"I had a profound spiritual and pastoral experience, stirred by Pope Francis's challenges. During a retreat, I was meditating on the theme of the discarded—the pope seemed to speak of it endlessly. So I asked myself: let's start with Scripture. Who are the discarded in the Bible?" He finds them in David, in Joseph, in Jesus himself. His reflection crystallizes in a book, "The Discarded Protagonists" (reviewed on p. 28), whose core insight is this: "Those discarded by human beings, God makes protagonists, turning them into collaborators in the salvation of others. In God's eyes, you become an indispensable collaborator—like Mary with her yes—in carrying out a particular plan of salvation. Without my yes, there will be no salvation that God intends for me, using my uniqueness and my difference. And so I arrived at my idea of discarded-agonism: discarded by humans, but never by God."
This personal meditation does not stay locked in ink on the page. It has taken flesh in his pastoral mission, woven into the fabric of his parish community, and led him to launch a specific project. Don Maurizio explains: "Even today God's logic works the same way. The active protagonists now are some young people with disabilities whose aging parents weep at the thought of what comes after."
Don Maurizio's sensitivity runs deep and takes concrete form in his encounters with parishioners—parents of people with disabilities who cannot live independently, parents shedding tears of anguish over an uncertain future for their children. "I felt that urgency in their eyes and in their hearts, their need to know their children will be cared for. It became my urgency too. We couldn't just shrug our shoulders. I prayed about it, I wrestled with it, and I found myself in the gospel of the paralyzed man lowered through the roof. Uncovering that roof became the key that showed us what we could do."
Don Maurizio speaks of the first tears he ever collected in his life—those of his mother, who told him about her brother's brief time in an institution. Her brother was paralyzed by polio and died at eight, years before Maurizio was born.
"In a complicated family situation, she gave in to doctors who insisted her son be admitted. A few days later, something drove her to show up at the institution without warning. My parents found my brother locked in a closet, his hands tied because he was rubbing his eyes, alone, covered in bruises and filth—in a terrible state. The staff tried to explain, but my parents understood what was happening. They took him home. Even decades later, my mother would weep when she remembered and told that story.
"And so I arrived at my idea of discarded-agonism: discarded by humans, but never by God." - Don Maurizio Mirilli
"And so I arrived at my idea of discarded-agonism: discarded by humans, but never by God." - Don Maurizio Mirilli
Forty years later, I found those same worries surrounding me—the fears about what comes after, what will become of him. And I asked myself: isn't this our problem too? There is a deep desire not to uproot these people with disabilities from the neighborhood they know, to keep them embedded in the community where they are loved and known, where they have a role. So we began to figure out how to make it real—a house for the discarded protagonists. We renovated some catechism rooms in the attic of our parish, with no state funding—relying on Providence alone, following Cottolengo's example: ask no one for a single lira. They uncovered the roof to lower the paralyzed man: that gospel passage gripped me, opened my mind. I realized we could move catechism classes elsewhere. Now there are eight rooms where, since 2018, five people with disabilities live. We found two consecrated women to be anchors for the residents, but the whole parish and its people are involved too.
It will be beautiful because it will be a sign—many signs: above the altar, at the heart of the church. Above the altar, above the Eucharist we celebrate and incarnate, in the tabernacle and share in fraternity. The beating heart of the community. It will make the discarded protagonists. It will send a powerful signal to the neighborhood, even to those who don't believe, to the wider community—a concrete way of proclaiming the Gospel, a way to draw in all people of goodwill."
I ask if it has been easy to launch the idea. "It's a beautiful thing, you move forward, but in the end you have to do it yourself. There are so many bureaucratic hurdles. We're not using the funding from law 112/2016 because we wanted this to be an autonomous parish initiative, run by the families themselves. The two Salesian Sisters of the Sacred Heart who serve as anchors have been a godsend. We struggled so hard to find people—lay and religious—and I'd almost lost hope. But then they came.
We're planning a transition period for the future residents, but the parish is already their home. They are protagonists in it—they have roles in the youth programs, they're responsible for the offertory processions in the young people's liturgy. An attitude like this opens people's hearts, and many now find it easier to bring their needs to the parish and get involved. All of this leads us toward an ordinary conversion. Once you start, it's much easier to open yourself to the parish's needs. Finally they feel at home. Each one with their own disability, they feel at home, in family. That's what we want for the Christian community."
edited by Cristina Tersigni, 2017