The name of our movement, Faith and Light, is made of two beautiful words. They point to two dimensions of our existence without which it would be hard to survive the difficulties we all face, more or less every day. Not everyone believes in faith—at least not in the religious sense—but we all know how essential trust between human beings is, and how trust flows from having faith in one another. If life is to mean anything at all. And yet, when we tell people about our community, when we invite new friends and families to join us, we often find that simply saying the name Faith and Light creates a certain hesitation and doubt. We struggle to make clear who we are, what we live together, what surprising goods emerge when people with intellectual disabilities gather with their families and friends. We often find it easier to say Come and see—because that is really the point. To draw people in to this story, where friendship takes on a new shape.
The Christmas wishes from our provincial coordinators spell out these dimensions. Liliana Ghiringhelli shares the joy of many fruitful opportunities and thanks God for "calling us into this story." Pietro Vetro reminds us why we are called Faith and Light, drawing on the words of Mariangela Bertolini: we call ourselves "Faith" because "we are all loved by God just as we are," and we call ourselves "Light" because the "little ones" kindle in us a light that reveals our true selves; Vito Giannulo wishes us memory—the ability to "remember the fruits of his love"—and courage. "It takes courage to say that beautiful things, for those who believe in God, outweigh the ugly ones. Echoing our motto, you might say it takes more courage to light a candle than to curse the darkness." (Full letters are available at fedeeluce.it.)
As Pietro Vetro also writes in his greetings, we have discovered "the joy of being together": those who carry wounds sometimes so visible—wounds for which they bear no blame—and who are set aside precisely because of those wounds, alongside those whose wounds may be less obvious. Learning, at each gathering, to reckon with them together. To experience true humanity without pretending to be perfect, making mistakes along the way. That kind of humanity which does not close us off from the world, which helps us see the other—especially now, in these times of such contrary winds, when we trust one another less and less, when fear feeds itself and hope starves.
We are thinking hard about how to tell the Faith and Light story now that we are increasingly moving into new ways of communicating through social media. WhatsApp and Instagram are our latest arrivals, after Facebook and Twitter. We want to do it in the most effective and truthful way we can. If you are able and willing, keep watching and tell us if we are doing it right.
With Ombre e Luci too, the goal is always to tell the story lived in our communities, more or less directly. So in this issue you will find testimonies like that of Arianna, who has worked to nurture friendships without the use of arms and legs; of Lucia, who served the movement for many years; of those who have recognized in Angelo Volpi a precious traveling companion; and of others who, through their associations and their books, testify with courage to the memory of being on a journey together. Each person in motion, on a journey we trust is lit by the guidance of a precious star, and in which we seek and recognize, with the heart of a child, the good destination.
Epiphany, feast of those who seek God. (...) The Gospel tells the story of seeking God as a journey, at the pace of a caravan, at the step of a small community: they walk together, watching the stars and watching one another. Eyes fixed on heaven and on the eyes of the one walking beside them, slowing their pace to match another's, to match the pace of one who struggles more. Then the most surprising moment: the Magi's journey is full of mistakes. They lose the star, they find the great city instead of a small village; they ask about the child of a killer of children; they seek a palace and will find a poor house. But they have infinite patience to begin again. Our tragedy is not that we fall, but that we surrender to falling. (...) The most precious gift the Magi bring is not gold—it is their journey itself (...). (Father Ermes Ronchi, Avvenire, January 3, 2019—thanks to Bruno Galante for sharing it with us!).