At the age of 7, a school friend brought me into contact with the Focolare movement , an worldwide organization recognized by the Roman Catholic Church and founded by a woman Chiara Lubich in Italy. Focolare movement has had an increasingly dominant influence on the church since its founding after WWII.
As a child, I attended annual Open Days and holiday gatherings, so called Mariapolis, where Focolare toughed us in a playful way how Chiara Lubich viewed the gospel as a guideline for her ‘Ideal’ that all peoples would live together in love. I was critical by nature and had big questions about my existence as a foster child, but even greater was my desire to share my spiritual being with other people, something for which Focolare seemed to offer a modern structure. I wanted to expand my existing relationship with God, God whom I experienced more as a shining wisdom than a 'loving father' as Focolare did. I adopted symbols and expressions from Focolare in order to express my deeper experience, but otherwise I played very freely with the children present, who were called Gen, New Generation.
When I got to know Focolare in 1974, I knew almost nothing about my biological background. There were also no media that gave positive examples of foster children, which made everyone assume that I came from a problematic past, perhaps neglected or from a poor crib, and perhaps unmanageable; food for tear-jerking films and musicals that were projected on me. Focolare also saw me that way, and the leaders were convinced to give me a better foundation through their Ideal. As devoted Roman Catholics who took Mother Mary as an example, I fit perfectly into their image of care and service to one's neighbor. But to be truthful, you have to consider the nuances in my history to understand where I come from.
Eleven years before I was born, on February 1, 1953, the largest flood disaster in the Netherlands occurred, killing 1,836 people in the province of Zeeland in one night. Among them were almost my entire biological family on my mother's side. This family trauma was so hard on my mother that she was unable to care for me when I was born in 1964. She wasn’t married to my father, who came from a very wealthy family that refused to recognize me as his child. My father handed me over to Child Protection Services, but through that agency he still gave me important financial incentives and had a significant influence on my studies. Of course, I didn't know that as a baby and only heard about it once I became an adult. I lived in a children's home for a short time until, after a careful selection, I was entrusted to my foster parents. Wonderful, lovely people who did not want to participate in the movement, but were easily dismissed by Focolare as merely a shelter of a 'victim', Rosh. He simply needed God's love from Focolare, and would naturally give enormous gratitude in return. At home though, we were well aware that it was mom’s desire to have children, and that my brother and I were a blessing to my parents. We were seen as a special gift and not taken for granted. We had a very warm home, while Focolare above all treated me as a dramatic project like many other people were treated as a project, in the ambition to create One big family of God.
I still have memories of the children's home, the firm white sheets and the bars of my bed. But above all I sensed that I had to do my utmost to be heard among the other screaming babies. So I remained extremely alert to ambient sounds for years, probably in an attempt to protect myself from helpless, unknown situations. In Focolare there was the same gentle atmosphere as at my foster's home and I began to gradually receive spiritual (or wise) insights and overviews that were pure and sharp. Focolarini were shocked though, by my difficult and critical questions about the founder Chiara Lubich. Because Chiara was indeed adored in the movement, but I thought that her little history was being blown out of proportion. A story that was repeated literally by Focolarini, but could not convince me . From birth I have observed people keenly: If they acted with love, they would have my trust, if not, I could not be appeased. Chiara had many beautiful words, which had a hypnotic effect on many Gen. But I did not understand why my love for God should be expressed in specific actions. And whyt everything had to be dressed up with fairy-tale euphoria. Why keep repeating Chiara's story when there were much more expressive experiences and personal considerations of people around me? I had more confidence in the pact that the young people of the Gen made with each other, which was to keep 'mutual love' among themselves. I knew that life was not about beautiful words, but about mutual respect and attention in practice: my foster mother could not have given birth to this son, but she and dad were the purest people because without biological "rights" they opened their hearts completely to me as their own son. I was not so impressed by the words of Chiara, I had warm loving parents who needed few words. So unlike many young Gen, I kept my distance inside. Chiara's thoughts and writings about Unity, however, had a clear hypnotic effect, and hearing her speak in combative euphoric words, reinforced the fairy tale atmosphere with a sense of purpose. In fact, Chiara's fantasies colored our group meetings. Until we came home and became ourselves again. I would always lose my way for a few days and feel like I was falling short.
According to Focolare, I had too much of a personality, had to become more humble, quieter. My 'old' self was too playful, too stubborn. So after initially being impressed by the guidance of some focolarini who did their best to temper my youthful antics with patience and love, my life was now increasingly put into a spiritual straitjacket. I began to miss the spontaneous opportunities to be the kind of noble knight for the weak, as I had envisioned as a child. This was my most natural aspiration.
