Wrapped in Gift Paper

English. Spanish. Italian.

Fr. Eugenion Nembrini - Wrapped in Gift Paper - A dialogue on hope and redemption.

Presenter: Welcome, everyone. This meeting is part of the Festival of St. Francis, whose theme this year is hope. We asked Fr. Eugenio Nembrini to help us understand what it means to hope when life's circumstances are not what we expected. He will do so by sharing his experiences over the years. This afternoon, we’ve already had the opportunity to talk with him in a very familiar way, first at Mass and then at lunch. Now, however, is an opportunity for everyone—both those present here and the many connected via YouTube, including many who are ill—to meet this man. We will begin by asking him what has changed and what is changing in his life because of what has happened to him. We thank him, and I will now give him the floor.

Father Eugenio Nembrini: It is always a wonderful opportunity to be able to talk about yourself, because when you begin to talk about yourself, you also discover more about who you are. It is never just a story for others before you go for a beer. You are forced to look inside yourself a little: “What is happening in my life? What beautiful things are happening in my life?” So, I simply want to tell you what I have been experiencing and observing recently. This recent period is the experience, now known throughout Italy, called the “Quadratini.” Nowadays, I can't go anywhere in Italy without someone coming up to me and saying, “Oh, I'm a Quadratino!,” “I'm a Quadratina!,” or “I was a Quadratino!”

This friendship has really spread throughout Italy and is well known, but above all, it is an opportunity to be in the world, to live. What are the characteristics of this friendship? I call it friendship because it is the only word that truly describes it. It has some nice characteristics. The first is that it did not arise from a plan. Are you familiar with how a company, a family, a school, or a parish priest with his curates often find themselves deciding what to do? Well, it's not that you shouldn't do that, but the key characteristic of this friendship is that it did not arise from a plan. It just came about, very simply.

How did it come about? Like all things that just happen. Almost five years ago, after the COVID period—do you remember the famous three months of lockdown, with everyone at home?—I was celebrating Mass. That, too, came about in a very simple way. At that time, I was in Rome and had a very large terrace. One day, talking to my neighbors at their windows—“Who are you?,” “What do you do?”—I began to celebrate Holy Mass on the terrace. In a very short time, less than twenty days, 17,000 people from all over the world connected. It was a Mass with an avalanche of friends, whom I either knew or met later, who would say, “I followed you, I was there!”

However, after those famous three months when we were all forced to stay home, a friend from Pozzuoli named Rosa, a Memor Domini, called me before Christmas and said, “Look, I can't go to Mass anymore because I have to stay home to look after my mother, who is sick, elderly, and can no longer get up. But sometimes when you celebrate Mass, since you'll be celebrating it again, could you connect us? It was so beautiful when you did it on the terrace!” I said yes. So, I started celebrating Mass with this girl and her mom. We were connected by phone via Skype, and as soon as I said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. The Lord be with you,” it immediately became a participatory Mass.

That's how it started. You see? It began in the most foolish way, if you like. A Mass via Zoom. The thing grew and grew, and from those first two people, a daughter and her mother, we have now grown to about 3,000 throughout Italy. Today, I celebrate Mass every day via Zoom with my tablet. If I'm here, I connect from here; if I'm with a family, I connect from their home; if I'm in the hospital, I connect from the hospital. This world of friends connects. Rosa, who acts as a sort of secretary, sends everyone a notice: “Mass is in fifteen minutes, today it will be at 6:30 p.m.” Fifteen minutes before, the link arrives and we connect.

The wonderful thing is that after Mass, we always have fifteen minutes, half an hour, or three-quarters of an hour of dialogue. Everyone talks about themselves: “This happened today, this is how I feel today.” Just think, in these four years, we have already accompanied to Paradise—we say “to Paradise”—those we call our saints. We no longer recite the Eternal Rest for them because it sounds a bit heavy to us. We recite Eternal Joy. It's the same prayer; we just replaced “rest” with “joy”: “Grant them, O Lord, the eternal joy of Heaven.” And we tell each other about our lives.

Then, like all living things, this experience grew. The idea arose to create an association to help with situations that needed support, especially on an economic level. The idea was born to do Advent and Lent retreats together. Beautiful. The idea of a vacation was born, which we have been doing together in Livorno for three years now. It is a friendship that is growing. Just think, right now I should be in Padua because one of the Quadratini, Roberta, is celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary. She is in a difficult health situation—it's not a minor thing. Well, 160 Quadratini from all over Italy went to Padua to be with her. So it's not just about Fr. Eugenio, okay? It's a friendship that embraces.

