LETTERS

A cry that becomes a
question in the rubble
Dearest Father Julián: I just finished my daily silence and I am about to leave the house to go to Waf Jeremie–the Port-au-Prince shantytown. This morning, there is something different about leaving my house to get in the car and merge into the seemingly hostile traffic to reach my people, my poor ones–who are mine because they are His, therefore they are given to me as companions on my journey. Yes, this morning is different because my heart is still filled with some words of yours that I just read: “To the degree that we take upon ourselves the difference of Christ’s gaze and we live a more fulfilled humanity, we can respond to this cry of humanity and of today’s world” (“Living Is the Memory of Me,” p. 50,  Assembly of Responsibles of Communion and Liberation, La Thuile, Italy, August 28–September 1, 2010). Because of those words, I left the house with the desire to answer that cry, starting with my own cry regarding myself, my life, and my vocation, and within the relationships, the circumstances, and the faces that my daily life is made up of. You talked to us about prayer, meditation, and sacrifice–a path laid out for us, a face to follow, and a change we must implore. I am not spared the hardship of this circumstance: the Haiti heat and the devastating earthquake; the cholera emergency and the incumbent hurricane; the food shortage and the police confiscating people’s cars on preposterous pretexts… Everything is given to me to allow my cry to emerge and to make me beg for a change of myself; to make me cry out my desire fo­­­­r Christ and for His gaze on me and on the world; to make me fall on my knees, just like the people of Haiti, and beg for Christ–as we have been taught.
This living cry accompanies me throughout my day, and it makes me ask for something more in my relationships, in what I do, and in staying in front of the tools that our companionship points out. I carry you with me to Waf Jeremie; that is, I carry the Church to those who are on their knees waiting for something good or, better, for the good.
Sister Marcella,  Haiti

­­­a kiss to make
mama happy
Dear Father Carrón: As I was listening to School of Community last Wednesday, a quote from the Gospel came to mind: “If you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move” (Matt 17:20). I have always thought that was a little bit of an exaggeration; yet, as I was listening to you… The most important and difficult thing for me is to be certain that I am loved forever; that there is a You in front of me Who carries me and the world. Whenever I live with this certainty, I am happy. This is tantamount to moving a mountain. If I stop and remember that Jesus has taken the person I have loved and has carried him with Him forever, giving him everlasting happiness, I fall in love with Jesus–and I am happy when I am in love with the One Who can fill my heart. It is beautiful to discover that He answers me and makes me realize that I am very much loved just as I am (with the pain and the loneliness I feel about being alone with three children), if I fall on my knees and use my humanity. One example: one day, my little girl (she was three and could barely speak), saw me crying silently on my bed, asking God if I would ever be happy again; she came closer and kissed me, saying, “Here mama, to make you happy.” Another sign of Jesus’ love is my relationship with a priest who has always made me start again from God’s mercy; or, after five years of utter barrenness, the recent encounter with a friend of mine with whom I had shared the experience of the CLU [CL university group]. Five years ago, I started feeling a sort of repulsion toward the Movement, and I thought: “These people are satisfied by a discourse. I want to live! If I stay here, I will lose my mind.” Since then, I started begging God to free me from my rebellion and to help me follow the Movement–which I consider the road to my sanctity–all the while feeling guilty and painfully struggling to silence my doubts. All of a sudden, through the encounter with my CLU friend, I marveled at the bond that exists with the Movement and I remembered how, in my twenties, I was completely enthralled by the beauty of our friendship, in its endeavor to recognize Him. Now, at 42, my youth is back, even more beautiful than before, because it is filled with affection.
Agnese, Italy

