Today, Faith and Light comprises some 1,500 communities spread across nearly 80 countries, each marked by the same spirit of welcome, friendship, sharing, and joy—expressed in ways that reflect local history, tradition, culture, and geography. Latvia recently joined their ranks, with a new community founded in Riga.
In the wealthy North, living standards have improved markedly. Services for disabled people and opportunities for encounter have multiplied. Communities now marking forty years of life in Europe—communities that have woven precious bonds of friendship around handicapped people—now feel the need to rediscover their vigor. Some are renewing themselves; others are joining forces to sustain one another; still others are being asked to celebrate the completion of their journey, while those who remain are called to pray that new places of sharing will spring up in their regions.
The situation in the Global South is different. There, people with handicaps are widely seen as God's punishment, a burden on their families—many still hidden away in poor homes. Yet wherever priests or young people who have known the experience of L'Arche or Faith and Light have introduced it, the proposal to bring together disabled people, their families, and friends seems to flourish and spread rapidly. Kuwait is an example: the vitality of two groups there offers hope for quick growth in Iran, Pakistan, India, and Malaysia as well.
For those of us constantly connected by email, text, phone, and Skype, it is hard to grasp the difficulty Judex faces. From the island of Mauritius, where he lives, he struggles to know the real situation of the African communities he is meant to accompany. The distances are vast, connections are sparse and sometimes impassable. A single email may bring a reply within days—or months, or never at all. So when Judex had heard nothing from the twelve communities in Lubumbashi, Congo, for two years, he thought they had ceased to exist. Weeks ago, at a gathering of international vice-coordinators in Rome, he expressed his sorrow openly. Imagine his joy when, through a contact Ghislain had maintained from earlier visits, he learned that all twelve Congolese communities continue their Faith and Light journey with real vitality. In the coming months, Judex will visit them to encourage them and offer the formation they need. For travel costs, he depends on the solidarity of other countries—a way for them to express their belonging to the great Faith and Light family.
Anyone who has lived Faith and Light knows that our communities become places where people of different cultures and faiths can meet. They forge new paths and build bridges. And fruit follows: hatred and fear diminish, and together we help build a society of peace. Today, in the Middle East, Christians fear for their future. The chasm between Christian and Muslim grows deeper, and with it, fear and hatred threaten to spread. The question arose: "What can we do?" Several members of the Syrian Faith and Light communities took up the challenge and began to build relationships with those who, having lost everything precious, fled their homes for refugee camps—now poor, sick, needing everything, terrified of an unknown future. "Faith and Light helped us overcome the prejudices and barriers between us and them—barriers of religion, culture, and different ways of life. It taught us to be present amid suffering and fear. We learned to respect these people, to know their names, their faces, their stories. We don't give money, medicine, or clothes. We give time—to talk, to laugh, to cry, to play, to learn. The women began to see themselves as important, with the right to speak, to ask questions, to learn." After one gathering, a mother said: "You have eased our suffering, you have lifted us up. We will be happy to see you again."
And what of Italy, preparing for a great pilgrimage in June to Rome and Assisi to mark forty years of Faith and Light in the country? There is clearly strong commitment to sustain and grow the roughly sixty communities scattered north to south—many celebrating their own fortieth anniversaries, and joy at several new communities that have recently bloomed, at scattered contacts here and there. Yet reflection shows that Faith and Light is not widely known. Over the years, this precious treasure has been carefully guarded by those who discovered and lived it—but rarely offered boldly to the wider world. Perhaps, looking ahead, we need more courage to increase its visibility and missionary reach.
It is true that many new supports for families have emerged: workshops, studios, occupational centers, and more. But in these settings, does the disabled person risk remaining merely a service user? Where can he or she truly live the need to love and be loved? Where can lasting friendships take root? School is certainly essential for integration and growth. Yet when that chapter ends, many fragile young people lose crucial anchors and risk falling into depression and regression. This is why we must ensure they have multiple paths—ones that complement each other and enrich the whole person.
Today, parents rightly focus on what builds their children's autonomy, skills, and enjoyment. But we must not neglect those spaces that honor each person's own rhythm, that listen, that build relationship, that welcome and celebrate—spaces where disabled people sense that they are recognized and valued, that they have a role among us: to show us the way forward and gradually to transform our hearts.
Recently, some friends and I asked whether Faith and Light communities still have reason to exist. From our conversation, it became clear that yes, after all these years, they need to rediscover their identity and renew themselves, to open to the needs of today's families and friends. Yet they remain places where people can love one another across differences, where we learn to bear one another's burdens, where we can become a small "sign" of the Kingdom.
Some months ago, Jean Vanier said: "Where is our constantly changing, depressed world heading? What future awaits us? Much has changed over the years, but rejection of the vulnerable person has not. We must not close ourselves off or hide behind walls—we must break those walls to celebrate life and unity. We must stand with the poor and celebrate joy. And life is where people are rejected. For this reason, our communities must become ever more places of love, peace, and joy."
Lucia Casella, International Vice-Coordinator, Fidenza-Kimata
