By Tomáš Tatranský
You will never find the truth,
unless you can accept what you did not expect.
Heraclitus
We are now living in the times of ‘creative fidelity’ (or ‘dynamic’) of those who, while being part of the Focolare Movement, try to distinguish the (allegedly) ‘pure’ divinely inspired charism from the - shall we say - imperfect elements, linked to the person of the foundress [Chiara Lubich], to her humanity influenced by the circumstances of her time: a very difficult task, given the very strong personality cult of Lubich, well rooted and encouraged in the movement for several decades.
Michele Zanzucchi’s book La Casetta, 2024, Citta Nuova, Rome,* proposes fundamentally the following: re-interpreting the founding period - the famous ‘early days’ - not just according to the official narrative of the movement, but enriching it with an alternative, complementary and, to some extent, decidedly different one.
This new critical re-reading is based in particular on the hitherto unpublished documents of Raffaella Pisetta (1914-2009)**, one of the first three companions who decided to live with Chiara Lubich [in the first Focolare]. Raffaella Pisetta and Bianca Tambosi (the third companion was Natalia Dallapiccola) suffered historically a real damnatio memoriae.
In this review of the book, I will focus on this critical aspect that reveals a somewhat disconcerting profile of Chiara Lubich (born Silvia), who has been considered by many not merely a perfectible human being, but an almost angelic creature, an immaculate and absolutely docile ‘paintbrush’ in God’s hands, the mystical presence of Mary on earth etc.
Let us begin with a few preliminary remarks. In the introductory pages, Zanzucchi states that he wants to contextualise not only the behaviour of Lubich, but also of Father Casimiro, a Capuchin and her spiritual director (Chiara Lubich and her first companions, including Raffaella Pisetta, were, in fact, all tertiaries, members of the Franciscan Third Order). He intends to contextualise behaviour that ‘today might be considered reprehensible or completely unacceptable’ (p. 9), and ways of doing things that ‘today may appear bordering on authoritarianism, even abuse’ (ibid.). According to Zanzucchi, with due contextualisation, these excesses are to be judged as ‘completely normal’ (ibid.) typical of the time, as ‘absolutely normal in the Capuchin, Franciscan and religious environment’ (ibid.) in a Trent that was as Catholic as it was provincial, in the 1940s, a good 20 years before the Second Vatican Council.
It would almost seem perfectly reasonable, were it not for the fact that, later in the book, Zanzucchi contradicts himself. For example, he recounts how Lubich and her first companions wore cilices [barbed strips used under clothing as penitential devices] ‘with iron points that stuck into the flesh’ (p. 94). In this regard Zanzucchi points out: ‘as chance would have it, Chiara happened to have the one with the sharpest points: sometimes she lent it to her companions as something particularly precious’ (pp. 94-95). When some people not closely connected to the ‘Little House’ (later renamed ‘the first Focolare’) discovered that these girls practised corporal penance in this extreme manner, they reacted with alarm and ‘it took all of Father Casimiro's authority to prevent the scandal from becoming public’ (p. 95). Furthermore, Zanzucchi admits that the tertiaries' existence at the Casetta was not what one might call serene. Observed from the outside, it could have been considered a house of ‘mad women’ (a term that Lubich herself sometimes used). Raffaella Pisetta wrote in her diary: ‘We led a weird existence: we were in an atmosphere of collective madness’ (p. 122). Finally, Zanzucchi writes that the outcome of the diocesan enquiry initiated by the archbishop of Trento, Mons. Carlo de Ferrari, about the orthodoxy of the nascent movement created around Chiara ‘was “odd”, as de Ferrari himself defined it. Don Heppergher (one of the two priests in charge of the enquiry) was unfavourable to the two accused (Chiara and Father Casimiro, accused, among other things, of having broken the secret of confession), and, on the contrary, the other priest, Don Zorer, was in favour of the Casetta’ (p. 184). Even if the archbishop's final decision was positive (although the dossier of accusations was sent to the Vatican for further investigation), it seems inaccurate to use, as Zanzucchi does, terms such as pure or absolute normality. (p. 9)
Continuing the introductory remarks, it must be reiterated that Zanzucchi - as a good focolarino - tries, to some extent, to water down a little of the ‘poison’ he perceives in some of Raffaella Pisetta's opinions. He also tries to interpret Lubich's behaviour and decisions mostly in a positive light. An example, regarding the already mentioned damnatio memoriae: ‘The silence that has so far accompanied the affair of Raffaella was determined primarily, it must be said, by Lubich's desire to avoid “a single word” being spoken against her [against Raffaella Pisetta]’ (p. 10). But are we really so sure? Isn't the hypothesis that Chiara actually forbade everyone to speak or write about Raffaella more plausible? In other words, that Chiara commanded that Raffaella Pisetta be completely erased from history, because she feared embarrassing, or even scandalous, things could emerge about Chiara herself?
