“While realizing that the foundation of the Gospel is charity… we did not immediately understand how to live it, nor with whom, nor to what degree we were to put it into practice. At the beginning, due mainly to the distressing circumstances of the war, we directed our love toward the poor. We were convinced that in those gaunt and, at times, repulsive faces, we could make out the face of the Lord. It was a real training. We were not accustomed to loving supernaturally. At most, we cared about our relatives or our friends in a spirit of warm respect or in a purely natural and healthy friendship. Now, under the impulse of grace, trusting in God and in his Providence which cares for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, we addressed our attention to all the poor of the city. We invited them to our houses, to eat at our table… (…) When we could not receive them in our home, we arranged to meet them somewhere, and we gave them whatever we had managed to put together. We visited them in their dismal shacks and we comforted them and offered them medicines. The poor were truly the object of our love because for them and through them we could love Jesus. They became the concern also of those who had been attracted by our common ideal. As the community grew around the initial nucleus of the focolarine, the possibilities of helping, of assisting whoever suffered grew. And it was quite a sight to see tons of food, clothing and medicine arrive; it was an unusual abundance which, considering that we were in the last years of the war, clearly made the special intervention of divine Providence obvious to anyone. (…) These are small events which happen to whoever, being a follower of Jesus, experiences ‘Ask and it will be given to you’ (Mt 7:7). Nevertheless, they never ceased to amaze us. At the same time, we were encouraged by other extraordinary events experienced by our great brothers and sisters who had preceded us and who also knew—at a time when they were not yet saints—the difficulties encountered in the ascent to God, in the process of thawing the hardened human personality by the fire of Divine Love. Hadn’t Saint Catherine, in her love for the poor, given to one her mantle and to another the cross on her rosary? And hadn’t Jesus appeared to her in a vision the following nights to thank her for the gifts she had given to him in the poor? And didn’t St. Francis give away his cloak to the poor some thirty times? Surely, then, it was no great sacrifice for us to take off our gloves in the winter and offer them to somebody who needed to beg for hours out in the cold just to survive (…) Yet, in spite of everyone’s great generosity (…) it became clear that perhaps this was not the immediate goal for which the Lord had urged us to love in a concrete way. It was only later that we seemed to understand the Lord had urged us in this direction also for an intention of his own: it is in love and through the practice of love that one can better comprehend the things of heaven, and that God can more easily enlighten our souls. It was probably because of this concrete love that later on we understood that we didn’t have to turn only towards the poor but towards everyone indiscriminately. No doubt there were people who needed to be fed, to be given drink, to be clothed, but also those who needed to be educated, advised, put up with, or who were in need of our prayers…. The corporal and spiritual works of mercy opened up before us. Furthermore, they were the precise questions that the Judge of our lives would ask in order to decide our eternity. This thought immersed us in adoration considering the infinite love of Jesus who had revealed them to us when he came on earth so as to make it easier for us to get into heaven. (…) God was not asking us only to love the poor, but each and every neighbour, whoever they were, as we love ourselves. So if we came across someone who was weeping, we tried to weep with him and their cross was lightened. If someone rejoiced we rejoiced with them, and the joy was all the greater. ‘Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep’ (Rom 12:15).” Chiara Lubich, May they all be one, New City Press, NY, 1984, pp.44-48.
