«Two weeks ago—early April—I called my friend Valentina from the Santa Silvia community in Rome to ask how things were going in my beloved Italy. I was at the market picking up groceries and supplies, just in case. The next day we were supposed to have our gathering. "No gatherings, everyone stays home," Valentina told me firmly. "The sooner you accept that, the better." I shrugged and thought, *Come on, we're not overdoing this, are we?* When I got home I found out they'd closed the schools and the center where we meet. So here we are now—at home, meeting every evening at eight on Zoom, telling each other how we're managing, watching candles appear on birthday cakes, singing "Happy Birthday" (though it sounds absolutely terrible!)».
Olga Gurevitch is 45 and lives near the center of Moscow, with her husband Pavel and their dog Gaia. She teaches Italian at the university and has a special bond with Italy rooted in a deep friendship with Mariangela Bertolini. «Russia is truly vast,» Olga explains, «and it has changed so much since the 1990s, when she arrived after the wall fell. Faith and Light is no longer the only place that welcomes young people with love. Under the Soviet Union, people with disabilities "didn't exist." Now they do—but huge institutions exist too, places that look like Gulags.» Faith and Light in Russia has nine communities in Moscow, two in the surrounding area, and four in Saint Petersburg. «We're very close-knit and meet many times a year. In summer each community goes on retreat, and we have a wonderful time. In short, we're a completely ordinary Faith and Light!»
Olga's arrival at Faith and Light was, she recalls, quite romantic. «I was 17, and after my university entrance exams I went to Crimea on a dig with two young men. One wasn't baptized, didn't believe in God, but was seeking Him with all his heart. Now, with his wife, he's our national coordinator. The other had just come back from a Faith and Light and L'Arche gathering in Ottrott, France—he was so enthusiastic we prayed together morning and evening. Now he doesn't go to church or participate in community life. But he became my husband. He stayed in community for a few months in 1992, just long enough to bring me into it.»
Over the years, Olga has met many people with disabilities who have shaped her life. «The first was Natasha. When I arrived at Faith and Light, she greeted me at the door asking, "Who are you? Where do you live? Who are you?" She made me think hard about who I am. So many people with disabilities have marked my life. Lisa couldn't speak or walk, but she had a strength and beauty of character that drew all of us—even those from other communities—to be near her, even when she kicked us or pulled our hair. She's the one who taught me that you don't need words to listen carefully. The joy of sitting together on the floor, listening for hours to Verdi's Requiem or La Traviata—these are moments of the Kingdom, reflections of Paradise.»
Olga has watched the life of at least three of Moscow's nine communities. «There used to be ten. All but one—which is in a town thirty kilometers south—belong to two large "families." But we're nothing like the Montagues and Capulets, I assure you! The first mother-community is called Friday, named for the original day we met and for Robinson's servant, who helped him greatly even if he didn't understand much. That was my first community. Now Friday's life is like a small flame: it has guardians who feed it, letting it continue to burn. They're two young men with disabilities, Andrej and Dima (sadly, Dima died just these past days, with the deep sorrow that we couldn't perform the usual funeral rites), who keep calling, writing, inviting the community to live.»
From Friday, Olga explains, many branches sprouted. She describes the birth of The Crumb, then The Little Tree (which became a baobab!), and finally The Fava Bean. This last story strikes me because the community grew around a single person with disability. «With a family, a girl with disability from an institution, myself, and two other friends, we wanted to build a community for our Bob, who couldn't manage the overcrowded gatherings at The Little Tree anymore. Bob doesn't speak—he shouts and screams. Instead of walking, he jumps. He can't feed himself and can't do many other things. But Bob is our heart. His tender, attentive gaze, his presence, his joy, the way he meows like a cat—all of this attracted other families and friends, and our community grew. Bob is short for his exotic name, Robert, but in Russian "bob" means "fava bean." That's where The Fava Bean comes from. But for three years now Bob and his grandmother Katia have lived far away from us, in Paris. We miss them terribly.»
I ask how she's weathering the pandemic. «We can't have our gatherings or go to church. It hurts especially now—this is our Passion week, and we're used to spending many hours in church. Now we have to live the Passion, the death, and the Resurrection of Christ in our daily lives, in our hearts, and in community. We hope we can do it. But these past days we've come together again, and Bob joins our little Zoom meeting every day! So do the others who've moved away: in France, Latvia, Israel, even New Zealand! We see each other every evening, and every Sunday we have a Zoom-gathering with small groups and tea—everyone shows their mug and the dessert they've made. Life triumphs.»
I can already see the joy of the Resurrection in these glimpses, so I'm curious whether they've thought about plans for Faith and Light's Jubilee. «We have a beautiful plan, but right now I'm not sure we'll be able to pull it off. In Eastern Europe there's the Marian shrine of Bright Mountain, with the icon of the Holy Mother of Czestochowa, who protects—among others—those seeking peace in a divided world. Our province, which includes Russia, Georgia (at war), Czechia and Slovakia (civilly separated but the wound remains), Lithuania (always in difficult relations with both Russians and Poles), has invited the Ukrainian province and four Polish provinces to celebrate together, to show the world our unity and the love that transcends the enmities and conflicts of our nations. It would be a shame not to do it. We keep praying.»