Be that as it may, Zanzucchi seems to me all in all quite balanced in his interpretations, at least in the sense that he does not seem to want to substantially distort Raffaella Pisetta's point of view. I would say that one of the book's main theses is Zanzucchi's conviction that ‘it must be accepted that the two human microuniverses of Lubich and Pisetta simply did not meet’ (ibid.). And again: ‘The inspiration for Chiara had to come from mysticism, for Raffaella from humanity’ (p. 131).
Let us now look again at some salient points of the ‘counter-narrative’ of Raffaelle Pisetta who, Zanzucchi freely admits, was a smart, generous, balanced girl, endowed with common sense as well as a marked sensitivity both to social problems and to the arts, especially poetry. Incidentally: it was Raffaella Pisetta who in 1944 managed to find stable accommodation - the ‘Casetta’, a flat at No.2 Piazza Cappuccini - for her fellow tertiaries. It was in her name. But not only that: Raffaella Pisetta financially supported the very first group with board and lodging for at least a year, since she was the only one to receive a regular salary.
Raffaella was not a ‘disciple’ of Lubich, but a tertiary, attracted by the Franciscan ideal, who began to live with Chiara, Natalia Dallapiccola and Bianca Tambosi, as she said, ‘almost for fun, as a logical consequence of the difficult times, of not knowing where to sleep, eat...’ (p. 179). It was spontaneous for all of them to share everything, including money. So ‘Chiara also wanted the income, and not only the outgoings, to be managed by herself, even though she was not yet fully considered by Father Casimiro as the community leader [i.e., to be exact, the Third Order's “novice mistress”]. There was still, in fact, a certain equality between Raffaella and Chiara' (p. 107). ‘Father Casimiro,’ Zanzucchi continues, ‘often arrived laden with sacks of flour or rice, packages of jam, oil, tinned fish: they were for the poor. On the list of the poor was the Lubich family (...). Those supplies sometimes ended up with Luigi [Chiara Lubich's father] and his family. Here and there, those supplies were also used for the everyday running of the Little House, even though Raffaella and Bianca, the oldest and most experienced, did not approve. Nor did they when Chiara gave everything away to the poor, as if it all belonged to her and it was her right to do so. In April 1945, Father Casimiro gave Raffaella an earful because she continued to use the money she earned for household needs, and still felt like the ‘mistress of the house’. He therefore urged Pisetta to hand over her entire salary to Chiara. Which Raffaella did, somewhat unwillingly to tell the truth. Moreover, according to Pisetta, Lubich wanted the envelope to be delivered into her hands, not placed in the money drawer as her companion did' (ibid.).
‘A delicate chapter’, Zanzucchi notes, ‘was also that of the unequal treatment Chiara reserved for her family, favoured, privileged and even revered, whose members had permanent access to the Casetta, compared to the other girls who did not have the same privileges: they had to forget family ties “so as not to be attached to human affections” ’ (p. 126). And again: ‘As for housework, again according to Raffaella Pisetta, Chiara was not interested in it, nor did she want to deal with it. “I can't waste time on these things,” she said, “because my mission is of an entirely different nature”. As much as she tried to put up with it herself, Raffaella asked Father Casimiro one day: “Why, Father, do you use double standards, one for Chiara and the other for me? Why do you find it natural that Chiara, although she’s at home all day, does no housework, and that I, although going to the office, also do household chores?” The answer was simple: “Daughter, Chiara is not used to it, poor thing. All she is capable of doing is talking, not doing chores”. Thus Raffaella often pointed out the inconsistency of the guest who, in a house that did not belong to her, demanded to be served and obeyed. But it was not only she who demanded obedience: according to Raffaella, the Lubich family also had “the same arrogance”, having “address, accommodation and source of supplies” at No.2 Piazza Cappuccini’ (pp. 146-147).
