Letters

EDITED BY PAOLA BERGAMINI
pberga@tracce.it

USA/North Dakota
Behind Bars
We publish here a letter sent to an Italian friend from an American convict
Your letter was such a wonderful surprise. I’ve been seeing a lot of Italy on the TV news here, including the eruption of Mt Etna in Sicily. It is so very generous of you to be willing to write to a man in prison. I’m often embarrassed because of where I am, because of the mistakes I’ve made. I am very anxious to learn more about CL, about Fr Giussani, and about you. I first heard of CL a few years ago. I was reading a magazine called Inside the Vatican and there was an article on new movements within the Church. CL was mentioned, as was Opus Dei. I later began receiving a devotional booklet called Magnificat, which often includes excerpts from Fr Giussani’s writings and sermons. I was immediately captivated by his thoughts and the way he expresses a deep understanding of the importance of Jesus and of our need to embrace Him. Prison is very hard, so hard that it sometimes threatens to overwhelm me. I find a great consolation in contemplating the humanity of Jesus, his sorrow, his loneliness in Gethsemani, and the encouragement He gives us all: “In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.” I live in a section of the USA that has very few Catholics. There are even fewer in prison. For instance, at this prison there are 700 inmates, only 5 of which are Catholic. Most of the inmates are either Muslims or Fundamentalist “Bible-only” Christians. A wonderful priest comes to us twice every month to give us the Eucharist. He is a good man, and I enjoy listening to his explanations of the Scripture. Please feel free to tell me about yourself. How long have you been in CL? How has CL aided in your spiritual growth? Do you (or CL) have any political aspirations? (I’m fascinated by politics. Here in America, Catholic politicians seem to be ashamed of their religion.) I visited France in 1992. (I have been in prison since 1996, when I was 25. Unless God grants me a miracle, I will be in prison until I’m 43.) I would love to see other countries in Europe as well, especially Italy. There is such great history, culture, and beauty there. America is a country with many good qualities, yes, but it is young, it lacks a history. And I’m concerned about this culture, the one it is exporting around the world: it’s loud, empty, and violent. We are definitively a nation in need of Christ.
Joshua

Nigeria
Travelling Between Makurdi and Jalingo
The “mission” was made up of Gabriella, Tea, Willy, James (CLU), and Joseph (GS), for a ten-hour car trip from Lagos to Makurdi, and another five hours from Makurdi to Jalingo. Jalingo is in Taraba State, a semi-desert area in north Nigeria, a site of clashes between Muslims and Christians. During the first stop in Makurdi, Josephine, a teacher at the local university, and some university students stayed with us and put us up for the night. Together with Josephine, we left for Jalingo the next morning. Sr Catherine, a Franciscan who knows and loves the Movement, was waiting for us with a group of students, twenty people in all. In the afternoon, we made the pilgrimage, with the recitation of the Rosary at the shrine of Our Lady and, even though late, we joined in the intentions of Loreto. It was a simple gesture but a very meaningful one. The next day, Sr Catherine organized a meeting at which some of us (Willy, James, Josephine, and Joseph) offered personal testimonies about the experience of the Movement. We also presented the Freedom and Morality exhibitions (GS’s first two exhibitions). Sr Catherine would like to use them for Christmas and at Christmas caroling organized for the upper schools. In the evening, we went to greet the Bishop of Jalingo, who welcomed us in a very friendly way and gave us his blessing. On Sunday morning, we left again for Makurdi. When we arrived there, we worked with the university students on School of Community and on the possibility that three or four of them may join the kids in Lagos for the upcoming visit of the Italian CLU friends. These people are there, independently of what we have or have not done. They are two groups who live sequela of the charism in extremely difficult conditions. Nine miles from Jalingo, there is a typical African village of huts, where there are only two public telephones. This is Kona, inhabited by very poor and simple people. We were surprised to hear these kids referring always to “Fr Gius.” Sr Catherine, even in her situation–difficult from the logistical point of view, and within the reality of her order (there are four sisters: two Nigerians, a Filipino, and she)–lives an evident belonging to the charism and has an enormous desire to communicate what is, for her, the root of her vocation. In Makurdi, the community is very young, made up of a group of university students whose encounter, for the most part, happened last year. It is evident that their experience is still fragile, and what is more, they are living a very burdensome situation in the university because of the problem of “cultism” (secret societies); anything that is not an association officially recognized by the university or the Catholic chaplain is suspected of “cultism.” They can do School of Community only in the church, where all the Catholic associations meet, and at the same time–this makes everything very dispersive. Josephine, too, has a great many problems in the university. She was removed from a responsible position; she continues to teach, but does not have an office and has to work at home. We intuit, behind this dramatic situation, a tribal problem. It was important for Josephine to come to Jalingo and stay with Sr Catherine for a while; now both of them want to help each other, since they live relatively “close” to each other. So that Josephine will not feel that she bears all the educative responsibility in such heavy circumstances, we insisted that the university students of Marudi cultivate a direct relationship with the university students in Lagos and CLU in Italy.
Pier Alberto