that “no” on
the blackboard
Dear Father Julián: My mother is gravely ill. One morning, entering her room and seeing her in her wheelchair, with her head down in front of the television, I had a heart-wrenching feeling. I started talking to her, the way we have been doing for some time: I ask questions and, since she can’t speak due to a tracheotomy, she writes her answers on a small blackboard. Out of the blue, I asked her, “Mom, do you ever think about the beautiful times you had, when you were young, dad was still around, and we were all still living at home?” She immediately wrote, “NO.” That somewhat peremptory answer took me a little by surprise, so I asked again, “Come on, don’t you ever try to go back to one of those beautiful days when we were children, to a happy moment?” Without hesitation, she wrote, “NO.” I then understood that she wasn’t confused (as I initially thought), and I asked her the reason for those snap answers. She wrote, “Because that wouldn’t change my current situation.” I was really struck by how essential and true my mother’s answer was. I asked, “But, mom, what do you do all day long? How do you get to the end of the day?” She thought for a while, then she simply wrote, “I think and I pray to Jesus.” I have often been moved and grateful thinking about this dialogue, because it helps me understand what the contemporaneity of Christ is, and how easy it would be to think about Him as an abstract concept instead of recognizing Him in what I have in front of me. In her difficult and seemingly hopeless situation (she can’t move or talk, and depends on other people’s assistance for everything), my mother is glad and serene. She is grateful when somebody comes to visit her, she easily laughs at jokes, she wants to be taken to Mass, and she eats with gusto. This impossible gladness of hers impresses everybody and shows, more than a thousand words, that the presence of Christ fills and fulfills life, whatever situation one finds oneself in. As you told us at the beginning of the year: “Thinking of Him seriously, with the heart, means thinking of Him like John and Andrew thought of Him as they watched Him speak, totally taken, magnetized by His presence, where reason, which helped them to enter into the profundity of the mystery of that person, was saved by affection” (Traces, Vol. 12, No. 9 2010, p. XIV, “…One Day He Asked Himself Who It Was…”. Notes from the 2010 CL Beginning Day).
Giovanni, Italy


Michele’s cough and
the verification of faith
Last Saturday, the day started with my wife overburdened with house chores, so I had to spend the whole morning taking care of my baby son Michele, who was sick with a cough and wouldn’t stop screaming. That afternoon, he woke up from his nap with such a cough that we decided to take him to the emergency room, where we remained from 6 pm to 11 pm, with the possibility of having to spend the night. To make things worse, we were stressed out about my father-in-law’s failing health. Through it all, I found myself repeating: “This is hell,” or, “God, why is this happening?” That situation made me understand once again that the nature of our being is brought out by the circumstances. Whenever reality is stronger, our asking becomes sincere and not intellectual. Interestingly enough, Sunday evening, when the storm was over, we were at peace and serene more than at the end of any “normal” day. I believe that was due to the path of verification of faith that we have experienced through the facts and the relationships that showed us that reality carries a seed, a meaning within. Just like the disciples during the storm: they were frightened, but Christ calmed the sea, and in doing so He educated them and filled them with awe.
Moreno, Italy

Everything seemed against me, but instead...
Yesterday afternoon I had decided to ride my scooter to Sara’s house in the late afternoon. I did the least possible for homework because I didn’t feel like studying, then I got ready and just as I was about to leave, it started raining. I was furious. I had organized everything around going to Sara’s and instead once again, things hadn’t gone the way I’d wanted. I called her immediately and we started talking, and suddenly something unexpected came out. Angry and disappointed, I burst into tears, not just for the fact that we couldn’t get together, but because I wasn’t happy. Out came my apathy of the previous days, which I had tried to push aside. Out came all my lack of desire to study, my difficulty with my mother, my impatience with school. Out gushed my need for meaning that I look for in everything I do, but don’t find. I was crushed by all this and I had no desire to do anything. Maybe I would just have waited for it to pass, because keeping all this in hand is difficult. And I realize that I always try to eliminate it, to not take it into consideration, because it’s too difficult to resolve. But above all I realize that when I discover myself so needy, I am more myself than ever. Instead, Sara gave me more attention than I give myself. She insisted, “yelled” at me, and wanted me to live truly. She told me not to let it pass by itself. She wanted me to do something. It was surprising, because she cared more about me than I do. We read together the section for today’s School of Community: “Woman, don’t cry” and that passage spoke directly to me, there on the phone, and I cried my eyes out. It spoke directly to me about everything, but at a certain point it says, “Jesus doesn’t tell you: I’ll solve your problems! He doesn’t tell you, again: come on, tomorrow things will go better. He draws close to you. And with all His tenderness.”
Bea, Italy

Begging for His Gaze
A t our School of Community last night, many of us were struck by “Luigi Giussani’s” witness during the responsibles’ International assembly (“Living is the Memory of Me”). In particular, his emphasis on Fr. Carrón’s “gaze”: “I still recall that gaze, which penetrated my darkness... I followed his gaze... I wanted to see that gaze one more time... Carron’s gaze took away my fear of death.” For many years, I have kept a copy of a picture of Father Giussani on my desk and in my prayer book. What has always struck me is Father Giussani’s gaze. I teach medical students and residents and give many talks as part of my work and so I often find myself in exactly the situation depicted: the talk is over, I am tired, people are filing out, a few have stayed behind to ask another question, clarify a point, share a memory. I do not think I have ever been able to summon the gaze, the look of tenderness and love, that we see Fr. Giussani sharing with the young people in this picture. I beg that I will be able to share with others this gaze of Fr. Giussani’s, the gaze “Luigi Giussani” saw in Fr. Carrón, the gaze of Christ, as I look more and more on reality–and those around me–as a friend, as an opportunity for me, in my conversion, to recognize Christ here and now.
Jerry Brungardt, USA

