«You are precious.» A hand-painted sign hangs from the wooden beams. The words that struck me years ago now tower above the rough wooden coffin. How many times did you say them to every person you met? Now it is as if we are all saying them back to you: «You are precious to us.»
Now you are there, dear Jean. It is strange to imagine you without your voice, without your deep gaze, without the dance of your hands accompanying your words. What you taught us echoes in our minds.
A short while ago we said goodbye in a room filled with wildflowers. Above your coffin—built for you by the Ark Le Caillou Blanc in Brittany—white petals and a simple cross. At your feet, water with a small branch for blessing those who loved the beauty of small things.
In the Hosanna community room in Trosly, everything unfolds according to a careful plan drawn up by the Ark. Yet everything feels so natural. Gestures we learned from you blend with symbols from your life.
I am moved to see Maria, Samuel, and others with disabilities placing candles on your coffin: «You who spread light, receive this light.» The gratitude of those who came here from around the world—through this small gift of light—includes your foyer Val Fleury, the community, the Ark, Faith and Light, the Little Sisters of Jesus, your friends.
The rite is Catholic: you were baptized in this faith and recognized yourself in it. Yet representatives of different Christian traditions are present, honoring your deep desire for unity among believers. This ecumenical openness is witnessed by the prior of Taizé, frère Alois.
A blind deacon reads the Gospel. Here, the beauty of those who are fragile is recognized. Young people from the communities act out and offer symbols from your journey: the birds whose song you loved, the color blue, the oranges you enjoyed peeling at the end of meals, a basin and pitcher for the washing of feet—the gesture of mutual forgiveness you taught us—an Ark, the icon of friendship (Christ and Abbot Mena). Even the exchange of peace is thoughtful: we are invited to join hands and turn to our neighbors saying Namasté, to say, as Indians do, «God present in my heart honors God present in your heart.»
Every moment of this long Mass is an outpouring of tenderness. The hymns are sweet, the music gentle. Alongside the sadness of saying goodbye to a friend—who first asked us to welcome our own fragility before embracing the fragility of others—comes the awareness that we inherit something precious. «We must continue,» say Annisette, Patrick, and your dear friend Odile. You lived with them at the Ark for years, washing dishes every day for their sake. «We miss you,» they tell you. «You, who traveled the world, could no longer walk. You, a man of words, could no longer speak. You, who loved to sit at table, could no longer eat. We have gathered your final breath, your last respiration. And in that breath we want to move forward.»
Marie Hélène Mathieu, cofounder of Faith and Light, now ninety, also asks us to continue the journey with courage, reminding us that «a life has not gone out; a lamp has been lit.»
Marie, your granddaughter in Canada, remembers your blue jacket, your books, the way you asked «How are you?» while looking directly into someone's eyes, genuinely interested in their life.
You had the authority of someone who does not point the way but walks it. You knew how to see what mattered. You could still be amazed by small things. You, a philosopher and thinker, lived by simple gestures. You brought intensity to every relationship.
«A prophet of our time,» the media call you. A prophet speaks an announcement. You lived it every day. To see the small ones, to discover their gift—that is your teaching, for society and for the Church. Back in 2013, you asked those of us in the Ark and Faith and Light to become founders in our turn. Stephan Posner, head of the International Ark, captures the meaning of this farewell, broadcast on television and online: «You did not like being called 'the founder,' but 'the first to arrive.' You were not the message, but the messenger. Not the testimony, but the witness. We, those who come after, move forward with new strength.»
The rite is ended. Each of us is invited to bless your body, which will rest in the cemetery in Trosly. Thank you, Jean. Inspire new paths from where you are.