I first encountered—or collided with—the reality of disability years ago, as a teenager, when I joined a service camp run by Opera Don Orione. My heart was full of desire, tempered only by the naïveté of my seventeen years. Those fifteen days were extraordinary, but also demanding; the young people had serious conditions and needed help with everything—washing, dressing, eating.
Sometimes they showed signs of anguish and turned violence inward or toward others, which left me confused and uneasy. But they also offered gestures of profound tenderness and a hunger for communion that opened my heart wide. By the end, a conviction took root: I wanted to dedicate my life to these remarkable people.
Years passed. I volunteered, studied pedagogy, and began working in special education at Opera Don Guanella. After more years of experience and prayer, I became a religious professed with the Servants of Charity, where I continue my work with our young people. I focus especially—alongside my brothers—on offering them catechesis tailored to their needs, and on sharing moments of prayer and Sunday Eucharist with them.
What moves me most, and what gives me great example and encouragement as a consecrated religious, is their gift for encountering the spiritual dimension and their profound love and desire to meet God. When I visit the young people each week for catechesis, I'm welcomed into an atmosphere of such enthusiasm and joy that the educators often send me messages urging punctuality—the kids are already buzzing with anticipation from morning! Together we read a passage of Scripture and then create a symbolic gesture or thematic drawing. I often imagine the Lord smiling as He sees our little group gather in His Name, seeking His Word and growing in communion. And when I attend Sunday Mass with the young women who live at our Nocetta house, I'm struck and moved by the care they bring to the liturgy, and how skillfully and actively they serve at the altar. After Mass we gather again to reflect on the Gospel, and it's always a celebration.
One event stands out in our catechesis group: a young man's first Holy Communion. We had explored images showing the Mass and the meaning of the Eucharist, beginning with the Gospel of the grain of wheat that dies and bears fruit. This boy, who sometimes seemed a little distracted, showed that he had grasped even the most difficult, abstract ideas—his educators told me how clearly he understood.
At the end of our preparation, we held a Mass in the chapel with his friends and family. Valerio received Holy Communion.
Afterward, he brought a prayer of thanksgiving to the altar in his own words, composed with the educators' help, and read it aloud as everyone wept.
This moment made me ask myself a hard question: parishes need to form catechists who can offer "special catechesis," so that people with disabilities aren't left out of the church community. Ministries like ours, with our particular charism of charity, should be a bridge into the parish, not an alternative sanctuary, not somewhere separate because disability frightens us or disrupts the schedule.
I often recall words that Pope John Paul II spoke years ago when he visited our house on Via Aurelia Antica: "It is easy to fall in love with beauty you can see; it is much harder to perceive the invisible beauty." Our young people with disabilities often lack physical attractiveness. They cannot make eloquent speeches. By the standard of efficiency, society deems them nearly worthless. And yet their souls shine with light, and they grasp the deepest, truest meanings of life.
To be in tune with them, we ourselves must be real. We must clean our eyes and our hearts so we can recognize Beauty where it lies hidden, invisible on the surface. Our young people are for us an image, a revelation, and a vessel of God's Love—the Love that chose to become weak from omnipotence. When I am with them, I feel the need to "contemplate" this beauty of theirs, and I find myself repeating the words of Jesus:
"I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to the little children."
My young people teach me the meaning of my calling every day. Living my life "with" them and "for" them will be the most beautiful adventure I could ask for.
Fr. Stefano Biancotto, Servants of Charity, 2016