This chronicle is a thread connecting these pages. It sets out, briefly, what those three days in Assisi were like for those who weren't there.
It stitches together the major moments (with Jean Vanier, with Cardinal Martini, with Bishop Goretti) alongside the feelings and episodes lived by those who experienced them, the celebrations, the images of this gathering that brought joy and growth to so many of us. We who walked this pilgrimage of Fede e Luce in the footsteps of Saint Francis, guided by his simple Prayer: "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace."
Of course, you cannot truly "feel" what the Assisi gathering was like, just as you cannot feel what music is from words that describe it.
So these pages mean to say, more than anything: come walk with us.
Assisi and Its Steep Streets
Getting to Assisi was hard for many of the forty-two Italian communities of Fede e Luce—especially those from the furthest places: Cuneo (San Domenico Savio, San Giovanni Bosco, and Guida la tua guida) and Mazara del Vallo.
Representatives from foreign communities came too: Yugoslavia, Switzerland, France, Lebanon.
The longest and hardest journey was from Lebanon.
From five o'clock on Thursday, April 24, the groups began arriving. Assisi welcomed us with a beautiful afternoon and its steep slopes and numerous staircases that forced wheelchairs to take long detours. The stairs became the subject of jokes and quick remarks throughout the weekend—especially after Jean Vanier, on Saturday morning, made "descending" these stairs a central theme, following the example of Francis and the words of Christ. The first gathering was for dinner. The larger groups stayed at the Assisi Citadel and the Franciscan Refectory.
Silent Applause
The first general gathering was at nine o'clock in the Citadel theater for the "Opening Vigil." We started, though some communities with the longest journeys had not yet arrived—otherwise some young people, caught up in the excitement, might have a restless night. And some could be disturbed by loud noises. Mariangela made a proposal that struck me as beautiful (and a gift for the color photographers): silent applause. Each of the nine hundred participants would wave their handkerchief instead of clapping. It was the triangle of cloth that every participant wore around the neck—each region a different color, each community its own design (repeated on each community's banner, which at first seemed a useless nuisance, but later proved invaluable for finding one another in the crowds moving through Assisi).
A wave of handkerchiefs—silent applause—greeted the idea.
In this first celebration, the tone of the pilgrimage in the footsteps of Saint Francis was set. Several of the songs, guided by Nanni, Matteo, and Antonio with guitars, turned on this theme.
Introductions were made. First came silent greetings for representatives of foreign communities. Our Yugoslav friends didn't understand Italian and had only one person who spoke French to bridge the gap—but the eyes and hands said so much that we found ourselves singing with them. Our French-speaking friends pulled us into a classic Fede e Luce song, sung and acted out silently. Then came introductions of the Swiss friends, followed by moving greetings from the two young women from Lebanon. Next, the thirty-nine Italian communities present were introduced.
Franciscan scenes followed—silent and expressive for those with limited comprehension, yet profound for everyone in their simplicity. The story of Francis's vocation; the story of the wolf of Gubbio; his encounter with the leper; Francis's meeting with the Pope; finally, a dance of the Canticle of the Creatures, acted out by friends and young people. Everyone followed the Franciscan message with great intensity, even those who couldn't grasp every detail. Fabietto, who had had operations to put his hands to use and knew well what bandages meant, watched with rapt attention as Francis unwound the leper's bandages—a symbol of fraternity that heals and saves. The fluttering handkerchiefs closed the first celebration: we had begun to walk together with Francis. We left singing "Sweet it is to feel..." Outside were the stars, Assisi's silence, the stones, the staircases, the narrow streets at night that we each crossed toward our lodgings.
Following Francis
Friday morning, we followed Francis—quite literally. Each community walked some of his paths and stopped at his places: San Damiano, the Porziuncola, the Hermitage of the Prisons, Santa Chiara, the layered Basilicas.
As the pilgrimage handbook—clear and thorough, given to everyone—pointed out, meeting Francis means silence, listening, peace. Silence makes us pilgrims; of course, it's not the silence of someone closed off in themselves, and being a pilgrim is not the activity of legs—though here in Assisi they certainly served—but of heart and mind.
Lunch, too, was a lovely gathering, cheerful, with singing.
In the afternoon came "Meeting Points." There were twenty of them, with many different topics (see the list and accounts from some participants): serving, playing, working, reflecting.
Some topics, it was noted, were too broad for the two hours allowed, but in any case they were useful in how they were approached.
At the end we went to the Upper Basilica for the Eucharist with Cardinal Martini, who closely follows Italian Fede e Luce.
With Martini in San Francesco
The most striking thing about the basilica is Giotto's frescoes on the walls: large, vivid, telling the life of Francis. We found ourselves gazing at them in wonder. Why! They show the same scenes we'd acted out the night before. It's actually the reverse, but the reversal makes sense: those were done by our young people, our friends, our parents bound to us by a web of affection; these frescoes are a jewel of art, perhaps more a museum than a church. Indeed, tourists looked on somewhat puzzled as this crowd entered for Mass with colored handkerchiefs, singing, wheelchairs, unfamiliar faces, different ways of walking.
Some were irritated that they wouldn't be able to see the frescoes for the next hour and a half.
