01-09-2013 - Traces, n. 8

CL life
Assembly of Responsibles

Him whom my heart loves
“How can one live?” and “What are we doing here in the world?” The International Assembly of Responsibles in La Thuile gathered 450 responsibles of the Movement from 74 countries for five days in which they “experienced” the answer to those questions: a Presence, the only one capable of illuminating life, as witnessed by Mary Magdalene.

by Paola Bergamini

“Have you seen Him whom my heart loves?” The passage from the “Song of Songs” that Fr. Carrón read the first evening at LaThuile took my breath away. It was in the Liturgy for Mary Magdalene’s feast day. I had not expected it. I re-read the title of this International Assembly of Responsibles at the end of August: “How can one live?” With a question like this, no thought or opinion suffices, only the experience you have within life’s circumstances. Certainly, you can seek the answer in external affirmation, in your own excellence at things, but life becomes schizophrenic. Maybe in the morning everything is going well, but then some unexpected event happens and it is enough to turn your day upside down. Or, the event of Christ breaks in and gives unity and the hundredfold, a newness that illuminates your whole life. Up to this point, everything made sense, I could follow, but then, that sentence... I intuited that the point was there, in that “seeing,” seeking “Him whom my heart loves,” letting yourself be surprised every day, in every moment to the point that you cannot keep Him for yourself, and you want to tell everyone about Him. It is the verification of faith. In the end, Carrón asked, “What are we doing here in the world? What experience have we had in these months?”–thus issuing the challenge for the next day’s assembly.
Returning to the hotel, I ran into Noha, an Egyptian woman from Alexandria. “I met the Movement five years ago and I’m happy because it makes me see what’s behind things.” She was worried about the situation in her country, and said, simply, “Pray for me.” It was the only thing one could do. The only useful thing.

Raised hands. After Morning Prayer Sunday, the notes of “Give Me Jesus” rang out: “You can have all the world, but give me Jesus.” Carrón repeated his question: “Where do we find the answer to the urgent need in our daily life? What we think we already know is of no use.” Life is something else. People raised their hands to offer testimonies and to ask questions about something that was happening, within life’s difficulties, beautiful events, even misunderstandings. Fr. Carrón went on to remind us that, at times, we raise our arm to defend ourselves, in order not to be overwhelmed by reality. What saves us from fear? That we are wanted and loved first. We are together and we help each other in this journey. This is what we bring to those who encounter us, not our works or our activity, but the acknowledgment of a Presence that changes our life. When meeting others, we might like to list our good works, but Carrón insisted that it is in the relationship between two people that a true Presence makes itself known. When an entrepreneur falls in love, does he bring his girlfriend to see his company? No! Carrón’s example leaves no doubts.
At times, we are wearied or, worse, scandalized because of a public position that is not shared, or because of mistakes made, but “these are crumbs” if we cannot raise our eyes to see what newness Jesus has brought to the world. “The truth is not consensus or agreement, but evidence.” Following experience is uncomfortable, because you run the risk of wanting to take possession of it. Instead, reality goes beyond our initiatives or projects.

An unexpeted impact. This happened with the Meeting, as attested by the articles that came out during the week in Rimini, documenting the surprise of attendees who heretofore had been very skeptical of CL and the Meeting. In the atrium of our meeting room, a mini press review of these articles was distributed. The appointment for discussion of this was after dinner, when some friends would relate the unexpected impact the Meeting had on figures invited to speak at the various gatherings, from the Italian Prime Minister to a world-famous scientist. They also would speak about those who simply volunteered, watering plants or clearing tables. No ideology could have changed their lives so much.
At lunch, Mauro, an Italian who has moved to Belgium, told me, “The exhibit on the Eucharist was truly surprising for all of us. But you have to get Paul to tell you what happened to him in these months during his trip to India, when he was welcomed as ‘President’ of Communion and Liberation!” Paul, seated at my right, smiled. Years ago, he met the Movement through some university students who were studying in Brussels. “It was what I had always sought and desired.” And he never left. This day, at almost 60 years old, with six children, he had the gaze of a child. “After, at the bar, I’ll offer you a coffee and tell you about it all. Iaia will also come, to translate when I can’t think of the word in Italian.” Here, every year, the same miracle happens, the simple testimony of life embraced by Christ, a passion that becomes flesh. I thought to myself that this is the beautiful thing about my work; I wish I always had a recorder on hand so as not to forget anything. Paul’s story will have to be told soon.