Another aspect that is highlighted in the book is Lubich's inability to handle dissent calmly, even in the smallest matter. Faced with criticism, Chiara never engaged in a sincere and open dialogue; she seemed unable to understand that even a moment of discord could become an opportunity to grow and improve together, to perhaps correct an obsolete or ineffective way of doing things. No, Chiara demanded from her disciples adherence, indeed total and blind obedience, without ‘ifs’, without ‘buts’: she was the sole bearer of the truth - or rather, she deluded herself into thinking she was. Some of her companions, then (especially Natalia Dallapiccola), were astonished whenever anyone dared to oppose their teacher par excellence. When faced with criticism Chiara would withdraw, become sad, cry, or even sink into ‘nights’ (Zanzucchi calls them ‘black holes’: cf. pp. 135-139), or (what were believed to be) spiritual trials, often linked to situations of psychosomatic exhaustion, sometimes lasting several months.
In short, Chiara - according to Zanzucchi - adopted ‘a more or less Manichean vision of life’ (p. 124). She felt invested with ‘a great authority in her mission, or even, according to the expression later used by Archbishop de Ferrari himself, to exercise among the tertiaries “the sweetest of tyrannies” (...). Raffaella went on to note: ‘Absolute authority, which Chiara termed “of love”, but which was in fact despotism, could only exist on one condition: the utter loss of will and judgement’’ (ibid.). ‘Love itself,‘ adds Raffaella Pisetta, ‘was perceived, in Chiara's mystical vision, as something divine, detached from, indeed opposed to all that is human, to reason: reason was contrary to love, judgement was demonic’ (p. 123).
The relationship between Chiara and Father Casimiro was sensitive and complex. I will highlight just one aspect of it here. One day Raffaella Pisetta asked Father Casimiro ‘why Chiara Lubich possessed that “prerogative” whereby she believed she was always right. He had no direct answer. She gave him an example: one day Chiara wept for a long time (according to Raffaella that was her trick to wear down other people’s resistance, especially with Father Casimiro), because he would not accept her [Chiara's] thesis that a saint, would, by his very nature, automatically become a great poet, an excellent painter, an incomparable sculptor, not to mention the saint's ability to solve any problem, whether philosophical or theological’ (p. 146).
On the subject of Lubich's yearning to assume every beautiful and/or divine power, indeed to identify herself, by virtue of a pseudo-mystical fusion with these realities (thta is, not through unity therefore, which at least in Christian theology safeguards distinction and otherness) we quote another very significant passage from the book, which speaks of Lubich's ‘tendency to identify herself with the object of her contemplation, using the first person: “I am the Father”; “Today I am the Son”; “I find myself being the Mother” and so on. Raffaella Pisetta again points out: “God had given her a great mission (’so great that no one will understand me‘) and by identifying herself in the Son, in the ‘light’, in the ‘truth’, in the ‘mouth of the truth’; she referred the words of Jesus’ Testament to herself, instead of to God. In fact, unity was not ‘being one’ in God, but one ‘in her’, who alone had the truth, who alone represented the divine will, who alone possessed not ‘an ideal’ but ‘the Ideal’ that would save the world” ‘ (p. 127).
Not submitting to Chiara (or doing so, but not 100%) therefore meant ‘breaking unity’: ‘The idea of “breaking unity” played a major role at the Casetta. But what did it mean? According to Raffaella Pisetta, breaking unity meant “not showing the required enthusiasm by giving little cries of delight [at the words of Chiara]; not makiing the grotesque effort to be as infantile as possible [in fact, Chiara called her companions pope: which means ‘little girls’ in the Trentino dialect]; being serious and a bit distant when Chiara recounted her illuminations; not being anxious to run after Chiara and staying as close to her as possible; behaving less ridiculously and more appropriately in public rather than following the requirement of going into a huddle and competing with each other to crowd around her, listening to her endless outpourings” ‘ (p. 126).
Moreover, even expressing a truth that Chiara found uncomfortable counted as breaking unity. According to Raffaella, Lubich's favourite saying was, ‘’any lie, as long as it was covered by a veil of intended charity, was OK’ (p. 181).
Anxiety, therefore, was encouraged - that is, scrupulous striving for holiness or perfection. The result of this tension was certainly considerable stress and a chaotic existence marked by hyperactivity. ‘Chiara was known for her constant twists and turns, as Pisetta observes: “She made plans, changed them, re-made them; drew up lists of people divided according to the ‘results’ they produced. She called meetings, retreats, gatherings, and at the last moment changed her mind on the time, on the convenience of inviting these or those, on the place of the meeting... A continuous doing and undoing, with great agitation of orders and counter-orders‘’ ‘ (p. 125).
