Sunset is falling as we pass through an enormous, rust-stained gate—wide open. The courtyard sprawls before us, untidy and alive with jazz pouring from speakers on a first-floor balcony. Six young people lean over a ping-pong table. Children of all ages chase and play everywhere. A little girl shows us the way to the Volpis' house, where they welcome us with coffee in their big, warm kitchen.
We talk with them like old friends, interrupted now and then by a small son tugging at his mother's sleeve, a young man passing through, a girl knitting nearby. The table where we sit is enormous: it seats thirteen for lunch and dinner—Mr. and Mrs. Volpi, their children, and the others they have taken in. The huge pots hanging above it shine and bear witness.
This is one family in the Community; there are others like it. Together they live at Villa Pizzone (Piazza Villa Pizzone 3, 20156 Milan). To give you a sense of this initiative, we let those who live it speak for themselves.
Villa Pizzone Community is a network of families—roughly sixty people total—divided into six household units, a group of Jesuit fathers, and two elderly residents who occupy small independent apartments carved out within the larger homes. We inhabit an old farmhouse-villa in the process of renovation on the outskirts of Milan, in a working-class neighborhood. The complex, which includes what were once barns and stables, had been abandoned for fifteen years; we are now restoring it, making every part livable again.
«To pull a home from a heap of ruins is a way of trusting in life, of drawing what is good from the ruins within ourselves…»
Everyone able to help takes part in the work, and it has become an important moment of community building—because, as one of our adults puts it, «to pull a home from a heap of ruins is a way of trusting in life, of drawing what is good from the ruins within ourselves…» Three of our six families share a common bond: experience working in the Third World. That volunteer work taught us something invaluable. We gave what we could—technical skill, human care, Christian intention. But we received far more: the simplicity of human connection, solidarity, generosity, a sober way of living.The Volpis, who spent eight years in Africa, began this venture. Jesuit fathers who were already living communally joined them. As the farmhouse renovation progressed, other families arrived. Today we are six. It is worth noting that another couple who was here has since gone to volunteer in Brazil; another left to start a similar community in Vercelli; and a third couple, formed within our community itself, is about to depart for the Central African Republic. Within the villa, each family occupies its own apartment. We also maintain common spaces for community life together, which the Jesuits use for pastoral gatherings, Scout groups, volunteer movements, and neighborhood organizations. Each household consists of the couple, their biological children, children in our care, adults seeking direction, conscientious objectors, and other volunteers. Each family decides, based on its capacity and the community's needs, whom to welcome and when. We never set out with a deliberate plan to foster minors. It arose naturally from living as families in community. Today we care for roughly a dozen minors; others remain with us even after reaching adulthood. These are young people and adolescents from troubled home situations, some with physical disabilities, some carrying the wounds of failed placements or adoptions. They arrive here as if at a last refuge and often stay well into adulthood. The path ahead for these young people is still long and hard to find.
Over the years, about thirty people in difficulty have spent time with us—some for short periods, others longer—until their home situations stabilized or they found a path to independent living. Many come from our own neighborhood. In this way, we function also as an emergency response center, without anything formally planned.
It is hard to speak of educational methods when people have endured painful, traumatic experiences. We give much and receive much, and the Third World taught us this exchange. We share the physical space, yes, but also problems, moments of joy, celebrations, the rhythm of daily life. And crucially: work and money.
We do not work to grow rich, to accumulate, to secure tomorrow. We work to live with dignity and self-sufficiency each day.
We do not work to grow rich, to accumulate, to secure tomorrow. We work to live with dignity and self-sufficiency each day.We do not wish to be poor, but we choose a sober way of living, rejecting the consumerism that society peddles through every channel. We do not work to accumulate or guarantee our future, but to meet our daily needs with dignity and independence. Our income comes from the city itself, from the marginal work nobody else wants: clearing out buildings, cleaning attics and cellars, small moves and deliveries, maintenance work. For this we have a truck and two vans and many willing hands.
All earnings go into a common pool, and each family draws according to its needs. At the start of each month, every household receives a blank check on which they write the amount they will need that month—all based on trust. Alongside this external work, we have internal activities. Besides the ongoing renovation, we run a carpentry workshop and a small mechanical shop for outside jobs and home maintenance. Around the farmhouse sits good land, cultivated as a garden and gradually enriched with fruit trees. The vegetables we grow nearly meet the entire community's needs. In all of this, each person finds space to express themselves. Those who live with us are asked to share themselves, their daily lives, their work—to spend time with children, young people, and adults; to do homework together, talk, joke, live. Each of us is on a journey, and we help one another by living together. The Jesuits among us offer spiritual guidance to those who seek it. Beyond our walls, we share in the friendships our young people have made through school, youth groups, and Scouts. Our ties with the parish are growing stronger through mutual service. Parish groups often use our chapel and common spaces for meetings. Some of our couples attend marriage preparation courses and join the family spirituality group. Our relations with the neighborhood and the local council are becoming more concrete and positive. One encouraging sign: neighborhood residents are fighting hard to ensure our villa-farm is not damaged by the new zoning plan. We believe our experience is good and positive, despite its difficulties. Our structure grew from daily living, so we believe it can be offered to others seeking this path. For some time now, we have been searching for other farmhouses that would allow us to extend this kind of experience to other couples who want it.
—Editorial Staff, 1986