A cross cut from sandpaper and glued to cardboard. A small, gentle hand rests in mine as a child's index and middle fingers trace the long side, then the short. Once. Twice. The passivity shifts. Surprise flickers. A smile breaks through. Two words: "crucifix, sign of the cross." The conversation has begun.
When the child makes the sign of the cross on their own body—slowly, seriously, tenderly—something ignites. At the words "In the name of…" a spark of joy and participation catches. It lights.
This is the beginning of patient, sustained work, structured around the Church calendar: Advent, Christmas, Easter, Pentecost. The Old Testament and the New unfold through the seasons and rhythms of the year.
We have often assumed that some children cannot grasp these things, will not follow them. Close attention tells a different story.
These children possess a peculiar kind of light. They apprehend difficult truths without hesitation or doubt. They absorb the words of the Gospel in wonder—and those words reach deep, work in silence, transform. You see the fruit later: always, it is the love that Christ teaches all of us.
A Catechist Speaks
For years, this catechist has worked to kindle faith, hope, and love in children's hearts through a method that reaches all children but proves especially powerful for those who learn differently. She offers this account to open a conversation about spiritual formation.
The method uses sensory touch to reach into the depths of the soul where God, through baptism, dwells. That sign of the cross—the mark of Christ and his redeeming love, traced on the forehead by the priest at baptism—becomes, when felt by hand and slowly traced again on the child's body, an act of faith. Parents are invited to make this gesture themselves: to sign their children's foreheads with the cross as a blessing, a divine seal.
From gesture, we move slowly toward the light of understanding. Yes, we are marked by the cross. We are sheep of the Good Shepherd, bearing his sign. Little by little, through signs and sensible acts, the invisible mystery becomes visible.
Sister Ida Maria, 1976
Two Eyes That See
A smile,
Two bright eyes that watch,
eyes that do not know,
that cannot grasp
the sorrows of the world.
But one glance from those eyes
and you understand what matters most:
the love of one who hopes,
the hope of one who loves.
And you understand
that we are all brothers.
Matteo Mazzarotto
