“Hey, Fr. Stè, when can we meet?”. “March 8th.” That day in 2023 was a special encounter for me. I had already known him but it was the first time that this young man with clear eyes asked me something important with decisiveness: to be able to receive the sacrament of Baptism.
Asllan was born in a small village near Durres, Albania, where he grew up until he was eight years old. At age nine, he moved with his family to Italy, where his parents looked for work, moving back and forth between Ancona and Bassano del Grappa. There, he learned to read, write, and speak Italian, before eventually settling near Ravenna.
“I was a simple child who loved to play and have fun. As I grew up, questions about the meaning of life began to arise, but until college, these questions had never intersected with ‘the world of the Church.’ My parents are atheists, and I was never baptized. When I started college, I was introduced to the movement Communion and Liberation because a friend from high school had invited me to live in an apartment run by CLU [Communion and Liberation University Students, ed.]. Life in community immediately fascinated me, to the point that it sparked in me a strong desire to understand what—or Who—was driving those young people to be so attached to life, to others, and even to me.”
“I realized that all of this had to do with Christ”.
From his very first year of college, Asllan immersed himself in a community life centered on studying together, community school, charitable work, and weekly Mass. As time went on, however, he realized that the initial fascination he saw in others never truly became his own, and he drifted away a bit—until, while participating in a summer retreat in 2019, something within him was reignited.
“I thought back on some faces and some events: the unexpected invitation to attend a friend’s wedding (why had he chosen me, of all people?), the forgiveness I received from my parents for something I’d kept hidden from them, and the patience of my girlfriend, who—despite some of my stubbornness—has always stood by me. I realized that I, too, wanted to love and care for others in a new way—a way I understood wasn’t my own, but one I could learn by following someone greater than myself.”
Staying with those friends, the realization of his own inability to love went hand in hand with the discovery that he was loved and with a growing desire to reciprocate this unconditional love in a stable and definitive way. “I realized that all of this had to do with Christ, which is why I wanted to get to know him better.” Asllan spoke of this desire to Fr. Marco Ruffini, the priest who was guiding the CLU in Bologna at the time, and thus began a journey toward Baptism. But in 2020, the pandemic struck, and everything came to a halt. My arrival in Bologna coincided with a renewed sense of enthusiasm on Asllan’s part, and he told me, “I’d like to resume this journey with you.”
From that day on, we began to see each other more regularly—sharing dinners with mutual friends, having heartfelt conversations, and attending catechesis sessions with the group of catechumens from the Diocese of Bologna—which eventually culminated in a wonderful meeting and testimony session with Cardinal Matteo Zuppi. Then came the Scrutinies and preparatory rites during CLU Masses, leading up to the day of his Baptism.
A few days before the celebration, Asllan said to me, “Fr. Stè, what have I done to deserve all this?” “Nothing,” I replied off the cuff. Then, after thinking about it for a moment, I corrected myself: “You did do one thing: you said ‘yes.’ Don’t stop.”
