Last July, an international Faith and Light gathering took place in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. One hundred twenty people came from every corner of the world.
Here are the first impressions of Marianna Mihelcic, written for the Faith and Light Yugoslav newsletter "Lucka."
United in Faith and Light
The Santo Domingo gathering was so full of experience that I cannot describe it in a few words. We came together not for ourselves but in the name of all those somehow bound to people with intellectual disabilities.
I wish everyone could know the joy and fullness of friendship in Christ, when suffering transforms into beatitude. I will try to describe the moments lived over these two weeks.
Fr. Rado and I find ourselves at Paris airport, a true anthill of travelers from everywhere. We reach the group of eighteen French people heading to the same destination. The plane takes off. The reality of the journey enters me slowly. I stop asking myself why I am making this trip; instead, I try to understand the meaning of these moments—like the turning of soil before seeds can bear fruit in days to come. (...)
At Santo Domingo airport we receive a warm welcome—doubled.
Though it is eleven at night, the asphalt still radiates the heat it absorbed during the day, like an oven after baking bread. Soon we no longer notice this strange warmth, because two friends from Santo Domingo surprise us with large FAITH AND LIGHT banners before we even clear customs. How beautiful to meet people in a strange country who want you to feel at home.
Outside the airport, a vehicle that barely qualifies as a European car waits for us. We later discover it was among the best on the road. After a few minutes stolen from sleep, I see the sign: Santo Domingo, 12 km.
So it is true—we have arrived. But I cannot yet enter into reality because I am still living on European time, where it is six in the morning.
Our hosts understand our exhaustion. After brief greetings with the gathering's organizers, we are led to a seminary where we spend the night.
We are in a small room. The walls are built only halfway up; a curtain serves as a door; the wardrobe stays upright thanks to a stone; there is an iron table, a chair, and an iron bed. Exhaustion overwhelms me too violently to think about how the seminarians live here. Half asleep, I observe a large spider and marvel at such beautiful decoration amid so much poverty. The next day it is gone. Before I can grasp this strange reality, a lizard-like creature comes to say good morning. It looks at me with friendliness and continues its way along the wall without excitement. But I—probably never in my life have I left bed so fast.
Already early in the morning the sun shines and warms. Yes, we are in the Dominican Republic, where they know no other season and have no need to listen to weather forecasts on the radio. At noon there is sometimes a refreshing storm, but a minute later the sun returns.
After a tropical breakfast (pineapple and eggs), we visit the city. At a stoplight, the city's residents notice at once that we are white foreigners. Small dark faces appear at every window. In front, a boy cleans the windshield—for a few pesos, of course. On the right, another sells mangoes; another sells pineapples. On the left, coconuts, bananas, and fruits I cannot name. Between the cars, a boy carrying a disabled friend on his shoulders asks for money. The light turns green: our first image of Dominican reality disappears behind us.
The city center, with its numerous shops and outdated cars, gives the impression typical of South America. If you have money, you can find what you want. The shops are full, but what you see testifies to great poverty. Fortunately the climate favors nature, which offers enough food so there is no famine.
Walking, I watch the gentle faces of Dominicans. No one passes another without leaving a smile; everyone greets the other kindly.
They have time to be happy, time for one another, for conversation in peace beneath the palms. Despite poverty, they carry no anxiety about "a better tomorrow." A group of children gathers around us and asks us to photograph them, as if saying: "Show everyone that we are content!"
We spend the afternoon with the Jesuits who are hosting us. Here it is wonderful: a few days before our arrival, a great ten-meter cactus dressed itself in flowers. A well-tended garden, interesting and unfamiliar flowers, the sea on the horizon. The rooms are calm and simple.
The next day, Rado and I visit a Slovenian priest who has lived in Santo Domingo for fifty years. It is beautiful to meet a man in the autumn of a life consecrated entirely to serving God.
The serenity on his deeply lined face says he is happy in his heart. He has formed a parish of fifty thousand people in a very poor area; he has built a school, a church. These are the fruits one can see. But only God knows what invisible fruits he has awakened in people. A woman comes and places something in his hands: it is exactly the sum the taxi driver had asked to bring us to him. Everything is in God's plan.
It is the afternoon of the second day.
At four o'clock we put on our national costumes; we take the flags and join the other participants. They are waiting for the opening ceremony of the gathering.
Our costume is made for cold Slovenia and it is nearly melting at thirty-five degrees Celsius.