Archbishop Martini arrived. He was greeted with the hymn "Maranatha"—Come, Lord. The celebration began. Around him were the priests of Fede e Luce, among them the striking figure of dark-robed Clemente. Around them, many of the most affected young people and friends, seated on steps, on the ground, standing, crowded close, attentive. Martini, tall, imposing, yet "present" to those around him. How much more so would be clear later, in the evening, when he spoke with the parents.
He had a difficult Gospel to explain: Jesus's last words before ascending to heaven—go into all the world; whoever believes will be saved; see the signs of those who believe. He explained with clarity and brevity. Listen to us, Lord! Hear our simple and great requests, some spoken with such effort.
Dramatic action, often used in Fede e Luce Masses to help the young people grasp this or that religious idea, showed pilgrims (humanity) seeking the Savior, the healer, and, having found him, following his word.
After the consecration came the exchange of peace, always one of the most intense and rich moments in Fede e Luce Masses.
And then came another great moment, almost unexpected: two severely disabled girls received their First Communion, surrounded by their parents. Martini, so large, bent down, bringing the Host low to Manuela and Anna in their strollers.
We left in the square before the basilica, moved, into the green lawn, the stones of walls and pavement, in the shadowed light just after sunset. We lingered before leaving the basilica, but we would return tomorrow with Jean Vanier. Slowly we filed out with our small colored banners, along the narrow streets that turned violet.
After dinner Martini spoke, to parents and priests only. The theme made it clear why—a Gospel verse: "Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind? Jesus answered, Neither this man nor his parents sinned..."
Meanwhile, in the various hotels, vigils were held with friends and young people while parents were away.
Descending the Stairs
Saturday was Jean Vanier's day. First meeting at nine, in the Citadel theater.
Jean arrived in a small car and unfolded himself out of it, stretching to his full height: he is large, not just in stature. He sat on the steps of the stage; Anna, beside him, translated. Jean built this day's theme on two main ideas: first, to meet the small and the poor, we must descend the stairs, according to Jesus's words and Francis's example, not climb them as society invites us to do; second, we meditated on the story of Lazarus and the rich man.
His way of speaking might be described by a line from the San Damiano song: "...stone by stone, you will climb high." He adds simple concepts and gradually raises up whoever listens, almost without their noticing. Everyone stayed riveted, faces tense. When we left, we felt that something inside us had changed with those words.
We returned to the Basilica of San Francesco to continue our encounter with Jean. Now the main theme was conversion, forgiveness, the need—to do anything—to stay connected to Christ, following Saint Francis's example. Mariangela translated; Giotto, on the walls, depicted.
In the afternoon came time for the sacrament of reconciliation, for adoration, for contemplating nature. Small groups entered the little churches that had opened their doors for the occasion. Few words and the "Good morning, good morning" of some young people underscored the silence and atmosphere of that hour.
At 5:30, Mass for children and foreigners in the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. At the door, two parents and two small children distributed olive branches, symbols of the pilgrimage's theme and tools to express joy and celebration soon to come. We prayed especially for Fede e Luce communities of the world, represented on a panel brought to the altar before the offertory. Children brought objects they had made, symbolizing Francis's life (a sword, money, a robe, a staff...).
The children, from two to twelve years old, had their own special pilgrimage program.
At 6:30, the Eucharist in Santa Chiara. The new national assistant of Fede e Luce, Father Enrico Cattaneo of Naples, celebrated. He took the place of Don Dario Madaschi, who had gone to the Father at the age of 31.
Using some of Don Dario's writings and testimonies from friends, we made a small booklet: "We Still Walk Together," which was given to all participants.
That evening the friends gathered again for a vigil at the Refectory with Jean Vanier, following a tested model: testimonies (from a new friend, a seminarian, a blind friend, telling what Fede e Luce means to them), the account of Jean's own journey (his youth, his studies, his encounter with disabled people...), many moments of "silence"...
Meanwhile, in the rooms of the various hotels, parents and some friends who had stayed with the young people led their own gatherings.
For instance, in the Citadel theater, Nanni from the Santa Silvia Community and Dario from the San Francesco community tried to spark a bit of celebration: it started slowly, then picked up. It ended in folk dancing. Don Franco Costa, who had come from Rome this evening for a brief visit, danced too. It ended—another! another!—with the young people not wanting to stop, never mind going to bed.
Sunday, the last day. Communities had free time until the grand finale: Mass in the Cathedral of San Rufino with the Bishop of Assisi. Whether it was the energy built up over these days, or the unspoken sense that something precious was ending, the Eucharist was more deeply felt than ever. The bishop, Sergio Goretti, was struck by it. In his homily he said: in the five and a half years I've been here, I have never lived an Eucharist like this. He said: thank you for choosing Assisi's church. He said: come back.
As we left, we all said goodbye to one another. And a surprise prepared by the children's group burst forth: a dance in which dancers dressed in brilliantly colored fabrics and papers swirled around a girl standing on a chair, representing Saint Francis. One by one they removed their "garments," making a variegated heap, around which they spun joyfully. It was the last Franciscan message before leaving. We all sang "Praise to you, my Lord..." releasing colored balloons into the sky.
Now we exchanged goodbyes and handkerchiefs and kisses, with joy and a thread of sadness. Soon we would depart. In the sky, dark clouds were bringing the first rain of these days.
by Sergio Sciascia, 1986