The Jubilee for the sick and disabled opened Friday, June 10, with a catechesis on reconciliation adapted for deaf, blind, and deafblind people at Santa Maria in Vallicella, in the heart of Rome. It was the church where Saint Philip Neri pioneered a new way of standing beside the men and women of his era—by caring for their children, whom he recognized as worthy of hearing the Good News, and by embodying that message in deeds to their parents, who often struggled with poverty and social hardship.
It is fitting that, in this Jubilee year, the proclamation of Mercy should begin here, reaching all who wish to draw near. While a choir from Pescara—called by the evocative name "A Sign Has Been Given You"—animates the singing with the energy needed to draw everyone in, accompanying the words with sign language, the assembly prays in adoration before the Blessed Sacrament. Guiding the reflection is Father Cyril Axelrod, 74, of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, born deaf and blinded sixteen years ago.
His smile has not faded; rather, it radiates an inward light that pierces the hearts of those near him. His is a full life. He travels constantly despite his profound limitations, proclaiming with joy that "no one can feel excluded from God's love." He takes literally, having lived it firsthand, the words of the prophet Isaiah: "Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped" and again "In that day the deaf shall hear the words of a book, and out of their gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind shall see." He knew this word well. Born Jewish in an Orthodox family in South Africa in 1942, he was educated at a school run by Dominican sisters—the only school offering education to deaf children. His observant family feared Catholic indoctrination, so his father, lacking alternatives, equipped the Jewish community to teach religious principles to deaf Jewish children as well.
Cyril became so passionate about studying the Torah and Talmud that he asked to attend rabbinical school. But then he discovered that the school did not permit people with disabilities to become rabbis.
Despite his disappointment, his love for God's Word did not dim. His desire to deepen it remained alive. A few years later, while visiting Cape Town Cathedral by chance, something stirred in his heart. God had chosen a different path for him.
He was ordained a priest in 1970, the third deaf priest in the world. Pope Paul VI met him shortly afterward, blessed him, and said: "Go and preach God's love to deaf people." Since then, after working among deaf and hearing people alike and entering the Redemptorist community, he served as a missionary in South Africa during the terrible years of apartheid, in Soweto, one of the most difficult places. Then China, the Philippines, Hong Kong—traveling the world to live out that call. Despite progressive blindness caused by Usher syndrome, it was precisely when his sight was weakening that his superior general asked him to go to China. Knowing him and hearing his hesitations, the superior reassured him: "Sight will not be your problem. It will be God's problem."
All of this lived experience—most of which I discovered during a visit to his home, curious about this man—flows through the words of his brief catechesis. He speaks to the assembly, signing with his hands into the hands of a tactile sign language interpreter, who in turn is translated by a conventional sign language interpreter. He listens with his hands to the questions asked of him. Like him, other pilgrims in the church pews do the same.
He tells us he is happy to be here. Happy to proclaim that it is important to teach catechism to everyone.
He describes the ways he ensures that the celebration of Mass is perceivable even to those who are deaf and blind and also have a severe intellectual disability. He explains that Braille, tactile language, and sign language are gifts of the Holy Spirit—but also that they are not the only answer for growth in faith. He knows many go to signed Mass but is uncertain how many understand it deeply. When he meets deaf people, he is joyful because, he says, "we understand each other." He realizes that encountering a deaf priest can be important for growth, as a possible model. He believes the Church needs to grasp this: allowing people with disabilities to become priests is itself a form of catechesis. He tells us we must find the best way for each child to draw near to Jesus and the sacraments. The mother of a deaf girl with an intellectual disability confides her struggles in helping her daughter approach the sacraments, and he continues: "Jesus is for everyone! We must worry about giving Communion, not just words."
His speech is clear, essential, necessarily concise. He goes to the heart of every subject he touches and to the hearts of those who listen to him and meet his gaze.
Father Cyril truly convinces you when he answers the question about the most beautiful experience of life that he carries in his heart. Without hesitation, without need of explanation, spreading his arms and smiling, he says: "God!" In him, that ancient word of salvation, despite the fragility of his condition, has revealed itself in fullness.
Cristina Tersigni, 2016
Some information drawn from Mondo e Missione, 10/06/2016
Father Cyril Axelrod wrote a book in 2009 recounting his life, "And the Journey Begins," not yet translated into Italian.