work with me, and I began challenging them. When they asked me what we should decide, I started responding, “We decide together; what do you have to say? What do you think? What do you think can be done for this boy who is in front of us today?” I observed two kinds of reactions: people would either be struck dumb, or would repeat what somebody else was saying–“The psychologist, the social worker, the counselor says…” (i.e. the experts’ opinion) or “people say…” (i.e., the widespread prejudice). At the beginning, I thought it was only a problem of lack of attention, or of a mix of superficiality and cynicism; later, I intuited that what’s at stake is much more radical, that at the core there is a sort of fear to exercise judgment, an inability to think with one’s own mind. People don’t judge because they don’t know where to start; the criterion is lacking. I then perceived how pivotal and dramatic the matter of the heart is. I asked myself: how can one judge without the heart? It is impossible! In fact, in my line of social work, I noticed that we tend to settle, and at the most we fix fragments of reality, but we don’t build something that lasts; we don’t affirm something–a criterion, a good–that can be valid and can be a new beginning. But what’s incredible is that, more or less unwittingly, we (which means, above all, me),  too, fell into this attitude, despite the encounter we have had with Christ in our lives. We were led to believe that it’s “okay,” as if the heart were something you alone possessed. On the contrary, today I can say that I have made my own what has been often said to me: the compass that each human being can use to orientate the path of his reason in order to judge and know reality is in the heart. The most immediate way to face the circumstances I’m in has been to push the people I work with to reflect upon the reason for our presence and our actions in the concrete cases we encounter. On the other hand, the law itself affirms that the juvenile criminal trial has, first and foremost, a pedagogical value. What does “pedagogical value” mean, though, and what is the true interest of the minor? What is the criterion for our choices? I intend to challenge my co-workers, by affirming that this is our nondelegable responsibility, and that it’s up to us to try to supply an answer to the needs we encounter, with what we have. In this personal relationship, I try to make the heart re-emerge with its original evidences and needs. I want other people to have this experience, as a possibility for their humanity to grow. I don’t care if they agree with me; I care about getting them involved in this possibility for their life.
Name withheld

A PLACE TO SHARE FAMILY LIFE
“There must be a place in Your Church for me and all of my family to belong.” This was my begging to God. Real begging, not casual asking or wondering; it was a desperate plea, and when the invitation was made to “Come and See” for the Beginning Day in Rochester, Minnesota, ten years ago, we went with an enthusiasm that was certain because of the concrete and immediate response to the prayer. But after the day, the drive home was not enthusiastic. Could CL really be a place of belonging for us? They were talking about wonder–what did this have to do with faith? Yet we saw something alive in the friendships, and there was joy. We stayed. Another family, who was also looking, decided not to stay, because  they felt all the Movement activities would separate their family too much. I wondered, “Will being part of this separate my kids from me?”  Fast-forward 10 years, my oldest three have encountered Christ through the Movement and in unlikely ways. Jim, my oldest, was on a GS vacation and was yelled at for goofing off and not taking seriously what was being proposed. Surprisingly, in this reprimand, my son recognized Another. He recognized there was someone who cares about his life more than he did when he was asked  to take this GS vacation seriously, for his own life, for his own happiness. He came home changed and has lived differently ever since. Now he is married to Steph and they are missionaries in Peru. After attending Beginning Day in Lima, Peru, Jim and Steph called, and we discussed Fr. Carron’s talk. We discussed living life with an awareness of His Presence. How is it that I am talking with my daughter-in-law and my married son like this? It is you, Christ. This life you’ve called me to in the Movement is Your life, it has not separated me from my children; instead, my husband Peter and I share a life with our children that we couldn’t have imagined.           
Marcie Stokman, Crosby, Minnesota (USA)

PARTY IN THE PIAZZA
“IDiego, a guy who loves to think big, will graduate in Milan on October 14th” is the writing on the t-shirts that Diego’s friends are wearing under their dark suits. After a brilliant academic and social-involvement career at the university, he faces the defense of his dissertation (starting from a 108 score out of 110). Getting a “magna cum laude” may seem easy for him, but he does not take it for granted. I look at Diego and I pray to Father Giussani to help him get this coveted recognition. Something Father Giussani said to Enzo Piccinini comes to mind: “Loving somebody means looking at him and, in the moment of acutest yearning, saying, ‘What will your destiny be?’” I have been following his story since five years ago when, after graduating from high school, he met the experience of the Movement through his relationship with my daughter and his visit to the Rimini Meeting, and through his decision to go to law school in Milan (due to his intuition of a foreseen good). I have watched him during these past five joyful and difficult years within this companionship guided to Destiny. I was moved as I witnessed the Mystery in action then and now. So he graduated magna cum laude, all the professors shook hands with him, and he was congratulated by his relatives and about a hundred of his friends, both from Milan and Cagliari (his hometown) at a party in the piazza just outside the university, a celebration marked by the joy and the creativity of the companionship. In wonder, I watched this “different human reality,” the awe-struck relatives, and the curiosity of the passersby–some of whom stopped and joined our singing. Once again, the question arose: “Who are You, who make all this beauty happen?” Here is the judgment, which is not tacked on; it is something that you can’t help affirming. Then I asked Diego’s father, “Why aren’t you coming to School of Community anymore?” He had attended a couple of meetings, and responded that he would come back because there was something eating away at him. His sister asked me, “What is School of Community?” I gave a short explanation and asked her, “Are you interested?” She said she was and requested my phone number. On the plane, I felt a longing, and I said to myself, “What a responsibility! Jesus needs me in order to walk in the world, and I need Him in order to live, in every moment, the fullness, the enjoyment, and the beauty of this day.” It is true that we don’t need to tack anything onto reality, because it makes itself transparent in experience, and reality is Christ.
Mara, Cagliari (Italy)