Hope Does Not Disappoint
Pierluigi Banna - Hope doesn’t disappoint. Who can we ask to “not disappoint our hope” (cf. Ps 119:116)? Only to the One who has promised us everything: the Spirit of Christ. We ask Him with the simplicity of children and the confidence of friends: may He overcome all our resistance, all possible discouragement, and not disappoint our hope.
Descend, Holy Spirit (1)
The ballad of the old man (2)
1. Darkness begins to shine
The more time passes, the more the words of this song by Claudio Chieffo identify with experiences that have dug into our flesh, for it is only in experience that the truth of ourselves emerges.3 “The sadness in me. Where have we seen sadness emerge in recent times?
Think of all those times when we have experienced our helplessness to fulfill a desire that seemed good to us, perhaps trying to get some results at work. I think of the case of a doctor friend of ours, who tried, unsuccessfully, to convince a patient to have a tracheotomy, but he refused and chose to die: “When he told me ‘no,’” she writes, “I was left naked!” But sadness at work sometimes comes for much more futile reasons, for very minor setbacks: when a contest goes wrong, we don't get a promotion or receive a callback.
These are all small projects that, for a time, invest our energy, to the point that they are the “stars” that guide our day, but then, when they do not come to fruition, it is as if these stars suddenly go out, leaving us sad.4 “The sadness in me, the love that is not there.” Even love does not seem to be exempt from disappointment when we find ourselves unable to love as we would like. It has happened to some friends, in the face of the health of their loved ones: I think of our friend Francesca, who lost her son John tonight. No matter how much one loves, love cannot stop the inexorable advance of illness.
Daily we come to terms with this inability to love, precisely in the relationships in which we are most emotionally involved (husbands, wives, children, historical friends). The more we try to love them, especially in times of difficulty, the more we find ourselves incapable, inexplicably unable to touch their hearts: we become a spectacle of limitation, meanness, if not even, at times, violence.
A friend writes, “I see that it is precisely those relationships in which I recognized a greater love in my life, that often disappoint the most. ‘This summer, during the Community School vacation, it pained me in a single day to meet three people who, seeing so many young people and so many young families, confided in me a bitter thought that ran through them: ’sooner or later they too will discover that it doesn't work.” Jesus said this in Matthew's Gospel, “The love of many will grow cold” (Mt. 24:12). “The sadness that is in me, the love that is not there.”
Disappointment can reach, according to the words of the song, even to lack of faith. One contribution confirms this: “For almost a year now we have moved abroad and things are not going as we expected. I feel this is unfair and causes me confusion and bewilderment. My concern is the same as Peter's: 'But what, Lord, is my reward? I have followed you all the way here, and it seems to me that I am receiving injustice and cheating!”” He is echoed by another: “I always tell myself is that Christ wins over everything, he has already won and then […] I say to myself,” yes, but when do you win? Where is your victory?” J. Ratzinger, in an unpublished interview published a few days ago, described the doubt about God experienced by the man of our time: “Men doubt more and more that God can still have any power in a world increasingly analyzed with natural laws, that we can still expect help from him. ”5.
When we experience this disappointment in the field of work, in our dearest affections and even in our faith towards God, we have an experience that, I believe, sooner or later, all of us have experienced: loneliness. Who among us has not experienced it? We all try to fight it, to make sure we are not lonely, yet it happens sooner or later. In those moments, we should remind ourselves of the great companionship that Fr. Giussani gives us, when he reminds us, that true loneliness comes “from the discovery that a fundamental problem of ours cannot be answered in us or in others. It may well be said that the sense of loneliness arises in the very heart of any serious engagement with one's humanity. “6.