Italy
The Challenge of the Beginning
Dear Fr Giussani: Last year, I was a real troublemaker in class. I was up to all sorts of tricks, and even ended up in the principal’s office a couple of times because I went too far! In short, I was more or less a hooligan. This year, many things have changed, myself first of all. I treat everybody differently (my teachers, schoolmates, and friends), not in a “goody-goody” way, but in a true way–true, that is, to the way I have been treated. I realize, however, that treating them like this is much more difficult, because some of them tell me I am unlucky, but despite this I continue to treat them the way that I am treated, with an incredible certainty, because when someone took me in hand, and took me for what I was, I felt a correspondence–and if it is true for me it is also true for them. I am certain of what I carry with me, and in moments of crisis I know precisely that there is someone, a face to which I can cling, who is more certain than I am, and so everything becomes suddenly truer! Thus, for me, the challenge is to carry an Other in every instant. My hope is the certainty of having someone close to me who loves me, and letting myself be loved is what fulfills me and gives me an incredible peace and gusto. I have become a source of hope also in my family, which was destroyed in the space of two years: my father with another woman, my mother with another man, my brother out of work with a pregnant girlfriend. I, who am the youngest of all, realize that I am the “father” because everyone comes to me to ask for help and support, and my presence is even their hope! I conclude by telling you what happened to me the other day: I was at school, and a classmate asked my why I did not spout off my political views like last year, and why I didn’t cause trouble like last year… and I answered simply that I had become a Christian. He looked at me, made a face, and left… He was put off, because he didn’t expect an answer like that! For me, it is clear that the truth before my friend’s eyes is uncomfortable… but it is beautiful because a challenge has begun, which, besides entertaining me, makes me discover even more who I am.
A young reader

44 Hours on the Bus
In theory, here in Rovaniemi, Finland, a Mass should be celebrated once a month (very much in theory, because after two months it still hasn’t happened), so I sent an e-mail message to a university mailing list, proposing this gesture to everyone. I received a few answers, and many paths opened up. A Russian girl, for example, to whom I had given Gius’ introduction to Russian folk songs, wrote me: “I am not sure this is for me. Am I a Christian?” I proposed to do School of Community together with her, so that this question might find an answer. My professor, when she received my e-mail, made a point of telling me that she is part of the low percentage of people here in Finland who take part in Protestant services, as though she wanted me to know that she too is a Christian. And then there is Mark, who thanked me because he did not know about Mass and did not think there were other Catholics here. “Thank you, Irene. You took a load off my shoulders.” Thus, after various e-mails, we met for just two minutes in front of the little Orthodox church (which was closed) because the Catholic priest did not come. Mark went home, and in the meantime seven other Erasmus students arrived. But before we went our separate ways, I proposed we pray together, and each one said a prayer in his own language (Italian, Polish, Hungarian, and German). Now that we have discovered that we belong to the same Body, a new unity perceptibly binds us. Flyer in hand, I invited them to Opening Day in Sweden, and a boy suggested I invite everybody by e-mail, as I had done for Mass. Mark answered that he would go, and then went to reserve his bus ticket. And here began our long journey, 1,250 miles round trip, 44 hours on the bus and waiting in stations, with adventures and unexpected events. Our stay in Sweden, too, can be said to have been adventure-laden, including two nights sleeping on the floor and our travel companions lost somewhere in Stockholm. In Stockholm, we were welcomed by the usual and always incredible familiarity of the CL members. There can be no doubt that there is an Other to whom we belong, who overcomes any kind of indifference or incommunicability. This same familiarity is what struck Sandra, who was the first to break the ice. Then others spoke up–Beppe, Max, and Mark–and then I, too, who the evening before had said to Ila that I had no intention of speaking. I jumped right in, because I cannot help telling about the miracles that are happening to me.
Irene, Finland

