Last spring, Gaetano and I—he leads the Il Germoglio community in Cardito—came up with an idea: a summer camp that would bring together all the Fede e Luce communities across Campania.
The other communities loved it immediately. Friends from La Vigna and S. Maria di Piedigrotta – Roveto Ardente in Naples got on board. Within weeks we'd chosen our dates (July 17–21), our location (Castellammare di Stabia), and our theme: "Peter Pan and the Island That Doesn't Exist." When departure day arrived, we all found ourselves on that magical island—each of us carrying our own baggage.
We came with very different experiences, sensibilities, and fragilities. Yet from the moment we arrived, we felt like family. The days unfolded slowly, each moment savored, surrounded by extraordinary nature. Our lodge sat high on a hillside with a magnificent view of Vesuvius, the sea, and the Bay of Naples. It was the perfect place to feel what Peter Pan felt—the sensation of flying over the rooftops.
Like the lost children in the tale, Wendy, John, and Michael visited us Thursday evening. They were friends from the nearby parish of San Michele. They made us dance, sing, and gave us enormous chocolate-filled pastries. Friday, we decided to be "the Lost Indians" from the story. All sixty of us walked single-file into the city center—we all wanted ice cream and a walk along the waterfront. No one seemed to mind. It was lovely, actually. Every day we sketched, sewed costumes, rehearsed scenes. Every activity was just an excuse to be together. All of us together.
When evening came, the thought of separating exhausted us. We often stayed up until dawn, sharing stories about ourselves.
Saturday evening, we gathered for a vigil to give thanks. It felt natural. We thanked the Lord for the communities, for each person, for the natural beauty around us, for the welcome the city and its smiling staff had given us, for don Luca's unexpected arrival to guide our prayer—and above all, for what Giovanna gave us.
Giovanna struggles profoundly with mental disability. She doesn't like to be touched, doesn't speak, and has difficulty moving. But during the vigil, something shifted. She rose suddenly and ran to the center of the circle we had formed around a crucifix. She sat at its feet and smiled. The young people moved toward her. Then the parents and friends. All sixty of us found ourselves kneeling together at the foot of the cross. The young people had shown us the way.
Sunday brought visitors who came to see our Peter Pan performance. We needed them—all sixty of us were onstage, and every single one was the star.
I've left out so much. These months later, certain moments return to warm me on days when I feel lost: the walk with Pasquale, telling me his favorite fairy tales; Filomena, Anna's mother, entrusting her daughter to me after twenty-seven years together; Anna from Cardito, watching nature with wonder in her eyes as the light rain fell on our last morning. The laughter shared with Patrizia and Milena, who keeps her beloved dolls awake all night so they won't fight. I still hear Maurizio's trumpet echoing. To all of you I say: I love you.
Antonio Piscitelli
, Acerra - Mari e Vulcani