In short, Giussani is telling us that if we are lonely, it is because we are serious about our lives. We could not help but come to terms with loneliness. I believe that in this loneliness there is something positive, to be grasped, before it is to be fought. As a friend writes, “Perhaps it is trivial, but to find out if there is anything that does not disappoint, I have to be faced with the fact that things do disappoint.” When the stars of our ideals (work, love, faith) go out, loneliness is not a bottomless darkness from which to escape. As Asle, the drunken, Catholic painter who is the protagonist of Jon Fosse's The Other Name, says, his most beautiful paintings are the ones to contemplate in the dark because they have a “luminous darkness”: “at some point the darkness becomes luminous, yes always, yes sooner or later the darkness begins to shine. ”7
I believe that sometimes we should allow ourselves the tenderness to pause in front of the dark “picture” of loneliness, without fear, because what shines there, at the bottom of this darkness, even there, is what can truly keep us company. Very often, however, we flee from this darkness, seeking distraction in companies, even Christian companies, that are -- as one of you writes again -- “blows of Ventolin” to get by, a “sociological crutch” 8 to escape from loneliness, a din of relationships, to avoid remaining in the silence of ourselves. These are companies of men who remain alone: we stay together, we take charge, but sooner or later, loneliness will begin to show up again. Perhaps, instead, we'd better not escape from this loneliness that-as Carrón said a few years ago-can be a friend, “forcing us to come to terms with ourselves, radically challenging our reason and our freedom. ”9
It is precisely in the silence, in the silence of solitude, that the Mystery can sing: “creation is silent, and in silence the Mystery sings” 10 -as the hymn of the Trappist women of Vitorchiano states.
2. The sign of a star
Only those who do not run away before the darkness of loneliness will realize that not all cows are black at night. To put it more poetically, in the words of Italo Calvino, it is possible to “recognize who and what, in the midst of hell, is not hell. ”11 This is the experience described by the song Barco Negro, which we now hear. The protagonist cries out that those who say that everything is over, and it is necessary to resign oneself, are fools. For her, however, there is instead, a sign, a small sign, that says something quite different: “I saw your arm waving amid the loose sails.”
Barco negro 12
In the midst of the darkness, a sign appears, which to most says nothing, but to those who do not run away from themselves, is capable of rekindling hope. It is a sign that stands out against the voices of those who would like to console us or invite us to wise resignation. This is what happened to the Magi that night when they saw a star appear in the sky: immediately they recognized that it was a sign. This is how Giussani describes that moment: “a radical novelty, a novelty of an absolute order, it could not be there, and it is here, it could not be there because we never thought it, we could not think it, and it is here. ”13
This is God's method: he does not immediately change the circumstances that weigh us down and leave us disappointed, but he does shine in the midst of the darkness of these circumstances a sign, almost imperceptible and fragile, which, however, some cannot help but notice14. This sign, like the star for the magi, does not solve everything, but it reopens the game and restores our certainty that there is a goal. The star for the magi is not yet the child, the hand raised from the black boat in the song is not yet the embrace of the beloved, but it is a powerful sign, capable of pointing back to a reality that is there. The power of the sign is to communicate that this other reality is there15. Hope in life is not rekindled by our good mood, nor by a force of will, but only if a sign happens, so powerful that it is as if it invites us to follow it, to give credit to it and to go along with it. More and more friends tell me what gain there is in noting down at the beginning or end of the day, especially in the hardest times of life, these signs that the Lord never tires of sowing in our days.
But there is a specific power of certain signs, whereby we can recognize that those signs that appear on our path are signs of Christ's presence. Only Christ can make us glimpse at the bottom of loneliness, the tireless action of a You, the You of His Father who makes us, who loves us, who calls us16. Only Christ, the eternal Son of the Father, has the strength to call man back to that hidden companionship that is always at the bottom of the I17, to the point of making us recognize-as Giussani wrote in the religious sense -that “such companionship [of the Father] is then more original than my solitude. […]. Therefore, before solitude there is companionship, which embraces my solitude so that it is no longer true solitude, but a cry for the hidden companionship. “18
Thus, we can begin to distinguish between those friends, or moments of friendship, that make us escape from loneliness, comfort us, fill our time, but then when we leave them, we return to loneliness as before. There is a lot of talk about the beauty of companionship, but then we are all alone. There are, however, other friends who are like the star for the magi, a sign of Christ. How do we recognize them? They call us back to the hidden companionship of the Father, which comes first, is at the bottom of our loneliness. These friends put us in dialogue with the You who makes us: when they go away, they leave us less alone, more in companionship, more in relationship with this You.19 These friends are a sign that Christ has come to visit our lives.