Gratuitous Humanity
To begin telling about my history in the Orthodox Church, it is necessary, naturally, to start with my Baptism. I was baptized at the age of 13. After Baptism, my daily life, especially externally, did not change, and it seemed that life within the sphere of the Church ran parallel to ordinary normal life without touching it. This beginning, however, made me repeatedly ask myself: how do I continue on this path I have begun? I wanted to get to the point of understanding how a Christian can state with certainty what constitutes his salvation. And so, after a number of years, when I was studying in the university, I encountered Oksana (my French teacher), who introduced me to the friends in the Movement. The first thing that struck me was not what they said, but a special kind of humanity, which did not ask for anything in return, a gratuitous humanity. It was not the sum of certain moral efforts that made up this “strange” companionship. They did not talk about ideas, they talked about something much greater, which enables people who are so different to be together; they spoke of their salvation, and the salvation of my daily routine. The continuation of our friendship has helped me and helps me in a surprising way to follow and to go more deeply into my tradition, the Orthodox tradition, because right here, in this small companionship, the Church becomes perceptible; here for me is the prime place of belonging, which paradoxically ties me to my tradition and enables me to love it and to belong to it more and more. The encounter with the Movement has not eliminated all my difficulties, but it has shown me where I have to look for the answer, the meaning of all my hardships. Man’s dignity is enclosed in the absolute dependence on the Meaning of everything. This dependence, this belonging, are not abstract things. I can experience them through concrete people, through my life in the Church.
Natasha, St Petersburg

First Outpost
The following is a letter written to me by a co-worker after he read Fr Giussani’s address at Opening Day:
“What struck me most in Fr Giussani’s address was the reminder of the great importance of prayer, or rather, what struck me was the way he approached a ‘basic’ aspect of the daily life of a Christian like prayer, with a gaze aimed simultaneously on ‘reality’ and the Mystery. Specifically, Giussani locates prayer in daily life, even recommending that we live it as the first outpost, the outermost outpost of the battle of our life. May no error, no repetition of our errors stop us; but first it has to be clarified that prayer should be conceived, above and beyond the words making it up, as the expression of a child who makes the word ‘Mother’ contain everything that came forth out of nothingness… what comes forth day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment, out of our nothingness. Prayer is thus conceived in its essence of entreaty, but an entreaty characterized by the need to establish a two-way relationship with the Mystery, a relationship based on love like that set up between a child and his parents. This meaning of prayer enables me to think again of my grandmother with renewed tenderness, and all the prayers she taught me (and made me say!).”
Eliana, Milan

Companionship
On November 3rd, I was on my way to get some dinner with friends. I had a message from my Vice-Principal, so I called her from my cell phone and the news came. She told me that a student had died the night before. I teach in a Catholic high school in a large, wealthy Toronto suburb. This boy was on the soccer team that I helped to coach and I teach many of his friends in my geography classes. I talked with my friends over dinner and the whole conversation, that should have been fun, became very somber. As I drove home that night, I called Fr Nicola, who helped me stand in front of this fact with faith and courage. I went into work the next day and it was as I expected: 1,600 students who seemed like zombies, in shock. I prayed with my class, and some students went to the chapel, but most just stayed with me in silence. The entire day was the same, shocking. Students were at my door looking for solace. I felt so inadequate; “Veni Sancte Spiritus, Veni per Mariam” was all I could think about. I gathered the soccer teams together and invited them to the wake and then to the funeral. It was the words of the priest at the end of his homily that helped me understand: “Death is not the final answer,” he said. The friends of the community in Toronto sent this message to all our friends: “Dear friends: One of Daniel’s students got hit by a car and he suddenly passed away. His name was JM. Today with silence and prayer we stand together in the unity of our faith, in the mercy of God. Today, we cling with dignity to those who are prostrate with sorrow. We cling to them with the certainty that the Mysterious design of God is for the well-being of our hearts. We pray that God will reveal His mysterious design to us. Today we cling to J’s family and friends with the certainty that life is greater than death, because Jesus has defeated death with eternal life. Help us, Mother of Christ, our Lady, our Mother, to be certain of the only true evidence, during our day. We pray that God gives Daniel strength, support, and charity, so that, to J’s family, friends, and fellow students, he can be evidence of love, support, and hope. We pray that J’s soul rest in eternal peace in God’s hands.” I was sure I was not alone. My friends were there. My mother was telling me of her certainty of Christ and it was this message that I relayed to my students and colleagues many times. It is this certainty that provides me with strength to continue each moment and it is the community that reminds me that I am loved.
Daniel, Toronto