“Dialogue is a true sign of the times, but it also represents something that we need to deepen in all senses. In the wake of John Paul II and of other contemporary thinkers, Chiara Lubich had described out times, at least in the West, with the image of a “cultural night”, not a permanent night, but a night which, according to Lubich, hid a light, a hope. We could therefore say that within the cultural night, which is also a “night of dialogue,” a light is hidden, namely the possibility of all of us together elaborating a new culture of dialogue. To do this – in my opinion – the first step is to rediscover that it is so rooted in human nature that in every culture we can find what I would call the “ sources of dialogue.” These sources are contained in the great Scriptures and are basically two: the source that rises from the religious experience and the source that rises from the philosophical research of humanity. In this line we should have to talk about Biblical, Koranic, Vedic, Buddhist sources, and so on. Last century in the West a real dialogical thinking developed from Jewish and Chrisitan roots. I draw particularly on the latter to offer you several principles of an anthropolgy of dialogue. First. Dialogue “is written in human nature” to the point that you could say that it is the very definition of man. Second. Through dialogue “every person is completed by the gift of the other;” that is, we need one another in order to be ourselves. In dialogue I give to the other my otherness, my diversity. Third. Each dialogue “is always a personal encounter.” Therefore, it is not a matter of words or of thoughts, but of giving our being. Dialogue is not mere conversation or discussion, but something that touches the interlocutors more deeply. Fourth. Dialogue requires “silence and listening.” This is decisive, because silence is important not only for right speech, but also for right thinking. As one proverb says: “When you talk, let your words be better than your silence” (Dionysius the Areopagite). Fifth. True dialogue “constitutes something existential” because we risk our selves, our vision of things, our identity. At times we feel that we lose our cultural identity, but it’s only a passage because, in reality, our identity is immensely enriched in its opening. We should have an “open identity.” (Fabris). This means knowing who we are: but also being convinced that “when I understand with someone else . . . I know even better “who I am”. Some further principles. Authentic dialogue “has to do with the truth” and is a deepening of the truth. For the ancient Greeks dialogue was the method for reaching the truth. This means that truth is always in need of being completed; no one posesses the truth, only she [the truth] posesses it. So we are not dealing with relativity of truth, but of “relationality of the truth” (Baccarini). “Relative truth” means to say that each one has his truth that is true only for himself. “Relational truth” means that each one takes part and puts in common with the others his sharing in the [one] truth, which is true for everyone. Our way of reaching the truth and how we share in the truth is different. This is why dialogue is important: to enrich us with the different perspectives. Through relationship each one discovers new aspects of the truth as if they were his own. As Raimond Panikkar says: From a window you see the whole landscape, but not totally. It is what we said earlier: We need to understand diversity as a gift and not as a danger. One of the great paradoxes of today is that in this globalised world we are fearful of diversity, of the other. Dialogue also “requires strong will.” Love for the truth leads me to seek her and desire her, and therefore I put myself in dialogue. Two final principles. “Diaolgue is only possible among true people,” and only love makes us true. In other words, love prepares people for dialogue by making them true [persons]. What makes the talk fertile is the holiness of the one that speaks and the holiness of the one that listens. This then is the full scope of the dialogue’s responsibility: it requires true persons and makes the persons more true. In conclusion: the culture of dialogue “knows only one law, which is reciprocity.” This dynamic of going and returning is essential for there to be true dialogue. Finally, today there is much talk about interculturalism. I think that true interculturalism is possible if we begin to live this culture of dialogue. No one ever said that dialogue would be easy. It requires something that today is difficult to pronounce: sacrifice. It requires men and women “mature for death” (Maria Zambrano), that is dying to oneself to live in the other.” Jesús Morán , University of Mumbai, February 5, 2016.
The news summary will be made available on the Collegamento CH website a few days before the Internet transmission. On the same website one can find all the previous linkups in various languages, as full editions as well as individual news video clips.
Why are these words of Jesus so dear to us and why do they come back time and again in the Words of Life we choose each month? Perhaps it’s because they are the heart of the Gospel. They are what the Lord will ask us when in the end we find ourselves in front of him. On these words will hinge the most important exam of our lives; and we can get ready for it every single day. The Lord will ask whether we have given food and drink to whoever was hungry and thirsty, whether we have welcomed the stranger, whether we have clothed the naked, visited the sick and the prisoner… It is a question of little acts, which yet have the value of eternity. Nothing is small if done for love, if done for him. Jesus indeed did not just come close to the poor and marginalized; he healed the sick and comforted the suffering. But he loved them with a preferential love, to the point of calling them members of his family, of identifying himself with them in a mysterious solidarity. Today too Jesus is still present in whoever suffers injustice and violence, in whoever is looking for work or living in a risky situation, in whoever is forced to leave his or her homeland because of war. How many people are in pain around us for all sorts of other reasons and call out, even without words, for our help! They are Jesus who asks for concrete love, a love capable of inventing new ‘works of mercy’ in keeping with new needs. No one is excluded. If a person who is old or sick is Jesus, how can we not seek what could give the necessary relief? If I teach my language to an immigrant child, I teach Jesus. If I help my mother clean the house, I help Jesus. If I bring hope to a prisoner or consolation to someone who is afflicted or forgiveness to someone who has hurt me, I build a relationship with Jesus. And every time the fruit will be not only giving joy to the other person, but I too will feel a great joy. By giving we receive, we sense an inner fullness, we feel happy because, even though we do not know it, we have met Jesus. The other person, as Chiara Lubich wrote, is the archway we pass under to reach God. This is how she recalls the impact of this Word of Life from the first moments of her experience: The whole of our old way of thinking about our neighbours and loving them collapsed. If Christ was in some way in everyone, we could not discriminate, we could not have preferences. Our human notions that classified others were thrown up into the air: compatriot or foreigner, old or young, good-looking or ugly, nice or nasty, rich or poor, Christ was behind each one, Christ was in each one. And in reality each brother or sister was ‘another Christ’…. Living like this we realized that our neighbour was for us the path to God. Or rather, our brother or sister was like an archway that we had to go under to meet God. We experienced this from the earliest days. What union with God in the evening, when we prayed, or when we recollected ourselves after having loved him all day in our brothers and sisters! Who gave us that consolation, that inner union that was so new, so heavenly, if not Christ who lived the ‘give, and it will be given to you’ (Lk 6:38)of his Gospel? We had loved him all day in our brothers and sisters and here he was now loving us.’1 Fabio Ciardi 1 Chiara Lubich Scritti spirituali, vol. 4, (Rom3, 1995), 204-5.