Outside of Focolare, in the ordinary world, I was popular and outspoken and I had a completely different image than within the movement. Outside, my character was experienced as a force that protected myself and others, like the girl who had introduced me to Focolare. Monica came from a large family where everyone participated intensively in the movement, which resulted in a very specific use of language, Italian facial expressions and old-fashioned clothing. At school I tried to involve her in the group, to be a 'bridge' to them so that she would belong and not remain alone in the classroom. I also encouraged her to follow her ambitions, to think outside the influence of her family. She was an intelligent and funny woman and at the time I wanted to explore her world. In her home, Focolare was leading and God and life were discussed much more intensively than in our family. The outside world was largely seen as crude and negative, godless and wrong. And it was new to me to see her 3 older brothers and sister aspiring to positions in the movement. They maintained close contacts with the nearest Focolare house and soon I started attending weekly meetings of young Gen too. From that moment on, my spiritual consciousness slowly began to change from that of a noble young knight, to that of a disciplined diplomat of God, who kept silent unless given permission to speak.
My image of chivalry became a 'sacred duty to be better’, to speak with polished language, to make my presentation in Focolare an impeccable calling card of God, and to package small deeds in a heroic story of Love for one’s neighbor, in the weekly meetings of the ‘Gen Unity’. According to Focolare, telling such experiences was necessary to strengthen the mutual love in the group. And the most valued Love was that in which we did things against our own will and desires. We were taught to face pain and transform it into love for God.
At my parents’ house I rarely had to help, in the movement it was a matter of honor to complete the most difficult tasks with a military precision. I thought that was truly noble at the time. But by always working against your own will, spontaneity is broken down into a self-imposed duty, a dead formula that costs far more energy than you can ever refuel. It put me in a tight spot, taught me to lie when I had not performed any significant actions in the eyes of Focolare, and thus taught me to make the story of experiences bigger and more special.
Focolare called me in for all kinds of things, occupied me both physically and mentally so that I was rarely at home. In weekends the Gen were active for the movement's charities, such as baking pancakes on a winter market for a project in Cameroon, or promoting our own flea markets door-to-door, collecting goods, making Christmas cards, listening to Chiara’s tapes for hours, and above all following ideas and assignments from a peer who had been made responsible for the local group. Inexperienced and unsuitable as they might be, from the perspective of Focolare, each person appointed was able to guide group processes and provide people with binding comments: “Maybe you could do this or that, better in this or like that way?” And “maybe you should approach a new contact in this or that way and then invite him to the annual (recruitment) meeting”? Maybe as being an order.
Personality had to be minimized and kept small in the movement, so I was obviously not appointed as a person responsible during that period. Instead it was considered good for me to distribute the monthly “Word of Life”, a sentence from the Gospel on a folded A4 sheet and Chiara's practical guidance underneath. Or move immobile elderly people, support international telephone connections with Chiara, “collegamentos”, etc.. Washing dishes and ironing was also useful, and if I could demonstrate the importance for the Unity, I was even allowed to study for a while.
Being present in the Focolare home, a place where people live together as priests and nuns do, became the most important goal for me, even though it deeply disrupted personal conversations with God. My head registered this as wrong, but nevertheless I too started speaking, looking and laughing like a focolarino. And I too began to use soothing language, the hypnotic effect of which was noticeable: people experienced the conversations as a blessing and began to express their deepest feelings. The last genuflection I made was that I started to defend Chiara as a charismatic leader. I suppressed my criticism as much as possible, although I kept feeling uneasy if I saw a frenzied crowd running after Chiara and her car. Why did she never put a stop to this behavior? What did this have to do with God?
In my later puberty I concluded that life in the movement was my calling, although God was increasingly drowned out by the sound of my own questions and prayers. I accepted denying myself as the greatest act of love, and so Focolare was given the opportunity to crawl even deeper into my being. I had become the image of a poor foster child who had been saved by Focolare and I embraced the increasingly commanding remarks towards me: that jokes were not appropriate, that playing could never be romping, and that my idea of chivalry was misplaced… I had to go heroically on my knees before God, which means being malleable for Focolare. And once I was completely convinced of my stubborn “old man,” my position was suddenly upgraded to “internal,” someone who was part of the core members of the movement. Thus Focolare rewards desired talent and strength, after personality and criticism have become silent. Unless, of course, expressive behavior was beneficial for making new connections. Other people in the movement, just like in the rest of the ‘godless’ world, were kept out of the leadership.
People who did not deviate an inch from the line Chiara set out, were made responsible for the “Work” at all levels in the Focolare Movement, capable or not. And over time, these individuals were given all kinds of psychological and theological authority. They could regularly humiliate and reprimand people under their care without logic. Often enough, people were made clear in a (re-enacted) Italian way, what “the real will of God” was for that person. Always aimed at hurting and destroying a sense of self-worth. The Focolarini were so sure of their own significance that I find them rather spiritually poor today.
