Nostra Famiglia runs some of Italy's finest institutions—probably among the world's best—for developing the full potential of disabled children, from those with mild challenges to the most severely impaired.
What draws our attention this time is a remarkable program in religious instruction that culminates each year in two sacred dramatizations, at Christmas and Easter. These productions involve every child and young person in the institution, plus staff members and neighbors from Conegliano, a small town in the province of Treviso. The program has earned special recognition: this year's sacred dramatization will be presented at a national conference on catechesis for mentally disabled persons, organized by the Italian Bishops' Conference (CEI) in Rome from January 26–29.
(1) For teachers seeking to achieve similar results, see «E la vita esploderà» by Chiaramonte, M. G. Granbassi, and R. Zanella (Elle DiCi); we reviewed it in Ombre e Luci 3/93.
Every time we visit a Nostra Famiglia house, we are struck by the quality and care evident in every detail. Here, at Conegliano, we notice the radial design that allows the lawn and trees to open into the building itself, the beautiful woodwork and ceramics from the vocational school displayed throughout, the attentive and warm staff, and the clean, lived-in smells of a well-kept home.
The institution serves 160 children and adolescents, ages 3 to 18. It includes a nursery school (mixing typically developing children with those who have disabilities), elementary and middle schools, and a vocational program. Another 500 or so children and young people come for specific therapies. The facility draws from a region with a 30-kilometer radius and a population of about 280,000. Some residents live on campus; most arrive and leave each day by minibus. Several staff members describe the religious instruction program to us: Gigliola, the director; Bernardina, the catechist; and Anna Maria, the music and drama teacher.
This approach to religious education has been in place for twenty years. It combines catechesis, religious instruction, and creative expression—each child working within their own abilities and limitations. The program draws on every available tool: storytelling, drawing, direct experience, role-play, movement, music. These methods culminate in sacred dramatizations—not mere performances, mind you. They are not necessary to the program, though they do motivate the young people and give them real satisfaction, since the point is never simply to "perform" but to express what lives inside them.
The dramatizations are staged wherever they are requested: regularly in local parish churches, and sometimes farther afield—Varese, Pavia, Milan, Lourdes (during Nostra Famiglia's annual pilgrimage), Rome.
Because of the children's limitations, the catechesis combines action and experience with words, and it includes everyone.
The core content stays roughly the same year to year, as you might expect, but the ways of expressing it change. Children who remain here long-term tackle new challenges each year and take on increasingly demanding roles: from shepherds in the Nativity (played by the youngest) to the head caravan guide, St. Joseph, and eventually Jesus and Mary herself. Mary is played by a young woman who has graduated from the program and is well integrated into the community with a regular job. She insists on returning every year for rehearsals and performances, which matters deeply to the other residents—they see in her what is possible.
It is worth noting that Nostra Famiglia develops an individualized plan for each young person aimed at maximizing their potential, however long that may take. Then they move on.
Because these young people spend nearly the whole day here, they cannot attend catechesis in their home parishes—and not all parishes welcome them anyway. So we prepare them here for the sacraments and for Christmas and Easter celebrations. We encourage them to participate in parish life during school holidays.
Not all the children can sing or communicate easily. For some, a single word or gesture is the fruit of enormous effort. What matters for them is the act itself—the participation.
The catechesis begins where the institution itself begins: with welcome. We welcome each child as they are, their parents, their background. The first thing we communicate, even in our technical work, is genuine acceptance of the child as they exist. We highlight what is positive in each person—perhaps only a smile, or eye contact, or halting speech. This recognition opens the door to developing what each child has. We work so that everyone can give what they can, and we work toward their life in the community—not here. These children are a resource, not a burden or a cost, as society tells their parents. We work in the opposite direction: the more we help these children communicate, the more we help them find a place in their world, the more we return them as gifts to their communities.
These children struggle with abstract concepts. So we don't teach values and important messages—solidarity, kindness, understanding, forgiveness—through explanation. We propose them through gestures, words, and actions that the children perform and embody in their roles.
Take the shepherds journeying to the stable. What we see in the dramatization is not the result of rote rehearsal, but of principles and lived gestures: going out, walking, traveling together, being poor yet always with something to give. The shepherds bring milk, bread, simple things—the gift matters, however humble. "We bring Jesus." "But what is Jesus?" "Is it that plaster child? Is it the baby in the dramatization? Then he is alive. He is like us." These are hard ideas to "explain" in words, but when they are embodied in concrete action and representation, the message gets through with the simplest gestures and the fewest words. We don't aim for maximum knowledge, but for what is essential.
When we prepare children for the sacraments, something surprising often happens. A child about whose understanding we may be uncertain will look at the Eucharist and say, "Jesus." They grasp that Jesus, the bread, enters them and makes them another Jesus for their mother, father, friends. So they must be kind, stay close to others, share. Sometimes the most severely disabled children astonish us with a gesture or an intuition, expressed perhaps in a single word—something not born from theory but from something that has matured within.
Over the years, says Gigliola, we have developed many ways to guide children toward the sacraments while involving their parents. The more difficult the child's situation, the more we must work with the parents themselves—helping them understand that the sacraments are a gift for their child too. Many have been told the opposite: that their child cannot understand, especially if the child shows signs of instability or distress.
