Evening of April 19, 1981
I am growing old, and this is my testimony: we live in a world where restlessness and anguish run deep, and fear lives in every human heart.
I am afraid.
When faced with this violence, we can respond in different ways: we throw ourselves into activity and become aggressive, or we fold inward and shut ourselves off.
I know this much: I have the power to destroy or to give life. I can destroy through my aggression and anger by turning my eyes away from others, or I can give life by looking people in the eye, by staying silent, by taking their hand, by smiling and listening, by loving.
When I am tired and discouraged, listening to others becomes harder. I tend to impose myself rather than welcome them. Inside, I am empty—I cannot listen. I can sing beautiful songs, engage in all the chatter I want, but if I feel these empty spaces and this aggression within me, singing or chattering serves no purpose.
When I see someone struggling, their struggle mirrors my own. I begin to discover that we all share the same problem: we find it hard to listen and harder still to check our selfishness.
At fifty-two, I am learning that when I voice my struggles to another, I discover we share the same selfish patterns—and then we can help each other.
It takes real courage to let yourself be helped.
To give life, we need each other. We need others to break free from our prison, from our shell.
Jesus is waiting.
Like children, we tell him: "I cannot do this alone. Help me grow."
Jesus helps us find meaning in our existence, so we do not live on the margins, on the outside.
God has faith in us. Tonight he says to each of us:
"You are my child. I believe in you."
He wants us to believe in ourselves. Even a child's eyes can give us that faith.
Through the gaze of a child or a handicapped person, he can tell us: "I believe in you"—and in that moment, he heals us.
(from notes taken by a participant)