The decisive moment came in 2022 when I received a letter from the Pope, who had heard about this story. He wrote to me: “Continue with love and zeal this mission you have begun with the sick.” Obviously, when you receive a letter from the Pope telling you to continue, you take it seriously. Until then, I had only done it when I had time, but after receiving the letter, I thought it was worth devoting more attention to it. I talked about it with my bishop, the bishop of Bergamo, and that's how the idea was born for me to live full-time in service and friendship with these sick people scattered throughout Italy and Europe. So I don't have a parish or any other duties except to follow these people. I say Mass and go to visit them in their homes, so I'm always on the road. When they ask me, “Where do you live?” I reply, “In my car,” because I am always traveling around Italy. I go to visit them, encounters arise, and moments with their parish priests. This is my world today.

But what am I discovering in this world? You don't understand until you see it for yourself, I assure you. What is happening is so extraordinary, so great, that you have to see it. You have to meet these people. Let me start by saying that I wasn't always passionate about caring for the sick. In fact, the sick and the elderly were a category I didn't even want to see because I was focused on young people. What does a young priest do? He thinks, as is normal, “I'll come in and shake things up, I'll make everything better and smarter.” He thinks about young people, writes letters to newspapers… you have this idea of changing the world, thank God. For me, the elderly and the sick were not very useful. Instead, what you discover is that this is not the case at all. All the ideas you have in your head about what God needs, about what is most useful to Him… are you with me? God sweeps it all away.

So, the first thing I want to tell you. What have I seen since the beginning of this mission? I have seen that in sick people who are approaching death, a radical change takes place: the fear of illness, the fear of death, this fear of a leap into the dark, is transformed into an infinite desire to embrace Jesus. I don't know if you can sense it. Here is the father of one of our very first patients. Or rather, the entire family were the patients. The second person on our list of 300 was not very religious or a true CL member—for those who know what CL is. She was simply a person who was suffering and, at one point, asked for sedation because she couldn't take it anymore. Okay? At this stage—correct me if I'm wrong—half asleep, she says to her mother, “I want to go home.” Her mother replies, “Look, you are home. You are here with Mom and Dad.” And she says, “No, I want to go home.” Her mother tries to understand: “Do you want to go back to your own home?” “No, Mom, I want to go back to my home.” Is that true or not? She says it in a way, I assure you, that is clear, simple, and beautiful. Wonderful.

Our Piergiorgio is also already in Heaven. Later, I will show you some photographs because it is by seeing the faces of these sick people that you understand the change that is taking place. I met Piergiorgio when I visited him in the hospital to celebrate Mass in his room. They had just amputated one of his legs because of diabetes—a disaster—and they had to amputate the other one too. After Mass, I asked him, “Piergiorgio, what do you want to say to your friends who are connected?” And he said, “Friends, I give my legs to you. God gave us legs to walk. And if I give you my legs, don't be idiots! Walk, run! Don't waste your time.” As he said this, I was standing there looking at that stump and thinking, “How can anyone say that?”

What's even more fascinating is that a few months ago, before he died, he called Rosa, our secretary. “Hi, Rosa!” “Hi, Piergiorgio, how are you?” “I'm fine, I'm fine. I'll be home soon.” And Rosa said, “Are you leaving the hospital?” “What are you talking about, Rosa? I'm going home. To my house. The doctors told me I have a few hours, a few days left. And knowing that you won't be able to come and see me in time, I'm calling you so I can say goodbye. Bye, see you in Heaven.” And he hung up. Then he called Antonio: “Hi, Antonio!” “Hi, who is this?” “It's Piergiorgio. I wanted to say goodbye before I go to Heaven.” But you know what sick people are like. What sick person, before dying, calls you with joy—do you understand me?—to say goodbye? Not with a sense of condemnation, but of fulfillment.

Another friend of ours: we sent a priest to give him the Holy Oil. He was a priest who, he told us, had only been there a short time; perhaps it was the first Holy Oil he had ever administered, so he didn't really know what to do. He began to move his hand to anoint him, and the man in the bed took his hand—the priest was even frightened—and asked him, “What is your name?” The sick man asking the priest! “Father… I don't remember, Father Luigi.” “Father Luigi, as soon as I go to Heaven, remember that I will pray for you.” And this man had gone to give the Holy Oil and he hears this! Do you understand?

The first thing, really, is this. I saw my mom and dad die as saints, so I've already seen what it means to give up your life with certainty and joy. Okay? But seeing so many together is a truly mysterious, truly great thing. So, the first thing I'm seeing is that death is absolutely not scary; rather, my friends, the encounter with Jesus is desirable. We Christians tell each other that death—what we call death—is a door that opens wide onto Paradise. A door! Not those dead faces we make when someone dies. Jesus says to the apostles, “If you knew where I was going, you would rejoice with me. And where I am going, I will prepare a place for you. And after I have prepared it, I will come and take you with me, and I will take you where I am.” This is the first wonderful gift that I am seeing in this friendship that we call the Quadratini. This moment, which still terrifies so many, is no longer frightening.