THAT discovery OF 1960
by Rodolfo Balzarotti
William Congdon created this painting in Assisi, probably on Christmas Day of 1960. A year before, Congdon had received Baptism according to the rite of the Roman Catholic Church. Thus, his painting in this period was inspired by a Liturgy lived intensely as continual discovery. The traditional and popular image of the Nativity scene is evident in the stylized, almost infantile figures of Mary and baby Jesus. But the scene is inserted into a sort of “cosmic drama”–an immense vortex with iron-like walls is filled to the depths with a dazzling light. Here, a lattice of etched lines recalls the monotonous and desolate planimetry of modern cities, often represented in his previous works. In contrast, in the upper part of the painting, with a nervous scribble, the artist suggests, like the flight of doves, the jubilation of the angels. On the other side, the figure of Our Lady sits on a support that recalls the stone of an altar, with, above her, a sort of light canopy. It is the event of the Incarnation, powerfully expressed in its triple dimension: historical, liturgical, and cosmic.

ENGAGING REALITY WHEN THINGS DON’T ADD UP
Dear Fr. Carrón: My problem has always been that I tend to face circumstances with a calculating attitude; in other words, if they are worth my while, and if there is an interesting and certain outcome, I get involved; otherwise, I complain about life’s lack of certainties, and I go into standby mode. This way, memory becomes the effort to smear the remembrance of Christ on the bruises that life gives me. This is the bourgeois mindset that I learned at home, and that I later cultivated on my own. Nonetheless, the witness of my wife and other people showed me, and continues to show me, that reality belongs to Christ, and that I am His whether or not I realize it. Lately, my conversion has coincided with having this perspective as my starting point. Simply becoming aware, if only for a brief moment, that “I am Yours,” and therefore that every gesture of mine is “for You,” before or during my working day or when I have to make a decision, has become for me not only the driving force for a deeper and more passionate work, but also a source of peacefulness. In fact, I can engage reality, even when things don’t add up, not because I gave up trying to understand reality, but precisely because I am aware of the extent of what’s at stake, beyond any calculation of mine.
Francesco, Italy

Every day can be full
Dear Julián Carrón: I just finished reading the booklet of the International Assembly. I want to thank you, mostly because your personal work is helping me rediscover what Father Giussani wanted to communicate to us. This way of doing School of Community, the comparison with one’s personal experience, and the witnesses that come forth every time we meet, make me wait for our Wednesday meetings with trepidation. At the same time, those moments are not enough, and I need to experience His presence every day. I am a mother, and I don’t live anywhere near a CL community. Furthermore, I sometimes feel even Fraternity meetings to be something superimposed and burdensome–I am not really there, so therefore liberation does not happen; it can’t happen automatically. But even in the apparent solitude of a day spent far from the companionship, I still can wake up and say a prayer by myself or with my children; I can look at the delicate color of the sky at the dawn of the day and recall Who created it. I can think about a missionary friend of mine who is giving his life for Christ, or about others who are doing the same in different circumstances; I can pick up the La Thuile booklet and, whenever I have a free moment, read a page or two… The whole day can be filled with gestures that have the same origin, that is, my desire for Christ to be present in every one of my hours.
Gloria, Italy

