LETTERS

LETTERS

Dear Dad, I don’t ever
want to lose these people
The following is a letter that an eighth grader wrote to his father.
Iam writing during a very boring Italian class to engage my mind, and to try to let you know what I think and live these days. I want to tell you how a chance encounter has made me feel like I was born again. Two weeks ago, I was totally fed up with school, with my teachers, and with worrying about grades. I vented my frustration on Facebook, writing that teachers are pathetic people who don’t deserve anything from life. Forty of my Facebook friends hit the “like” button, agreeing with me. I was thrilled. The following day, I read this comment: “You are a real jerk. Yet, there is something about you; you are someone worth knowing.” I was intrigued by the message so I checked out the profile of this guy Lucio, who dared to call me a jerk. I can’t tell you what I felt when I figured out he was a teacher! Then he challenged me: “If you really are as cool as you sound, show up Tuesday and we’ll talk about what you wrote.” You know me, I am stubborn, so I decided to meet him just to re-state my point. When we met he cracked a few jokes, and I immediately liked him. He told me he didn’t write on Facebook everything that went through his mind, otherwise he would have been put in jail already. How true! What I mean is that you have to use your brain if you don’t want to end up in trouble. Then he made a proposal: “Come to Milan for three days; the Pope is coming.” I define myself as an atheist, and I don’t want to have anything to do with religion, yet his proposal made me want to be there. I wanted to verify if what this teacher was saying was just boloney, or if using your brain really makes your life better. So I asked for your permission and I went to Milan. Dad, I was born again! I have seen the world. I have seen friends my age who were happy to be alive; “jerks” just like me, but filled with enthusiasm for being together. I almost cried for joy when, one evening, the teacher took me aside along with a couple of my friends, and started talking to us, half jokingly, half serious. Dad, you know when you go to sleep at night tired, but with a happy heart? That almost never happens to me. But it happened in Milan. When we parted, the teacher told me two things: 1.) I am a great kid and 2.) he would like me to remain with him. He told me he was in the process of organizing a trip to work with the people who are still suffering because of the earthquake in L’Aquila, and he is organizing a walk through Spain to Santiago. I have already made arrangements to work over the summer, and a promise is a promise. But, dad, I have to go. I have to stay with those friends. I feel it is a need, an attraction that I don’t want to let go of. I need to live this way. Help me go, help me find a way. Help me, so I don’t miss this opportunity for my life. I see that this is the mother of all opportunities! I can’t let it pass me by. I love you, even if I never tell you. Don’t be upset.
Miguel, Italy

Earthquake: in a second, everything changes
Dearest Father Carrón: I am writing from San Felice Sul Panaro, where I reside with my wife and my children, and where the earthquake [that hit the Emilia region in May] caught us by surprise in the middle of the night. The first thing that came to mind, immediately after the fear for our lives, was how the earthquake, in a second, had penetrated the depth of my humanity, leaving it exposed, and taking away that armor of false certainties that was keeping it caged in. We were standing in front of the place around which our lives and our feelings revolved, and in a second everything was changed, maybe for good... This realization gave rise to a question: “What’s left?” I was immediately certain that this big and frightening event wasn’t scaring me anymore; in the place of fear, a good kind of earthquake took hold of me, not because of some sudden event, but on account of all the history that had come before that moment–a history made of life-changing encounters, of friends’ faces, of my hardened heart, and of a moving work on School of Community. I use the word “moving,” because in trusting this work I can see what I live and what happens in a true light, and I realize that all those events correspond and become miracles in my eyes. The earthquake tore down the wall of my opposition and my self-determination... Now I am able to see further, and I am grateful for my friends. I am here, risking my life every day because everything is structurally unstable, yet I find myself filled with an unexpected positivity, which has been guiding me from the start. I am an artisan, and I have nine employees. One hour after the quake, when I saw my warehouse partially destroyed, and the machine that is at the heart the production of my business damaged beyond repair, the thought of giving up did not remotely cross my mind, even if the tragedy in front of me was enormously greater than my abilities to fix it. I thought about my friends, and of those who were a sign of Jesus and who I had always kept at a distance, because of my tendency to filter everything with my reason and to harden my heart. I asked for help and they entered my life, vigorously and gently at the same time, becoming the face of Jesus present. On Sunday, May 20th, I said to myself: “The Lord has won. How can I think about the earthquake if not as something positive? How can I dream about moving somewhere else just to find some tranquility?” What happened is bigger; what is left is far greater than what was lost.
Alberto,
San Felice sul Panaro (Italy)