The second wonderful thing that moves me… how can I explain it? Many people write to us, perhaps because we have a website, asking, “Are you the association that prepares people for death?” And we answer no. Even if we do die. There are 300 of us, which means that every week we say goodbye to one or two friends. It's tough, very tough. But we say, “No, we don't prepare for death.” There's an explosion of life! This is the other characteristic that makes you say, “But how is that possible?” Is it an explosion of life when I'm well? No! When I'm active and getting things done? No! It's an explosion of life, of joy, in these circumstances. But not superficial joy: it's life, the will to live, the taste of what is there, of what you have. To give you an example, I have several Quadratini who—you know, right now there is a whole discussion about assisted suicide—tell me, “Eugenio, we have to start another association: ‘Assisted Life,’ because we want to live!” This too, I assure you, is impressive.

So there is an explosion—I assure you, a real explosion—of a taste for life, for what is, for what you have, for what you are. And as a consequence, interestingly, this also leads to embracing illness, which is part of life, and even death, which is part of life. An explosion of life. The last event we held was in Rimini during the Meeting. Since many are part of the movement or go to Rimini anyway, those who can move obviously join in. So we always create an opportunity to get together. That day we met in Rimini and had lunch together. You were there too, Gigi. An explosion of life, an impressive thing. There were young friends who helped us; there were 300 of us. There were prisoners from the Pope John XXIII Community who came to help serve, but they couldn't believe it. They said, “If you see them, these people don't look sick. They don't look like people who are going to die soon.” And why? Because of the joy they have in their hearts. So, this is the second characteristic: infinite joy. Okay.

Third point, and then I'll show you the faces. This is the great Caterina; many of you knew her. She died a saint, a true saint. Okay. An impressive thing. Her adventure began with an autoimmune disease that destroyed almost everything. At a certain point, she needed a liver transplant. She had the first transplant; it went badly. She had a second transplant a week later, and she died. But her adventure—to show that these are not people to whom an angel appeared, okay?—is that of people who challenge life. Her adventure begins with a knife in her hand. Her husband, an extraordinary man transfigured by his wife's illness and death, told us about it. Is it true or not? Transfigured. Knife in hand, in the kitchen, under the crucifix, saying, “My dear, you gave me a heart and a promise of happiness. I don't see any of that here. So, my dear friend, either you show me how you win—not that you heal me, I don't give a damn about healing—but you show me that you fulfill the promise you gave to my heart to be happy, or else you can go to hell. I don't know what to do with a God like that.” Dramatic, isn't it? With a knife in her hand. It was a story where this promise not only came true but became a beauty that still accompanies our lives today.

And the children… Between transplants, the daughter tells us: “Our mom gave us a gift: she made us understand, through experience, that you can live without your mom.” “Let's not bullshit, you can live without your mom.” “And as I say this, I get a lump in my throat,” says the 16-year-old daughter. “Because I say something, and maybe tonight my mom won't be here anymore. And as I say this, it hits me here. But she gave us this gift. You can live without a mom, but you can't live without that cool guy she introduced us to.” The 16-year-old daughter. She died giving herself totally, with prayers… I lost my glasses, damn it.

She writes to us: “He stretched out his arms on the cross.” Today, during Mass for the sick, I felt like crying at this sentence. “On January 3, my high fever returned. I've been on antibiotics for eleven days. I will have to continue for another four days while I wait to be readmitted to the hospital, wait for a transplant, wait to feel a little better. And in the meantime, the disease bites. It bites the bile ducts, clamping them shut. It bites the diaphragm, inflaming it. It bites the stomach like a rabid dog. It bites, devouring everything I was. It exposes my weaknesses, my insecurities, my misery. I can't pray; I can't be there for my friends. I am frustrated by this condition. A thousand times a day I think of Jesus. I think that maybe I am disappointing him. So I say to him, ‘Lord, I can't do it, forgive me.’ And tears come to my eyes and I say, ‘You do it!’ Then tonight, this phrase: ‘He stretched out his arms on the cross.’ And I cried, because I felt the tendons of my arms stretching out on my cross. ‘By dying, he destroyed death.’ I, who am always worried about disappointing you, Lord, today, in that moment, I found you with me again. We stretch out our arms on the cross. I have no power over death, but You do. By dying, You destroyed death. By dying, You conquered my nothingness. By dying, You sanctify my misery, my pain, the repulsion I feel for my evil, my frustration, weakness, and weariness. But we stretch out our arms on the cross. You stretch them out to acquire a holy people, to come and seek us out and take us one by one. I stretch them out to find You in my nothingness. I stretch out my arms to return to You.”

