Winter Retreats: Holiday Time with Disabled Participants

This possibility—hard to believe for those who haven't tried it—surprised many who did. Like the accounts by Anna Cece and Agnés Auschitzky, this essay describes that "discovery" and offers practical suggestions for making it happen.

A small group of friends of handicapped young people felt the pull of those long summer camp days. They decided to try a winter retreat.
The brief vacations at Christmas and Easter, the often bitter cold, schoolwork and jobs—all of it seemed to argue against the idea. Yet the desire to celebrate the year's greatest feasts together, with all the preparation and anticipation they bring, pulled in the opposite direction.
There was something else too: the chance to experience domestic life more deeply, the texture of home when rain and snow fall outside. And the group thought it might organize the days carefully enough to leave study time for anyone who didn't want to break from their work.

The first winter retreat took place at Christmas 1979. It was held at Carpineto Romano, in a convent of Augustinian friars.

What remains is not mere memory. Each moment is like a brick that builds

The friars provided bedrooms and a full kitchen. They never asked for payment, accepting only what the group felt able to offer. What mattered most was their warmth.

What remains is not mere memory. Each moment is like a brick that builds

From then on, the retreat was repeated every Christmas and Easter in the same place. At Easter 1982, another retreat was organized at Circeo, in a house provided by its owner.

Those who come should be able to sit quietly, to think, to be ready to question themselves and to do so with others—but without causing harm.

From the beginning, the winter retreat took on certain defining features.
The goal was to spend days together as friends, including young people with serious difficulties, without interrupting their studies. Here's what worked:

• You need enough friends to organize the days so everyone gets free time. Since there are never many days available—at most ten—and much of the time is spent indoors, the group needs to be substantial enough to manage daily life.
• The total number of participants can't be too large (twelve to twenty people). It's wonderful when new friends and young people join, but there must always be a strong core group—stable and experienced—at the center.
• These retreats don't require extensive practical preparation, but many meetings before and after are essential: to deepen mutual knowledge, to check how each friend and young person felt during the time together, to identify shortcomings and work to fix them. Parents never attended these camps, but except once, an older friend or a priest was always present.
• A priest's presence can be invaluable. It allows the group to live their friendship, joy, or sorrow at the level of liturgical celebration. And the priest can gather any tensions or difficulties that arise, helping the group work through them together.
• Before each retreat, it's essential to have real conversations—not superficial ones—with the parents of the handicapped young people attending. You need clear guidance about how to support and care for each person, but above all, you're building a sense of friendship and mutual trust.
• Those who participate should be able to sit quietly, to think, to be ready to question themselves and to do so with others—but without causing harm.

Those who participate should be able to sit quietly, to think, to be ready to question themselves and to do so with others—but without causing harm.

Should, should, should. Yet every retreat—summer or winter—throws into relief how many things matter for living even a single week as a true community. And each time you return, you realize something was missing.

But many beautiful moments remain: getting to know the village and its life, a young person's unexpected progress or joy, local children coming to play, invitations to celebrations, a shopkeeper sending a gift.

The evenings spent laughing and playing. The meals—sometimes excellent, sometimes a disaster, depending on the cook. Long walks and games in the snow. Liturgies full of meaning. Arguments and reconciliations.
What remains is not mere memory. Each moment is like a brick that builds—first the foundation, and then, as the song says, brick by brick, a great house rises up.