“In prison, I found the Truth that saved me”
Father Beppe, the chaplain of the Saluzzo penitentiary, sent us the following letter from an inmate.
Truth saved me. Many times, when I have had to put things down in words, I found it difficult to start, so I decided to start from the end. That is, that truth saved me! I am 37, and for the past 10 years (or a little more) I have been in jail. My mother Silvana was a school principal and my father Giancarlo a surgeon. Until my 17th birthday, we seemed to be the perfect family. We seemed... There were too many things that were not working between my parents, too much confusion. Within this façade of normalcy I grew up with the duty, but also the desire, to be the perfect son, to be at my parents’ level, and deserving of my parents’ love. I was always craving their affection, forcing my ideal of how a son must be to coincide with theirs. For a while, it was easy; I was getting good grades at school, and was successful in sports. Then, my parents split up. I sided completely with my mother, and the duty of being perfect became a moral imperative, which grew stronger and more dramatic day by day. For fear of losing, I stopped swimming; I started getting less and less committed to my studies, and deceit became my companion. I told a lot of lies, first and foremost to myself, then to the world. I systematically destroyed myself, my desires, and my dreams, all the while pursuing the love of the people around me. My drug abuse was not the fault of so-called “bad company.” I was my own worst company. I went on this way until October 22nd, 1999, when all my lies blew up in my face and, in an explosion of anger and violence never experienced before, I killed my mother. At the first trial, I was judged not guilty on grounds of insanity–an opinion that I did not share. Today, almost 13 years after the fact, I know I made a choice that can’t be justified, and which I don’t want to be justified. At the appeal, I was found guilty, and I went back to jail. At first, my problems–lies, cocaine use, betrayals–were still there. The only positive note was my father and our re-kindled relationship. We both felt guilty, but neither of us was able to face the guilt and say to the other: “I love you.” Being in jail has been useful because it has given me the opportunity to change. I was lucky enough to meet professionals who helped me reflect upon my past and my mistakes. It has been a very long road. The encounter with Father Beppe, and the other priests of the Cenacolo community, has been another important step in my life. I started breathing a different air and, something that had never happened to me before, I found people I could talk to about my past without feeling judged, condemned, or rejected. On the contrary, I felt even more loved because of it. The next step was facing my father, and his partner Roberta, and, much to my surprise, I felt accepted and loved. Starting from those words: “Stefano, the Lord has forgiven you,” to my father’s embrace, the truth has saved me. My life is still very confused. One year ago, my father suffered a heart attack and died. My faith is an endless series of ups and downs. I don’t know what my future will be, and making plans in here is very difficult. On May 11th, I was granted my first reward-permit: 12 hours outside, accompanied by my boss. To make a long story short, my life is once again in evolution, but I feel ready to face it. I am very much aware of my past–I carry the responsibilities of it every day–but I am proud of my present, and of the person I am today. I am proud I welcomed the Truth that has saved me; a Truth I don’t want to ever abandon as long as I live.
Stefano, Saluzzo (Italy)

What strikes me in selling Traces
Initially, the proposal of selling Traces to the general public left me a little concerned. A friend told me: “You can propose it to others only if there is something in there that strikes you in the first place; just like when a friend discovers a new delicious ice cream flavor and takes you out so you can try it too.” I picked up Traces and I spotted something interesting: the articles on family. The way the love relationship was conceived rang true with what I had been able to see in my own family. I decided to use those articles as a starting point, challenging my potential buyers to look at that new way of living relationships. Beyond the numbers of copies I was able to sell, I was surprised that the other volunteers and I stayed together in a way that made the people we were approaching take notice. I sold a copy to one of my father’s friends. Two days later, he bumped into my father and told him: “I saw your son; he has grown up a lot. There was something that united those kids; I was impressed by the way they looked at each other.” For me, this has been the greatest sign of an Other showing Himself through our fragile faces.
Andrea, Italy

