Mary is our faithful companion on the holy journey. As with the author of this article, the Blessed Mother inspires us to be like her, to have a heart open to all, especially to those we need to show our care and respect.
A year ago, I left Russia after 18 years, but I feel that even after a year, I am still processing and beginning to see the value of my experiences there, particularly when the war with Ukraine broke out. It was never easy to talk about the war. From the initial shock to the fear, the anger, the insecurity, the panic of dear friends hastily fleeing the country, the hurt from hearing so much hate towards Russians … many, many questions. In every meeting and every conversation, people would only talk about this conflict, and there was a general, heavy feeling of helplessness: being faced with the absurdity of war and not being able to do anything about it.
It was terrible to see how much hatred the war created – not only between countries, but unfortunately, also within families and communities. Even in our communities, people had different opinions and convictions of what the “truth” was. People preferred to simply suppress their thoughts in order to preserve relationships. You can imagine the tension – we did not have bombs falling on our heads, but there were tough psychological and emotional struggles.
In those months, Focolare President Margaret Karram had shared her reflection about Mary holding a “handkerchief.” For us, it was a powerful invitation to be Mary’s presence amid all the hostility – to console and wipe the tears of the suffering, of all the suffering, regardless of which side of the truth you believed in. In such situations, everyone suffers and everyone needs love, everyone has a right to be loved.
At one Mariapolis gathering, there were several participants who clearly supported the war. I was tempted to choose the “easier way” – avoid them, or just stay with the children, but I knew that to be Mary, I had to welcome and listen to each one sincerely. People had a desperate need to open their souls: that Mariapolis for me was spent having one “heart-to-heart talk” after another.
True enough, our meetings and households had to be safe spaces where people could express themselves without being judged; where they could experience family and not hostility. Only then could we find the strength to cling to the “real and only Truth” – that love conquers all. Embracing this cross together led to a very deep and fruitful period, resulting in 7 new vocations to the focolare.
One person who taught me never to judge but to always see both sides of a conflict was my dad. During heated conversations about Philippine politics or when my family drilled me about Russia’s ruthlessness, my dad always stayed calm and encouraged others to read unbiased news … and to pray, pray, pray.
My dad was a Volunteer of God of the Movement and he passed away a few months ago. I am very thankful to have experienced how our relationship “matured” from simply father-daughter to “co-travelers” on the path to holiness, to God. When I would go home for vacation in my first years as a focolarina, I was very annoyed at how my dad would put me on a pedestal, asking me to lead and share in his nucleo meeting of fellow Volunteers of God. I would reason with him saying that I was on vacation, that I already had my own meetings where I shared my experiences, and would stubbornly lock myself up in my room.
Over the years, my dad got weaker due to a mild stroke, Parkinson’s and a series of falls, but his holiness only deepened. He talked very little, and about 90% of the words he uttered were prayers and his actions (eating, turning off the lights, etc.) were all only acts of love. But I clearly remember one conversation I had with him before his decline – we were alone, and I courageously asked him if he was afraid of dying. From his few words, I could sense that he carried a lot of remorse inside. We were quiet for some time, then I remembered and shared with him what Palmira Frizzera, one of the first companions of Chiara Lubich, said: she always prayed to Mary to grant her “a “holy death.” I assured him I would pray everyday for the same intention for him. Now I can say that Mary did grant my prayers.
Last March 2024, my sisters asked me to go home for Holy Week to be with my parents since all our other siblings would be away that week. Despite some hesitations, scruples and doubts on my part, my fellow focolarinas agreed that I should go. On my way to the airport, I had an interesting but strong sensation that this time, I was being “sent” by the Movement to love my parents. We spent that week at Terra Moy in Tagaytay, and it was really special – participating in the solemn liturgies, taking short walks, but especially being surrounded by the love of everyone in Mariapolis Peace, the little town of the Focolare. Daddy passed on a few weeks after that, but in those days, I feIt it was Mary, through the family of the Movement, who gave him that blessed week and accompanied him in his last days.
As told to New City
