A long conversation between the Archbishop of Milan and a writer: one willing to speak about his life, his path as a religious, his vision of the world; the other full of questions, curiosity, and that hunger to understand more deeply and live better—a hunger we all share.
The subjects are many and varied: Christian faith (what is it? how do we live it? how do we nurture and witness to it?) and questions about evil, violence, and war; inner life and our relationships with others, our ability to communicate and untangle the knots that block our authenticity; the role of the Church and its relations with other faiths and with nonbelievers; daily life and the transcendence of a God who is present among us, yet also stands "beyond," at the summit toward which we climb.
These are only a few examples, but the thread running through the entire book—binding one answer to the next—is the transformation of the heart. The figure of Christ appears on every page, and his Life and Words offer an answer to every question. The Cardinal urges us to approach the Gospel and Sacred Scripture each day, and to dedicate time daily to prayer and silence, increasing it "in proportion to the demands that grow upon us." Silence is made of surrender, of listening, of waiting. "We must therefore make room for reflection and not let ourselves be deafened by noise, by too much clamor. We must, according to the Gospel's word, close the door upon ourselves. Without times of recollection there can be no conscious and profound life." And further: "I find no use in that silence in which one continues to think, turning in circles, caught in the whirlwind of dreams."
It is impossible to convey all the comfort, support, and hope that the Cardinal's words communicate. We can only urge everyone to read this book carefully—so profound and so honest. These pages contain strength and clarity.
The author gives us trust. The metaphors that recur lead us back to life in nature, where there is toil but also beauty, where there is a path and effort, but also the summit and the infinite sky. And we will continue to climb that "mountain" that is our life, that "steep face," clinging "to the rock," passing through those "banks of fog" following the "traces of the trail." The complexity of reality, "like waves against a cliff," may make us tremble, the author says—yet all the louder, it must ring out in us—the strong and merciful voice of the Father.
Natalia Livi, 1996
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