Our pilgrimage to Lourdes with Adrien—our son, who lives with severe disability—included the sacrament of Reconciliation. We were in a small chapel deep within the Sanctuary, a quiet and comfortable space with carpeting, which mattered more than you might think. Because Adrien and Alessandra, another person with severe disability on the pilgrimage, could lie on the floor when they grew tired of sitting in their wheelchairs. After a communal prayer, the priest approached for individual encounters. He looked at me and asked: "What should I do?" I told him: "I think you'll know. Just spend some time with them."
What happened between Adrien and the priest was a silent dialogue. At the right moment, Adrien stretched out on the floor. The priest lowered himself to meet him at eye level. When the sacrament was complete, the priest said it had not been difficult at all. Years later, I learned he had spoken about this encounter with other priests.
That image of the Church lying on the ground beside my severely disabled son remains vivid and powerful for me. It is the Church lowering itself to the level of all these people marked by severe disability, listening intently even when no words come from their mouths. And it is an image of humility—the humility of embracing the earth, of surrendering to God's power. In the end, the gift our fragile children give us is to teach us a posture that does not come naturally. It is essential.
Isabelle (O&L n. 210)
Trad. di Rita Massi