It answers a real need. Gatherings—whether small or large—require organization: what will we do? where? when? Remember that Faith and Light community meetings have three parts: first, a time of connection (welcome, sharing, learning); second, a celebration (games, singing, mime, refreshment); and third, a time of prayer (reflection on the Gospel, silence, Eucharist, vigil). But they also need animation—someone to bring these moments to life.
"Animation" means getting people to participate. Most of us feel we can barely do it. We're shy. Clumsy. "I don't know how. I've never done it before." So we rely on goodwill and spontaneity, underestimating how much animation actually matters. It does require some basic principles if we're going to do it well.
The articles in this issue don't claim to answer every question or say everything that could be said. But they will help us get more from our time together.
Noel Simard teaches us how to prepare and celebrate the Eucharist. Jean Vanier offers foundational principles for the animation team. Toni Casazza explains why animation matters and how each person in the community has an irreplaceable role, according to their gifts and temperament. Fabio Sbattella helps us plan a celebration. And Nicole Schulthes shows us how music and song become tools for dialogue beyond words.
To move beyond theory, we include an interview with young people from the Faith and Light community in Rome. Their work in theater shows how a whole community can unite pedagogy, discipline, mime, song, and dance. Seeing how they do it should encourage others to try.
At the heart of any successful animation is enthusiasm—which means faithfulness, strength, creativity, all lived firsthand. To keep that enthusiasm alive and prevent it from becoming mere routine or habit, we need to nourish ourselves: with rest, with silence, with reading and prayer, by opening ourselves to what other communities are learning and making those insights our own. But most of all, we will keep that initial spark burning if we notice a smile we haven't seen before, a face paying close attention, someone waiting eagerly to play two notes on the triangle, someone who jumps with joy right out of his wheelchair, someone whose "glau-si!"—whatever it means—reminds us why animation exists: to honor the gift in each person and in all of us together.
Mariangela Bertolini, 1981