Giampiero is thirty-three, has Down syndrome, and is the youngest of five children. His parents' faith became his own as he grew.
When his parents began to wonder where Giampiero might best live as an adult, he expressed a clear desire: to share a life of prayer with others. So they searched for a place where real work—work suited to his abilities—and a life of prayer were genuinely interwoven.
For more than ten years now, a Carmelite monastery has welcomed Giampiero as a farm helper. The sister who tends the farm and who was close to him in those early years has written this account of Giampiero's life, divided between home and convent.
At Work!
«Giampiero!»
«Coming!»
And he comes, sooner or later, almost always with a smile and ready to lend a hand where needed.
He makes much of himself when he says, «I help everyone, I do everything!»—and it's true. He has real work. He can weed, he knows how to cut grass, he cleans out the rabbit hutch and the chicken coop. In winter he feeds the animals in the barn. He helps in the ceramics workshop. He can turn the soil, he can bundle packages. He does all of it.
Like the rest of us, some tasks draw him more than others. When I insist, he does them—not always willingly, but without complaint. And when he finishes, the smile returns.
He has his good days. When he sees there is much to do—on weekends or before holidays—he asks to wake earlier. Usually we don't let him, because his eagerness might push him beyond what he can manage. We know that if he is tired, he cannot work well. But when he sets his mind to it, he rises before dawn without asking.
His World
Giampiero has a good heart, but he has his difficult moments. Then he grows sad.
«What is it, Giampiero?»
«Nothing is right, but I have to tell you...»
We talk it through. We set things straight.
Football often makes him sad. If the French team loses, it is a catastrophe. We try to reason with him: «You can't expect them to win every time!» Then we talk of something else, and his smile returns.
His life is well organized. He has his work, but also his pastimes. When he eats, he turns on the radio to hear the news, then calls us: «Come quick! There's terrible news!» He knows well how to tell if things are going well or poorly. After lunch he plays the flute—quite nicely. He plays with patience and is always searching for new hymns. He plays them for us in the chapel after Mass. In the evening he has much to do. His parents give him lessons so he doesn't lose what he has learned. Then he writes postcards, plays the flute, listens to records, copies hymns.
A Life of Prayer
When he doesn't go home on a Sunday, he organizes his day well among his activities.
Giampiero decided to come to Mass with us once a week, on Thursday. But he changes the day often because Mass is his way of celebrating the birthdays of his parents, his siblings, his nieces and nephews. He follows the Mass with great seriousness, wears a white tunic, joins in the singing. We are struck by his composed posture at the Consecration, at Communion.
He is truly open to the things of God. We often find him in the chapel during the day at prayer, his head in his hands.
When he notices any worry among us, he says:
«I'm going to pray»—and we know he will. We have seen him go alone to the chapel, kneel near the altar, in silence. When he returns from a pilgrimage to Lourdes or Rome, he glows with joy, eager to tell us what he saw. He prepares what he calls a «lecture» and arrives with a paper in hand. If we interrupt him, he says:
«Wait, Sister, let me finish! I'll answer your question after.» From what he tells us, we understand that he participates deeply in every aspect of the pilgrimage.
Family Life
Giampiero is happy here with us, but he is truly content when, at week's end, he returns to his family. Perhaps if he didn't have these visits home, he would not thrive here as he does.
If for some reason he cannot go home on a Sunday, he feels it at once. He needs to see his family, to play football with his nephews. He is glad to leave, and glad to come back. That is beautiful.
His adjustment to convent life has depended greatly on how his family relates to the monastery. His parents placed him here not to be rid of him, and he is happy to be here because his family remains engaged with him. He must write each day in a notebook about everything he does. At week's end, we add a note and underline what he has done well and what needs work.
This matters deeply to him. He knows his parents will read the notes with great care and ask him questions. Sometimes he asks us to write a good report, promising to do better next time. We rarely give in. «You see,» we tell him, «we must tell the truth. When something is good, it is good. When it is not, we must say so.»
His parents have given us valuable guidance on how to care for him, how to handle certain reactions. Be kind but firm, they said at the start. And we see that firmness helps him grow. Many times, after struggling without success to make him understand he was wrong, we have parted without results. Later he would return: «I thought about it. You're right!» Then: «It doesn't matter. It's good. It builds character.»
«For whom?»
«For both of us!» And off he goes, happy.
We have never regretted welcoming Giampiero. But we are aware of what he misses in an all-female environment, and of the risk of overprotection between home and convent. We know we must help him grow ever more «adult». We write our concerns to his parents, we talk together, and we discover he behaves the same way at home—ups and downs, moments of shyness and moments of assertiveness. This helps us understand him better. When his parents come for a day, it is great joy for him. Between them and us there is a beautiful friendship. His whole family came to celebrate his tenth year with us. At Mass, the readings and hymns he chose, the prayers he composed and read himself. After a festive meal, we showed slides of him at work here in the monastery.
For Giampiero, the monastery is a second family—so much so that he says he belongs to the Community. One day, very seriously, he asked if he could vote. «Vote for what?»
«When we elect the new Superior!»
For us, it is a gift to have met Giampiero. He gives us his joy in living, his cheer, his affection. And we admire the life of God shining through him.
by Sister M., from Ombres et Lumière no. 62-63, 1983