We gather in an immense meadow and we admire one another. Every person is wonderful in his or her uniqueness. Not only because of the colorful clothes but because of the message on their face, in their body, through their gestures.
After greetings from Jean Vanier and M.H. Mathieu, the people of the country welcome us and we introduce ourselves one by one. Here is the world in miniature: people from thirty-five nations, of different races, religions, beliefs; from New Zealand and the Philippines to India and Africa; from islands I have never heard of to Norway, Canada, Brazil, and more. We listen to songs from every country; a gentle wind makes the banners wave. Will it be more beautiful in heaven? It is truly heaven on earth, because we are gathered in the name of the Lord. Despite our differences, God unites us—that God we meet in wounded people. We all carry a secret of suffering, but through Christ it transforms into the joy of redemption. (...)
Marianna Mihelcic, 1986
Festival of Light in Abano Terme
In the House of Jesus, filled with people, right in the front pews, were our young people, accompanied by us parents, welcomed with attentive care by Agnese Malatrasi.
The monsignor said the Mass, and his homily, delivered with rare sensitivity, echoed through the church in a silence full of attention. Then came a moving moment: he descended from the altar and approached the front pews, greeting one by one, embracing and caressing all our children. And they, even the most severely disabled, remained calm: they felt, they sensed that special atmosphere which had seized everyone's soul.
After the service, the celebration continued. In the parish hall, a long table—very long—had been prepared, adorned with flowers and garland, with porcelain plates, goblets, cloth napkins. It looked like a wedding feast! We young people and our mothers felt happy. We had never felt so at ease. Among the organizers, someone thought to lead us in a song or two to "set the mood." It wasn't necessary: we parents were too busy living those moments of joy. There was no time: we had to renew friendships, remember, make plans, and above all live fully those "special" moments, truly woven into a community that wanted to show us openness, affection, participation, and friendship. Serene hours, magical hours, which I hope will be unforgettable.
Again, thanks to those who gave us all this, to those who worked for all of us, giving us the chance not to feel alone, unique, rare, different, in a consumer society whose model of humanity is so far from being truly human.
Piera Cipresso, 1986
Francesco Gammarelli Left Us on July 3rd
He was supposed to leave for Santo Domingo, where an International Faith and Light Gathering was held from July 9 to 20.
We share the letter that Francesco dictated to his wife, Olga, just days before he died:
To the participants of the International Faith and Light Gathering in Santo Domingo.
"I am deeply sorry not to be present with you in Santo Domingo, but you all know my situation, and when you receive this letter, I may no longer be in this world.
I wish I could write many things, but time grows short and my mind is no longer clear as before. I want only to speak with you about the time I spent in the hospital. There I learned something very important: there is always someone suffering more than us, and most bear their suffering with serenity. I also discovered that when we are in good health, we not only fail to appreciate it but we forget to thank the Lord.
Personally, I received a fundamental teaching—the greatest of my life. Jean Vanier has often spoken to us of the Good Shepherd and how each of us who has responsibility in Faith and Light must become a good shepherd. But perhaps it is easier to become a good shepherd than to become a true sheep.
When we were gathered in Göteborg with the International Council, during a celebration we washed one another's feet.
In the days I spent in the hospital, I was always the sheep whose feet were washed—and not just the feet, you understand what I mean. In those moments we must become very humble and must strip ourselves of our vanity and our pride, because if we do not truly reach the last degree of simplicity, we can never be a sheep of Jesus the Shepherd.
I wish you all a gathering full of fruit."
Francesco Gammarelli, 1986
I Felt an Emptiness in My Heart
Since I have been in Faith and Light, Francesco Gammarelli is one of those people I knew right away.
He was part of our group at Santa Silvia. He seemed to me a dear and intelligent person. He helped our group a lot with Faith and Light gatherings. He was very attached to everyone and always had a smile on his face.
He came with us on pilgrimage to Assisi. He wasn't well, and I felt an emptiness in my heart seeing him in a wheelchair. From that moment I understood he was not doing well.
After Assisi, Francesco Gammarelli went into the hospital again for tests. When he was there, I went twice with Dad to visit him.
The last time I wanted to go, he was no longer in the hospital but at home. The strongest impression came at church during the funeral, seeing so many friends so moved. But thinking about it now, I say that we have one more friend in heaven praying for us.
May the Lord give him peace and comfort for his loved ones!
Mirella Stefani, 1986