An example of poor leadership. I once worked in a central place of the movement in the Netherlands with someone who was physically and mentally vulnerable. We were using a heavy narcotic chemical spray to manually clean the enormous outer wall. Without mouth protection, and in the bright summer sun. After a few hours, the head of Focolare Netherlands, ‘capozona’ Lella, came by with some focolarine and asked me to walk with her to discuss some matters. Another focolarina was assigned to take over my work with the vulnerable woman. A little over an hour later we all went to lunch, and I looked for the woman I had worked with on the outer wall. No one knew where she was, and the focolarina who would stay with the woman in my place, sat at the table with Lella and was completely absorbed in her story. She “made herself One” with Lella and therefore didn’t care for my question. Eventually I went searching the area and came back to the outer wall. The woman I was looking for was still scraping paint off the wall, all red and dazed from the sun. And she even apologized for the focolarina's absence: "She went to get something to drink but will be right back!". The focolarina had in fact abandoned her in order to be with Lella quickly.
The vulnerable woman at the wall had remained an outsider, even in this place of mutual love. This touched me and made me angry at words like “love the Forsaken Jesus,” which means: stay with those who need it, do not seek your own honor. But when words are spoken so often, they lose their practical meaning. Where was the love for this woman, for people who carry their problems invisibly? Focolarini failed to see how this woman took on her task with love, and actually said of the missing focolarina: “Forgive her, she knows not what she does.” So much for the love for our neighbor, as Jesus asked of us.
Unity in the movement was not about solving problems and enjoying Unity together. It was about publicly articulating open wounds, experiencing (or letting others experience) pain and then giving it a heroic twist as if we were obeying the ‘Will of God’. My lack of biological parents had to be felt and interpreted as a heavy burden, an incessant lack of love that only Chiara Lubich's ideal and our mutual love could solve. Focolare wanted to ‘own’ my life story at all costs. So I was not allowed to be happy with my life, which was much more colourful than the black and white of Chiara’s message. Her fantasy was opposed by my reality of a carefree and loving upbringing with pleasant childhood experiences, very nice friends and foster parents. It was because of this that I was one of few who could listen for nights on end to the difficulties of young Gen living with biological parents. I gave my own insights that were later rejected by Focolarini, and often feared. I didn't fit the mold, only Chiara's words and guidelines could bring happiness.
Sexual wounds
The Catholic movement of Focolare, has its center in Rome Italy, which in my youth was still unknown and far away.In The Netherlands we were used to many other faiths, church movements, secularization and a freer sexual morality, which made us experience Catholicism much more personal than the overall Catholic population in Chiara's Italy. At annual congresses in Rome we saw how Chiara was of a strict line and expected us young people to avoid any physical relationship or contact, including with ourselves. Only a prospective marriage between a man and a woman made contact between the sexes permissible. Any other form of affection was forbidden, and friendship was seen as an obstacle to mutual Unity.
The Dutch Gen were raised with values and norms that valued affection and friendship, which made it difficult for us to follow the rules that applied in Focolare. For me, it meant that after learning to suppress my own thinking, I had to start denying my bodily awareness during puberty. And without having taken a voluntary vow, the movement expected us to dedicate ourselves physically to God and to live ‘in purity’ as young people, like monks did. This pressure damaged me psychologically.
But there was intervention. When I was 12, my biological father sent me to an elite boarding school in Venray to finish high school (Havo). This boarding school was completely outside the sphere of influence of the Focolare, which made me more aware of myself and my origins. I had to get used to unprecedented luxury and the staff that was available to us 24 hours a day. The boarding school was reserved for children of the high nobility, diplomats and fortunate business people and situated next to the high school where we had lessons. In addition to studying, the main goal was to develop our own individuality, that part of myself that the Focolare had wanted to keep me away from. Mentors encouraged me to actively take up positions of authority and to be an example of civilization and charity. Actually, this was everything I had imagined the role of a noble knight to be since my childhood!
With all of Focolare's 'vices' still fresh in the back of my mind, I could discover nothing selfish, greedy, avaricious or conceited at boarding school. These were misplaced labels that Focolare apparently stuck on others to portray themselves as better guardians of God, money and goods. At boarding school we learned very well to use our own (sometimes considerable) possessions with respect, including the possession of body and life. Not to just give away, but to share with each other if we wanted to. You could say that we learned to trust in an investment in each other. And so I got my voice back, with God still nameless at my side.