“While realizing that the foundation of the Gospel is charity… we did not immediately understand how to live it, nor with whom, nor to what degree we were to put it into practice. At the beginning, due mainly to the distressing circumstances of the war, we directed our love toward the poor. We were convinced that in those gaunt and, at times, repulsive faces, we could make out the face of the Lord. It was a real training. We were not accustomed to loving supernaturally. At most, we cared about our relatives or our friends in a spirit of warm respect or in a purely natural and healthy friendship. Now, under the impulse of grace, trusting in God and in his Providence which cares for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, we addressed our attention to all the poor of the city. We invited them to our houses, to eat at our table… (…) When we could not receive them in our home, we arranged to meet them somewhere, and we gave them whatever we had managed to put together. We visited them in their dismal shacks and we comforted them and offered them medicines. The poor were truly the object of our love because for them and through them we could love Jesus. They became the concern also of those who had been attracted by our common ideal. As the community grew around the initial nucleus of the focolarine, the possibilities of helping, of assisting whoever suffered grew. And it was quite a sight to see tons of food, clothing and medicine arrive; it was an unusual abundance which, considering that we were in the last years of the war, clearly made the special intervention of divine Providence obvious to anyone. (…) These are small events which happen to whoever, being a follower of Jesus, experiences ‘Ask and it will be given to you’ (Mt 7:7). Nevertheless, they never ceased to amaze us. At the same time, we were encouraged by other extraordinary events experienced by our great brothers and sisters who had preceded us and who also knew—at a time when they were not yet saints—the difficulties encountered in the ascent to God, in the process of thawing the hardened human personality by the fire of Divine Love. Hadn’t Saint Catherine, in her love for the poor, given to one her mantle and to another the cross on her rosary? And hadn’t Jesus appeared to her in a vision the following nights to thank her for the gifts she had given to him in the poor? And didn’t St. Francis give away his cloak to the poor some thirty times? Surely, then, it was no great sacrifice for us to take off our gloves in the winter and offer them to somebody who needed to beg for hours out in the cold just to survive (…) Yet, in spite of everyone’s great generosity (…) it became clear that perhaps this was not the immediate goal for which the Lord had urged us to love in a concrete way. It was only later that we seemed to understand the Lord had urged us in this direction also for an intention of his own: it is in love and through the practice of love that one can better comprehend the things of heaven, and that God can more easily enlighten our souls. It was probably because of this concrete love that later on we understood that we didn’t have to turn only towards the poor but towards everyone indiscriminately. No doubt there were people who needed to be fed, to be given drink, to be clothed, but also those who needed to be educated, advised, put up with, or who were in need of our prayers…. The corporal and spiritual works of mercy opened up before us. Furthermore, they were the precise questions that the Judge of our lives would ask in order to decide our eternity. This thought immersed us in adoration considering the infinite love of Jesus who had revealed them to us when he came on earth so as to make it easier for us to get into heaven. (…) God was not asking us only to love the poor, but each and every neighbour, whoever they were, as we love ourselves. So if we came across someone who was weeping, we tried to weep with him and their cross was lightened. If someone rejoiced we rejoiced with them, and the joy was all the greater. ‘Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep’ (Rom 12:15).” Chiara Lubich, May they all be one, New City Press, NY, 1984, pp.44-48.