A few months ago, a friend told me that she had had a terrible day in the hospital. She is a doctor and had seen a man die in front of her, saying, “Don't leave me alone.” Yet, according to the surface of appearance, the man had died alone. Marked by this episode, she goes shopping and unexpectedly finds a friend in front of her at the fruit counter and cannot help but tell him what happened to him. That friend immediately reacts, “you see, to the last we are a question.” Where she saw only defeat, the friend caught something that immediately reweaved the thread of a relationship between her, him, that dying man, and the Mystery that makes us. We are not alone. Until the last moment, like that man, we are a demand for companionship, a dialogue with the Mystery that makes us, a companion who is often forgotten, but who never abandons us because he continues to make us. The sign of that friend was enough to rekindle hope.
That is why I was so struck by how Eliot (the lyrics seem attributed to him) describes the angel's announcement to the shepherds. The angel's announcement is the sign of Christ, for it revives sympathy for one's humanity, making one aware of this companionship that is deep within us. “Do not be afraid,” he told us,” do not fear,/ do not fear the thirst of the heart, / do not fear if things, your things, / are never enough for you./ Do not fear the longing for what you lack, / do not fear the longing to be happy, do not fear the cry of the heart that waits for the impossible, do not fear wanting to change. / As the stars change course/ the cry of this child rises to the sky, / more powerful than your evil./ [...] Let your heart beat fast/ for when heaven marries earth/ man can begin again. “20
The star for the Magi, the sign of Christ for us, is recognizable because it does not tear us away from ourselves, but makes us realize what we are in truth. Through these signs, we can rediscover solitude as an opportunity to put ourselves back in dialogue with the Presence that makes us moment by moment.
3. The path of life
A few weeks ago, presenting the Tidings brought to Mary, Mariella Carlotti recalled an episode in which Giussani told her and a friend that the hardest word for us to understand is the word path: life is a path. Thus, he said, “Whoever has the will to live, exalts himself by being told that life is a path. Whoever feels like dying, dies. “21 To those who see the sign of Christ appear, the will to live returns, the sympathy for oneself, to put oneself back on the path of life, without the worry-as Herod did-of calculating times and results, of consulting astrologers and scientists, but with this one concern, like the magi: to follow the trajectory indicated by the sign of the star. Giussani thus comments on the journey of the magi in a 1973 text: “the evidence in that sign […] set the Magi off. […] What was it that determined their walking on camels with gold and myrrh and frankincense, over dunes, in fords, when they planted there at night and had to sleep and make a tent or stand looking at the sky because they were not sleepy? What was it that determined their path? The seeing the star in that way. “22
It is the path behind the star that brings us together. This is the purpose of our friendship. On the way, together, behind the sign of Christ. Recurring in a few contributions is the question about friendship. I read one, “How can one sincerely be a friend? [I think of so many entanglements that are sometimes generated even in the most historic small groups] What does it mean to be friends? And, therefore, how can I truly be a friend?” The experience of the magi reminds us that what brings us together cannot be an extrinsic and peremptory call to unity, not even a moralistic call to step out of one's individualism and open up to the diversity of others.23 When we stand together for a finite goal, defined by the sum of our measurements, our analyses, our interpretations, and our gifts, even if it is to accomplish the greatest work in this world, sooner or later, we will measure each other, accusing each other of not doing enough for our friendship and, in the end, dividing.
This was made clear to me by a friend who went to a charity dinner of a philanthropic work: everything was (almost) perfect, but as soon as you turned the corner, you discovered that they were all divided among themselves. This could be a description of so many Christian communities without Christ: all seemingly compact, all united, in the name of a great ideal that we choose to be our purpose; but then, right when you turn the corner, a den of divisions.
