In one of Cardinal Martini's recent books, Families in Exile, there is a chapter titled "God's Image in Our Children." I want to return to a passage from it.
"A particular difficulty arises when we try to recognize God's image also on the face of a child born with physical or mental disability, or both. This requires an extraordinary grace of the Holy Spirit and the affectionate, steadfast support of the Christian community (the groups of "Faith and Light" come to mind, along with similar initiatives) so that a great trial—one that could lead to constant bitterness and even true despair—instead becomes a surprising new opportunity to understand how God dwells in the hearts of these little ones and makes them effective evangelizers to the community and to their parents themselves".
From this long passage, the sentence I want to examine is the one highlighted above. It truly seems to open a new perspective in our horizon. I believe that all of us, from different angles, see the presence of these "little ones" in the Church's life as something desirable and right—no doubt about it—yet also burdensome and difficult (almost a weight the Christian community must bear in order to be Christian at all).
So we are all on the wrong track. The presence of these "little ones" in ecclesial life—according to Cardinal Martini's thought—should not be seen as a burden but as help, a kind of effective collaboration supporting us all.
I propose we reflect together, with great humility and simplicity, on this theme: perhaps deep in our hearts we sense that yes, Martini sees clearly and rightly, but it is hard to defend this feeling with words and actions.
To evangelize—to use Martini's term—means to carry good news, genuinely good and beautiful. In Christian language, we tie it to God's love and, consequently, to joy, to salvation, to liberation. How is it possible that these little ones help us all enter and walk these difficult, mysterious roads?
Thinking of God's love makes me step back and reflect that God assured the first and most essential catechism to everyone. Every child of humanity is born (or should be) in a context of love, and however great that love is, it is only a pale shadow of God's love for his creatures. What I mean is that the first beautiful news, the first evangelization, comes naturally from parents who carry (often quite involuntarily) God's image imprinted on their hearts, and it reflects onto the child born to them, destined to leave a decisive mark on their child's destiny.
But let us return to catechism proper, essential so that children grow in Christian life, learn the first "truths" about God and humanity, enter into first forms of shared religious practice, and lay the first foundations of meaning and faith in their lives.
I am thinking now especially of First Communion catechism groups, where parish priests, parents, and catechists worry about including children with varying degrees of difficulty.
The question arises: how do we prevent the situation from creating anxiety and problems for anyone? But if we trust the words of our beloved and venerated cardinal, we should instead ask: how do we uncover the hidden grace within these children, welcome it, make it effective, a true blessing for all?
The presence of a "different" child in the group surely draws everyone's attention and can bring confusion and dismay. Perhaps it would be wise to avoid explanations and commentary in these early moments. Instead, it seems more effective for the catechist to maintain a vigilant, active, and affectionate presence—showing gestures and words that express welcome, calm, and openness.
If catechism is to help children grow as children of God in the Church's great family, it is in these encounters and in this climate that their growth can begin—in the presence of a particular friend—being guided for the first time to understand and experience that love is not only receiving, being filled with attention and affection by parents and relatives, but also giving, offering, feeling capable of helping gestures and nearness. A feeling can begin to take root in them that not all adults, even Christian ones, seem to know: an important concept of living that says love is not sentiment and emotion, not only that at least, but a strong feeling: "I want you to be well."
But the catechist has, in fact, a difficult and complex task. Beyond ensuring that the climate benefits all the students, the catechist must bring the Word of our sacred story—stories, accounts, teachings, and truths—into their midst. Now, we know that children with difficulties in attention, learning, or other challenges often cannot follow along or sit still for any length of time. Many catechists already use diversified aids—drawings, music—but some feel and desire to do something more.
As Paul VI said in his Apostolic Exhortation "Evangelization in the Modern World" (1976), it is not enough for the words of our Faith to be heard by the ear and understood by reason: they must enter the heart understood as the center of existence or the core of lived experience.
I think the foundation is to find the essential point in what we communicate. We must ask ourselves: what do I truly want them to understand, and how can what I am about to say enter their everyday life, making their present gestures meaningful and laying foundations for their future? Once we identify the connection to their life and strip away what is superfluous and overcomplicated, it becomes easier to hold the children's attention. We speak of life, their life, and then it is possible to involve them in small, realistic dramatizations in which everyone has a part.
I think, for example, of preparing for First Confession, of how to lead them into the reality of God's forgiveness by presenting it as light that must illuminate our ability to forgive and forgive ourselves. They can easily discover how beautiful it is and how much joy it brings to "make peace," as they say, forgetting slights, wrongs, and hurt—to become friends again.
All of this can be done together—acting out small and large offenses, negligence, errors, quarrels followed by admissions, apologies, and embraces. Everyone will participate, including the child with difficulties. They will have fun and understand.
Perhaps the heart of what I mean is this: the person with a handicap, taken as the emblem of life's difficulty and sometimes its terrible pain, teaches us—when we live beside them—to reject divisions, the obvious, and superficiality raised to system. It forces us to question ourselves, to discover "things" anew—much as Jesus did. His parables, sometimes simple, sometimes incomprehensible, concealed realities more precious than gems. But one had to have faith to discover and welcome them. One had to trust in him for miracles sometimes to occur.
Lucia Bertolini, 2013