What a Beautiful Day!
September 8, 1989: today Giuseppe and Maria Neve are getting married.
The church of S. Agnese on Via Nomentana is filled with flowers and elegantly dressed guests. The priest has come all the way from France just for this occasion—he is a friend, Pierre Debergé. In each pew sits a printed booklet so everyone can follow the ceremony as best they can. On the second page it reads "Organ: Andrea Mazzarotto" and below that "Singers: Fede e Luce Villa Patrizi Group".
We are all here from Villa Patrizi, a group of people you don't usually find at weddings—but today Maria Neve and Pinino (that is, Giuseppe, though we'll always call him Pinino) wanted us close, and all of us felt that our presence was not merely welcome but genuinely desired. An elegant wedding, yet unmistakably "Fede e Luce": how far we have come from the days when our children were kept away from church because people feared they would disturb the service!
Maria Neve's voice is thin and trembles with emotion as she speaks the words of the vow. In this moment I feel like her mother—I want to whisper the words to her, and my throat closes just as hers does. But then Maria Neve steadies herself and goes on with confidence. I, meanwhile, feel lost. I think of how my own daughter will never know a day like this, none of our fragile children will ever know a day like this. And yet mothers have always dreamed of orange blossoms for their daughters, and fathers have always known they would one day lead them to the altar. Not us. It is hard to swallow.
But today is a day of celebration—there is no room for sadness here. Joy is written in smiles and must live inside us too. And all together we sing: "How beautiful it is—how joyful—when brothers and sisters—are together." A thick shower of rice greets the newlyweds in the time-honored way as they leave the church. If each grain of rice carries a blessing, then Giuseppe and Maria Neve will have a life full, intense, rich with all that truly matters.
Then comes the party, all of us together in a beautiful garden. There is talk, there is food, there is laughter, there are reunions. Many children are there too, and at one point an ice-cream cart arrives for them.
And then comes the moment when the bride tosses her bouquet to the gathered girls. It is our Maria Cristina who catches it in a flash. She is so happy, and I tell her it is a good omen because the bride's bouquet brings luck (how right that it came to her: her father has been gone for just a few months now). The celebration goes on with skits and dancing; you wish this day would never end. As we say goodbye, many people say it was one of the most beautiful ceremonies they have ever been part of. Our children helped make it so, with their simple and sincere affection. May you, Pinino and Maria Neve, always show each other the tenderness of our young people, and may your union be as beautiful as it can possibly be—one of the most beautiful ever seen.
A Mother
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Opening Ourselves to Others
From the Valcimo camp
Yesterday afternoon a men's community from Pavia came to visit us. It is a community that welcomes young people with disabilities, along with those facing family and social problems. When I came downstairs it was 5:45. The entire community was looking at us with questioning faces. Perhaps they wanted to hear about our experience and understand better how Fede e Luce works. Or perhaps they wanted us to "convert" to their way of seeing things. Maybe we should think about expanding our own community. But the thought frightens us. Elena mentioned that their community draws inspiration from the books of Jean Vanier. I broke the ice by speaking about Jean Vanier and his vision of community. I also approached two young men, Luca and Giorgio. We started talking about film, and eventually got around to why Luca and Giorgio are in community. Luca, who has been there for six months, wanted to do only what he pleased, without taking on any social responsibility. Giorgio, meanwhile, had been struggling with substance abuse. Little by little they began to open up to the other people in Fede e Luce. And by the end, with guitars and songs, we danced together. The young people almost didn't want to leave, telling us to reach out as soon as we can—maybe for a weekend.
Fiorenza, S. Giuseppe della Pace Group
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Camp with Rosanna
Puglia
The Fede e Luce communities of Puglia gathered in July at Monopoli to experience once again the distinctive and intense encounter that every camp offers.
This year we were large in number, and some worried we might scatter, that we would lose the chance to really know one another and to spend time with the young people. But it is true that the Spirit compensates for our shortcomings and excesses with a breath of love.
On the second day of camp, Rosanna arrived—a young woman with a disability whom none of us knew, brought by a priest who was visiting Fede e Luce for the first time. We had no idea what Rosanna's difficulties were. She was simply there, as she appeared: mute, unresponsive to any stimulus, motionless, her eyes nearly closed, dependent on others for the simplest movements and actions, locked inside a world we could not penetrate.
Rosanna was welcomed by everyone, especially by the young people, with the enthusiasm and passion that is the essential ingredient of Fede e Luce: love. She was woven into the rhythm of camp life with a naturalness fed by that same love. We ate, we played, we worked, we prayed, we sang, and Rosanna—who seemed to us like an automaton—was there among us, living with us, breathing with us in an atmosphere of joy, even as nothing, to all appearances, changed in her.
It was Sunday. We adults were in the kitchen working when sounds, songs, and music drifted in from the main room. It was the moment of celebration. Giulia, a friend, came rushing in breathless and glowing with joy. Vito, a young friend, was dancing with Rosanna! Their movements were coordinated, harmonious. But the miracle was written entirely across Rosanna's face: smiling, radiant, happy. For the first time we saw her beautiful blue eyes. What each of us felt in that moment is hard to put into words. We were filled with an indescribable and mysterious feeling we could not name, but it bound us together intimately and gave us a singular moment of communion in love.
That Sunday, in that instant of celebration, we saw God's face shining on Rosanna's face, and the affliction that had darkened it transformed into joy. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Vanna Rossani