So what really holds us together, on the journey? As with the magi, the only thing that holds us together is judgment. First comes judgment, which recognizes what is truest, and then, over time, the truer this judgment is, the more it will mature and deepen in affection. Judgment, before the star of Christ, recognizes that a goal is there, but we do not define it, we do not fix it, thanks to the calculation of the smartest in the group or the interpretation of the wisest. Judgment is the recognition that something unexpected has come for us, that a star has appeared in the dark, given us hope and brought us together. We come together because each of us has made a certain judgment.
The judgment that brings us together is faith. We have recognized, amazed and moved, at least once, that His presence is among us, He has come to visit us24. Indeed, Giussani writes: “The Magi, whatever their starting point, what a profound unity [they felt] among themselves on the journey behind the star and what an overflowing feeling of unity among them before that child!… The capacity for affection arises from judgment. In this judgment begins companionship. “25
In these months, many times, when we departed from this judgment, we discovered many and new forms of unity among ourselves, we discovered unexpected forms of friendship and deep communion, not only among the usual old friends, but also with those we never expected. I relate only a few episodes. A friend, during a lunch with colleagues at work, happens to talk about the kitchen shifts taking place in his apartment of young workers. A colleague reacts, “I would like someone to cook for me when I get home, too.” And he comments on this friend, “it struck me, because he was saying about the same waiting that I experience,” and at that moment, gripped by great gratitude for what his colleague had made him accountable for, he gets the idea of inviting everyone to his apartment for dinner: out of an acknowledgement, comes the possibility of new unity, even with colleagues.
The same familiarity is triggered in another friend who, shaken by the questions poured on him by his neighbor, grieving over the sudden death of his parents, goes to the Food Collection. By making that gesture, he recognizes that one shares the need to share the meaning of life. He gets the idea to invite the neighbor to dinner that very evening. She accepts and a beautiful, two-hour dinner ensues. Thus, he comments, “I have realized that we are of interest not when we tell others how we solve problems (also because it is not as if we have solved them all), but when we show our daily warfare, our hope in facing them, all resting either on ourselves or on our relationship with Him. Only if you show the star, if you show where you rest your hope, do you discover others beside you, ready to walk with you.
The latest episode of unexpected unity concerns a teacher friend of mine, who after graduation invited some students to dinner. In particular, the best but also the most taciturn one took the floor, who had been going through a difficult time at the family level, but of this, he had not exchanged a word with the teacher; even if she asked him, especially at that time, how he was doing, he always answered with a dry and distant “everything is fine.” At that dinner, the boy opened up, told in front of his classmates about that time, and thanked the teacher, because “she always started over. She would come in, say hello, smile at us, and start over. I just needed someone to reinitiate with me.” One could lay it all on the prowess of this teacher, but she herself did not realize what was going through her; in fact, she thought she had not moved her student at all. But the biggest surprise was when, at the end of the evening, the boy alerted her to a letter left among some bottles as a gift, where along with other things was written, “I can only say thank you for all that you share with us, for taking us on your path, looking at you, we understood that it was possible for us too.”
“Thank you for taking us on her path.” I think this is a beautiful expression of our companionship, of the road of hope in which we walk, in which we can find ourselves united. None of us can consider ourselves already arrived, but we can invite the other to follow with us, invite him or her with us to walk, following the star that has taken us, thus communicating, with our step, that a road is there, for everyone. The friendship that is generated among us either restarts from this recognition, which we learn very often from the last arrivals, from the last ones the Lord puts in our path, or else we isolate ourselves in a “sterile exclusivism,” 26 in the self-referential clash of our interpretations, which will empty us from within.
4. Before a presence
In this Advent season, we are invited to remember the path along which these stars, these signs of Christ that have appeared in our path, have led us. Where have they led us? Probably, for most, they did not lead to an explanation or solution to our problems. If, however, they were signs of Christ, they brought us before a living presence, His presence, of Him still alive among us today. When we realized this, it filled us with awe. This is the content of the hymn we hear, I wonder: “As I walk, I find myself with wonder before a presence” that generates me, as it was for the magi and the shepherds.
