Chaplain of the Beccaria juvenile prison in Milan and founder of Comunità Nuova, Don Gino Rigoldi made headlines recently when his superiors granted him permission to adopt Valentino, a young man and father of a small child named Christian. In a single moment, he became both a father and a grandfather.
Through Giuliana Compagnoni, a longtime friend of Fede e Luce and secretary of the foundation that supports Comunità Nuova, I met Don Gino at the community's modest offices in a working-class apartment building on the city's outer edge. Between phone calls and interruptions from staff members bringing urgent matters to his attention, he answered our questions with unfailing warmth and grace.
You've encountered and helped many people in crisis throughout your ministry. Why did you choose adoption in this case?
Valentino had no citizenship, no documents. He was registered as Croatian on the Italian civil registry, but in reality he didn't exist—at least not in any legal sense. Given the difficulty of tracing his true origins and the bureaucratic obstacles I'd face in establishing him as a legal person, I took advice from lawyer friends experienced in such matters. Adoption seemed the fastest way to give him a surname. Now he carries mine.
How long have you known Valentino and his son?
A little over a year. He was living on the streets when we first met; I gave him what help I could. Now he works. I met his son Christian two years ago inside the prison, where he lived with his mother, a Romani woman. Like all Romani children, he was completely self-reliant.
Do you live in the same house? Did you have to adapt your home for this?
I've hosted many young people at my house for some time—currently about fifteen. Valentino lives with us now. We haven't changed anything about the house itself. What I do have to watch is that the others don't sense any unconscious privilege I might show Valentino. He's been welcomed by the whole family—my siblings too. We're four brothers.
Do you think your daily rhythm will change now that you're a father and grandfather? Will you have to scale back your commitments?
Nothing has changed in my daily life or my responsibilities. My capacity for affection has simply grown wider.
Given your formation and education as a priest, do you think you'll have to learn how to be a real father and grandfather?
Thirty years in the Beccaria juvenile prison have opened me to every kind of experience. I think I've always been a father and grandfather in some sense. From my first day at Beccaria, I brought a young man home with me. And earlier, during my time in a parish—two and a half years—I took four young Sudanese men into my house. Two of them returned home and were killed for their faith. One, an engineer, works here in Milan. Another, a technician, works in Zaire. I stay in touch with all of them.
As a father and grandfather you'll give much. But do you expect something in return—an enrichment of your emotional life?
Certainly this does bring a special kind of enrichment. I'm convinced you have to truly love some people in order to truly love many. From this experience as father and grandfather, I draw a reward that strengthens my whole capacity to welcome others.
We read that you invited other priests to follow your example. Why? And do you think the Church will encourage such experiences?
The invitation to priests to consider adoption should be understood as a provocation. Priests are educated toward individualism—to be people who love everyone. It's a dramatic solitude, sterile really, and frankly an impoverishment. I'm convinced that if priests adopted someone, it would do them good.
As an institution, the Church cannot encourage experiences like mine. They could become harmful if they don't flow from genuine maturation and real understanding of young people's lives. But if approached rightly, such experiences could become a real gift to the faithful. A priest's loneliness is the worst companion to his life and ministry. From what I know, a few younger priests might be considering something similar.
If this happens, we'll have beside single-parent families, extended families, adoptive families, foster families, and now "priestly" families—with adoptive fathers, sons, and grandsons—all fighting the same battles for childcare, quality schools, the fight against drugs. How do you see yourself and other possible priest-fathers standing alongside parents in these struggles?
A priest with an extended family living within an extended community will bring new meaning to his pastoral mission. He'll bring knowledge and wisdom that priests generally don't have now. A life immersed in society, deeper roots in the social fabric—in the end, that's a wholehearted yes to the extended family.
Many families who have already chosen adoption—giving protection, care, and affection to children, sometimes severely disabled—will feel strengthened and reassured by your example. Others, we're sure, will be encouraged to open themselves to the loneliest and most vulnerable. Every mother and father will certainly feel you closer, both as a priest and as a friend. Don Rigoldi, do you think that over time this experience will change how you are as a priest, how you carry out your ministry among the people?
I don't think this experience will change how I am as a priest or how I exercise my ministry. What I've done at Beccaria and beyond has naturally led to Valentino's adoption. He had no documents—and documents are what you need to work and live in this society. Adoption gave them to him. So I adopted him.
I've received thousands of messages—letters, faxes, calls—from adoptive families, strangers, distant friends, people I've never met. All of them congratulating me on this decision. It's become for me something utterly normal, and even more beautiful because of that.
Interviewed by Sergio De Rino, 1999
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