A Bolt from the Blue
Father Mario Lucarelli, the priest who sustained our first community in Puglia, used to say that each person's spiritual life is a sacred story, and the Lord himself writes it with us. There are moments in life when the search for the supernatural becomes urgent, almost mysteriously so. If we do not resist but remain open, the Lord can seize us, "take hold of us," and set to work within us. This is what happened to me.
I want to share my personal experience, which is intimately bound up with and continues through the birth of the Fede e Luce communities in Puglia. I believe the Lord seizes us in many ways, by different paths. One way, I think, is not uncommon in F. and L.: through suffering. In 1980, when my eldest of four sons—then thirteen—suffered a sudden psychological crisis, I understood the gravity of the situation with absolute clarity through my deep pain. But even as I turned to colleagues, my heart—"lukewarm believer" though it was—felt the need to reach higher, toward Someone I did not know well but knew could be there for me and my son. In that moment, my posture before suffering, this simple opening of my heart, this reaching toward the One above us—it had already hooked us to Him. Now I can say that right then, He had seized me. Things were going badly with my son. He rejected me violently, drove me away, and with me, his father and brothers too. Faced with such tremendous pain, there was nowhere to go but to Him.
He Had Seized Me
That morning—it was a Sunday—after a particularly painful night in the clinic, I took my three younger children by the hand and went to Mass. And then the Word of God struck me like a blow. It was the passage from Luke (18:1-8) on the necessity of praying always without growing weary. The passage tells of a widow who insists with a dishonest judge to grant her justice, and he finally gives in just to be rid of her. When I heard the priest proclaim, "Did you hear what the unjust judge did? And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them," I felt the Lord speaking directly to me. I discovered the immense power of prayer. From that moment on, I began to see what I had not seen before. Children of friends with mental disabilities, young people admitted to psychiatric clinics—they leaped into my view, drew me in, and I sought their friendship. They sought mine. Slowly I discovered a new world: sometimes a world of profound suffering that captivated and shook me, yet always it led me toward a love that seemed to be what the Lord calls us to. "Love one another as I have loved you!" My son's problem no longer existed for me. Now it was the problem of so many children, so many others—a circle widening, expanding. And with it, my capacity to love expanded too. Yet I felt very much alone. Sometimes, under the weight of pain and anguish, I struggled to find the courage to approach them again. But I had to return because I had promised, and I knew they were waiting. Even then, every act of faithfulness made me more joyful and confident. But I did not know how I would carry all this forward.
A Circle Widens
Then, in September 1983—exactly thirty years ago—there was Lourdes. I think the Lord, with Mary's help, wanted to begin writing another sacred story for the families, the young people, and the friends of F. and L. in Puglia, using me at a moment when I was living a particular experience of suffering and resurrection. I went to Lourdes that year for the first time because my friend Agnese had suggested it: "Why don't we both go as doctors with the Unitalsi train of the sick?" It was also a chance to please my mother. But my mother gave this journey a special meaning: to pray together for my son. After the first few days, the mystical atmosphere of Lourdes, the intense and selfless prayer, the encounter with the sick—all of it placed a deep longing in my heart, almost an expectation that something new might happen to me. Walking outside the grotto enclosure, I read a name in large letters on a wall: Jean Vanier. That name alone was enough to draw me in. I had read some of Jean's books, and they had been a great help to me. This was the office of Foi et Lumière, founded to welcome to Lourdes parents, friends, and pilgrims from all over the world touched by the reality of disability. Father Arqué, while I was browsing Jean Vanier's books, spoke to me about Foi et Lumière. He told me that Fede e Luce also existed in Italy and urged me to take the address of the Roman coordinator. When he found no communities listed near Bari, he said to my surprise: "Why don't you start one in Bari yourself?"
