The vacations earlier this month were a welcome disruption to the inertia with which I’ve been drifting through life lately. Fr. José’s exhortation to assess more seriously if and how our experience in the Movement changes our lives helped me recall the extraordinary way in which I originally encountered the Movement, and to desire anew that this change happen every day.

In 2003, I happened upon At the Origin of the Christian Claim in a bookstall at a small conference in Canada. The unusual title and the cover—an abstract Paul Klee painting rather than your typical images of Mary and Jesus—stood out to me. I leafed through the book and was struck by the peculiarity of its argument—that our encounter with Jesus today is identical to that of the apostles 2000 years ago; He uses the very same method. I bought the book and read it over and over again, savoring the freshness of its approach and its insights into my own experience.

Five years earlier, I had converted to Christianity—that’s a long story in itself. But at this point in my journey, I found myself struggling, first, to adequately understand what had happened to me, and second, to see the relevance of my faith to everything else in the world that I had come to find interesting at this time, from soccer to salsa dancing. In this book, Giussani articulated aspects of my own experience that I had been unable to previously see. In particular, he helped me recognize that the method of the Incarnation, today just as 2000 years ago, proceeds through encounters with specific people, whose presence in our lives is not incidental. The book helped me reconcile faith and reason, desire and duty.

Curious to learn more about the author, who could somehow name my experience better than I could, I turned to Wikipedia, which in turn led me to the bare-bones website of Communion and Liberation Canada. I filled out the contact form, explaining how the book had moved me, and expressing that I’d like to start something like a reading group. I got a cryptic response soon after that said, “Call me. John,” with a telephone number.

It turned out to be John in Montreal. When we spoke, I had a hard time understanding what he meant by a “movement.” I was surprised to learn that Giussani’s work wasn’t simply meant for academics but was widely read and understood by people from all walks of life who shared lives together. “It’s about friendship, like you and me right now,” he said. “What do you mean ‘friendship?’” I asked, "I don’t even know you!”

So a couple of weeks later, John came to visit me in Nova Scotia—that meant flying a couple of hours to Halifax and driving a further three hours into the middle of the province where I was living. In sharing our stories with each other, it became clear that it was the same Jesus who had sought us out and changed our lives in such remarkable ways. (My roommate at the time, also named John, who was present during that visit, a couple of years ago become a priest of the Fraternity of St. Charles Borromeo.)

I must have made John kick himself for his offer of friendship, because over the next year or so, I would call on him maybe a thousand times, trying to make sense of the various challenges I was facing. I remain ever grateful for his patience with me, and appreciate how, rather than solve my problems for me, he would put me in a better frame of mind from which I could more freely respond to them. A couple of years later, I moved to Montreal and began to experience the life of the Movement.

Friendship was one of the key components missing from my prior understanding of the Gospel. It had seemed incidental to me; after all, doesn’t the Bible urge us not to put our trust in man? I expected God’s action in my life to be more direct—either through dramatically changing my circumstances or through some experience of inner enlightenment. John incarnated for me the presence and gaze of Fr. Giussani, communicating to me in a new way how Jesus looks at me and values me—which in turn taught me to be a better friend to others I would meet in my life.

My encounters with others from the Movement in Montreal, and numerous others I met around the world over the years, similarly revealed to me how the Church can be the place where my deepest desires are taken seriously, and where I can be accompanied by those who value my destiny, often more than I myself do.

I say “can be,” because this potential isn’t automatically actualized. Today, fifteen years later, it’s all too easy to take these treasures for granted—to live my friendships superficially, disconnected from my deepest needs and challenges. These vacations helped me recognize that I’ve been doing so for the past few years.

So I am grateful for the reminder to respond more fully—to take more seriously both the desires awakened by my encounter with Jesus, and those whom he has put in my life, through whom he offers me his own friendship.

B.V., USA