To help parents participate in their children's catechesis, especially during the year of a sacrament, we hold meetings with them. Usually the catechetical year begins with a celebration involving the children, marked by signs that mark the beginning of the journey for both children and parents. But it is never a passive sit-and-listen event. Each year we invent something new—a "pathway." For children preparing for First Communion, there is a journey to discover bread, then the image of Jesus, then light. Each time, we let the particular children's characteristics guide us. Three years ago, we had an especially meaningful experience. All the children that year were severely disabled, with no ability to undertake a learning process. So we did the whole journey with the parents. At each meeting, we asked them to make a particular gesture at home during the following week. The first was to trace the sign of the cross on their child's forehead before bed; the next week, blessed water; then salt, which gives flavor to life—each one accompanied by a simple phrase like "Jesus loves you" or "Mom and Dad love you." What was beautiful was that the younger siblings grew attached to these simple evening rituals and afterward insisted on continuing them.
We hold First Communions and Confirmations here only for children who would not be welcomed in their parish churches. Our bishop, Eugenio Ravignani, comes. We have seen him make gestures toward our children that you rarely see elsewhere. That day we also invite their parish priests, and many come. In this way they too can see how these children, through their gestures, manage to express religious values. It is a message: please remember them in your parish community.
"You are struck by the mystery. You confer the sacrament as an act of faith, resting on the faith of the parents. But that day you perceive in the children, even the most disturbed, a different bearing—as though they sense that this day is different. Above all, the parents leave reassured. The most beautiful thing is to see mothers and fathers discover, through this preparation, the value of their children—both for themselves and for those around them. To 'see' this reality, you must travel a path, have an experience that stays within you and afterward bears fruit."
Bernardina and Anna Maria describe the concrete work carried out from October to May, culminating in the two sacred dramatizations. The words and music largely stay consistent—many children have seen previous years' productions and already know much of them. But each year the journey changes: a new pathway of actions, stories, drawings, and music designed to help the young people feel and live the parts they will perform.
Here is an example of this year's structure.
The children are divided into five groups of 8–10, sorted by their needs and abilities. Each group has a color and meets in the matching classroom.
The pink group contains older children with greater capacity; they will have the larger roles. The two "light blue cottages" are for the most severely disabled. Each group goes deeper into the themes according to what each child can handle.
We start with getting to know the child: Who are you? What are you like? What do you enjoy? Where do you come from? Do you have a mom and dad? What are they like? It is a kind of big game that begins by figuring out who I am and who everyone else is in the world.
This year's game is a treasure hunt—we fly in a hot air balloon. The balloon is colorful, we climb aboard, it lifts us high and drifts slowly, letting us discover things.
As we drift, we discover places we have some experience with: the town, the countryside, the sea, the mountains, nature. Some things are made by people—houses, for example. Others are made by God. Before we leave together, we must agree to follow some behavior rules (no shouting, no scratching, no hitting). We draw all this, act it out with our bodies, express it through music, sing it.
Now the balloon carries us to a distant land: Palestine, so different from home. Here we meet important people—the prophets. We ask them questions: Who are you? What do you do? What do you tell us? It is hard to grasp that they lived before Christ; time concepts are always difficult. So we focus on what matters: they are important, they stand tall, they speak well, they say important things.
The underlying theme is the importance of each one of us. Simply existing means being important, because God wanted us. We follow a path of knowing ourselves and strengthening our faith. When children begin to understand that existence has value, they gain confidence in their gestures and in making the sounds we suggest. This confidence flows inward and brings security to the way they live. At the end comes an awareness of existing and that all creatures that exist are God's creation. The goal is to give the young people tools to accept and understand themselves—from this comes well-being. Where there is well-being, there is communication. Where there is communication, there is socialization, and therefore learning. We leave the prophets, who announce Jesus' birth, and continue the search through history. Gabriel the angel enters Mary's home. Of course, the balloon journey has obstacles. For instance, we cannot find the stable. First we look for a castle, because a king should be born in a castle, but we find Herod instead. Herod is not evil; he is someone who likes his comfortable place, like all of us who want to rule others. So we discuss: one person cannot always be in charge; we must respect others. Of course, there are moments of struggle where everyone expresses aggression. We reach the conclusion that we must respect the most important person—Jesus, who was born poor in a stable.
The treasure hunt has stages too: first it is a color, then a good piece of candy to eat, then one of the children—a very weak and dear child—and finally Jesus.
But the greatest treasure, Jesus, is poor. Why is he poor? We are poor too. We can bring him our simple things—bread, milk, a shirt. And if we have nothing to bring? We give him a kiss. Will he be happy? Yes!
After Christmas, we develop Jesus' teachings, always kept simple. We usually do not focus on miracles, but on parables: the Good Samaritan, the Good Shepherd, Zacchaeus. We act them out, we make them our own.
The Gospel stories are wonderful for children, and they take ownership of them, creating scenes of dramatization, musical pieces, drawings. When they finally stand on stage, they will be themselves, not characters. And it is natural that the dramatization ends as a great prayer involving the whole institution and all who watch it—even if they cannot know the effort, patience, creativity, and human growth behind each gesture, each word, each song.
- Sergio Sciascia, 1993