I wonder as I wander 27
The presence of a child is, at first glance, neither the solution nor the explanation of our difficulties; it is not quite what we had imagined, but-as Paul Claudel writes-it can replace the very need for explanation. He writes, “I have not come to point out, to dispel doubts with an explanation, but to fill, or rather, to replace with my presence the very need for explanation. ”28
Thinking of all the situations that leave us disappointed, alone, after all, what we require most is a presence, not an explanation. Yet, to us, imprisoned by the images and measurements of our projects, this statement-let's face it-seems a bit irrational: it appears as a consolation prize for those who have failed to obtain the trophy of their fulfillment.
This is a preconception, dictated by the mentality in which we are. As it is written in The Religious Sense, the preconception, however, can be challenged by an experience. I will recount one that can give us insight. A few months ago, I participated in the rite of oblation of a dear friend who, after many years of searching not without hardship, recognized the call to offer herself as an oblate, remaining lay, in a Benedictine monastery. I was struck by the consecration formula (it is the same for all Benedictine professions): “Receive me, O Lord, according to your Word and I will have life; do not disappoint me in my hope.” The awe with which she spoke these words showed a fragile woman, but as happy as ever: a new person.
I thought as I looked at her: but what solution, what achievement, what successful project, what standard met could generate a face like the one I am seeing? To what success to which we entrust our hopes, could we say, “If you accept me, I will have life”? At most, we could ask our calculations to be precise, to meet deadlines, to keep promises, but not to take our whole life. We can only say, “accept my life and do not disappoint my hope,” to a presence that embraces us just as we are and is always ready to get us going again. That is why, when life gets serious, the presence of that child among us turns out to be much more concrete than the solution to all our plans. Solutions and explanations, in fact, cannot embrace our entire life, cannot revive hope when we are disappointed. For this, Christ's presence is worth more than any imaginable solution.
In some works of art in our tradition, we can admire the Magi in adoration before that child. They, too, might repeat to that presence, “Receive this life, such as it is, and do not disappoint my hope.” Their life becomes like an offering to that presence, and the way they offer it is indicated by the gifts they bring. Through those gifts, they offer their whole life. They can put all of themselves before that child. We have experienced that to that presence we can offer not only our riches, but also everything that is broken and dull: everything can be put before the presence where the star of our companionship has led us. Only then, can we see that out of the crack of our plans, He can let a light filter through.
Just put everything of self, even what appears cracked, before Him, “of whom all people and things are made, it is He who created the world. […]. — writes Don Giussani — All the ideals aroused along the way are in function of Him, the Ideal; man's desires are true and effective only if they are lived in function of the desire for Him. “29 Let's listen to Leonard Cohen's song, Anthem: “forget your perfect offerings; there's a crack in everything and that's how the light gets in.”
Anthem 30
If we bring our lives before that presence, we may find that from the very thing that was most broken, most dull, there can come a light, a thread of light capable of restoring hope. I was moved by a friend of mine, who has disabled twin sons. She told me that once, while trying to hold them up, a thought flashed through her mind, “but what if one had done it to me that was standing.” Immediately, she thought, “No, sorry, Lord,” because she was reminded of all that she discovered because of this son, such as he is.
How many of us have discovered that a circumstance that appeared to be a burden, a disappointment, if it was removed from the marketplace of the world's judgment or the court of our measures, and was delivered into His presence, became something for which we gained and not lost our lives! Who knows yet how many disappointments, how many projects, how many labors, if brought into his presence -- I am also thinking of those who experience the sacrifice of not being able to have children -- if brought into his presence, can become a crack through which new light enters.
