It is true that from its origins, the Church has been charged with a sacred task: to protect and nurture the most fragile among us. Yet it is equally true—regrettably—that little of this concern has surfaced, or surfaces now, in the lives of ordinary parish-goers. Ignorance? Fear? Self-interest? This is not the place to diagnose the problem. What matters is that something is shifting. The polished, false surfaces that men have constructed are cracking open. And beneath them—alongside uncertainty, inevitable mistakes, and some confusion—we see it again: the truth and beauty of God's word, which speaks to us of tenderness and deep care for his smallest children.
There is something terrible, sometimes, in the voices that echo through our places of worship: a hollowness behind the words. The waste of language itself.
But let me say this: do not dwell on the shadows. Let us hurry instead to let in the light.
We need to feel, in our local churches, the urgency of ending what we have left undone. We need to be truly a "house open to all"—and equal to our calling. It is not enough to open our doors. We must also awaken in others the desire to enter, and cultivate the respect, attentiveness, and love that are needed if we are to know ourselves as brothers and sisters, children of God.
I know well that only the Holy Spirit can do this work in each of us. So we must truly beg for his grace and open ourselves to his action.
The Spirit will find more fertile ground in us if we read the small, precious book by Henri Bissonier—written for priests, catechists, parents, and all who care about the problems of disabled people, and wish to help solve them.
When even the most devoted religious leaders want to offer their help to everyone, the obstacles are real. We lack tradition, we lack a mentality, we lack the tools (often present in institutions but not in parishes) to do catechesis that truly meets people where they are—children and adults alike—who struggle with understanding, with learning.
This should not discourage us. Where there is genuine will to take an important step, where someone begins with sincerity and commitment to seek help from those who know better, we can trust that we will not easily stop. And it is with sincerity and humility that Bissonier offers us his help.
At eighty-six, after a lifetime spent studying the problems of disability and devoting all his gifts to easing them, Bissonier is recognized as both a scientist and a pastor. In this small book, he has distilled his experience and wisdom. Every page carries his desire to help anyone willing to work in the same direction. There is a "benevolence" running through it—"a genuine willing of the other's good," as he writes, "that must be like the Lord's own: open to all, and in some way, tireless."
The book is clear, written simply. But do not be fooled by its simplicity. It is a true distillation of the whole of catechesis—nothing is left out.
In the introduction, Bissonier explains his purpose. He eases the less experienced reader into the rich diversity of disability itself, showing exactly what he means to accomplish.
In the second chapter, he speaks of young people with difficulties as if he were introducing us to friends. He tells us of their struggles, but also warns us against hasty judgment and superficiality. With precise direction, he invites us to listen to them, to welcome them—so that our relationship with them might reach into the depth of the heart and become real encounter.
The next chapter is about the very subject of catechesis: God himself, in his mystery of love. "This treasure belongs to everyone," Bissonier writes. "It is the right of all—of the smallest, the poorest, the most disabled among us. Each one of us has the sacred right to possess that treasure and to know its fullness."
Facing such an enormous task, he does not leave us alone. He announces a principle that will not bend: "Reveal what is fundamental—that God is Love—and return to it continually, in ever new forms." And then: "If we could only help one of our disabled brothers or sisters know, or feel, that God loves them, that alone would be wonderful."
The author then carefully considers every aspect of catechesis: method, gatherings, celebrations, sacraments, the teaching of prayer. Everything is said with clarity, patience, and love—to encourage and spur us on.
But I said his simplicity should not deceive us. I do not hesitate to admit that I have read this book three times. Each time, I felt touched more deeply by what it truly means. It is not a book that simply touches knowledge and understanding. Rather, it stirs reflection, invites examination of conscience, opens new projects and new depths. It is a book about catechesis—but it *is* catechesis, because it listens to its readers (it knows what they need), trusts in them, shows them a path with clarity, and walks with them. A book that takes us seriously and leaves us more serious.
Lucia Bertolini, 1998