Remembering Manuela in her passionate “yes”
The victory of Christ
On Tuesday, November 23rd, Manuela had accompanied some friends to visit the Sistine Chapel. At a certain point, she began explaining the Creation, “with the purpose of having us enter into the work, and with the passion she put into everything,” recounts Cristina, who spent that afternoon with her. After dinner, she joined some friends. She recounted, with the frankness typical of people from Emilia Romagna–she was born in San Piero in Bagno–how she would like to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of her profession to Memores Domini, and spoke of the period she spent in Tunis serving Bishop Fouad Twal. That evening, the Lord took her to Himself. She was hit by a car. She was 56 years old. She had been on her way back to the Vatican. In fact, Manuela was part of the pontifical household, serving in the papal apartment with the other Memores women: Carmela, Loredana, and Cristina. Benedict XVI had invited them in 2005 after his election. Her day was full of humble gestures, those done in every home: making beds, serving meals… Everything was for Him.
In suffrage for her, Benedict XVI prayed on Wednesday the 24th during Mass in the private chapel, and, for the first time, wrote a necrology for L’Osservatore Romano: “His Holiness Benedict XVI, grieving for the sudden death of the collaborator Miss Manuela Camagni, offers prayers of suffrage to the Lord and remains spiritually close to the Community of the Memores Domini and the family of the lamented departed.”
In the Book of Job we read, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!” In the supreme pain that is death, the Lord’s embrace is never missing. Fr. Julián Carrón wrote in the message to the whole Movement: “Dear friends: The sudden death of our friend Manuela Camagni is the mysterious modality by which the Lord forces us to think of Him, renewing the certainty that ‘not a hair on your head will be destroyed,’ as today’s Liturgy said. Let us draw together ever more intensely in the embrace of the Holy Father, as children who want to share in all his wounded humanity. ‘No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’ Manuela’s laying down of her life was manifested evidently and surprisingly both through her openness to mission in the experience in Tunis, and in her service of the Holy Father. May her sacrifice renew in all of us the truth of our ‘I,’ that the victory of Christ be increasingly affirmed in our hearts. May Fr. Giussani obtain from Our Lady the gift of eternal happiness for our friend and the gift of consolation for the Pope.” On December 2nd, Benedict XVI celebrated a Holy Mass of suffrage for Manuela. Here we publish some excerpts. (P.B.)

Homily by Benedict XVI
“In the last days of her life, our dear Manuela used to talk about the fact that on November 29th she would have belonged to the community of Memores Domini for thirty years. And she said that with a great joy, getting ready–such was the impression–for an interior feast celebrating her path of thirty years towards the Lord, in communion with the Lord’s friends. But the feast was different from what was expected: precisely on November 29th  we took her to the cemetery, we sang asking for the Angels to accompany her to Heaven, we guided her to the ultimate feast, to God’s great feast, to the Lamb’s Wedding. Thirty years walking towards the Lord, entering the Lord’s feast. Manuela was a ‘wise, prudent virgin,’ she had oil in her lamp, the oil of faith, a lived faith (...). I, personally, must thank for her availability to put her energy at work in my house, with this spirit of charity and of hope that comes from faith. (...)
Memor Domini for thirty years. Saint Bonaventure says that the memory of the Creator is inscribed in the depths of our being. And precisely because this memory is inscribed in our being, we can recognize the Creator in His creation (...). Saint Bonaventure also says that this memory of the Creator is not merely a memory of the past, because the source is present, it is a memory of the presence of the Lord; it is also a memory of the future, because it is certain that we come from the goodness of God and that we are called to strive for the goodness of God. Therefore in this memory there is the element of joy, our origin in the joy that is God, and our call to reach the great joy. And we know that Manuela was a person innerly penetrated by joy, precisely that joy that derives from the memory of God. But Saint Bonaventure also says that our memory, as well as all of our existence, is wounded by sin: therefore memory is obscured (...). Therefore, beca­use of this oblivion of God, because of this forgetfulness of the fundamental memory, also joy is covered, obscured. (...) Manuela was not one of those who had forgotten memory: she lived precisely in the living memory of the Creator, in the joy of His creation, seeing God in all creation, even in the daily events of our lives, and she knew that joy comes from this memory–present and future.
Memores Domini. The Memores Domini know that Christ, on the eve of His passion, renewed or, better, elevated our memory. ‘Do this in memory of Me,’ He said, and in this way He gave us the memory of His presence, the memory of the gift of Himself, of the gift of His Body and of His Blood, and in this gift of His Body and Blood, in this gift of His infinite love, we touch again with our memory a stronger presence of God, of His gift of Himself. As Memor Domini, Manuela lived exactly this living memory, that the Lord gives Himself with His Body and renews our knowledge of God.
In His dispute with the Sadducees about resurrection, the Lord tells them, who don’t believe in it: ‘God of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob.’ Those three men are part of God’s name, (...) and therefore the Lord says: God is not for the dead, He is a God for the living people, and those who are part of God’s name, those who are in God’s memory are alive. Unfortunately, we human beings with our memory can remember only a shadow of the people we have loved. But God’s memory doesn’t keep only shadows, it originates life: the dead live here, with His life and in His life they have entered God’s memory, which is life. (...) So, in this moment of sadness, we get comforted. (...)
We feel most of all the pain for the loss, we feel most of all the absence, the past, but the Liturgy knows that we are in the Body of Christ and that we live starting from the memory of God, which is our memory. In this interlacement of His memory with ours we are together, we are living. Let’s pray the Lord that we may feel this communion of memory more and more, that our memory of God in Christ becomes more alive, so that we can feel that our true life is in Him.”