I met Faith and Light a decade ago while working in Rome on the revision of my religious order's constitution. A brother in my community told me about it and asked if I would take his place as an assistant to one of their groups. Until then, I had never heard of Faith and Light. I felt an instinctive admiration for this international association, which had Jean Vanier as co-founder. I knew something of his spiritual vision and his commitment to sharing life with people who have disabilities.
I joined cautiously, unsure what my role should be or how to simply be present with the community. I quickly realized this was unlike anything I had experienced before. What struck me most was the directness of the young people. They seemed to have been waiting for me. Yet alongside this ease in forming bonds came something surprising: a capacity to read my own state of mind, to sense the joys and struggles of my daily life. Soon I understood that with these young people, I had to be myself—genuinely, simply. Any pretense, any performance tied to my clerical state simply didn't work. Slowly, I learned to be more affectionate and honest, to meet the young people, their parents, and friends without making unnecessary distinctions. I encountered real, profound human beings.
Over time, I realized I was receiving far more from Faith and Light than I could ever give in our moments together. The experience was helping me shed a certain rigidity I had built into my relationships with others.
During gatherings, I noticed I was simply one person among many, called to share in play, celebration, and activity with everyone else. My role as a priest came to the fore during the Eucharist and in prayer, but otherwise, I was like everyone else. And like everyone, I contributed my share to the costs of our small gatherings. This may sound trivial, but priests are usually accustomed to receiving an "offering" when they participate in church group meetings—not to pulling coins from their own pockets.
I had begun by appreciating the chance to care for what I saw as the "little ones" of the Gospel. But gradually, I understood that it was they who had held me, loved me, and drawn me closer to Him who made himself small so he could share his life with us.
I have suggested to other brothers that they try the experience of a Faith and Light community. I have often met with genuine admiration and respect for what I tried to describe to them. But I have also sensed fear—a fear of not being equal to it, discomfort at the sight of disability, anxiety about losing their carefully maintained self-image. Yet to give in to these fears is to miss an appointment with true love itself.
I urge my brothers in the priesthood and in religious life to overcome their resistance. If the opportunity comes to walk alongside this extraordinary encounter with God, do not turn away.