5. Another way
The magi, having offered their lives, returned by another way. But what does this other way indicate? They had not yet experienced another life; they had not seen this child grow, perform miracles, die and rise again. Even for us, even today, so many situations still remain cheated. However, the magi returning home could repeat the words that St. Paul would one day write about that child: “hope had not been disappointed, for God's love had been poured into their hearts” (cf. Rom. 5:5). They had not yet experienced another life, but they had found the way: the new way was that child, to whom they could bring everything, to whom they could ask everything: he would never again leave them alone, never again disappointed 31.
The first gift Jesus gives to the Magi, he gives to each of those he meets, indicated by that other way, is a new consciousness of self-worth, a new self-awareness32. Giussani describes it magnificently: “This attitude of Our Lady, the shepherds and the magi, for whom what had happened dominated their eyes and their hearts, dominated their self-consciousness. Before the child, that child was themselves, he was their identity, their certainty, their fullness, and they no longer remembered what had been before. “33 Their identity was defined by that child. They would have said, “I am because this child is there, I am because Christ, is there! It is his presence that defines me, makes me that way: he is worth more than all the calculations, the disappointments, the plans that do not return.”
Without this new self-awareness, the disappointment of failed projects will always seem more concrete than the presence of Christ. We reduce self-awareness to cold, distant reasoning; it is not so. Self-awareness is a hot recognition before a Presence, which makes us be ourselves as nothing else, to the point of recognizing that one's identity is defined more by that child than by all my calculations. Indeed, all calculations take on value, even become an occasion for vocation, only insofar as that child is there, and they are offered to Him who made them to be, who makes us to be. To put it succinctly, self-awareness grows proportionally the living relationship with the presence of the One Who makes us.
At a retreat, once, Carrón said: “Only one who allows himself to be defined by the One who took him, by the One who took him, can love himself, can have an ultimate tenderness with himself. ”34 This tenderness toward self is the greatest fruit Christ leaves to those who allow themselves to be defined by him. Three contributions, movingly, told of the surprising of new consciousness, I quote only one: “” I am You who make me.” This relationship is not only important, it is everything to me! Everything is ordered, because in that instant of self-consciousness I exist only and that You who makes me and all reality. Gaining this is the best, because it puts you in the best position to deal with all problems.” To deal with them, not to evade them by immersing yourself in spiritual elevations.
It is this other way, the way of his presence, that no longer allows us to look at ourselves without recognizing him here among us. There is no moment of me, not even the darkest, not even the loneliest, that cannot be experienced in his presence, as we have seen in today's path. Solitude becomes an opportunity for dialogue with the You who makes me — prayer; friendship is filled with judgment: He sets us on the path together-we are His body; our failure becomes an opportunity to offer everything about us as a gift to His presence, which shines light through the cracks-this is mercy, which always recreates everything; true success is the surprise of a tenderness toward oneself, not the achievement of one's accomplishments, for at last I am no longer defined not by what I do, but by the You who makes me-this is His glory, God's glory: that I finally live35.
—
(Notes not revised by the author)
1 E. Galbiati — J. Schweitzer, “Descend, Holy Spirit,” in Canti, Editoriale Nuovo Mondo, Milan 2014, p. 113.
2 C. Chieffo, “Ballad of the Old Man,” in Canti, p. 218.
3 “It is from the fact of things, it is from the datum of his existence that man draws knowledge of himself and his destiny” (L Giussani, “From Hope to the Fullness of Joy,” in Id., Bringing Hope. Early Writings, edited by E. Buzzi, Marietti, Genoa 1997, pp. 155-162, here 155); Id., Il senso religioso, Bur, Milan 2023, p. 133.
4 It is a condition similar to what the prophet Isaiah describes, “The sun will be darkened at its rising, and the moon will not spread its light” (Isaiah 13:10).
5 J. Ratzinger, “Why believing is worthwhile,” Il Foglio, Nov. 20, 2024, p. 3. See also D. Prosperi, “Introductory Greeting,” in “What Amazes Me, God Says, is Hope. Exercises of the Fraternity of Communion and Liberation, Editrice Nuovo Mondo, Milan 2024, pp. 4-9, here 8.
