A Holy Foolishness
FL Rome - Pizzoferrato Camp
Antonio said to me: "I'm trying to organize a camp at Fiuggi for July. Why don't you come?" I answered: "It's an idea. But usually there are plenty of parents in July. There's no point in me going just to take up a bed. Let's see if there's a camp that needs a parent."
I left for California. When I returned, I called Valeria to ask if there was any news about our training program. I wasn't thinking about the camp at all.
"You have to go to Pizzoferrato as the leader," Valeria said.
I knew nothing about Pizzoferrato, let alone that I would be leading something.
My heart sank. It's one thing to have a good experience under someone else's leadership. It's another thing entirely to be the one responsible for a project as demanding as a camp.
"Don't worry," Valeria said. "The friends are all good, and Antonio has a lot of experience."
I went to Barbara's house for a meeting with the friends who wanted to participate. It wasn't their first meeting. I could see right away that most of the preparation work had already been coordinated by Antonio: assigning which young people would attend, who was handling transportation, who would buy supplies before we left, the liturgy, music, games, recreation, and services. The friends hadn't left anything for me to do. So what exactly was my responsibility?
I began to understand when Vito handed me a paper to sign during mass at the parish. It was for insurance. My responsibility, then, had to be legal, moral, and psychological.
I decided to go see the house where we would stay for the camp. I knew the Bencetti family had offered their mountain house, and besides that, their friend, signora Iaia, had made available her recreation room—a large space with a bathroom where we could set up many cots. The rest of the house would be used by Iaia's family.
I left Sunday morning with Claudio, Chiara, and my daughter Sabina. I saw immediately that the house was not suitable for us at all. It was large enough for a family—three bedrooms plus an attic—but there was only one bathroom and many stairs. Moreover, signora Iaia's house wasn't across the way as I'd thought, but at the end of a long uphill walk! I couldn't see how we could fit all those people, including severely handicapped young people, with all those stairs and slopes and only two bathrooms. Then I found out the nearest hospital was forty-five minutes away on a winding mountain road, and there was no doctor or nurse among our friends.
There was no telephone. We could call from a public telephone booth, but if there was a serious illness or accident, parents couldn't call us for news, and it would take three hours of travel from Rome to reach us. I felt worried. I thought of sweet Clelia, the little girl who was supposed to go with us. Clelia had died suddenly at home just fifteen days before we were to leave. What if she had died while she was with us? I began to think about the young people entrusted to our care.
A. A spastic boy, very delicate, in a wheelchair. I knew A.; he's part of my group in Rome, but I hadn't realized how much care he needs. Because of a metabolic problem, everything he eats has to be carefully planned, day by day. The smallest mistake could be a disaster.
E. A beautiful girl, but extremely difficult with behavioral problems. It took three friends just for her.
Giovanni, helpful, who suffers from moments of absence.
R. seemed easy but wasn't actually as easy as he seemed.
Ale, extremely slow in his movements. Everything he does takes a long time.
I looked at each young person. Each one had serious problems—either fragile health, severe physical disability, or psychological difficulty; and they all had different disabilities. How could we find activities they could all do?
At this point, Sergio wasn't coming anymore. We had two open spots. I called Lucia: "Can we take two mild cases?" Lucia told us that two Down syndrome children would have liked to participate, but didn't need to. Or C., who is very restless and runs off everywhere. Her mother is desperate. She really needs a break.
I told Lucia: "C. is out of the question. The house where we're going has no gate or fence. And we have H. with us. It wouldn't be right to take C. at the same time."
Then we had another meeting at my house. I don't know how, but we decided to take C.
It wasn't a smart decision, but it was generous. Either we're saints or we're foolish. Those are the only two options. We all agreed this camp had to be a "holy foolishness." From that moment on, God started helping us. (God loves holy foolishness.)
As soon as we arrived in Pizzoferrato, we saw signora Iaia saying goodbye to her son and daughter-in-law and their children—they had to leave suddenly for Rome.
"Now I can give you four rooms and another bathroom," Iaia said.
Paradise! We could sleep more comfortably. We decided to set up a chapel in the recreation room. It turned out lovely—the altar made from wooden benches covered with a white sheet and decorated with small mountain flowers. The parish priest came to say mass.
The sun shone on us every day, in a place where it normally rains three days out of four. (A downpour came just as we were leaving, with suitcases on the street. We had to reopen the garage to take shelter while we loaded the transport.)
We had problems. Serious ones. The famous fourth-day crisis came to us after two and a half days. We had to call an emergency meeting. The problems were so many we nearly closed the camp and sent everyone home! Then we sat down to figure out how to solve them. From that point on, everything ran smoothly. Each of us was forced to bring out the best in ourselves. I'm convinced the problems are what cemented our friendship so strongly.
I learned more about how a team should work. I always thought a team functions on the efficiency of each individual, that everyone has to know how to do their part. What happened to us instead was that sometimes a friend—whether from tiredness, personal fragility, or lack of experience—fell short in their role; that gap was filled right away, without my even noticing at first, by the friend nearest to them, or stronger, or more generous. When that happens, we don't have a good team anymore. We have an indestructible team, based on our solidarity.
