For about three years now, I've been living with the Little Sisters of the Poor in a residence for elderly people who need full care. In doing so, I've stayed close to people with illness and disability—they've been my world for nearly my entire life. At the far end of our garden sits a grotto of Lourdes; I go there often. We all do. You're drawn to Lourdes. I'm about to turn 92: life stretches ahead of me. I've had a difficult time, a long confinement, but turning my globe toward the Faith and Light communities has helped me greatly. I've rested with them awhile, entrusted them to the tenderness of Jesus and Mary. For many years now, I've held no official role in the movement's structures. Yet my heart remains close.
What we lived fifty years ago seems almost unbelievable now. Today I want simply to be an amazed witness to the birth of our movement from its very first steps. I say it again and again: this is truly the work of the Lord—a marvel before our eyes. A chaplain at the sanctuary confirmed this certainty for me. He told me that Lourdes has witnessed two miracles he considers the greatest of all.
The first is Bernadette. A girl of fourteen, the most miserable person in the entire region—a good-for-nothing. The Virgin Mary chose her: so weak, yet with a heart so open. When catechism class asked her who God was, she didn't know. She answered: "God is love." An inspired reply, evidently. On the testimony of this one illiterate child alone—and normally a single witness isn't considered valid—millions of pilgrims journey to Lourdes to renew themselves, to be converted.
The second miracle is Faith and Light. The miracle of people with mental handicap, their families, their friends. They had once been barred from Lourdes and pushed to the margins of the Church. The pilgrimage became an immense discovery—a wall of ignorance and prejudice came crashing down. They weren't intruders at all. They would become the heart of the Church. Among them were the true protagonists: Loïc and Thaddée, born with profound mental handicap, and their parents, Gérard and Camille. In 1967, they'd been turned away from a diocesan pilgrimage. "They understand nothing of what happens here. They'll disturb other pilgrims' devotion," they were told. The family decided to go to Lourdes on their own. But the hotels had no room for children like theirs. One innkeeper took pity on them—on one condition: they eat all meals in their room. In the sanctuary and around the city, they were wounded by looks of pity and reproach. "If you have children like that, you stay home." They'd already felt excluded by the Church. Now even Lourdes had shut them out. Not long after, they found a chance to confide their rebellion and their pain to me and Jean Vanier. An idea emerged: why not organize a pilgrimage for people like Loïc and Thaddée and for their exhausted parents? Was it the Virgin's own inspiration—hurt that her dearest children, the smallest and most fragile, were not welcomed in the sanctuary?
Humanly speaking, the project seemed mad. We talked it over with people close to us. Many parents favored it—were even enthusiastic. Some hesitated. Others were reluctant, even hostile, especially among the clergy. But we wanted to decide nothing without the Church's agreement. Everything moved forward once the bishop responsible for ministry to people with handicap gave us his blessing.
It is truly the work of the Lord—a marvel before our eyes. Before the grotto, twelve thousand pilgrims gathered; four thousand of them, from fifteen countries, had mental handicap and faced a pilgrimage for the very first time.
Three years of preparation. An enormous undertaking in which everything had to be invented, because people with mental handicap had never joined a pilgrimage before. The liturgy had to be adapted. Spiritual preparation required careful attention. Housing, safety, health measures—all of it needed thought. The fundamental idea was simple: this wouldn't be a pilgrimage lived in isolation. It would be lived in community. We wouldn't go to Lourdes alone. Instead, we'd build a human-sized community—about twenty-five people: those with mental handicap, their families, and above all, their friends. A priest, if possible. We wanted at all costs to prevent the loneliness that Camille and Gérard had endured.
A logo was created to express the pilgrimage's spirit. Meb, a talented painter with trisomy 21, designed it. He drew a boat with twelve small figures (Meb couldn't count). "Jesus sleeps in the bottom of the boat," he told us. "Through threatening clouds, rays of sunlight break through." He'd written a sentence: "The clouds have opened and your light, Lord, has come to us." Meb had understood everything.
At last, the fateful day arrived. On Good Friday at three o'clock, before the grotto, twelve thousand pilgrims gathered; four thousand of them, from fifteen countries, had mental handicap and faced a pilgrimage for the very first time. The bishop of Lourdes was there to welcome us with full warmth: "A historical event, never experienced before this day—not in the Church, not anywhere in the world." His words moved us, united us. Then the song Friends, Let Us Sing Our Joy—created just for this pilgrimage—burst forth, though it wasn't scheduled until Easter vigil. The Holy Spirit seemed to be saying that where there is suffering, if there is love, joy is possible.
For four days, Alleluias poured out from morning to evening—to say hello, thank you, forgive me. We witnessed countless miracles of the hearts we'd asked for. And we witnessed the joy of people with mental handicap. At Lourdes, they discovered they belonged, that Mary their mother welcomed them. Through her, they felt at home—at home in the Church. This grace belongs to Lourdes's treasure, to Faith and Light's treasure for the whole Church and the whole world. They are the heart of the Church. It is the whole Gospel. God choosing the weak to shame the strong. God hiding his mysteries from the wise and revealing them to the little ones. God identifying himself with them: "Whatever you did for one of these little ones, you did for me." On Easter Monday, we invited the community leaders to join us for thanksgiving, but they didn't want to leave. A pilgrim—a father—stood up. "We want to tell you something, and not just we, but all the pilgrims: we don't want Faith and Light to stop. We've lived too many important things together. The communities don't want to separate. We want Faith and Light to continue." What could we say? "Go and do all that the Holy Spirit inspires you to do. Gather in communities. Then we'll see. We'll meet again in a few months and see what's happened." The pilgrimage had ended. But the Faith and Light movement had been born.
(from the celebratory video for Easter 2021)
(*) Editor's note: Investigations conducted by L'Arca Internationale documented in 2020 serious wrongdoing by Jean Vanier and Father Thomas Philippe toward several women. These actions were condemned without reservation as "in total contradiction with the values Vanier professed" and with "the fundamental principles of the communities."