6 L. Giussani, “Traces of Christian Experience,” in Id., Il cammino al vero è un'esperienza, Rizzoli, Milan 2006, pp. 81-125, here 85.
7 J. Fosse, The Other Name. Sectology. Vol. 1-2, La Nave di Teseo, Milan 2021, p. 353.
8 D. Prosperi, “Called, i.e., sent: the beginning of mission,” Appendix to Traces — Litterae Comunionis 48/9 (2024), pp. 1-12, here 7
9 J. Carrón, “Faith and Solitude,” Traces — Litterae Comunionis 44/2 (2020), pp. 12-21, here 15.
10 Trappist Women of Vitorchiano, “Before the Dawn Rises,” in Songs, p. 173. — as the hymn of the Trappists of Vitorchiano reads.
11 Cf. I. Calvino, The Invisible Cities, Mondadori, Milan 2002, p. 164.
12 “Barco negro,” https://www.le3.it/cc/canto.php?idCanti=3903.
13 L. Giussani, “Living is a Present,” in Id., A Revolution of the Self. Life as Communion (1968-1970), edited by D. Prosperi, Rizzoli, Milan 2024, pp. 37-52, here 49.
14 Cf. L. Giussani, in L. Amicone, In the Footsteps of Christ: Journey to the Holy Land with Luigi Giussani, pp. 132-135.
15 Cf. L. Giussani, Il senso religioso, p. 155; Id., “Per un amore all'essere,” in Tracce Litterae Communionis, 32/8 (2005), p. 117: “The evidence is no longer there and the manifestation is as if it had disappeared. It is in the interpretation of the sign that our freedom, that is, our love for Being, is called into play. Indeed, why did the Magi plant there and follow that star? They followed the impulse they felt inside, seeing that star; why? Because they were full of love to Being because they were full of seeking because they were poor in spirit because they were beggars because they sincerely desired, eagerly sought: the word “love to Being” is this. They were full of love to Being, which is the characteristic of the poor in spirit because the poor in spirit is a wide-eyed child who says 'yes' to everything that is pointedly put to him.” See also Cf. G. Paccosi, “An incredible impetus to self-realization, an innate desire for happiness,” in “What amazes me, God says, is hope”, pp. 10-21, here 11.
16 Cf. L. Giussani, At the Origin of the Christian Claim, Milan 2011, pp. 108; 113: “Only in this way is loneliness eliminated: in the discovery of Being as love that continually gives Himself. Existence is essentially realized as dialogue with the great Presence that constitutes it, an indivisible companion. Companionship is in the self; there is nothing we do alone.” See also J. Carrón, Faith and Solitude, pp. 18-19; M. Monferrino, “I am You Who Call Me,” in https://www.clonline.org/it/attualita/articoli/2023-09-14-testimonianza-matteo-monferrino-cascinazza
17 Cf. L. Giussani, “From Hope to the Fullness of Joy,” p. 155; 159: “Foremost Christ reveals the unsuspected breadth of human destiny. There is a measure of our helplessness, there is a dissatisfaction of our evil, which are not natural. The meaning of existence, Christ reveals, lies in the destiny of a personal and supernatural relationship with God: “This is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and him whom you have sent, Jesus Christ.” Christ is thus the exhilarating encounter where man suddenly discovers himself in the full dimension of his possibility; Christ is the true and only Master.”; G. Paccosi, ‘An incoercible impetus to self-realization, an innate desire for happiness,’ p. 16.
18 L. Giussani, The Religious Sense, pp. 74-75. See also G. Paccosi, “From Desire to Christian Hope,” in “What Amazes Me, God Says, is Hope,”, cited, pp. 25-48, here 26.
19 This is why St. Ambrose went so far as to say of Our Lady that “when she was alone, she seemed less alone” (“sibi minus sola videbatur, cum sola ESET”) because for her, solitude was an occasion of her relationship with the Father, cf. Ambrose, The Virgins, 2:10, in St. Ambrose, Virginity and Widowhood, vol. 1, edited by F. Gori, Biblioteca Ambrosiana — Città Nuova, Milan - Rome 1989, p. 175.