It should be noted that the nights were not exactly quiet either: ‘there was a further nocturnal practice: we would wake up at midnight to scourge our backs with special chains, during the recitation of a Salve Regina. Chiara would always do it first, then wake Natalia, who in turn would beat herself with those chains and then wake Doriana, and so on, until morning. It was not easy for the girls, after that practice, to go back to bed with a flayed back' (p. 95). Other forms of penance were ‘sleeping on hard boards, on the floor, without a mattress’ (ibid.); chewing bitter wormwood leaves, keeping absolutely silent for one or more days (cf. ibid.).
It is hardly surprising, in this extreme context, that any break in unity was fundamentally interpreted as the work of the devil (cf. p. 165). But there is more: Chiara went so far as to affirm that those who did not correspond to the vocation to unity - to unity seen as a fusion that destroyed the personalities of those who allowed themselves to be fused - would burn eternally in hell. This is clearly stated in a letter that Lubich addressed to Raffaella in 1947, after the latter left the Casetta (which, let us remember was, by law, her own home) simply because she could no longer cope after more than two years of cohabitation with Chiara: ‘’It seems to me,' Chiara wrote to her, ’that you are a victim of disunity. As long as everything was going smoothly, you were happy with all the others; when the pains of unity began, which must always be there because we have to die to our personality in order to fuse, then you moved away. (...) The Lord allowed this time of trial to see who was in unity for the love of God or for the love of self. However, you are free to do what you want, because to be saved it is not necessary to be in unity, unless this was a vocation for you to which you had to correspond’ (pp. 164-165).
Here, Chiara did not expressly state whether Raffaella would end up in hell, but she did a few months earlier, as Zanzucchi writes: ‘Raffaella forced herself to ask Father Casimiro for permission to leave (...). She would rather join an enclosed convent than remain “in this kind of life so lacking in dignity”. Father Casimiro tried to dissuade her, but it shook him. The Capuchin spent the rest of the morning in conversation with Lubich, and then they both told Raffaella that her vocation was not the convent but unity. Indeed, not only unity, but life in common with Chiara. “On pain of damnation,” Raffaella reported (p. 147).
To summarise and conclude, I leave it again to Zanzucchi: ‘In the “doctrine” that was being developed, it was fundamental to renounce expressing oneself in a “human” way, in order to behave “supernaturally”, a distinction that today's theologians would have difficulty endorsing. It would have been simpler if one had used the terms “human” and “divine” -, given that Christ himself made humanity his own. For Chiara “human” was often synonymous with “subhuman”, and “supernatural” with “superhuman” ‘ (p. 123).
I would ask Zanzucchi: are we just talking about today’s theologians’? I have my doubts: in fact, if we take into consideration the famous principle that goes back to the great figures of medieval scholasticism, according to which gratia supponit naturam, non destruit, sed perficit eam (Grace builds on nature; does not destroy it, but perfects it), we immediately see how much Lubich's distorted mysticism diverges from sound Christian tradition.
Some focolarini, as Michele Zanzucchi tries to do, would like to purify the Focolare message - what they call the ‘charism of unity’ - from what links it to the historical epoch and the times of its foundation. I wonder if the task is not rather to purify this message from what was linked to the person of Chiara Lubich herself.
------
* The little house - Silvia (Chiara) Lubich and some of her first companions (autumn 1944 - summer 1948). Michele Zanzucchi - Città Nuova Editrice 2023: ‘An updated history of the early years of the Focolare Movement. The story of Silvia ‘Chiara’ Lubich and her first companions in Trento, northern Italy, in the 1940s describes a charism at the service of unity that bore so much fruit for the Church and for the whole of humanity in the following decades. Almost eighty years later, the consultation of documents and a series of interviews make it possible to trace the history of those early days with new details and new perspectives, thus enriching the story of the foundation of the Focolare Movement with hitherto unknown information’. Zanzucchi is a consecrated focolarino, scholar and writer, former editor of the Focolare magazine Città Nuova.
** Raffaella Pisetta (24 September 1914-18 April 2009) was a journalist, writer and poet, committed to social work and politics. In the 1950s she worked in Milan as editor of the magazine Gioia published by Corriere della Sera. She was a municipal councillor in Trento during the 1960-1964 legislature. She was Provincial president of the CIF (Italian Women's Centre). In the 1960s and 1970s, she collaborated in the national association of SOS Children's Villages in Italy and was a member of the promotion committee and the first boards of the SOS village in Trento. She contributed to various newspapers and magazines with literary and informative articles. She was a successful poet.