"Do Whatever He Tells You"
Back in Bari, about a month later, while organizing my papers, the phone number of the national F. and L. coordinator fell before my eyes. It was Valeria Levi Della Vida. I picked up the phone and called. Valeria, very busy but with a gentle voice, told me that if I wanted to learn more, I could go to the National Conference in Milan in November—just two weeks away. I might well have let it drop. I was not in a position to leave my family and work for another trip. Besides, I distrusted institutions, all the empty talk that went on in them. Still, I mentioned it to my husband, just to inform him. He answered decisively: "If you think it's worth it, why don't you go? Better yet, take our son." I would never have expected such a reply, let alone such an encouragement. It was the oddness of it that made me go. From the conference, I took away two important things: (1) F. and L. was not just another institution. (2) Embracing a common cause—in that profound humility that marked the dear friends I met there—grew my own capacity for self-gift and lit it with a deep joy (surely the Lord's joy: "where two or three are gathered, I am there among them") and eased the inevitable suffering of facing the hardest situations alone. On the way back, I kept thinking about what I could do, knowing well my poor organizational skills. But the words kept returning to me—the theme of the gathering: "Do whatever He tells you!" In Bari, I wasted no time. I reached out to two or three families I knew who lived with a child's disability but had already accepted it in a positive way. That seemed like the first step. And a priest? I had recently met one, Father Mario, who seemed right and within reach, being from a nearby parish. Approaching him, bringing him Jean Vanier's books, the little magazines "Ombre e Luci"—it took a moment. His hesitation about lacking time was overcome when Agnese and I returned together: there is strength in union, and a touch of humor and liveliness helps. And what about animation and music? On the trip to Lourdes, I had met Basilio among the stretcher-bearers—a young man wholly available to the sick and full of inventive ideas. I looked up his phone number and, to my great joy, he said he was available along with some other young people from the parish, and they had a guitar.
All It Takes Is Courage
On December 10, 1983 (the Feast of Our Lady of Loreto), we held the first meeting of parents, friends, and Father Mario at my home. My children sabotaged it by shutting themselves in their rooms. My husband watched from a distance. I tried to explain in words what F. and L. was. I saw it all clearly in my mind, but what could I actually communicate? As expected, there were contradictory responses, misplaced objections, misunderstandings, and so on. Then Father Mario, who had seemed lukewarm at first, suddenly took the floor and said with decisiveness several important things about F. and L. Above all, he made clear from the start that we could only call ourselves a F. and L. community if we honored what was written in the Charter. Otherwise we could still spend time together, but we would need to give ourselves another name. His words, I think, laid the right foundation for our first community to be born. And for the first time, I felt that you are never alone in F. and L. You just need courage. The Lord speaks at the right moment through one of us. For his part, when I saw Father Mario again after that meeting, he told me: "I saw you so determined and enthusiastic that I understood this was not coming from you. There was Someone behind it!" This confirmation was a great comfort to me. And then the community got underway. Even my own children became enthusiastically involved.
Mary Awaited Us
The following September, a year after my first journey, I felt that we had to return to Lourdes. Mary was waiting for us. I felt her call in the depths of my heart. We returned again with Unitalsi, with whom we had already formed many friendships, but this time with our young people. We were a group of ten: four young people with disabilities, two mothers, a father, and three friends. Luisa was already among the friends! The pilgrimage's friends and priests welcomed our group with love. Thanks to the young people's readiness to befriend everyone, our group stood out like a banner. They asked us to give a testimony, and there was a beautiful symbiosis between Unitalsi and F. and L. We met Mary and thanked her, especially in the evening near the grotto as we prayed the Rosary. We returned as a group to the permanent office of Foi et Lumière. The coordinator Martine Guénard welcomed us with joy—we were a new community celebrating its first anniversary! We celebrated. The young people toasted and blew out the candle. Then they asked us: "What is your community called? If you haven't decided, give it a name now!" We looked at each other. In the rush to move forward, to get to know each other, to meet and love one another, we had not yet thought of it. But the answer came very simply and immediately: "Our community will be called the Immaculate Conception!"
Thus was born the first community of Puglia. In Marie Hélène Mathieu's book "Never Alone Again," on page 120, this marvelous story is mentioned—confirming once again how Fede e Luce lives in the heart of Our Lady of Lourdes!
Delia Mitolo, 2013
