Attachmentlettrejvpaques2015en.pdf 
Easter 2015
I am writing to you from hospital where I have come for minor surgery. This has allowed me five good days of rest and prayer with Jesus in vulnerability, during the week leading up to Easter. My room on the fourth floor affords a splendid view of the sky, which is often cloudy, but sometimes radiantly blue. My time is spent looking at the immense sky, contemplating it, gazing at the clouds endlessly reforming themselves as they take on the shapes of bizarre animals or faces. The immensity of these boundless skies is a sign of the immensity of God, creator of the heavens and the earth. Beyond the clouds and the blue sky there is the Infinitude of God, and above all, the person of God, so far from us, and yet so near [...]
Download the Letter 2015 - I am writing to you from hospital where I have come for minor surgery. This has allowed me five good days of rest and prayer with Jesus in vulnerability, during the week leading up to Easter. My room on the fourth floor affords a splendid view of the sky, which is often cloudy, but sometimes radiantly blue. My time is spent looking at the immense sky, contemplating it, gazing at the clouds endlessly reforming themselves as they take on the shapes of bizarre animals or faces. The immensity of these boundless skies is a sign of the immensity of God, creator of the heavens and the earth. Beyond the clouds and the blue sky there is the Infinitude of God, and above all, the person of God, so far from us, and yet so near. The events of our world are sometimes terribly painful: accidents, deaths, wars, illnesses, refugees fleeing their homelands etc. There are of course also events full of tenderness, moments of peace and unifying gestures of solidarity. The earth carries the continual movement of births and deaths, of growth and diminishment, of gains and losses, of deaths and resurrections. There is a past and a future. In contemplating the heavens through my window, I try to stay in the present moment, in the "now", in the silence where there is neither past nor future but only the present of God. God is. For me, in this moment in hospital, "to stay" implies a struggle against anxiety and the need to act and be on the go - at least in my head. It is a sweet thing to be able to abide in love. I re-read St John in the light of this term "abide" which is one of the key words of this gospel. To abide in God and to let God abide in me. God is our abode in a life often marked by losses and humiliations. God is our abode, our Home, the place we can rest, where neither past nor future exist, but only the present moment. The "now" of life, of communion, is surely born of trust and abandonment into the hands of God; there, one receives, but abandonment is also a gift of oneself. This prize draws us towards the heights when we have consecrated our lives to those women and men who are at the bottom. By going downwards, we find ourselves at the summit, the heavenly summit hidden in the poorest and most humiliated of people. Only a few centuries back, or even less, people born with a disability were considered a shameful punishment from God. Remember the question of the disciples to Jesus in relation to the man born blind: "Rabbi, who has sinned, he or his parents, for him to have been born blind?" Jesus replies that neither he nor his parents had sinned, but so that the work of God might be accomplished. This response helps us discover that, if one but takes the time to enter into relationship with them, those who are at the bottom humanise us, heal us of our unbounded ego and lead us to God's heaven. In spite of this desire to remain, I gaze through my window at the birds flying past, to and fro. They cross the length and breadth of the heavens. There are town birds like crows and pigeons; and others, smaller and a little more energetic. Alas, not enough doves! I scarcely have the time to name the smallest ones, since they flit by so swiftly without looking to say hello! I wonder where their dwelling place is? They snatch a little rest here and there, on aerials, or on the branches of trees. Where is their nest, where do they spend the night? Or are they creatures as free as the air, free just to be there, free to live? Yes, I love their liberty. I would also like to enter into this liberty, not for the sake of moving, but in order to rejoice in remaining. What a surprise to receive the Templeton prize. Isn't it astonishing, this recognition of L'Arche and of Faith and Light at an international level, of which I am but the representative? I hope that this international recognition will lead many people to discover the message of L'Arche and Faith and Light. Such a simple message! If we enter into a friendly relationship with people who have a disability, a true relationship born of listening, tenderness and presence, then we discover the heart of the human mystery. We are all created to love, to give of ourselves, to live a truly universal fraternity: each person is my brother or my sister. To love is to recognise the value of each person. Becoming more human is a matter of