We know many women and men—some directly, others through television—for the signs of power they embody.
We know many women and men presented to us, far too often, on screens and in newspapers, for the signs of evil they do.
These signs have become our daily bread. Instead of nourishing us, helping us, holding us up, they provoke outrage, anger, rebellion, rage. Rather than kindle hope or light a path forward—a way to recover, to keep fighting, to work for the common good—they sow confusion, disbelief, fear. Fear in us. Fear in the young. Fear in children. Fear of violence, of not making it, of failing to go on. Fear for our children's future. Fear that nothing matters—why bother?—fear of collapsing under the weight of depression.
Then there are many women and men whom not everyone knows, whom not everyone sees. Perhaps because the power of their signs is hidden. Perhaps because it troubles us, disturbs us.
We know it well. Many of us witness the strength of these humble signs every moment of every day: "My daughter...she is our consolation!" "My son is my one true friend." "Our daughter...she is the stabilizer of our family." "My son...he is a brother to me, we play together, he is my joy." "My son is my joy, my pride." "If I lost him, I would lose the whole world!"
These answers came last night from parents of disabled children, asked: "Who is your child to you, today?"
These humble signs are offered with quiet humility and silent devotion by thousands of women and men who almost never appear on television. In this issue, we present some signs of hope, so that at Christmas they might bring a little light into our homes. These signs of "goodness done well" want to remind us that it is time to rise again, to lift our heads, to take heart, to refuse to be struck down and defeated by the signs of evil.
They want to help us discover, and imitate, so many signs of goodness that invite us to believe the forces of evil will never triumph over the forces of good. Even if the sky appears heavily clouded, the sun is there—and it shines with light eternal.
My wish for this Christmas of '93 is that every discouraged reader of Ombre e Luci—every reader who has lost faith, who is afraid, who is depressed—may renew hope in their own heart. May we remember what our great bishop, Tonino Bello, once said: "Hope is the attitude of one who, even as troubles gather on his shoulders, does not let the song die on his lips."
Lord, our Hope, come into our hearts, into our homes, into our cities, into our broken world.
- Mariangela Bertolini, 1993