Why We Call Him "Father"

Father Luigi Faccenda, OFM Conv.
Born into eternal life October 9, 2005

When I entered in June 2005, I had not even the slightest hope of going to Europe for World Youth Day in Cologne. Yet, two months later to the day, I was landing in Bologna, Italy with twenty-some other young adults and Anna Brizzi, FKM. It was my first time out of the country, my first time around so many other missionaries, my first time and only time to meet Father.

Looking back I realize that this encounter, thanks be to God, was the main reason for my trip. Father Faccenda was already very sick. He did not walk, celebrated Mass sitting down, had a catheter, difficulty speaking, and a feeding tube. Yet, he smiled. He was overfilled with joy, I think, at seeing young people from the Americas entering the Institute. He called me "Argentina," because he knew it was from that blessed land that I spoke my first "yes."

Father died, just over two months later. I remain as one of the last to have met Father. What a grace!

Father. And yet, I call him Father. I met him only three times on one visit. I knew him in a moment of such vulnerability and sweetness that the memory is nearly opposite that of my sisters who knew him from the beginning. They had the young, strict, energetic, demanding Father, watching over his young daughters with a cautious eye and molding an Institute with professional hand. Their memories remind me of looking back on teenage years, when the parent seems as demanding as they are loving, and when their human weaknesses are as real as their holy virtues. Through it all, however, like every daughter with a good father, they loved him. They respected him. I've yet to meet a missionary who didn't, despite the varied relationships and natural human attractions and aversions.

I, on the other hand, met the man who had almost finished his race. As I entered the room one afternoon, he called "Argentina." I looked shocked, because I thought he was calling the FKM from Argentina, but no, it was me. He pointed to his cheek, and said, "Un bezo." I approached willingly and gently kissed him on the cheek, and remained by his side for some time.

On another occasion I and Anna Brizzi met with him to offer him a gift from the California mission. He spoke in Spanish, assuming (generously) that I would understand. Some of it I did, at other times I felt like Francisco at the first apparition of Our Lady. As if suddenly, he turned to me, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Remember what you promised in Argentina." It was so clear that he might as well have been speaking English. What this meant we leave for another time, but suffice it to say that it was clear that the Holy Spirit was in that room and continuing to work through this man.

For all of his gentleness in these days, he was still tough. We were still to be professional, hard-working, seeking holiness. He didn't like my hair in my face, he wanted me to speak Italian and Spanish, etc. Like a good father he wants the best for us.

Now, his demands and expectations are a huge blessing - because that means that he is praying for us to be no less than saints! With his help, I'm sure I can keep that "promise in Argentina," and maybe even hew those language skills. As for my hair - some things will just have to wait until heaven.