If it is true that from its very beginnings the Church has borne the mission to protect and nurture the most fragile among its children, it is equally true—and lamentable—that little of this concern has found its way into the lives of the faithful gathered in our parishes. Ignorance, fear, selfishness? This is neither the place nor the moment to analyze the phenomenon. Rather, it is time to rejoice: something is shifting. The polished, false surface of many situations is cracking open. And in those cracks—alongside uncertainty, possible mistakes, and a measure of confusion—the truth and beauty of God's word are emerging. That word speaks of tenderness and yearning for His smallest children, and in speaking it, *is* that tenderness and yearning.
If there is something terrible sometimes in the voices that weave through our places of worship, it is the emptiness that hides behind the words—indeed, the emptiness that is visible behind them. It is the vain use of words.
But let me say this: do not dwell on the shadows. Help instead to let the light in.
Let us begin to feel, then, in our local churches the urgency of ending our omissions and truly becoming a "house open to all"—and at the same time, worthy of our calling. It is not enough to be open; we must also know how to awaken in others the desire to enter, and nurture those feelings of respect, attentiveness, and mutual regard that are necessary for us to discover ourselves and become brothers and sisters, children of God.
I know well that only the Holy Spirit can accomplish all of this in each of us. We must truly implore His grace and open ourselves to His work.
The Holy Spirit will certainly find our ground better prepared if we have read Henri Bissonier's small, precious book—written for "priests, catechists, but also for parents and all those concerned with the problems of the disabled, to help resolve them."
Indeed, even when religious leaders feel deeply the desire to offer their help to everyone, the difficulties—let us not deny it—are many. We lack the tradition and culture, the mentality and tools (often found in institutions but not in parishes) to carry out a catechesis that truly takes account of people—children and adults alike—who struggle with comprehension and learning.
This must not discourage us. When there is genuine will to take an important step; when we begin, with sincerity and commitment, to seek help from those with greater experience, we can be sure we will not easily fall away. And it is with sincerity and humility that H. Bissonier offers us his help.
After a life spent—he is now 86—studying the problems of disability and devoting all his capacities to alleviating them, recognized as an authority both as scientist and as pastor, he has distilled his experience and wisdom into this small book. From every line shines his desire to help anyone willing to work in the same direction. It is rooted in his "benevolence, that will for another's good" which, as he himself says on page 17, "must be like that of the Lord Himself: open to all and, in some way, tireless."
The book is written clearly, in simple form—but do not be deceived by that simplicity. It is a true condensation of the whole "fact" of catechesis, leaving nothing out.
The book is clear and simple, but do not be deceived by its simplicity: it is a condensation of the entire "fact" of catechesis, neglecting nothing.
The book is clear and simple, but do not be deceived by its simplicity: it is a condensation of the entire "fact" of catechesis, neglecting nothing.
In an introductory section, Bissonier explains why he has written this text. He introduces the less experienced reader through a few essential examples of the diversity within the world of disability, and lays out clearly what he aims to achieve.
In the second chapter, he speaks of young people with difficulties as though introducing us to friends, pointing out their struggles while at the same time warning us against hasty judgment and superficiality. With precise guidance, he invites us to listen to them and welcome them, so that our relationship with them might reach the depths of the heart and become a true encounter.
The following chapter addresses the subject of catechesis itself: the subject, he tells us, is God Himself and His mystery of love. "This treasure belongs to everyone. It is the property of all—even the smallest, the poorest, the most disabled among us. Each of us therefore has the sacred right to possess that treasure and to enjoy it in its fullness" (p. 21).
Facing this immense task of transmitting that treasure, he does not leave us alone. As he moves through the book, he announces an inescapable principle: "reveal what is fundamental (God is Love) and return to it continually in the most varied forms" (p. 29). And then at once he adds: "If we could only know that we had helped even one of our disabled brothers or sisters come to know or feel that God loves them, that would already be miraculous."
The author then reviews with meticulous care every aspect of the catechetical encounter: method, gatherings, celebrations, sacraments, initiation to prayer. Everything is said with clarity, patience, and love—to encourage and to inspire.
I said, though, that his simplicity should not deceive us. In my view, one reading is not enough, with the idea that you have understood, that everything is clear, that you now know how things stand. I am not ashamed to say I have read the book three times, and each time I have felt its true meaning reach me more deeply. This is not a book that simply touches the strings of knowledge and information. Rather, it is a book that stirs reflection, prompts examination of conscience, opens us to new projects and deeper understanding. It is a book about catechesis, yes—but one that *does* catechesis, because it begins by listening to its readers (it understands what they need), trusts in them, shows them clearly a path forward, and walks it with them. A book that takes us seriously and leaves us more serious still.
- Lucia Bertolini, 1999
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