She wrote these things at a dramatic moment in her life when she discovered that to perform a liver transplant, they stretch your arms out to open your chest wide. When she found out, for the second transplant, before the doctor came to put her in that position, she put herself in it, saying, “I am ready, Jesus. I stretch out my arms together with You.” Catherine, saint. This is our Catherine.

Then other friends… Look, what a beautiful face. Cheerful, isn't she? We took this on the day of her husband's funeral, as they lowered the coffin into the grave. And someone might say, “Excuse me, but how can she have a face like that?” Because her husband, a few days before he died, wrote to her… May I read this to you? “Hello, I say goodbye to all my loved ones. I love you all so much. I didn't think I could love you this much. I have been praying all night to entrust you to the Lord, and you continue to do so too. I am not afraid. I am going to my mother. I'm taking you with me, and I'll tell her all the beautiful things I've seen in these last few days. I'll always be with you. Please, don't be desperate, but be sure that I am with you with the Lord. Always love one another. I am proud of all of you, of the steps you are taking. I embrace you all. I wasn't even feeling that bad these last few days, but tonight I felt the need to write to you. I wanted to say so many different things to each of you, but in my heart, my wish has already come true. Thank you for all the love you have shown me. All is forgiven, nothing will be lost, all is saved in the heart of Christ's glory.” One day before he died, on the form they give you at the hospital to order your meals. And she is the great wife who was able to live and enjoy this.

Pietrino, from Atalanta. You see, Pietrino is a wonderful little boy. I'll tell you his story because, among the many, there are also many children, not just elderly people. We heard about this couple of friends who had a baby born in Chiavari at 22 weeks and two days, weighing 495 grams. He could fit in one hand. It was impressive. According to protocol, if a baby is born before 22 weeks, they do nothing; they let it die. After 22 weeks, if the parents agree, they begin all the procedures. We went to visit this Pietrino. Imagine how we found him: full of tubes, oxygen… that's how he is now. He was on vacation with us in Calambrone. Wonderful.

Two things struck me and I want to tell you about them. You are mothers. Such a fragile child—even today we don't know if he can hear or see; his heart, his lungs, he's fragile, weak—what would you do? You wouldn't leave him alone for a moment, right? Mom and Dad? Instead, throughout the vacation, he was always in someone's arms. In the pool, out of the pool… One mother said to Pietrino's mother, “Excuse me, help me understand, how can you entrust your son to everyone? It's not possible!” And what did the mother reply? “No, my dear. I don't entrust my son to everyone. I entrust him to my family.” Just think, there were 300 of us. What an awareness of a relationship! Of course, Pietrino now… he's too cute, I love him to bits.

The other thing I want to tell you about this family. Imagine this family, these young people. You think you're going to meet two people who are desperate because of their situation, but instead, they tell you that after a few months in the hospital, another baby like theirs was born, tiny, in the same condition. And what do they do? It takes them half an hour to ask to adopt him. No! I say, “No, come on. Let me get this straight. You already have your own, months in the hospital, a hellish mess, and you also go and…” Then the baby didn't survive; he died after ten days. “What made you do something like that?” And they say, “Exactly! We have our little boy here, and we're doing everything we can to keep him alive, to save him. And that one? That one is the same. We'll take that one too.” Do you understand what Christianity is? It's a life that explodes. They are all examples.

My little Pietro. Martina. I went to say Mass for her last week. Martina has leukemia. The first transplant went wrong, the second transplant went wrong, and now the tumor has returned. I said Mass. Neither her father nor her mother was there, just her and her three little brothers. It was a beautiful Mass in their home, with everyone close to me praying. But they weren't just praying; she and her little brothers had beautiful faces, aware of what was happening. I asked, “Martina, what beautiful thing shall we ask Jesus for?” One would think she'd say, “Pray for me,” because she was undergoing her last tests. But instead, she said, “No, no. Let's pray for everyone, let's pray for her.” A little girl who has this desire for life inside her. So she studies, and she says… “That's right, I have a recurrence.” “And now?” “And now I live, come on. Now I live.” That is, I embrace reality.

This is another friend of ours, from Cremona. She has the same tumor, also very, very tough. But listen to what she says. I'm talking about her tumor, and she, talking about her life and the experience she is having, says, “It's as if I'm living a preview of Paradise. Right now, it's the aperitif of a wonderful lunch that awaits me.” She's talking about the mess she's in!

