There have been some recent times in which our Fr. Aldo Trento has not been doing well. Towards the end of May, when his condition worsened, Fr. Paolo Sottopietra and I took the first available flight for Paraguay, in the hope of having one last chance to see him, and, if possible, to greet him and exchange some words with him. When we arrived there, he was still in intensive therapy. We could visit with him only one at a time, alternating with Fr. Patricio and the other priests present, with the brother of Aldo, who had come from Italy with his nephew, and the members of the Foundation of St. Raphael which runs the works that were born from him. Then, day after day, his condition improved: today, while I write, Fr. Aldo is at home, surrounded by friends and collaborators.
In the meantime, we came back to Italy. Among the many feelings and thoughts that I brought home, what remains at the forefront is the gratitude for the story of our presence in Asunción, born thirty five years ago, when Fr. Giussani entrusted Aldo to the friendship and the care of two diocesean priests, Fr. Lino and Fr. Alberto. Who would have ever thought that from that friendship would have been born all of those works, as well as the possibility for the Fraternity to serve a mission that is still alive today, even despite the fact that the past is not lacking moments of difficulty and steps taken in the dark?
What comes to mind is the parable of the Gospel in which Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to a mustard seed, something tiny, invisible, apparently without much value; thrown into the earth, in time, it bears fruit to the point of becoming a tree that surpasses the rest for its height and stature, so much so that it can be a place of welcome and rest for all the birds of the sky.
What is the frist message that comes from this image? Above all, that God wants us to bear fruit. He wants our existence to be fecund, that our lives be realized. He is interested in our happiness: so that bearing fruit, being fruitful, knowing that our life has a usefulness, makes us happy. And also that the life that can appear the most useless to men, to the eyes of God is extraordinarily precious.
And so, the second step: the gaze of God. How many times, looking at ourselves, be we priests or lay people, do we not see but a little mustard seed? How many times did we feel frustrated or discouraged before the weakness of our abilities or the smallness of our community? And yet, God sees in that seed a vigorous and great tree: in our communities, apparently insignificant, He sees places from which man can begin again and where the faith can be newly communicated, like a yeast that grows and restores meaning to our lives. It is this gaze that the Lord wants to give us: and the gift that allows us to look with these same eyes is called hope.
In our communities God sees places from which man can begin again and where the faith can be newly communicated
It is this virtue, so beloved by Charels Péguy, that offers us the ultimate, indispensable step: in order for that small seed to become the tree that it is destined to become, we must accept to be sown.
The offering of one’s self is the law of life: only by losing oneself can man gain himself, only loving “to the last,” as Jesus did with his friends, is it possible that our life can bear fruit. And only for this reason does one go on mission, does one go to work in the morning, get married, bring children into the world: to be able to give of oneself. If we think about it, our sadness, even before the fear of not seeing fruit, comes from the fear of giving of oneself, from our maintaining the small or large portion that we have and that we fear to lose.
The earth within which we hand over our life, in which we die, is that of the Church that takes, for each one of us, the form that God has established: it can be the face of the spouse, one for the other, the companionship of friendships that we have recognized as decisive for our life, the brothers of the house with whom you are in mission.
Just like the works born from faith and charity of our priests were made possible by their entrustment to a friendship that preceded them, that earth has allowed the tiny mustard seed to become a tree.
I remember that, years ago, one of our priests told me: it is easier to say one great “yes,” once and for all, rather than the “yes” that is said so many times in daily life, in small ways.
Every day we are called to say that “yes.” Every day we are called to sow that seed, which is our life, into the earth where it can become fertile and grow relationships that can be decisive for us. Every day, asking God for the vision to see what we still do not see but which He is already admiring. With the certainty that God wants us to bear fruit.
