I met Mariangela after one of the first homes that were being opened at Nazareth around 1980. I had come to pick up Elena, my sister. At that time, I couldn't understand why she seemed so content after gatherings I didn't attend.
In those years, parish priests had "advised" me more than once not to disrupt services. So I still didn't grasp the spirit of Fede e Luce. What I do remember is Mariangela approaching me with two other mothers. She spoke with great tact, took genuine interest in Elena, and slowly drew me in as well.
As Elena's brother, I wasn't at peace with my own situation. I couldn't accept her disability. Mariangela first helped my mother find a school for Elena. Then I began attending the early Fede e Luce camps at Alfedena, katimavik retreats with Jean Vanier, pilgrimages to Lourdes and—representing Italy—to Czestochowa. But looking back, I see what she was really doing. Taking me to visit those early group homes, perhaps under the pretext of a photography project, she was preparing me for something far harder: the decision to find Elena a dignified future.
And I think that's the greatest gift Mariangela ever gave me. With immense patience and tenderness, she prepared me. She gave me counsel, healed my wounds, and drew me back to the Church. When she finally told me, "There's a woman who wants to start a group home—see what you can do about it," I couldn't say no. Almost nobody would have bet on whether her ideas would work. But I learned to trust her. Now I say: thank God.
Paolo Nardini, 2014
Excerpt from the editorial in Ombre e Luci no. 16, 1986
It's true: suffering isolates us. It pulls us away from others almost naturally. The deeper the wound, the more we curl inward—shutting doors and windows, convinced that solitude is what we need to bear an unbearable weight.
But when a child has a disability, don't we often end up isolating them from the very people we wish were near, involved, and caring?
Suffering alone helps no one. It's a barren way. The call to "draw near," which we hear so often, demands something from both sides: the will to communicate, to carry together what seems unbearable and which, precisely because it is shared, can become lighter.
Is this not the most important lesson that the light of Bethlehem offers us year after year? M.B.