Humanity that resonates. In the afternoon, Marta Cartabia presented Václav Havel’s book, The Power of the Powerless, pointing out how timely it is, because power is not something that only concerns the sphere of politics or economics, but overwhelms the person when the “I” settles for crumbs. However, there is always the possibility that something will reawaken, as happened for the greengrocer described by Havel. Following Cartabia, Aleksandr Filonenko told us how he was ten years old when the book came out. In the USSR of that time, he lived under the regime described by the Czech author, and yet he saw examples of freedom in action, “greengrocer style.”
In the evening, I decided I wanted 10 minutes of absolute rest, all by myself. Then, “You’re here!” I turned around and saw my friend Guido, a member of the Memores Domini who has been living in Los Angeles for 20 years. We shared a good, long hug. We meet only on this occasion and I am always amazed to see him happier about his life, so clearly does the friendship with Jesus shine in him. “Great news: Maurizio from New York will be moving to San José for work, so he’ll only be an hour’s flight away. What a gift!” We made plans to have lunch together.
Monday turned out to be different from everyone’s expectations. Carrón re-read the passage from the “Song of Songs,” and talked about Mary Magdalene going to the tomb to seek “Him whom my heart loves,” crying and seeing nothing else. She did not even recognize Jesus, until He called her by name, “Mary!” and in that moment she recognized Him. Her search found rest. Her humanity resonated at the sound of her name, as happened for Zacchaeus, for Matthew, for each of us. It is God who bends down over you, who calls you and fills your heart. You just have to say, like her, “Master!”... “I am here.” It is a Presence that enters into history, into the history of each of us. It is the answer to the question: How can one live? I looked around me, and saw that many people had closed their notebooks or iPads, stopped taking notes, so as not to miss the intensity of that moment. Carrón went on. Called by name in the encounter with the Movement, we discover our identity, which is to be one with Christ. We are new creatures, original, and this living experience of Christ makes us savor life and causes joy to flower. This is what a friend had told me: “Christians are women and men like everyone else, but a bit happier.” Carrón led us along a path that was dizzying and yet totally human. Our newness is that we carry this Presence within, in the relationship with each other, thus in our unity, now. When this happens, it fills life with gladness, the one possibility of generation. “Gladness is like a cactus flower, that a plant so full of spines generates something beautiful,” says Giussani.
I thought of Magdalene, the prostitute, Matthew, the tax collector, and Zacchaeus, the publican. Christ takes us as we are.
After lunch, Alberto Savorana, Carlo Wolfsgruber, and Javier Prades presented the biography of Fr. Giussani, but “presented” is not the right verb. They talked about that man for whom Christ was everything, that friend who lit the lighter in the dark room of their existence, “restoring me to myself.” They did not give nostalgic recollections about the man, but led us by the hand, to know him. When Savorana read from one of his final letters, “You get up in the morning to go to Mass, to have medical treatments, to go to work, for your children...you get up in the morning for an explosion in yourself of the fact of Christ,” it felt like Giussani was sitting right next to me.
Tuesday morning the sky was clear but the forecast called for rain. We headed out on our hike anyway. At the peak, during Mass, Fr. Michele spoke of the patience of Saint Monica, whose feast day it was, in incessantly asking God for the conversion of her son, Saint Augustine. After lunch, we sang traditional mountain songs. Close to me, Jacqueline, from Cameroon–I read on the nametag hanging from her neck–whispering the words, reached out to give the song sheet to Marta, the Italian soloist with a splendid voice. That simple gesture seemed to me like an act of sisterly charity. The rain arrived as we were hiking back down.
In the afternoon, we met for the assembly. How does one testify to the novelty of new life? Carrón told us to pay attention, because we have to “break through and strip down” the word “presence.” Testimony is eating, drinking, living, dying in a different way. Christianity is an event in which you discover you are doing the usual things in a new way. For this reason, even when we are far away geographically, we are close. On the final evening, we watched the video of the Pope’s talk to the Latin American Bishops Council during World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro. Pope Francis read from a text, but often stopped to give simple examples to clarify. We saw all the impetus that we have seen and heard in these months, and that has made him feel ever closer to us. He warned against the temptation that undermines testimony: reducing the event of Christ to conventional molds, to projects, even good ones.

The ignominy of life. “What would a morning be like if we weren’t able to encounter Him? It would be cause for tears, as for Magdalene.” With these words, Fr. Carrón began his summary of these five intense days during which everyone experienced what it means to answer the question of how one can live.
The ignominy of life–the solitude, the sadness, the burdensome circumstances–is lightened by the presence of Christ who, in loving us, makes everything new. Through the bond with the Church and the Sacraments, He makes Himself contemporary. This renders us new creatures and gives us new eyes to see. Even our faces shine, to the point that others notice it. This is our usefulness in the world, a presence in reality that disturbs. It is the luminous and glad testimony of faith that illuminates the life of those who welcome Him. The darkness is only defeated by the light. For less than this, you do not live, you just survive.
Our gathering ended with announcements, and a comic skit based on the week together. Then, in the driveway, the farewells. Maurizio, Guido’s friend, came up to me, and I asked, “So, are you all ready for the move?” He laughed, “I’m moving Saturday, and there’s nothing in the house. It doesn’t matter, I’m not worried. The Lord is the one who works; I just have to follow Him. It’s always been this way in my life. I’m really happy.”