The Gift of Being Preferred

Preference was the way to help the other see that God is like this—every person a masterpiece of God.
— Monsignor Ennio Apeciti
ENGLISH - the gift of being prepared.
Monsignor Ennio Apeciti
ITALIANO - il dono di essere preferiti
Monsignor Ennio Apeciti

Ennio Apeciti - The Gift of Being Preferred.

Ennio Apeciti on Luigi Giussani: Testimony of a Passionate Educator

On May 14, 2026, Archbishop of Milan Mario Delpini will preside over the Mass closing the diocesan phase of the inquiry for the beatification and canonization of Don Giussani. Joining us today is Monsignor Ennio Apeciti, diocesan director for the causes of the saints in the Archdiocese of Milan and the archbishop’s delegate for the cause of beatification of the founder of Communion and Liberation.

Welcome to Extraordinary Stories. Thank you for being here with us.

Thank you.

Don Giussani often spoke of the centrality of the living Christ. What does that really mean in the concrete life of a person today?

If Christ is who Christ says he is, then the Angelus already tells us the answer—he came to dwell among us; he dwells with us still. I think the real novelty is exactly this: Christ is not only someone who came two thousand years ago and taught two thousand years ago. He is a real, daily presence, a presence that walks with us. That is what centrality means. He is here today, right beside us, and he accompanies me in every moment of my day, of my life. Today he is here with me; today he walks with me. I don’t know whether I’ve answered fully—I leave it there for you to think about.

You knew Father Giussani personally. Is there a moment, a human detail, that conveys who he was better than any other—even to someone who never met him? Who was Father Giussani?

I met him face to face twice, in connection with the beatification causes of Giuseppe Lazzati and Paul VI. For me those were personal encounters, because I had to question him about both causes. What struck me most—I was still a young man, standing in front of a figure like Giussani—was his warmth. He gave me the feeling he already knew me, that he had always known me. His kindness, and his eyes. His eyes struck me. Eyes of such depth, such presence, such openness that they pulled you in.

Then there was his way of speaking about Paul VI—which the research later confirmed: a real intimacy, a real friendship, real affection. He was almost moved as he talked about him. As for Giuseppe Lazzati, we know they did not share the same ideas or positions. But the respect, the esteem, the approval he had for Lazzati came through clearly. He recalled their meeting; they had wanted to meet, and afterward he insisted on walking him home because it was late. As he said goodbye he remarked, “A great and important man. I’m glad we met—he is a great man and deserves respect in any case.”

That has always stayed with me. We live in an age so quick to criticize, and what came back to me from him was kindness, goodwill toward me, and the inner peace that came through his eyes.

It is said that Father Giussani anticipated certain aspects of the contemporary Church. In what sense was his experience so relevant—I would almost say prophetic—in some respects?

This comes through in the judgment of the theological censors as well. As you know, his writings had to be submitted for review, and one of the two censors made a striking observation: Giussani was formed in the school of his own time—the school of Venegono, with the limits of that period. And yet his thought already anticipates the Second Vatican Council, especially at the ecclesiological level. The Church as communion: think of Lumen Gentium, and then the importance of our own commitment to the Church’s presence in the world.

He anticipated Apostolicam Actuositatem as well—the commitment of the laity is not the exclusive domain of the clergy; the laity matter as such. And at the center, the foundation of it all, the Eucharist. The celebration. The liturgy he loved. Think of the care he took with the hymns. He would get upset if he saw a sloppy celebration. Listening to the witnesses on this point was beautiful. Why? Because the liturgy is the expression of the encounter with God, of God’s presence among us.

And then there was his deep capacity for dialogue. After all, everything began because he had the courage to enter into conversation. I wouldn’t compare him to a Saint Aloysius Gonzaga so much as to a Saint Jerome—someone who spoke with passion and did not back away. The dialogue is genuinely beautiful. One witness even mentioned that there were occasional flare-ups, but it was Giussani who would come back and say, quietly, “Let’s try to understand each other now that we’re both calmer, because what matters is that we had the courage to talk to each other.” That is the dialogue Paul VI would later set out in Ecclesiam Suam. That is how prophetic he was.

As you have followed his path toward beatification so closely, what is emerging today that is new—and most surprising—about his figure? What is coming out of the acts and the testimonies?

From the records, I would say: the care he took in his relationship with authority. You sometimes hear it said that he ultimately acted on his own. What actually emerges is something different—a genuine, cordial, priestly obedience to the bishop as such. His relationship with Giovanni Colombo is beautiful. His relationship with Carlo Maria Martini is beautiful; they held each other in high esteem, and each knew he could count on the other’s attention and obedience. And especially his relationship with Montini, who understood him. It is beautiful to read Montini saying, in effect, “I don’t fully grasp all of his reasons,” because Giussani really was a renewal of pastoral life—but I keep going back to it, because the beauty of this reality is exactly that: a deep relationship, a truly ecclesial obedience, which came through in full from the interrogations and the documentation.

I would also dare to add something about what he called “preference.” Many witnesses said, “I felt preferred.” A third witness drily asked, “Well, how many favorites does he have?” It was beautiful to dig into this. What looked like uneven preference was actually his way of helping the other person see that God is like this. He himself gave a beautiful description: God chose the people of Israel as his preferred ones, not as a privilege but as a sign of how much God loves everyone. So preference becomes a gift, an attention I give you so that you can pass on to others what the truth of my relationship is. Giussani acted in ways that made you feel your own importance. You are precious in God’s eyes the way you are precious in mine—but I want you to carry this to everyone, because every person is a masterpiece of God. The care, the attention to make you feel chosen, was the attention itself. To make you feel loved. That discovery was very beautiful, because there is always the risk of playing favorites—and what came through, in fact, was that preference was election. Preference was witness.

If you were to speak to a young person today—maybe someone far from the faith, including young people in Student Youth—what aspect of Don Giussani would you feel most urgent to communicate?

I think he would tell them: you can bring real happiness into your life, because that is the true, deep value of your existence. Have you asked yourself why you exist? What is your destiny? What is your purpose? What richness do you have to offer? He would challenge you to look inside, to go down into yourself. Who are you? Have you ever asked yourself who you are? Why do you exist? Why do you exist today, in this moment, in this place?

These are questions people seem to dodge. You can’t keep going like that. Giussani began exactly there. Others didn’t follow him on it, but he would say: “Guys, let’s try to talk.” When it was someone’s turn, the person might say, “I’m not interested in any of this.” “Fine—then tell me why you’re not interested,” and that would push them to look inside, to find the courage to ask themselves the questions.

My impression is that young people today almost never ask themselves these questions. They look away from what is inside; they try to flee even from silence by drowning it in noise. Think of their love for classical music, the kind that lets them enter into themselves—not to numb themselves but to go inward. Who are you? Why do you exist? What meaning can your life carry? What meaning can beauty carry? A young person today needs to ask those questions. The question is whether they have the courage to aim high, to look past the so-called great things to what is actually great. Claudel comes to mind: “Aim, or do not aim.” The importance of being great.

Giussani always pushed us not to settle for mediocrity. To aim high, because God wants us to aim high. To value our own qualities, not to be lukewarm. As Don Carlo Gnocchi put it: “I urge you.”

Thank you. Thank you very much, Monsignor Apeciti, for your time with us—time we don’t take for granted—and best wishes for the other causes you are carrying forward. Thank you.

“Thank you. My best to you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Source: https://youtu.be/ZmyNnlqljOE?si=rXaNcmiUwnrde3Yv
Author’s notes and interview, not revised by the author.

Previous
Previous

He Reaches the Core

Next
Next

Mary and the Grace of a New Beginning