The Calambrone holidays. There's even a swimming pool. The pool in Lourdes is nothing compared to ours. It's amazing. This is a girl… I don't know what you call those who never sit still in their wheelchairs… whom I love to bits. She's the one who drew the picture that became our Quadratini e Carità logo. I like her because she… has difficulty speaking, you can't understand her, but she always wants to join in because she's intelligent. Who understands her if her mom or dad or an interpreter isn't there? But why do I like her? Because for us Quadratini, it's always a challenge. When she joins in, she says, “I find it hard to accept this condition. I see that you are happy and I want that so badly, but it upsets me because I can't do it. So help me. I came here to Mass again tonight, I connected because I need to see someone who lives what I would like to live, even if I can't do it.” And she connects every time. And every time… Gigi, it's beautiful, it's stratospheric.

Great! Always on vacation in Calambrone. This year he was really happy. He was there. He's also a bit messed up; he struggles, sometimes he gets angry. This scene happens at dinner. He's at the head of the table and, on the other side, there's a friend from Bergamo with, I don't know exactly, a kind of senile dementia, the kind where they keep their mouths open and don't talk. After dinner, this boy says to his dad, “Dad, take me to Enrico.” So his dad takes him to Enrico, and he starts talking. “Who are you? What's your name?” But what's so nice about it? They start talking. He asks questions and Enrico, with great effort, begins to answer, “My name is Enrico.” They talk until the last question he asks him is, “Do you have a driver's license?” And Enrico explains that he no longer has one; they took it away from him. And what does this boy ask him? “Can you be my wheelchair driver?” No… The scene… It may seem a little strange to you. The next day, you see this guy happy as a clam, and the other one a little happier, pushing the wheelchair around the park. And you say, “What the…?”

We had the final meeting. After Mass, we asked, “Does anyone want to say anything?” And what did he ask? “Enrico, will you come and live at my house?” Now his wife and Enrico are going up to visit them.

What a wonderful face. Beautiful, this one too. This one is historic. A friend of ours, Marida, a teacher in Liguria. She teaches at a vocational school. One day, they were talking about happiness. “Does happiness exist?” And all the kids said, “No!” What a mess. “In fact, we were born in the unluckiest period in history, with COVID… what a load of rubbish! Happiness is an illusion.” Imagine the atmosphere. She tells us, “I couldn't get through to them, our kids, all very cynical about the taste of life.” Then she remembered she had this photo on her phone. She pulls up the photo and says, “Look at this photo.” Everyone looks at it and then she says, “Now write down what you see.” And everyone writes, “Oh, these guys are lucky! They're happy! You can see that life has been good to them.” And then she says, “Now I'll tell you who they are. Zeno, a friend of ours, has a brain tumor, spent two years in the hospital, and is now in a wheelchair. Riccardo's wife just died a week ago after twelve years of multiple sclerosis. And Gigliola is dying of cancer.” And these were the people who had said, “You can see that circumstances are going well for them.” The teacher said, “Everything changed.” Because if a moment before they were saying, “Eh, it's the circumstances…,” they were forced to say, “But then it's not just circumstances, good or bad, that make life a fascinating adventure.” They were forced to change.

This is our great treasure. Is that true or not? Do you know her? She too… when she was born, if I remember correctly, she had a few minutes where no blood reached her brain, and so she remained like that. She can't sit still, she moves, she doesn't speak, but she can eat baby food. I'm telling you this to show how even a limitation can become an extraordinary opportunity. When she was little, it wasn't clear whether she understood. One day, her father noticed at nursery that she was jumping on the boards with letters used to make words. He realized that she wasn't moving randomly but was spelling out words: H-I-L-O. From then on, he understood that not only did she understand, but she wanted to communicate. From there began a very long and difficult task for her parents. The famous boards with A, B, C, D… and she began to point, which took incredible patience on their part. She went to elementary and middle school. When she finished middle school, her father said, “So, Elisa, do you want to go to high school?” “Yes.” “And what school do you want to go to?” “Languages.” Her father told us, “Elisa, I thought you were a smart girl. I was wrong. You can't speak, how can you study languages?” And she replied, “Dad, I can listen and I can translate.” She studied languages at university. She is fluent in Spanish, German, and Russian and is collaborating with the Catholic University on translations from Russian. How does she communicate? Moving like that, she can't even use a pointer. The only part of her body that responds to her brain is her knee. So her parents built her a connection: she writes by touching a button connected to the computer with her knee. When I found out—because I had also looked at her, this beautiful girl, but you look for a moment and think “poor thing,” with affection—but when I heard this story, damn it, I brought it out. Do you remember? We were in Calambrone. “Look at her, and don't be idiots like me, who looked at her thinking ‘poor thing,’ instead…”. And I told her story. Elisa, wonderful. Today she is in Padua, too.

