Rather than write about you, Mariangela, I want to write you a letter. I want to remember the beautiful moments we lived together—moments that matter because they touch the very beginning of Faith and Light in Italy.
Jean Vanier had spoken to us about planning a pilgrimage to Rome during the Holy Year of 1975. In 1972 he had organized one at Lourdes with people with mental handicaps, and it made clear how little known and how undervalued these people were.
In 1973 you asked me to come with you and Chicca to Lourdes—to breathe that air and talk with the people who had organized it. Those were days of prayer and reflection.
When we returned to Rome, we began to meet with and gather people interested in forming and supporting groups where people with handicaps, their parents, and friends could begin to reflect together on the pilgrimage's theme: "Reconciliation Between the Church and the World of Handicap." Few remember now that people with mental handicaps were not admitted to Communion or Confirmation, and there was nothing to help them participate in parish ceremonies or gatherings. I remember especially how you asked for Communion for Chicca, and the parish priest of that time—though fairly sympathetic—said to you: "If anything, we could do it during a Mass at your house, just among yourselves…" You were hurt by that proposal. You wanted it to happen in the church, with everyone else. Not in secret.
In 1974 we went to Abano to stir things up there as well, then we reached out to people in Cuneo, Milan, and elsewhere—trying to spark interest and involve as many people as we could.
That was how the Faith and Light groups began. Throughout 1974 and 1975 we spoke about reconciliation, looking for concrete examples within the groups themselves. What we accomplished would be brought to the altar, written on parchment, at the offertory moment of the opening Mass.
So much could be said about that pilgrimage! The work it took to organize everything properly! The number of people who gave their time and energy with such goodwill!
I remember particular moments. The opening Mass on Sunday afternoon, celebrated by Cardinal Poletti, because Pope Paul VI had a canonization that morning and couldn't celebrate twice. But after the Mass he arrived. The basilica lights came on with solemnity, and he couldn't quite stay with the written text. He spoke freely, with warmth and respect. Before they settled him back in the sedia gestatoria, he greeted personally each of the young people in wheelchairs in the front row.
The celebration day at the Stadio Flaminio, where each group performed something on stage. The police, called to maintain order, told us at the end: "We are moved. If only all our services were like this!" It was a great celebration.
The candlelit procession in Saint Peter's Square, with songs, sounds, and torches rising and falling to the rhythm of the singing.
Everything went beautifully. Your presence was everywhere—meeting people, speaking a word, awakening hope for a real and genuine place in the Church, in parishes, for our young people and their families.
Then came the summer camps. At Alfedena, where Pablo said his first words and his mother ran from Rome to hear him, where Gianluca learned to take off and put on his sweater by himself, where everyone took turns in the kitchen, doing "extraordinary" things with joy and delight.
So much more could be said—including our leadership meetings with the pioneers of this adventure. I won't name them all for fear of forgetting someone, but I'm sure you've found them nearly all in heaven. And I'm certain that from there, together with Mary and Jesus, you continue to protect and sustain all the groups now everywhere in the world, working for ever more adequate inclusion. I ask this of you every evening in prayer, and I feel your active and fruitful presence.
Italia Valle, 2014
