With Affection for a Pastor
MARZOCCA
A pastor. A parish. A Faith and Light community. A bond of affection that holds them together.
Seven years ago, Faith and Light was born in Marzocca—thanks to a pastor who opened his doors with genuine welcome to the children and their families.
Over these years, the parish community has grown, enriched by the presence of handicapped young people: a presence both ordinary and precious.
That pastor—"in disguise"—is you, dear Father Danilo.
We are sad, all of us—friends, young people, families—now that you have been transferred to Rome. But we trust in God's goodness and we thank him for having had you at our side. You were our Good Shepherd, teaching us to love with a faithful friendship, lived out in concrete ways.
The bonds that formed, lit by the Holy Spirit, will continue to exist—especially as we welcome our new pastor, Father Giulio, who has made himself available to share in the Faith and Light experience.
All of us hope that through these brief words you will feel our gratitude, joined with the affection we hold for you. Know that we are with you in this new assignment as pastor at St. Joachim, and every now and then... think of us. Don't forget us!
The "Walking Together" community, Marzocca
Faith and Light in Japan
You won't believe it, but I attended a Faith and Light meeting in Japan! And here, they actually knew Sabina and Francesco Gammarelli!
Let me start from the beginning. My wife Beatrice had given me the addresses of five Faith and Light groups in Japan (not many, but there are only 700,000 Christians here out of 125 million people). Three of them are scattered around Osaka (an enormous city with fifteen million inhabitants).
The day after Beatrice, Chiara, and Marta—my daughters—returned to Italy, I felt alone, so I called the Faith and Light numbers. After several failed attempts (wrong numbers, changed addresses, people who spoke only Japanese), I found the coordinator of one group who invited me to their meeting that same afternoon, from three to five, at a parish on the outskirts of Osaka. She and a friend came to pick me up at the station. (Japan is supposedly a high-tech country, but the streets have no names, so it's usually impossible to explain how to get somewhere by phone unless it's right in front of the station.)
I felt almost as if I were at St. Sylvia! At once, a warm and open atmosphere—so rare here, where everyone bows deeply but remains quite cold.
We introduced ourselves partly through words, partly through smiles and the four Japanese phrases I had learned.
A very likable young man interpreted for me—perhaps the only real friend I found here. Paradoxically, he had serious speech difficulties (being spastic) yet showed great kindness, curiosity, and what I'd call both intelligence and courage.
We gathered in a tiny room; the parish hall was occupied that day. Sitting Japanese-style—oh, my legs!—crouched on the floor, we sang, listened to stories, prepared simple objects for a parish sale, and so on.
There were five or six disabled young people, three or four mothers, four or five friends, and the pastor—a wonderfully warm young priest who also serves as Faith and Light's spiritual director in Japan. Plus a couple from Kobe (a city near Osaka) who now serve as Japan's national Faith and Light coordinators.
They invited me right away to their Christmas party, but I couldn't go because it falls on my day of return to Italy. They asked about you and told me about Francesco and Sabina Gammarelli. They had been moved by a story Jean Vanier told them. (In truth, not only they, but all of us have a beautiful memory of Francesco—but to have someone in Japan speak to me about him seemed incredible. Perhaps these are the mysterious ways of the Lord, which we understand so little.)
The meeting was brief, but afterward some friends and the pastor asked me to stay for dinner. We talked about our groups, they showed me photos of their meetings, celebrations, camps, outings, and so on. Their enthusiasm is truly remarkable, considering they work in a world deeply—very deeply—indifferent not only to religion but to the simplest, most spontaneous human connection. Here everyone is formally polite, but absolutely no one gives up a seat on the subway for an elderly woman or a pregnant woman with a child and stroller. When we stood up, they looked at us wide-eyed and thanked us ten times over! I'm still moved by the bow and the "domo arigato gozaimasu"—the most courteous of thanks—repeated three times by an old woman.
Given this, you can imagine what the general attitude is toward suffering, handicap, and such things. But Faith and Light has a special spirit; in fact, an Ark community has even been founded here!
To wrap up: it was beautiful. We became friends. I went back for a parish celebration and will return for the next one. I promised we would write to them from Italy.
Stefano Atzeni
Waiting for a Hundred to Celebrate
MONOPOLI - PUGLIA
December 31, 1993. For the first time in its short history, the Maria SS. della Madia community in Monopoli gathered to welcome the new year. We met in the rooms of the Holy Heart parish, where a second Faith and Light community in the city had recently been born. Crepe-paper bows for everyone—we all became quite elegant, just as tradition demands, just as "the world" demands. Here is how we felt: "in the world but not of the world." There was everything (almost) that the world offers and nearly imposes: a carefully laid table, fine clothes, a rich menu (lentils for good luck) and then desserts, sparkling wine, streamers, and fireworks.
But if none of this had been there, nothing would have changed. That's why we were "of the world"—because we knew the essential thing was that we were there, and Christ in our midst. And we were there. There were families who often find themselves alone on New Year's Eve. There were three seminarians who perhaps had to explain to their families why they were away from home that evening too, maybe repeating the words of the twelve-year-old Jesus at the Temple. There were priests, all together at the head of the table, and among them a father whom someone mistook for a priest as well: his son Michele laughed hard about that.
Yet someone was missing. Those who believed that the care we took in preparing an "elegant" evening—even by asking for a participation fee—took us away from the ideal of poverty in Faith and Light. It's an ancient problem: the disciples were indignant when a woman poured an entire bottle of expensive perfume on Jesus's feet. Perhaps we in the community underestimated the issue. Many personal attempts were made to persuade these brothers to join us, but I still wonder if we shouldn't have discussed it together, openly, in good time. Especially since Jesus had already given an answer, and it seems to me it applied perfectly.
But perhaps this absence was meant to be our "sting," a call to remember that when people celebrate, there is always someone who lacks the desire or strength to do so. That the joy of ninety-nine cannot erase the tears of one. We wait for the day when a hundred can celebrate.
Vito Giannulo