Look at this guy's face. A priest in Sardinia, looked after by some friends from the group. Because, as I said, I travel around. When I was in Sardinia, where there are some Quadratini, we went to visit him. This is the face I found him with. We stayed there for a while, we celebrated Mass. He couldn't actively participate, but as we were leaving, with that face, he said to us, “Today, right now, I can die. I can go to Heaven at this very moment.” But not with resignation, with that face. That's why I wanted to show you the photos.

This is a group; I don't know where we were here. Multiple sclerosis in a wheelchair, cancer, cancer, the Elisa I told you about before… But look at their faces. Do they look like the faces of people who are dying, who are sick, who are desperate? This is the miracle of Christ's adventure in life.

This moved me, it really moved me. I don't know how long she has been in what is called a vegetative state. But this girl… her mother who goes there every day… it moved me completely. She talks to her, tells her stories as if she were listening, reads to her. But also this thing here… I don't know how it works. A young girl, twenty years old, with this happy and peaceful face.

Suffering from ALS, from Pescara. She's tough, tough, tough. This also makes us suffer a little because every now and then she tells us, “I have to die, I want to die.” She was a journalist; she traveled the world, she did TV reports. And now she can't do anything anymore. This is another thing that is happening in a wonderful way. All these people who, until the day before, were doing so much good, so many activities, and then suddenly they can't do anything. So the question that arises in everyone, for sure, is, “What am I good for? I can't do anything anymore.” And she is one of them. “I can't do anything anymore. Not only that, I'm going blind, and the day I go blind, I won't be able to communicate with the pointer anymore. I've already asked to end it.” And she asked me, “Eugenio, when that happens, will you abandon me like everyone else, or will you stay by my side?” I don't answer. It's dramatic but understandable. We don't make concessions. “But will you be by my side, or…?”

Another of our treasures: Alfredo and Laura, his wife. Before they got married, he said to her, “I'm not marrying you. I've been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I love you too much, so I'm not marrying you, because I know what a shitty life I'll give you.” And Laura said to him, “But it's precisely because I love you that I'm marrying you.” The problem is that the disease progressed very quickly. Within a few years, Alfredo is already there, motionless, with his mouth open. He doesn't speak, we don't know if he understands or not, he needs everything. And seeing this Laura, this woman, who lives her relationship with her husband Alfredo in a way… but even here, to tell you about it… Gigi, you would have to hear Laura tell it, with joy, happiness, certainty, and infinite gratitude.

Oh well, this is my friend, who is also a bit of a miracle. Leukemia. A year ago, the leukemia disappeared. Those are miracles.

No, this too. This is too much. Where are they? Two shitty Inter fans! Him and her. Wait, because it's a nice thing. SLA patient. She can no longer stay at home because it's too small, her husband can't cope anymore, the situation was becoming unbearable. I go to see her, we strike up a relationship and I say to her, “My dear, circumstances dictate that you can no longer stay here at home. It's simple. We need to find an alternative.” What is the alternative? A facility. It was painful for her… she cried, “No, no, no, no!” But after a long time, she is now in a facility in Monza. If you ask her how it is, she says, “Thank goodness I came here!” Her husband can breathe, she is being cared for. But that's not all. That day, three days after she arrived, she said to us, “Do you know where I'm going on Sunday?” “Where are you going? You're bedridden with ALS, you can't move.” “To the stadium, to San Siro!” “How are you going to San Siro?” “Yes, I'm going to San Siro. And do you know who I'm going with?” And we said, “With your husband?” “No, he's doing his own thing. The head doctor is taking me.” The head doctor of this clinic has already taken her to the stadium twice to see Inter play. This guy… I don't know if he's a Christian or not, you know? But have you ever heard of a head doctor, a doctor, taking you to the stadium? But she says, “Before, I was surviving, now I'm living.” So, on the one hand, in order to have those faces there, you also need to meet people, faces that…

This is one of our saints in Heaven. She leaves with her little heart, which she always did. I could tell the story of all of them, but we have to tell this one. Our Gigi, our singer. Sara. She also had leukemia, a year in the hospital, young. Initially, when she attended this Mass, she said, “But what do I have to do with all these old people? I'm 19!” But then she fell in love, and now she is our love, I don't know what to call her. She is part of us. And when she can, she sings beautifully. But this struck me when she was in the hospital. Just think about it. She said, “Can you only experience the hospital as a patient? Not me. I wanted to experience the circumstances as if I were present, because I am alive. I am here in the hospital, but I am alive.” So, for example, think about it, if she had been at home, what would she have been doing at that time? “I would have gone to the gym.” So she would put on her tracksuit, as if she were going to the gym. “And what would I have done now? I would have gone to school, to university.” So she would get all dressed up. Every action she took in the hospital was to live that hour intensely, not to pretend. Now she is our giant love.

