When the S. Silvia group asked Francesco to organize an outing for 1979, no one imagined where that request would lead. We were all invited to a small meeting at Lucia's house without knowing what it was about.
Only a handful of the most active members showed up. At that time, we had no real responsibility in "Fede e Luce" — in fact, we were fairly new to the community, and the proposal came as a complete surprise.
Neither Francesco nor I had any experience with this kind of work. We had attended the pilgrimage to Assisi the year before, but mostly as guests and observers.
Back home, I said to Francesco: "Organize something simple — maybe a picnic in the Castelli hills with just a few young people. Keep it modest, manageable. You've accepted the job, but if you try to do something too grand, it will fall apart and we'll look foolish."
Francesco was very uncertain. It was autumn. The days were short and it rained often. The Castelli can be damp, and it wasn't right to take young people — some with fragile health — into the woods.
So we decided to wait for spring. That season, we were planning to take the whole family to Loreto. Monsignor Capovilla received us with great warmth, and Francesco used that opportunity to speak about Fede e Luce.
The bishop became very interested in what Fede e Luce was doing. Perhaps right then, in that conversation, the idea of a Loreto pilgrimage was born.
Later, we spoke with the group leaders about the pilgrimage project and began working through the details: how many people would come, where we'd stay, logistics.
Gradually, we divided up the work. I had no idea how much labor lay ahead — how many people would need to commit to make it happen. Someone had to spread the word about it. Someone else had to plan the schedule, organize games, and coordinate the 150 small pots that needed to be painted as keepsakes for the pilgrims.
In the end, we had 135 people: fifty from Parma, seven from France, two from England, and the rest from Rome. About a third were handicapped, many seriously so, some exceptionally so — I'll return to their stories later.
We reserved the entire "Casa S. Francesco" hotel. The staff welcomed us with a kindness and patience that was truly remarkable.
We left Rome on Friday afternoon, May 8th, and returned Sunday evening. Two glorious days of sunshine, games, singing, walks, prayer, and time with dear friends — some of them new to us.
Most of us knew Don Francesco of Parma, but I had never met his sister Vittoria before. They brought with them — and we were honored to know her — Gabriella, her mother, and three sisters. Gabriella lay on her stretcher, where she has been for two years, because Gabriella is in a coma. Her mother and sisters never lose hope.
They stay with her day and night, their faces serene and full of faith.
Who can say if Gabriella understands the strength of the love that surrounds her?
Maureen came from England with her daughter Lynn. Though not quite her biological daughter. Lynn was adopted — or rather, not quite legally adopted, as the situation was never formalized. Let me tell you Maureen's story. She had been invited from England to speak to the other parents during the pilgrimage, to bear witness to love.
Lynn was born in England eighteen years earlier to Jamaican parents. She was the youngest of ten children. She was taken back to Jamaica and placed in an institution. Later, her mother moved to the United States, but bureaucratic complications kept Lynn behind. How did Maureen become involved? Maureen was already an active member of Fede e Luce in England when a neighbor, knowing this, told her about Lynn. The girl seemed poorly cared for in Jamaica, with no family oversight — her family had effectively disappeared.
Maureen felt deep sorrow for this abandoned child and suggested to her neighbor that Lynn be brought back to England, where she had been born.
"We'll find a good boarding school or family home where she can have some warmth and care, and we can visit her from time to time."
Maureen wrote to Lynn's mother. At eleven years old, Lynn returned to England. She was a severely disabled child. Maureen quickly realized it would be nearly impossible to find a school or home willing to take her. The girl appeared to have mongoloid features. She suffered severe episodes, during which she could be dangerous to herself or others.
The only way to manage her, institutions believed, was to sedate her heavily and restrain her. Maureen, who was a nurse by training, understood that this would be Lynn's fate if she were placed in a care home or boarding school — even in a developed country like England, these methods were standard.
But the child had never had a real home. No one had ever loved her.
At first, Lynn was placed with a social worker who was supposed to care for her temporarily, just long enough to find a permanent arrangement.
Maureen, meanwhile, was working frantically to find a solution. She spoke to anyone who might help — including the bishop, who promised to pray that God would find Lynn a home.
The social worker, overwhelmed, called Maureen multiple times a day. Maureen was too invested now to step back. She had four daughters, the youngest only eight, three of them younger than Lynn. She worked nights as a nurse. One day she ran into the bishop, who immediately asked about Lynn.
"Tell me, dear lady — have my prayers been answered? Has Lynn found a home?"
"Yes, Your Excellency," Maureen replied. "She has found a home. She lives at mine." And there she stayed. Seven years have passed, and Lynn still lives with Maureen. Maureen continues to work night shifts as a nurse to support the family's modest income, and during the day — when she should be sleeping — she cares for Lynn, who has never attended school and has never been given sedatives or restraints. Apart from the occasional Christmas card, Lynn's mother has not been heard from again.
Everyone in Maureen's household insisted that the girl stay, no matter what sacrifice was required. One of her daughters shares a room with Lynn. During the night, Maureen stops by whenever she can between nursing shifts so the family can sleep more peacefully.
It is a hard life, but somehow Maureen has found the strength to go on. She continues to take Lynn on pilgrimages abroad because she feels she has a mission to fulfill.
Stories like this leave you speechless. If Mariangela or I had known how difficult Lynn's situation was, we might never have had the courage to ask her to make this difficult journey for us. But we are deeply grateful that she did. For all of us parents, it was a lesson in faith and love.
For years I was convinced that my cross was too heavy to bear, but since coming to Fede e Luce, I have begun to understand that my cross is much lighter than so many others'. Now, after this pilgrimage, I feel I have no cross at all.
If some of the adults felt a bit awkward when the bishop visited, the discomfort vanished in an instant. A boy named Giorgio — one of our most delightful young people — saved the moment.
The moment Giorgio spotted the bishop entering the dining room, he ran straight to him. Taking his hand, Giorgio pulled him smiling into the middle of us, where he was immediately surrounded by young people of all ages.
Their joy was boundless when Monsignor Capovilla gave each of them a medal of Pope John.
My story would not be complete without Jean. None of us knew him. He came from France with his mother, a priest named Louis, and a friend from Fede e Luce.
Louis had convinced Jean's mother to bring him to church, and then to the pilgrimage. Jean was a beautiful blond boy with blue eyes, fine-featured and delicate.
His mother had never had the courage to take him out in public, not even to church, convinced — and not without reason — that people would be disturbed by his odd behavior, his unpredictability, the behaviors typical of autism.
Good people go to church to pray quietly for others, but when those others come too close, they become a problem. It is easier to pray for people from a distance, to give alms, without becoming personally involved.
So the years passed. Jean's mother grew increasingly isolated, and Jean had no friends.
For two days, Jean was happy, and his mother was carefree.
For two days, Jean played, laughed, ran here and there with the others, did as he pleased without anyone trying to stop him.
He played with water, with dirt. He found so many friends — perhaps more in those two days than in his whole life, that life which soon after came to an end.
Yes, because Jean died three days after he returned to France.
Perhaps it was meant to be that Jean sang his last song of joy before he died.
Was all this commotion, all this work, all the money spent, the difficult journeys — was it worth it?
I believe it was.
Olga Gammarelli, 1979
Jean
When I think of Loreto now, I see only Jean — his blond hair, his eyes, the way he played with the earth.
I especially remember him during Sunday Mass in the garden, sitting on the ground in Mariangela's lap, clapping his hands while we all sang "Alleluia." I watched him, and it struck me how much his clapping mattered to our simple song.
That is how I remember Jean. And now I think that he sings for all of us.
Carla Magnarini