For the third time, a group of friends gathered at Alfedena to spend several weeks together in community and fraternity.
The enthusiastic accounts that follow show how meaningful the experience was. But we must not forget that these three weeks of camp were made possible by meticulous preparation and organization.
Preparation began a full month in advance and kept at least 15 people busy, working in small teams on different aspects of the organization:
- invitations for participants
- registration forms
- invitations for volunteers
- transportation for two sessions
- participation fees and budget for necessary supplies
- general provisions
During the camp stay, one, two, or more people took responsibility for every aspect of daily life, without exception.
What follows is an example of what we have described, offered to anyone involved in organizing similar events.
1978 Camp – Division of Responsibilities
If unable to serve or needing a free day, report to the coordinator:
Session 1: Maria Neve Petrucci
Session 2: Maria Teresa Donati
Now, reflections from three participants
Beyond Words
I once heard someone say that what matters is not doing extraordinary things, but doing ordinary things in an extraordinary way. That is what I found at Alfedena.
Life at Camp
It was my first time at a Faith and Light camp. Nothing that happened there lay outside what might occur in a large family. What I found exceptional was the spirit in which we lived.
You could point to the walks to San Francesco, to the lake, to Scontrone, the games, the vigils, Mass in the chapel or in the garden, the singing, the birthday celebrations for Vincenzo and Paolo, the trip to Monte Meta. But what mattered for me was meeting each other at every level, in every way, with everyone.
At Katimavik — the moment of prayer and silence in Faith and Light gatherings, where participants encounter Jesus present in the Eucharist — we met people from other cities. We talked, sang, and prayed together. And each time, beyond words, there was a deeper bond: the smile of Marie-Hélène, the intense gaze of Alessandro or Louis, a handshake from Stefano, Roberta's embrace.
The moments I lived most fully—from the heart, not the mind—were those spent with the youngest among us. Sitting with Chicca in my arms, chasing after Giorgio, waiting patiently for Carla to finish a sentence, being with Sabina and Maurizio. With them there were no wasted words, only long silences full of an infinitely great and mysterious presence that each of us felt personally.
I realized that Christ was with us every moment, sharing our joys and our struggles. Chicca, Roberto, Vincenzo, and Giorgio taught me to approach him more truly, without words, because prayer does not always need words.
Lucia Pennisi
A Tangible Presence
Everyone was there with open arms, joyful, singing—or rather, making a joyful noise. There was the inevitable banner reading "WELCOME." In short, Christ's presence was among us—tangible and visible in handshakes and smiles.
After Katimavik, camp life truly began for me. It was my third time at Alfedena, and I thought I knew what to expect. But it was different. Life was much more active, at least for me.
Dawn Mass with Louis was wonderful. There were always just a few of us, sleepy and looking as if we'd only just woken; we began each day having received from the Body of Christ the strength to live it as simply as possible.
I tried to transform the strength Jesus gave me into humility, responsibility, and openness.
For the first time, before saying "hello" and "good morning" to everyone, I felt the need to say it to Jesus.
At Alfedena, the friendship that already bound us together, or that united people who had never met before, was not born by chance. It is no accident that we felt like brothers and sisters and understood each other even when hours before the other was a stranger's face.
How we laughed talking with Patrick, who after repeating the same phrase to me for the fifth time would say "c-r-a-z-y" and burst out laughing. And Settimio, who during nap time would torment us by strumming his guitar and mangling every song, interspersed with "shut up and sleep" directed at Roberto.
Francesca Speranza
Joy and Mystery
My first travel adventure. I arrive at Rome airport and an ambulance picks me up at the plane. They take me to a small room unknown to the public. Nobody knew what to do with me, and I wondered how to let Maria Grazia know I'd arrived at customs.
Finally, after long explanations in my halting Italian, I managed to make myself understood. They came to get me—what joy to see Maria Grazia again, and Marie-Hélène Mathieu.
After a struggle to fit me in the car, we drove straight to Alfedena. There joy burst forth as we found ourselves together with this small world in which I truly felt like family.
During the two days of Katimavik, we shared the different experiences lived in the Italian Faith and Light groups. Friends had come from Cuneo, Milan, Parma, and Rome.
We reflected mainly on how to ensure that all three components of Faith and Light felt truly recognized and welcomed within the group. Mariangela and Valeria expressed the meaning of Faith and Light in very profound terms—hard words, but true ones.
In a way it was an explanation of the Beatitudes.
Monday morning Roberto, Giorgio, Vincenzo, and the others arrived. We would spend twelve days with them—days filled with joy, steeped in mystery.
The mystery of Sabina and Maurizio, who do not speak, do not see, do not hear, yet were simply there among us.
In Roberto and Paolo we sensed much suffering, a fear of being rejected. Vincenzo sunbathed and seems to think of many things, but alas, cannot express them. It was impossible not to laugh along with Carla. When we grew too serious, Chicca would arrive and pull our noses and ears, as if teasing us.
We will never forget Giorgio's joy and his famous line during the climb to Monte Meta: "But who brought all these rocks up here?!" as he carefully tried to clear the path.
Ah, that Meta—2,247 meters high—we will remember it long. Each stone along the way seemed to represent life's difficulties, but what joy when we reached the summit, on a meadow colored with a thousand tiny blue flowers!
Coming back down, we were happy because we had overcome all the mountain's difficulties together—something deeply meaningful for Faith and Light.
During camp I also received the gift of discovering the breviary, this prayer that unites us with the whole Church and through which we feel God's loving hand on our shoulder.
The meadow at San Francesco "will remain etched in our memory: what a place of peace for our sometimes fragile hearts."
During the vigil at Katimavik, celebrated there, the spirit of true celebration was among us.
A spirit present throughout the whole camp through countless small gestures beyond what words can tell.
In each of us was a living will to be there for one another. It was magnificent.
Thanks to San Francesco and to Francesca for giving us this place of peace.
Camp cannot end there. Just last week I was living it again at Lourdes before Bernadette's grotto, where she teaches us to become small with complete trust in God our Savior.
Blessed are those who have nothing,
Patrick Thonon, 1978