These… I don't know if you know them. This one is dying… no, let's hope not, but she has a few months to live, three brain tumors. And when she speaks, she always laughs and says, “I only have the present moment, because I'm like yogurt, with an expiration date. But mine has already expired, because I was supposed to die already and I'm not dying. But the tumors are there.” Is that true or not? One of the happiest women I've ever seen in my life. But not superficially happy. They enjoy life, they love it. That's all.

This guy too, wonderful. Okay. It was just to show you some faces. And I'll finish… I have a few more here, whoever wants them can take them. The faces. Some time ago, we discovered this crucifix. It is located in a castle where St. Francis Xavier was born, in Spain, and it struck me so much because, maybe from a distance you can't see it well, it is a crucifix where Jesus smiles. And we immediately said to ourselves, “But what is there to smile about for someone on the cross?” But we immediately added, “It's us.” Have you seen them in the photographs? Is it us on the cross? Is it true or not? But on the cross, eh. But they're smiling. Why? What is there to smile about when you're sick? Sickness is shit, illnesses are awful. So why are you smiling? Because there is something more powerful, greater even than illness. And what is greater, more powerful than illness or any difficult circumstance in life? The presence of someone who loves you madly. A child who has his mom and dad by his side, even if he is sick, is happy. Is that true or not? You can see it. If someone is alone, even if they are healthy, it's tough.

One last thing, can I steal another minute? But I have to sit down. If I find it… forgive me. Because even in our friendship there are tough moments, eh. For example, some time ago, a little square took her own life. The first little square to commit suicide, here in Varese. You understand that when it happened, it sparked a big debate, even among us. Many friends said to me, “Eugenio, if not even the friendship of the little squares, if not even belonging to the movement, if not even her father or husband were able to… then what does it take to save her?” You understand that the question became tough. But I'll read to you, if I can find it… sooner or later I'll find it… what a little square friend wrote the next day, to tell you how you can truly live everything. Wait, I'll find it… I have it on my phone.

I wish you, and I'll end with this reflection, to understand that life is a mess. Life is tough. But life, in someone's arms, everything becomes lovable. Until it happens again, in God's Church, among us Christians, that someone, with their face, okay, not with words, tells us that life is a wonderful adventure, that God doesn't screw you over, that God completes what he has started in you… If God raises up such faces here too, Christianity will still have a chance at life. Otherwise, dear friends… But God will continue to raise up such faces, and that is our good fortune.

Think about what this friend writes. This girl who committed suicide said, “I have a monster inside me that won't leave me alone.” You can understand the drama. And he writes to the monster: “Dear monster, today you seem to have won. You seem to have taken a friend. You managed to take away my smile. You managed, for an interminable moment, to make me feel alone. Yet, even today, you have lost, dear monster. As has been the case for 2000 years, you have lost, because Stefania is His. Stefania belongs to Jesus. He bought her at a high price, with all his blood, and then he rose again. I cannot imagine that Stefania's last cry fell on deaf ears. Dear monster, today you have lost because my sadness is turning into a question, into a cry. The same as Stefania's. ‘Lord, save me! Please, save me!’. Like Peter, I beg you, take my hand and don't let me drown. My cry, dear monster, is your defeat.”

Here, I wish you to be able to live the circumstances that God puts before us—you understand—with this certainty, with this cry, with this question. Look how beautiful it is! Sadness is turning into a cry and a question. That is where all our freedom and the possibility of seeing Christ win in our lives is at stake, my friends. So, if you happen to pray from time to time, I'm not talking about the squares—you have the squares too, don't you? An elderly person, a sick person, a father, a child of sick parents… the world is full of them.

I'll leave here, if you want to take them, the gift I always bring when I visit a new sick person: the smiling Jesus. It's a wonderful thing and I see that everyone is impressed, and then they stick it somewhere, because they say, “Hey, that's me!” And no one is stupid, eh. It's not that they confuse themselves with Jesus, but they are living the exact same experience. Thank you very much and have a good journey.

Presenter: If there are any questions or comments, we can give ourselves a few more minutes.

Audience: How do you become friends?

