30 Via Plinio! You approach the intercom and read a small notice: "Ring where it says 'Faith and Light'—Casetta." What is a "little house" doing inside the larger "house" of Nazareth? And why?
It began in September 1974 when Nazareth, on Via Cola di Rienzo, hosted a small group of sympathizers with "Faith and Light," preparing for the movement's Rome pilgrimage that November. Monthly meetings, then weekly ones, work sessions and prayer gatherings with Jean Vanier and others deeply involved in Faith and Light—all of this gave birth to the Italian National Office of "Faith and Light" and gradually opened our eyes and hearts too, we who were the community at Via Cola di Rienzo. A couple of sisters offered to help with the mounting work of those final months.
Once the pilgrimage ended, the office became permanent. But the space was too small for the work that now needed doing, for organizational meetings and prayer gatherings.
A larger room was found. Some of us hesitated at first—it was a classroom that, though unused at the moment, could always be reclaimed for school. But the testimonies appearing in our newsletter "INSIEME" (our connection bulletin among movement sympathizers), the spirit in which we worked, the weight and importance of this mission both humanly and spiritually—all of it won us over.
By spring of 1976, the young members began feeling a need to stay close to that world they had discovered during the pilgrimage. In July 1976, the first camp was organized at Alfedena.
The results exceeded all expectations! By September we gathered at Nazareth to see photographs, share memories, and dream a little.
How could we recapture the spirit of camp now and then? We needed a space where we could spend a Sunday, now and then, from morning to evening—prepare our meals the way we did at camp, play, work together. At Nazareth? Could we?
The request was made officially. We had the rooms, but how to furnish them? An old cabinet (repainted!), a couple of schoolbenches (no longer in use), some stools fixed up, a few posters and drawings on the walls. We made do with little. And the Casetta was ready for its opening!
But how to get in? The gate on Via Cola di Rienzo stays locked. On Sundays there's no one in the porter's lodge, and our community is too small to cover everything.
An intercom on Via Plinio, with its own independent bell (essential, you might say!—though you should see how many times people rang the wrong bell!—now you understand that little notice at the gate), could solve the problem. We thought it over, then decided to trust the Casetta's future guests. They would take responsibility for the gate.
So every two weeks, the Casetta welcomed 25 or 30 people—always two volunteers per young person. The Friday before, the volunteers held an evening meeting to plan the day. We started around nine (sometimes someone rang the intercom at eight: "Who is it?—It's Paolo. Is the Casetta open?") and closed around 5:30, after Mass, which the whole group attended.
Then there were exceptions. A small dinner at the Casetta with visiting volunteers. A feast or celebration to organize.
Then the camps continued, the Roman group grew, and two Casetta days a month weren't enough to reach everyone and make them happy. By year's end, someone timidly asked: "Could we come one more Sunday?" We weighed the pros and cons, but the next year we kept the same rhythm. A few more exceptions. Then the year after (1978–79), the Casetta opened every Sunday.
It's true that we sisters aren't always there. But remember what I said at the start: Sunday is the only day when we can, in relative peace, review what we've done and prepare what comes next. It's necessary rest for those running a school of real importance while also preserving their religious life. But this doesn't stop us from following—with deep affection, prayer, and admiration—how Faith and Light unfolds each week. Now and then someone comes downstairs to greet the group, attends Mass, and always leaves more touched by it than before.
With the Casetta open every Sunday, Mass is celebrated in the institute chapel and is open to the public. This makes it easier for people unfamiliar with the movement to join the liturgy, and for those not on duty that week but who want to pray together and chat afterward with friends.
In short, the peace and quiet of Sunday are now marked by guitars, small choirs preparing Mass songs or mountain songs, balls bouncing on the field, shouts of "Open up!" (Giorgio at the goal), and cheers for a team that won.
Now and then (more rarely these days), a small SOS goes out to the community kitchen—we're short on oil or margarine at the last minute. Or we find a young person wandering lost through the house looking for their group. But by now the community knows these young people's faces and voices, many of their names, their stories.
If someone now and then still worries a bit about the Sunday comings and goings, about the various meetings the Casetta requires—it doesn't last long. The presence of these young people among us, their volunteers, their families, helps us see our own lives and problems in proper proportion. They feel at home here.
We'd miss them if they weren't here.
As for me, my work lets me be available to the groups more than the others, and I want to add just one thing: these Sundays give me the joy of truly participating in a living page of the Gospel.
A. Pantanella, 1980
