"I need you!"
Testimony - Me and Fede e Luce
GATHERING IN WARSAW
From July 24 to 30, 1988, Warsaw hosted a delegates' gathering for the Alpine region of Fede e Luce, which spans Switzerland, West Germany, Austria, Italy, Yugoslavia, and Poland. Friends from neighboring countries attended as well. It was a meeting filled with diversity, joy, and prayer, culminating in a pilgrimage to Czestochowa. The various activities that shaped those days—conferences, liturgies, shared testimony, dance and mime workshops, games, practical work—offered insights and creative ideas to bring back to our Fede e Luce communities.
Below are excerpts from the testimony of one woman in FL. A grave and anguishing situation had exhausted her. She tells how meeting Fede e Luce gave her the strength to go on.
The phrases in italics come from my diary. They show the state I was in when I discovered Fede e Luce. This darkness lasted several years, even after my first encounters with the community.
"I cannot become a person. Have mercy on all these years and this unspeakable suffering. Only you can heal me. Have mercy. Lord, I am not good. Accept my yes and give me the strength to continue. I cannot bear the thought that I will never be healed."
"My mind cannot understand. Nothing brings me relief. Mary, mother of Jesus, give me strength. Help me find the way. I cannot communicate with anyone. I have nothing to say, not even to those close to me. Turn my despair into hope, I beg you. Help me hold on..."
"Lord, help me heal. I move like an automaton; my face sometimes frightens people with its emptiness, or radiates a terrible sadness. Even my hair, broken and singed, has lost all direction. I cannot communicate with my colleagues".
"For my inability to love and speak, for the suffering of years that still crushes me, for my blocked mind, my sadness and inner death, my insecurity, for all I have longed for but cannot achieve—for all of this I thank you, Lord, because you have a perfect plan for me".
(I want to note that giving thanks to the Lord for every circumstance, beyond all human logic, was one of the foundations of my journey of faith.)
January 6, 1981. I turned to my friend and colleague, Sister Luisa, making what felt like a last attempt to find my way: to discover how to be useful, to find a path that wouldn't lead to death. Sister Luisa thought of her little niece, Monica, who had very poor vision. I was to pick her up one afternoon and take her to a catechism class. This would save her parents a long trip from their distant home. It was my first time near a handicapped person. I had no idea how to act. I felt ridiculous and "false" in every gesture, every word. I felt the full weight of my inability to be a "person," to simply be myself.
It was in the house where I took Monica to catechism that a woman asked if I had ever heard of Fede e Luce—a community of mentally handicapped people where many young volunteers spent time together in meetings, prayer, crafts, and camping trips. She urged me to try it, saying I might find meaning in my life.
Unbelievable! For countless reasons, I couldn't seem to make contact, no matter how hard I tried. Finally, after many phone calls, the day came: Candlemas. February 2nd. The impact was tremendous. So many people in wheelchairs, faces marked by disability. I couldn't bring myself to look at them. Wherever I turned, I felt bombarded by their small cries, their shouts, the strange rhythmic movements of their bodies. I left the gathering with no energy at all. Yet despite this painful encounter, I decided to stay.
Easter 1981. A trip to Lourdes. Meeting the young people and others from around the world was a powerful experience—not the only one, but foundational to my return to life and my learning to love. My heart broke open. This is what I had begged the Lord for so many years. He did it. It was great suffering: all my barriers in relating to others crumbled slowly away. My behavior became gradually calm and joyful with everyone I met.
* * *
This was the greatest gift Fede e Luce gave me. Without question, meeting Sabina at Lourdes was a turning point. Sabina was severely disabled, her face distorted, curled in on herself, unable to speak, see, or hear. She was like a pickaxe striking at my hardness, my rigidity, my inability to truly connect with another person.
One afternoon, Sabina came into my hotel room, accompanied by a young woman who stayed with her most of the time. Stefania had something to do and asked: "Could Sabina stay with you for a bit?"
In that room, minutes became an eternity. The silence, heavy with Sabina's presence, became unbearable. Tears ran down my face without my realizing it. I wanted to say something—this silence was impossible to bear. Yet every word was useless. Sabina sat before me in her pure, essential self.
One evening after that afternoon, I asked if I could push her wheelchair to the grotto. Sabina began to play, and as she felt my joy and wonder at her behavior, at the fact that finally I felt accepted by her—Sabina provoked me, sensing I had understood.
After Lourdes, I began attending the community's Sunday meetings, celebrations, and camps. All of this sustained by prayer—my own and that of friends—and medical care. I didn't understand. Sometimes a crack would open inside me and I felt great joy; then everything would close again.
Saturday, December 5.
"Lord, you know what yesterday was like! It was Marco's confirmation—Marco is a spastic boy, very sensitive and intelligent. He was happy, moved, he said beautiful prayers. I brought the other young people; I tried to do my best, but I was like an automaton. I came home destroyed.
Maybe it was precisely Marco's simplicity and joy in speaking, his bright eyes and his effort to express himself and communicate, that made me feel even more acutely my suffocation, my emptiness. And yet at the same time, that joy inside.
* * *
Now I feel like I belong to the community. The most beautiful thing for me is that we call each other, we see each other outside our scheduled meetings, we go to the movies together or take walks. A real friendship has grown between me and everyone in the community.
From one of Rome's four summer camps
"Here we all are from the Fiuggi camp, gathered for the photo from camp olympics—with "special" competitions but just as exciting as the real thing! (Maybe even more so!)…
And then the performance for Parents' Day: yes! Pablo and Monica were wonderful as turtles. After that came the dance competition in honor of those with August birthdays who never get celebrated (there were five of them!). And finally, often during the day, especially in the evening before bed, we gathered around him to thank him and ask him to "make all things new".