meeting weakness face to face, and heart to heart, going towards the ones who feel alone, abandoned and humiliated. The cry which springs up from these people wakens the heart of the so-called strong ones. When one discovers what it means to be human, a transformation takes place. Among those with an intellectual disability, some can surely progress to work in society and get recognition for their abilities. Others have more profound disabilities and their only talent is to communicate through their body, their eyes, their smile, which say: "I love you." Loïc, the founder of Faith and Light came to L'Arche in 1978 and now is 58 years old. He is of small stature, and you would think he was no more than 10 years old: his language is solely that of the eyes. A language of love and of communion and of trust. We must never forget the "Loïcs" of this world. They have the power to transform us and to call us to let go of our need to win, so that we can remain present to them. For my last day in hospital, the sky is wonderfully blue, the sun radiant and the birds sing their freedom. The northern hemisphere is celebrating springtime, as new life starts to flow again. I wish you a joyful celebration in this renewal of spring, a Happy Easter celebration with the Risen Jesus, and thank each of you who have written to me following the Templeton prize, and for the different feasts. I pray for all those who are suffering today, who feel themselves alone, humiliated; that on this day they live a moment of peace and tenderness. I ask God to give me a humble heart to love the person who is humiliated. These last months, hatred has sown its seeds across our world in a way that is truly worrying. Let us pray that more people become "artisans of peace" there where they are. In his plea for fraternity, Abdennour Bidar tells us: "today, we have an historic opportunity to change the vision of humanity, and so change our epoch...And is such fraternity really so utopian? Are we not all called towards the impossible. Only from the greatest of ideals has risen up away for human beings to reach their full stature." I love that parable of Jesus in Luke 14 and Matthew 22: God has prepared a banquet, a wedding feast and celebration for humanity, a sign of peace and of togetherness. But the guests, socially elevated people full of their own importance, refuse to come to the feast. They are too busy, too preoccupied with their social status. So God, deeply wounded, tells his servants to go out everywhere into the streets and bring in the poor, the sick, and the blind. To go to those women and men on the edge of society, the beggars of love, to make them come to the celebration, the wedding feast, the feast of peace and of communion. These are the very people chosen to become the sign of the healing of humanity, in order that our societies become the place of fraternity.
Download the Letter 2015 - I am writing to you from hospital where I have come for minor surgery. This has allowed me five good days of rest and prayer with Jesus in vulnerability, during the week leading up to Easter. My room on the fourth floor affords a splendid view of the sky, which is often cloudy, but sometimes radiantly blue. My time is spent looking at the immense sky, contemplating it, gazing at the clouds endlessly reforming themselves as they take on the shapes of bizarre animals or faces. The immensity of these boundless skies is a sign of the immensity of God, creator of the heavens and the earth. Beyond the clouds and the blue sky there is the Infinitude of God, and above all, the person of God, so far from us, and yet so near. The events of our world are sometimes terribly painful: accidents, deaths, wars, illnesses, refugees fleeing their homelands etc. There are of course also events full of tenderness, moments of peace and unifying gestures of solidarity. The earth carries the continual movement of births and deaths, of growth and diminishment, of gains and losses, of deaths and resurrections. There is a past and a future. In contemplating the heavens through my window, I try to stay in the present moment, in the "now", in the silence where there is neither past nor future but only the present of God. God is. For me, in this moment in hospital, "to stay" implies a struggle against anxiety and the need to act and be on the go - at least in my head. It is a sweet thing to be able to abide in love. I re-read St John in the light of this term "abide" which is one of the key words of this gospel. To abide in God and to let God abide in me. God is our abode in a life often marked by losses and humiliations. God is our abode, our Home, the place we can rest, where neither past nor future exist, but only the present moment. The "now" of life, of communion, is surely born of trust and abandonment into the hands of God; there, one receives, but abandonment is also a gift of oneself. This prize draws us towards the heights when we have consecrated our lives to those women and men who are at the bottom. By going downwards, we find ourselves at the summit, the heavenly summit hidden in the poorest and most humiliated