I met Joseph's mother that summer at Lourdes — it was our fourth year running into each other there. Joseph was eleven, severely disabled in body and mind. He didn't speak, only a few strange syllables.
His mother was radiant that morning, happier than I'd ever seen her. "I'm going to get him a little gift," she said. "This morning he made his first communion." I bent down toward Joseph, twisted in his oversized wheelchair. He seemed not to notice me. His mother went on: "You won't believe what happened. The parish priest had never given Joseph communion. This morning at mass at the grotto, a German priest came over and asked him — in rather strange French — if he wanted communion. And Joseph, all agitated, shouted: *jà, jà!* The priest thought he was German, that he was saying yes. So he gave it to him. But I've always believed: who is more worthy to receive Jesus than he?"
Joseph seemed to understand. He smiled. His mother walked away glowing because "her Joseph," without ceremony or fuss, had received Jesus. I left in tears. "Lord, let all the other Josephs — let all of us — receive you with such simple faith."
— Mariangela, 1979
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