20 See also G. Paccosi, “From Desire to Christian Hope,” pp. 31-32.During the assembly, one speech gave an opportunity to elaborate. “We all need the true, the true in our heads, to happen again as a sign! This is what Christmas is all about that God understood that in order for people to understand the true, it had to happen as a sign at the bottom of their loneliness. This method does not change over time, and so, to make you rediscover something you will have heard a thousand times in your life-the fact that you are not alone-he sent you your sign. To begin to look at our days in this way means to turn our existence into an immense dialogue.”
21 Cf. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdBVrZYBtH8
22 L. Giussani, “For a Love of Being,” 117.
23 Cf. L. Giussani, Dall'utopia alla presenza (1975-1978), Rizzoli, Milan 2006, pp. 250-251, here 251: “There is a danger present and very widespread in the movement: that of thinking that the redemption is the deepening of one's own belonging to the objectivity of communion. […]. It is the deepening of faith in the person that, as a corollary, as a consequence, matures communion. It is not by wanting to deepen communion among ourselves that our communion matures: thus psychological, sentimental, ideological aspects emerge and are privileged, in fact.”
24 Cf. G. Paccosi, “From Desire to Christian Hope,” p. 44.
25 L. Giussani, “Christmas the Tenderness of God: Notes from a Lecture by Luigi Giussani.”, Insert in CL-Litterae Communionis, 18/12 (1991), pp. 31-34, here 34.
26 L. Giussani, Letters of Faith and Friendship to Angelo Majo, San Paolo, Cinisello Balsamo 2007, p. 103.
27 J.J. Niles, “I wonder as I wander,” in Songs, p. 332.
28 P. Claudel, Toi, qui es-tu?, Gallimard, Paris 1936, pp. 112-113 (our translation). See also L. Giussani, “The Mystery of God's Tenderness,” in Id., Familiarity with Christ. Meditations on the Liturgical Year, St. Paul's, Cinisello Balsamo 2008, pp. 25-45, here page 30: “even though the Magi lived by this expectation, what had happened became apparent to them as something that burned even the consciousness of expectation, which in the first place was not an answer to expectation, but was an intrusive presence.
29 L. Giussani, Si può (veramente?!) vivere così?, Bur, Milan 1996, p. 266. See also G. Paccosi, “From Desire to Christian Hope,” page 34
30 L. Cohen, “Anthem,” https://www.le3.it/cc/canto.php?idCanti=4996.
31 “Christ offers us in Himself the concrete possibility of reaching that unpredictable and mysterious destiny. For this is His proclamation: that powerlessness in your experience, that contradiction in your existence, do not lead you to find help elsewhere or to deny the deep desire that constitutes the life of your consciousness; that powerlessness and that contradiction will be resolved, they are already resolved in Me. And I become your path, I am the pledge of the solution, as well as the way to it” (L. Giussani, ‘From Hope to the Fullness of Joy,’ p.159). See also G. Paccosi, “From Desire to Christian Hope,” p. 34.
32 Cf. L. Giussani, “The Urgency of Personalization,” in Id., A Revolution of Self. Life as Communion (1968-1970), edited by D. Prosperi, Rizzoli, Milan 2024, pp. 163-192, part. 164-182; D. Prosperi, “Called, i.e., sent,” pp. 8-9
33 L. Giussani, “The Mystery of God's Tenderness,” p. 31.
34 J. Carrón, “Saturday Morning,” in Memores Domini Lenten Retreat. Riva del Garda, March 3-5, 2006, pro manuscprito, p. 10.
35 Cf. Irenaeus of Lyon, Against Heresies 4:20,7, in Irénée de Lyon, Contre les hérésies. Livre IV, edited by A. Rousseau, Cerf, Paris 2008, p. 648: “ gloria enim Dei vivens homo.
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