FROM AN AWKWARD MINDSET  TO THE RETURN OF WONDER
Dear Father Julián: I am writing to thank you for the weekend in London [where a meeting of the CL responsibles of the European countries took place] and to tell you what happened to me. I have been attending the International Assembly for many years. My first encounter happened 12 years ago, and I have been blessed with many graces since. Nonetheless, I left for London with my ideas of the Movement, and with an awkward mindset. I couldn’t see clearly how I was supposed to follow the Movement. Even being faithful to School of Community, I still felt out of touch with true experience. How was I to follow and live not according to my measure but to the Mystery’s measure? I realized that while I was trusting the Movement completely, I was following it like a sheep. I progressed only to a certain point, thus remaining at an infantile and weak stage. I kept asking myself, “How should I proceed?” You are a true authority for me, spurring me to experience reality. What is funny is that the problem I have does not depend on a lack of people to follow (I have Pepe, Davide, and Maxi), but on the reduced way I have been following them–without questions of my own and without wonder. I am very grateful for the weekend, because it has destroyed all my objections. I can say that wonder is back, and that I have re-discovered a correspondence with my heart. I am not concerned anymore about how to make experience last, or how to make the community grow. I stopped forcing my ideas on people and on the community. How liberating! Becoming aware of what exists is so beautiful!
Thomas, Vienna (Austria)

Beauty in a course for vacuum-cleaner operators
Thursday, Long Beach, California. At the end of a course for vacuum-cleaner operators (two hours of training about how the machine works, and the tasks of the machine operator), we gather at our office with 11 young people who work for our cleaning company, all with varying degrees of disability–I mention this only because their condition makes them more clearly aware of the need to be saved. Without telling us, Nancy had invited our friend Mary, a cellist. Nancy introduced Mary’s performance (three Bach pieces and one by Rachmaninov) saying, “Our life is made for Beauty; each one of us has been created to be in relationship with Beauty. What we hope for in doing our work, whether we know it or not, coincides with this ultimate desire for Beauty, for happiness, and for total fulfillment.” Then the concert started. Our eyes and hearts were wide open in front of a spectacle, in front of music that propelled the heart to embrace a “beyond” that was present. At the end, our awestruck silence was broken by the moved voice of one of our young friends who, with absolute humility, said, “Thank you, Mary. Come back to visit us; you will always be welcome here.” He was home–home, the place where he could be himself, because he was facing a You, in front of Whom everything melted away and was purified: limitations, weaknesses, and betrayals. Who are You, Lord, to give me all this? To make my life an instrument of Your glory? Without You–coming to me through this charism–I could never have experienced Beauty. In front of truth, communicating itself in experience, the heart cries out: “Stay!” Only Christ present can turn a training course for vacuum-cleaner operators into a path to one’s destiny.
Guido, Los Angeles (USA)

Luigi’s soup and that question: “How do you do it?” A couple of evenings ago, I was spoon-feeding one of my patients, Luigi, a quadriplegic. I am always surprised by his obedience. It’s not because of his temperament, because he is very cranky by nature. A few days ago, he was diagnosed with a virus never studied before. I wondered, “How can You concentrate so much pain in one man? What else will You ask of him?” As I was spoon-feeding him, something in my heart made me ask him, “Luigi, how can you be so patient? I look at you and I wish I had your simple obedience.” He answered, “Well, I am just being a patient.” I smiled and then we remained silent. We were halfway through his soup when I dared to ask further, “Luigi, do you believe in God?” He said, “Not anymore. The world is too dirty, and I am too much in pain.” Silence fell. Then I exploded, “Luigi, I look at you and I always wonder why so much suffering is asked of you, a 60-year-old man, who has been tied to his bed for 13 years. Then I look at you again, and my heart is filled with unspoken tenderness because you exist. You are all banged up, but you exist. And you exist for me, too. You do not make yourself, and I am not the one giving you life either. Therefore, I can’t but affirm that there is a God Who is making you now. And I have to admit that He is a good God, because you are a spectacle to behold.” Luigi has a strong temper, and is very serious. But in that moment, I saw a tear on his face. He told me he understood. God exists because he exists. I am the one needing him, needing my patients’ suffering faces, because they are His, because they are the Mystery. When I look at them and at the whole of reality with this gaze I become free, because if reality is Him happening now, fear and cruelty are defeated.
Emanuela, Milan (Italy)