We took risks. We took the young people horseback riding, swimming, we had barbecues in the garden at night around the fire. On that occasion we stayed up a bit past our schedule, but it was worth it just to see all those happy, smiling faces. We made friends in town—both with locals and with vacationers. Two families, one from Naples and one from Bari, came often to eat and pray with us. We worked, served, prayed, and had fun together. There was much love among us, and I felt strongly the presence of God.
It was a difficult camp, an impossible camp, a wonderful camp—a holy foolishness!
— Olga Burrows Gammarelli
Bari Community - Summer Camp
After the camping
The Oasis of Saint John the Baptist (Fasano) opened its gates again to the two Bari communities, "Immaculate Conception" and "Spirit of Love," gathered for a camping trip that, from the start, showed us the enormous amount of work ahead. So there came moments of unease and disorientation, perhaps inevitable ones. But a proper time of reflection helped us identify the greatest dangers—those of inconsistency and drift. After that, the camp took flight.
Dividing into various work squads allowed for greater responsibility and involvement for everyone. I think each person was able to receive a personal "message," on the different days—a "word" that spoke to you. You just had to leave a window open so messenger and message could come in.
This year we tried to approach the preparation of skits and pantomimes differently too, making it another moment of reflection and involvement for everyone, the young people included.
The camp, with its moments of play, prayer, dialogue, listening—invited us to engage with different languages and signs that you could glimpse just behind expressions of apparent hostility or indifference.
Then suddenly, once a "breach" opened, there were gestures you didn't expect, words you'd never heard before. Simple but beautiful emotions.
We had to battle physical fatigue and the temptation of intolerance, certainly. But nothing worth seeking is ever easy. So the search for a relationship of friendship continues beyond the camp.
Mario Damiani
Faith and Light International Council
We held a meeting of the International Council of Faith and Light in Madrid in September.
There were thirteen of us: Marie-Hélène Mathieu and Marcin Przrciszewski, international coordinator and vice-coordinator, and the zone coordinators: Jean Evariste (Atlantic Europe), Mariangela Bertolini (Alpine Europe), Zilda Furtado (Latin America and the Caribbean), Betty Renaud (North America), Roland Tamraz (Middle East), Bella Feliciano (Asia-Oceania), Teresa de Bertodano (Africa), Father David Wilson, assistant, Marie Vincente de Severac, secretary, and myself.
There are seven hundred communities scattered throughout the world, with about a hundred in formation.
There were many problems and much work. But it's good when you bring it all together in unity. Several of us have worked together for ten years now. And we are filled with wonder at what the Spirit is doing through Faith and Light. Good News is proclaimed to the poor, and many parents and their children find life and hope.
Yet Faith and Light remains fragile: only five people work full-time. The communities rest on people who have other jobs, and for whom Faith and Light is a community of prayer and support.
I felt encouraged and strengthened by each person's report.
I was moved listening to Bella speak of Faith and Light families in the Philippines who don't have enough to eat. Mariangela shared the suffering of parents, but also their discovery of the mystery of the poor. Roland spoke of the deepening of communities in the Middle East. Zilda of all the life given in communities in Haiti and Mexico. Betty, Jean, and Marianna spoke of Faith and Light's progress in their zones, and Teresa of new communities in Zimbabwe, South Africa, Nigeria, and Sierra Leone. Maria Vincente reported on her travels for Faith and Light and all the administrative work.
Father David Wilson announced he would be stepping down from his role as international assistant: he has been a precious gift, a sign of Jesus.
Marie-Hélène coordinated this meeting well, with Marcin assisting as vice-coordinator for the first time. Marcin particularly oversees training issues in Faith and Light.
Jean Vanier
Following Mary's Example
Bari Camp
I haven't lost the joy I carry within me for seeing tangible signs of growth together, of a shared effort to reach unity, of a watchful and loving presence of "Mary." Yes! Because this camp was dedicated to her. Don Vito had the insight: "Following Mary's Example." Each day we reflected on one of Mary's virtues—hospitality, faithfulness, intercession, charity, motherhood at the foot of the Cross.
We reflected on the theme through song, prayer, games, pantomime, celebration, and even on the day of pilgrimage to a Marian shrine.
Midway through the camp, we experienced a moment of disorientation. Strangely, it was the young people themselves who gave the signal: they were protesting, throwing fits of jealousy, attacking each other.
Mariolino managed to quarrel with everyone, from the first to the last. And when Pasquale, particularly dear to Don Vito, showed signs of impatience and regression and asked firmly to return to his residence, an alarm went off. Luisa, Don Vito, and I realized there had to be a reason. That evening we gathered the young people. Calmly we took stock of the situation and asked ourselves what we needed to do more of, what our little ones were missing. We committed ourselves to doing our very best, to deepening friendship, each of us with one of them.
From then on the climb resumed with greater unity and enthusiasm. The young people were happy, full of initiative, sailing ahead stronger each day.
Unexpectedly, at the moment of departure, "Mary" came to say goodbye to us, appearing suddenly—sweet Lucia lent her the figure and voice—reciting the Magnificat softly and leaving each of us a gift: a rosary! Dario and Carlo had painstakingly and lovingly made rough little rosaries from drilled beans and a small cross made from two pieces of wood. Each one had a phrase from the Magnificat!
Delia Mitolo