You may wonder who Flaminia is. Flaminia—also called Minni—is fourteen now, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She's lovely and inspires great tenderness. She walks at her own pace, in every sense of the word. She doesn't speak, and she doesn't like to be fussed over—at least not by everyone who finds her endearing. She has her own autonomy. But she knows how to show affection: she gives big smiles to people she loves. Though she shows little interest in new toys, Flaminia grows attached to old ones and can sit happily with them for hours. She never causes trouble. Sometimes her presence may be a slight "disturbance" in places like church during Mass, where you're expected to sit still and quiet for long stretches. Some might find it odd, but Flaminia is well-behaved—a discipline her parents taught her with extra care, and it's proven useful in daily life, sparing them unnecessary struggles and heartache.
Flaminia knows how to win affection. Her journey toward meeting the Lord on her First Communion day was a profound moment in the faith of everyone who participated in it, directly or indirectly.
I had the blessing of being there myself, and I want to share what I learned from that experience—elements that might help others who find themselves in a similar situation.
First, a reflection on whether a person with severe intellectual disability should participate at the Lord's Table. A reflection that goes beyond the "why not?" that is, after all, the best we can do without something deeper.
That Flaminia would make her First Communion was never questioned, I think in part because she has a twin sister. Her sister—who possesses uncommon gifts of sensitivity and affection—helped our parents never forget Flaminia's age, the natural milestones of growth, the evolving needs that come with becoming. So Flaminia received an equal recognition of dignity and full humanity, perhaps without the great struggles and suffering that other families have endured.
The first thing to reflect on, then: the unconditional recognition of dignity and humanity—being fully children of God.
But our reflection deepened into a shared community experience. Flaminia and Maria Novella were part of a Fede e Luce community, and the community wanted to pause and think together about an event so full of mystery.
Meeting Flaminia—who is somewhat elusive—has always been the deep desire of everyone who loves her. To be left out of the most mysterious encounter, yet the truest moment of Flaminia's life, seemed wrong. And especially wrong to be left out of an encounter of communion.
So we shared our impressions, doubts, and feelings with one another. And by speaking about Flaminia, we understood how little we ourselves grasped the greatness of the Sacrament, how little us "intelligent" ones could understand it rationally.
Second point: sharing the mystery within the Mystery as a community is a source of grace, and it can create an important atmosphere during the celebration—one we believed would matter for Flaminia and for all who are like her in some way.
But what other support could we offer Flaminia from our reflection, from our growth through her? Two of us, Giulio and I, followed her preparation more closely.
We decided to bring her sometimes to meet the other children preparing for their First Communion during their weekly gathering. The priest welcomed her warmly. While the others talked, Flaminia was there—wandering a bit, then sitting down. We showed her some materials from a Montessori school program for First Communion preparation. These are concrete teaching materials that tell Gospel parables through objects: little figurines of the Good Shepherd and sheep, the merchant and pearls, and so on.
We showed Flaminia only the sheepfold with the Good Shepherd, and then we played a lot with light—lighting a candle and letting her hold it for brief moments. She had her usual absorbed expression and seemed content overall. She followed the candlelight. Meanwhile the others discussed the parable of the Good Shepherd. Then Flaminia would take another little walk, we'd all sing together, and everyone would go home.
The Sacraments are God's gestures toward every person
On First Communion day, the entrance procession was perfect for Flaminia. Each child had a lit candle while our Fede e Luce group sang "He has sent a light to guide us to him"—and Flaminia had her candle too.
We wanted to "accompany" her. We couldn't prepare her in the traditional sense. Instead, we prepared ourselves to be close to her, to feel ourselves part of one Body, and we asked the priest to help the other children understand this.
For a gift, we bought her a soft plush lamb and attached a little bell to its neck—not very liturgical, but we wanted a symbol we all knew, something pleasant for Flaminia: white, soft, and with a sound she liked.
And one more small gift, white, soft, and delightful: a large bowl of whipped cream, which Flaminia adores. We wanted a symbol of celebration, because First Communion is a feast for every child, and it had to be for Flaminia too.
I want no one ever again to answer that people with intellectual disability have no need of the Sacraments, that grace works without them. Some theology professors told us exactly that when we asked their advice about preparing Minni.
The Sacraments are God's gestures toward every person. If over time we've come to see them as reserved for the intelligent, that doesn't mean others are unworthy of God's gesture. Perhaps God asks us to make his gestures visible to the community when he reaches toward those who seem not to understand. And when he asks us to bring the weakest to him, it matters that we do so through the Church, with the gestures the Church has made her own—in front of people, not in hiding.
For the rest, those of us who accompanied Flaminia believe what her mother said that day in prayer: "Jesus will certainly have found the words to speak to Flaminia's heart." We know this would have happened even if we'd done nothing. But we didn't miss the chance to be part of this mysterious encounter. And to eat at the same table means to share in one another, to become in Christ one Body.
This year Flaminia was also confirmed, and I was her sponsor. It was overwhelming to be asked, and a deep joy to do it. The preparation was less structured this time because I was ill for a long period, almost until Confirmation day itself. Giulio, whom I married nearly three years ago, managed once to bring Flaminia to a retreat, where she ate with the other young people. It wasn't much, but the Holy Spirit did the rest, and I felt real gratitude for having "accompanied" Flaminia this time too, in such a special way.
(1) For those who wish to explore this application of the Montessori method further, I recommend S. Cavalletti's The Religious Potential of the Child, Città Nuova, 1981.