On "Microinjustice"
I want to share some thoughts about the article "Microinjustice" in the first issue of Ombre e Luci this year. I think something goes wrong when we frame our lives in comparison with others. The truth is that each of us—healthy or disabled, mentally ill or otherwise—receives and keeps receiving an endless stream of free gifts that often aren't what they appear to be. And suffering and illness can become a way to help us recognize and appreciate what we actually have. You see, I've always been someone who apparently had everything, and it didn't help at all that I felt guilty because most people had so much less than I did. Now that I've apparently lost so much—the death of my son Alberto at twenty, my inability to care for him during his illness, retirement, my tumor, being able to do so little—it's as if I'm rediscovering my life. And despite the struggle and pain, I'm slowly finding strength and joy again. I'm not sure I'm being clear about this. I know it's a difficult thing to say, and I'm saying it incompletely. Take it only as food for thought.
M.B.
Old Age, Explorers
Dear friends, still on the subject of old age, I recently read another piece by Arturo Paoli on this topic in issue 3/2001 of the magazine Oreundic1. I'm sending it to you because it seems to complement what you published in Ombre e Luci (no. 2/2001).
Adriana Nottolini
In a beautiful book written by an elderly person for his peers, but also worth reading by young people, I found a phrase from Eliot: "The old should be explorers." I've been reflecting on it as the slow fading of the Christmas season closes with the memory of two old explorers: Simeon and Anna. The explorer looks ahead, doesn't settle on the ground he's reached, doesn't think of building a house there, of leaving his bones in that place. He raises his eyes toward what lies beyond, toward the unknown. As night approaches, he pitches a tent, arranges a bed, and sits to admire the long sunset that spreads its changing colors over offers that seem senseless to refuse. "Maybe I could stay here forever!"
But the explorer raises his eyes and feels drawn back by the charm of what he doesn't see—what isn't here but is certainly something other than the marvelous beings on which the sunset light lingers. The explorer moves toward the unknown, but not toward nothingness. He moves toward a place that must exist, even if he doesn't know what it's like. The old person has no other way to escape death than to be an explorer. Those accustomed to easy religious language spontaneously think of Paradise. But I found myself in good company with the old Jewish man Simeon as I thought about old age and explorers. Simeon doesn't keep his eyes raised toward Paradise, but toward "the consolation of Israel, a consoled land, a humanity without afflictions." He doesn't expect complete happiness, but the consolation that comes from discovering that evil can be remedied. He awaits the joy of those who dry their tears, like a ray of sun that breaks through the siege of clouds.
We find ourselves living in a land so afflicted with evils that we must keep our eyes forward toward what lies beyond—the gaze of explorers, not the gaze of (pseudo)mystics pointed too high. The Bible always speaks of a historical hope that happens here as consolation for those who suffer. Jesus presents the program: "to bring good news to the poor, to set the oppressed free, and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." And to disciples whose eyes don't leave the sky toward the station where Jesus is headed, he says to watch the earth where he will return. Simeon, having arrived, serenely and trustingly asks to be allowed to go in peace. His journey as an explorer is complete.
Arturo Paoli
Our Joy
The journey back from Lourdes—by train and bus—was long. Three days for the Poles and Ukrainians, four for the Russians, nine for the Georgians. Now we reflect on our pilgrimage and want to share with you the joy of belonging to the great Faith and Light family.
The community of Moscow and the Carpathian-Urals-Caucasus region
A "Special" Photo
I'm a friend of the Santa Maria di Piedigrotta community in Naples. I eagerly read your latest issue (and congratulations, by the way!) and learned about your photography contest. The photo I'm sending you isn't the contest theme, and I'm not entering it, but I wanted to share it with you anyway. I don't know if it conveys to you the joy it conveys to me. It was taken at the summer camp in 2000 that the three Naples communities organized in Sessa Aurunca. On the right is Stany, an autistic boy from the Roveto Ardente community, and on the left is Mauro, a friend from my community. That day we decided to go swimming—the kids always have a blast in the water, and so do we! But Stany really didn't want to get in. He was terrified. After some back-and-forth, he finally went in, and with Marco's steady hand, he let himself go. This photo was taken while we were doing a ring-around-the-rosy in the water, and as you can see, Stany loved it! I hope I've managed to pass along at least some of the emotion this image stirs in me.
Gigia Marone
The Madman of Thirty Registrations
I'm a priest, a member of the religious community of the Great St. Bernard. As a curate, I participated in the 1981 pilgrimage to Lourdes with the first Faith and Light community of Valais, Switzerland. Three years later, there were already four communities in the French-speaking part of the Diocese of Sion. When I became Prior of the Hospice at the Great St. Bernard Pass and national assistant for Faith and Light–Switzerland, I was able to accompany five new German-speaking communities to Lourdes in 1991.
For three years now, I've been in Italy—in the Vallée d'Aosta, just a few kilometers from the Great St. Bernard Pass—running a "Guest House" and serving as a parish priest in Etroubles, a mountain village. When your heart is captured by the "virus" of Faith and Light, you can't stay silent. You can't deny others the "treasure" that Jesus has entrusted to us. For two years I "labored and got nothing," despite my desire to benefit from the "grace of Lourdes" that has always "sparked new communities."
In July 2000, forty members of Faith and Light–Piedmont camped at our Guest House. I made a "bet" with Jesus and asked the regional director to book thirty spots for pilgrims from the Valle d'Aosta. But I knew only my own name! My new friends called me crazy.
In August, the Bishop asked me to oversee the passage of the reliquary of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus through our diocese (her father had been a novice at Great St. Bernard). I mentioned it to my sister, a Carmelite nun in France, who said to me: "You'll see—wherever she goes, wonderful things happen!" But the reliquary passed through, many came to pray before it, and I noticed no "wonders."
Then I took up the "pilgrim's staff" and went looking among people with mental disabilities. I knocked on doors, talked to acquaintances, and by the end of September, I had fifteen names on my list. The leaders of Faith and Light in Italy called me crazy because I confirmed the final registration of thirty pilgrims! I asked the Carmelite nuns in Aosta for their prayers and kept knocking on doors, trying to speak to hearts that would open.
Finally, on the first Sunday of Advent 2000, the thirty pilgrims met—without knowing each other beforehand—to found the Faith and Light community, which they placed under the protection of "St. Bernard of Aosta."
I shared this wonderful news with my sister the Carmelite, and she answered in her Christmas letter: "Do you see the work of St. Thérèse!" Even though I'd completely forgotten about her.
During winter, twelve of the registered pilgrims withdrew. We found replacements and arrived at Lourdes 2001 with thirty of us!!! Deo gratias! Magnificat! When they saw me with the Vallée d'Aosta banner, some Italian pilgrims exclaimed: "There goes the madman of thirty registrations!"
P. Klaus Sarbach