He is 21 now. We baptized him two months after he was born without incident—we didn't know yet that he was handicapped.
By eleven, we knew everything. His severe communication difficulties made religious education nearly impossible. We had started with evening prayers, a time of particular tenderness. Luca has a strong memory, and he learned the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Gloria Patri quickly. We sang simple prayers and spoke to the Lord as best we could; mostly, I did it for him.
On our walks, Luca would ask to go into churches. We would say those same prayers, genuflecting properly, and each time he would say: "Up, down!"
I was often discouraged. What part did his heart play in any of this? Training? Conditioning? Habit? Where were we going? Was God really at the end of this road? Was I inventing stories—a mother who wanted to be Christian, who wanted to raise her son in the faith? Luca, like all autistic boys, loves rituals. He follows them like a sheep, demanding prayers at set hours the way he demands dinner at seven or his walk at two.
I reached out to a priest who oversaw special catechesis. What I had never dared imagine happened: Luca received the sacrament of Confirmation. That evening, we sang together, "Give us, Lord, a new heart," and we added that hymn to our evening prayers.
Eucharist seemed impossible then. Luca was fourteen when we went on a diocesan pilgrimage to Lourdes. The crowds were enormous, the fervor intense. A friend accompanying us said, "Why couldn't Luca make his First Communion while we're here?" Luca was no more prepared than before. We had often spoken of the "Supper," the "Bread of Life," but I had no idea what Luca could actually understand.
Do you want to receive the Lord?
I thought about it. I told myself that the Lord works in the sacrament even when we are nothing. After all, behind the veil of his handicap is a heart that God alone knows and loves. I spoke to a priest about it. He was in favor.
We prepared Luca as best we could. He made his First Communion. Since then, whenever we go to Mass and it comes time for Communion, I simply ask him: "Do you want to receive the Lord?" He answers: "Yes." I know he is capable of saying "No" when he doesn't want something.
One day, before receiving, he said: "It's the Lord!" Then I understood. He knew that the host was the same Lord he speaks to—as a real person—in his prayers.
- M. K., 1995 (O.L. n. 110)