Fr. Eugenio Nembrini: Ah, right, how do you become a little square? You have to have an illness! No, I'm joking. Ha, ha! Why “little squares”? Right. Because one little square, a friend, one day said, “We little squares…,” because on Zoom you see each other in lots of little squares. And from that day on, we started calling ourselves that. How do you join? Word of mouth. Someone says, “Fr. Eugenio, my mom is sick, my cousin can't go to church…” But also atheists. For example, one of the most beautiful things happened with a friend of ours from Sardinia, one of the first to participate. After four or five days of attending Mass, he, who was not a Christian, said in perfect Sardinian: “I don't understand what you're saying, and I don't believe a word of it. I don't agree with anything.” And I said to him, “Excuse me, but why have you been participating for four days if you don't believe a word of what we say?” And he said, “I don't know, but there's a kind of attraction.” Beautiful. “Then throw all your thoughts down the toilet and stay attached to this attraction.”

So, how do you get in? Somehow, through an attraction. Either the sick person himself knows about the initiative, or someone suggests it to him: “Are you interested in participating in a Mass with Fr. Eugenio and the sick? It's a Mass they do via Zoom every day.” If he says yes, give us his name and phone number. Period. We'll add them to the circle of squares. Then someone may remain in the dark for months, not showing up, not getting in touch. That's the least of our problems. Everyone is free. But that's how it is, understand? Ask them, there has to be an act of freedom. Keep in mind that many come in on the first day and run away, eh. Because this is a crazy world. “These people are all crazy, they do coke, they take something good, because it's not possible!” I assure you, these are thrilling testimonies, of a certainty that makes you say, “It's almost impossible.” But even though you have this initial backlash, then the experience takes hold and you say, “But they can't all be crazy. There's something big and real here.” Name and phone number, done. You join the group.

Giulia's father: Giulia's father, thank you. Yes, I'm Giulia's father. No, but I don't want to talk about Giulia, but about Carmelo, whom you knew very well. Why am I talking about Carmelo? Because when you said at the beginning, “a friendship is not born at a table”… Carmelo was from Syracuse, he was from Catania. You can hear it from his clear accent. I was supposed to go back to Catania today, but as soon as I heard that Fr. Eugenio was there, I moved my flight to tomorrow. My wife was supposed to come too, but she's not feeling well. As I was saying, our friend Carmelo, who also had leukemia and passed away almost four years ago, asked me… We knew each other by sight, we weren't close friends. But at a certain point, while he was hospitalized at the Policlinico di Catania, he sent me a message: “You know, I'd like you to bring me an iris.” The iris is a sweet from Catania that we eat for breakfast. Because he had leukemia, they couldn't let me in. So every morning I would stop by the bakery near my house, pick up this iris, go to the hospital, leave it with the nurses, and go to work. The next day, the same thing. This went on for at least a month and a half. But what was the most important thing? One day, since he couldn't see me, he said that as soon as he woke up, he would put his hand on the bedside table, touch that iris, and say, “Today Jesus visited me.” And this thing, then others, the pizza… But the most beautiful thing, and you have to say this, was when he was “wrapped up.”

Fr. Eugenio Nembrini: This boy was wonderful, a young man loved by everyone. His last journey was to enter that sterile room, because leukemia patients must not have any contact. He took a photo, a selfie: him, lying on the bed, wrapped in those golden thermal sheets. He sent this photo to his friends on social media saying, “My dear friends, what a joker God is! To remind me that I am precious, he wrapped me in gift paper.” Perfect. We all laughed. But this boy was going to die. So, either he was really doing some good stuff that you can only find in Sicily, or do you understand what it means for Jesus to happen in our lives? Do you want that? I do. And being with these sick people, I discover and recognize it more and more, every day. That's why I love Jesus more and more every day, because I see him winning in every possible and imaginable situation.

Giulia's father: And I love Jesus every day too. And the best thing is that when we Sicilian squares get together from time to time at the home of Lisetta, Carmelo's wife, on a very beautiful estate, my job is to bring irises for everyone. Thank you.

Fr. Eugenio Nembrini: Oh, yes. Good.

Presenter: Thank you, thank you all, thank you Eugenio. I think everyone is going home with a challenge for their own life, wherever they are. Here you will find the image of the smiling Christ and also the cards.

Fr. Eugenio Nembrini: Initially, they are images, they are squares, then you go and find them and discover that behind that square there is a life, a world, a mess. There are people who have no money at all. And so, years ago, we also set up an association, “Quadratini e Carità” (Squares and Charity), which has already been included in the associations that can receive five per thousand. So, keep that in mind. I brought some cards here. Anyway, it costs nothing, but one, two, three, five thousand… It's true that each of you already has your own associations, but if you keep in mind that there is also this one… We have also made pens with “Quadratini e Carità” written on them with the tax code, which is what you need for the five per thousand. You can take these too. Thank you all very much, bye.

Voices from the audience: Thank you, thank you, thank you.