of people. Only a few centuries back, or even less, people born with a disability were considered a shameful punishment from God. Remember the question of the disciples to Jesus in relation to the man born blind: "Rabbi, who has sinned, he or his parents, for him to have been born blind?" Jesus replies that neither he nor his parents had sinned, but so that the work of God might be accomplished. This response helps us discover that, if one but takes the time to enter into relationship with them, those who are at the bottom humanise us, heal us of our unbounded ego and lead us to God's heaven. In spite of this desire to remain, I gaze through my window at the birds flying past, to and fro. They cross the length and breadth of the heavens. There are town birds like crows and pigeons; and others, smaller and a little more energetic. Alas, not enough doves! I scarcely have the time to name the smallest ones, since they flit by so swiftly without looking to say hello! I wonder where their dwelling place is? They snatch a little rest here and there, on aerials, or on the branches of trees. Where is their nest, where do they spend the night? Or are they creatures as free as the air, free just to be there, free to live? Yes, I love their liberty. I would also like to enter into this liberty, not for the sake of moving, but in order to rejoice in remaining. What a surprise to receive the Templeton prize. Isn't it astonishing, this recognition of L'Arche and of Faith and Light at an international level, of which I am but the representative? I hope that this international recognition will lead many people to discover the message of L'Arche and Faith and Light. Such a simple message! If we enter into a friendly relationship with people who have a disability, a true relationship born of listening, tenderness and presence, then we discover the heart of the human mystery. We are all created to love, to give of ourselves, to live a truly universal fraternity: each person is my brother or my sister. To love is to recognise the value of each person. Becoming more human is a matter of meeting weakness face to face, and heart to heart, going towards the ones who feel alone, abandoned and humiliated. The cry which springs up from these people wakens the heart of the so-called strong ones. When one discovers what it means to be human, a transformation takes place. Among those with an intellectual disability, some can surely progress to work in society and get recognition for their abilities. Others have more profound disabilities and their only talent is to communicate through their body, their eyes, their smile, which say: "I love you." Loïc, the founder of Faith and Light came to L'Arche in 1978 and now is 58 years old. He is of small stature, and you would think he was no more than 10 years old: his language is solely that of the eyes. A language of love and of communion and of trust. We must never forget the "Loïcs" of this world. They have the power to transform us and to call us to let go of our need to win, so that we can remain present to them. For my last day in hospital, the sky is wonderfully blue, the sun radiant and the birds sing their freedom. The northern hemisphere is celebrating springtime, as new life starts to flow again. I wish you a joyful celebration in this renewal of spring, a Happy Easter celebration with the Risen Jesus, and thank each of you who have written to me following the Templeton prize, and for the different feasts. I pray for all those who are suffering today, who feel themselves alone, humiliated; that on this day they live a moment of peace and tenderness. I ask God to give me a humble heart to love the person who is humiliated. These last months, hatred has sown its seeds across our world in a way that is truly worrying. Let us pray that more people become "artisans of peace" there where they are. In his plea for fraternity, Abdennour Bidar tells us: "today, we have an historic opportunity to change the vision of humanity, and so change our epoch...And is such fraternity really so utopian? Are we not all called towards the impossible. Only from the greatest of ideals has risen up away for human beings to reach their full stature." I love that parable of Jesus in Luke 14 and Matthew 22: God has prepared a banquet, a wedding feast and celebration for humanity, a sign of peace and of togetherness. But the guests, socially elevated people full of their own importance, refuse to come to the feast. They are too busy, too preoccupied with their social status. So God, deeply wounded, tells his servants to go out everywhere into the streets and bring in the poor, the sick, and the blind. To go to those women and men on the edge of society, the beggars of love, to make them come to the celebration, the wedding feast, the feast of peace and of communion. These are the very people chosen to become the sign of the healing of humanity, in order that our societies become the place of fraternity.
PS: after several days of rest, I have come back to Trosly in good shape, following my minor surgery.
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