Here are three classic Italian grandmothers (tre nonne) - Nicolina, Vincenza and Maria. They live in Campoli del Monte Taburno in Southern Italy. This photograph of the three friends finds them sitting at the welcoming center for migrant people who have made the desperate crossing from Africa across the Mediterranean Sea. It is considered the most dangerous crossing in the world.
Hundreds upon hundreds have died at sea, fleeing the awfulness of life in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Eritrea, Somalia, Sudan and beyond. So these are African babies the ladies are holding. One is enjoying a piece of Italian bread, one is looking around checking things out, the other is snoozing.
Power is dangerous stuff. Power can create or protect criminality. Power can degrade persons and the physical world. Power can have blood on its hands. But here is the power of love - three elderly ladies holding survivor babies who have come from "across the sea."
Power is dangerous stuff. Power can create or protect criminality. Power can degrade persons and the physical world. Power can have blood on its hands. But here is the power of love - three elderly ladies holding survivor babies who have come from "across the sea."
"I can't do everything, but I can do something," Saint Francis of Assisi said. Someone might shout to the ladies to send the babies back to Libya: "No room here," even though Italy's birthrate is so low there are ancient towns and villages being abandoned. We might wonder what the three ladies would say to the world if they were offered the podium at the United Nations. Mother Teresa of Calcutta delivered her simple but direct message there in October of 1985: Leave no one behind.
Maybe the venerable grandmas would just remind the world of the words of Jesus: "I was a stranger and you welcomed me," (Matthew 25:36) There don't seem to be any "ifs, ands or buts" attached to those words. No reservations, no restrictions, no excuses. Jesus' words may take us down into a very deep interior place of fear.
If I feel an argument coming on, I need to take it to Jesus, not the ladies; not the priest.
Maybe the venerable grandmas would just remind the world of the words of Jesus: "I was a stranger and you welcomed me," (Matthew 25:36) There don't seem to be any "ifs, ands or buts" attached to those words. No reservations, no restrictions, no excuses. Jesus' words may take us down into a very deep interior place of fear.
If I feel an argument coming on, I need to take it to Jesus, not the ladies; not the priest.