I fell madly in love with a girl from boarding school, Pascale, but became completely paralyzed by my feelings. I suddenly had enormous fears, not because of my feelings but because of the lack of control over my thoughts that I wanted to get rid of at all costs. Of course, no one noticed how hard I was fighting my need to hold this girl all day long, to inhale the scent of her perfume on scarves and sweaters... Let alone that anyone could suspect how much I disapproved of myself because of this physical need.
But Pascale was light as a butterfly, uninhibited and open to all my tinkering. She simply introduced me to her father, director of a multinational oil company, who visited her regularly. We had the same humor and he was just as loving as his daughter. But I didn't understand the signals at all, I didn't trust love and was constantly alert to an inevitable coming sadness. So I hid behind my guitar and, dressed in posh clothes and with a cigarette in my mouth, forced myself to seduce other girls who were interested in me. But I couldn't temper my feelings for Pascale.
I found it all very complicated with my self-imposed inhibitions and fears, clearly stemming from what Focolare had instilled as right and wrong. So instead of being happy and enjoying the daily presence of a beautiful girl for 4 years, I had become far too dependent on a kind of self-imposed image of distance and control. Which meant that I had to silently manage all my unfounded jealousy, of course I could never admit that to Pascale. I tried to explain, but I always got lost in her elegance and dazzling beauty. She was cheerful and relaxed and seemed not to need my support at all, which made me uncertain about my significance. She would then draw me into restaurants and jewelry stores in her liveliness and in our spare time we would create comic sketches in which she would laugh out loud at my facial expressions… Such moments were touchingly new and so precious, that I almost felt pain from them. This was unthinkable in relationships between Gen and focolarini, this was how I could be completely myself, outside the movement. Little by little I became more dependent on Pascale's appreciation, who flooded me with warmth and energy but of course could not strengthen my personality from within. And that was very necessary, that I would stand in my own story, independent of her.
During my graduation I performed a final exam act together with Pascale in the Stadstheater, which turned out to be a great success. We even thought about auditioning for drama school, but I kept having doubts and so we missed out on the application. Then I had a panic attack during the graduation ceremony; I knew that my official last name would be called out on the diploma, and not the name of my foster parents, which everyone knew. I froze and had flashbacks of conversations in Focolare, of eyes focused again on an internalized victim, being Rosh the foster child. I remained as quiet as a mouse, feeling cornered again. I took the diploma from the stage and definitely wanted to avoid Pascale's parents showing any interest in my good grades. Off course I couldn’t pass their seats unnoticed so I felt even worse. During a party later on that night I told people I had no real acting desires. In fact I didn't dare give in to what Focolare considered a "search for my own glory".
It became clear to me that I was far from being able to have a normal relationship or achieve success otherwise. I let go of Pascale to “start over” (words of the movement) as if that were ever possible. I moved to a flat in the nearby city of Nijmegen to do another two year of pre-university study, while desperately holding on to a college friend and the nightlife with some old friends from boarding school. I was a lonely 18-year-old who still had to learn to live alone in a small house, without a familiar social environment. I started drinking more and picking up girls in a club and could not find a purpose. Until some Gen came to visit me again and kept inviting me to their homes and meetings. I would return to the only familiar place for my soul.
Labor wounds
I couldn't bring myself to study anymore, so I quit. The creative child who had taken trumpet and guitar lessons at the music school, had sculpted human figures in clay and had made up all kinds of sketches, was suddenly completely taken out of his natural state. To “serve people” according to the recipe of Focolare. And how to do that, I needed to hear from others. How could I best use my talents?
That question was soon answered by the head of Focolare Netherlands, ‘capozona’ Lella: “We would like you to come and help us build the first Mariapoli center in the Netherlands. What do you think, Rosh?”
“Si Lella.” I simply obeyed.
The Catholic Church owned the estate of a former count in Baak, on which stood a large historical house with several outbuildings, surrounded by a moat. The whole was made available to the Focolare Movement. And I was happy to offer myself and my physical strength to help, in the hope to get my life back in order as well. At the time I did not realize that I had been spiritually uprooted by the same people with whom I now wanted to live again in self-sacrifice and denial. I think that was because I now saw the Movement as a salvation, I was grateful to them. For their part, Focolare welcomed me as a providence of God and considered the volunteer work I did for them as God's will for me, not something for which they themselves had a (shared) responsibility.
Some Gen youngsters worked with me on the renovation of a large annexe where a religious order had previously been active. It was necessary to remove and adapt some structures so that it could be used as a modern 'Mariapoli' center, a place to live and work for the Focolare members. We first demolished over 20 chambrettes (wooden sleeping quarters for Sisters without a ceiling) to build new hotel-like rooms for guests who came for various weekend or holiday gatherings. Safety was not provided for in this voluntary work; in fact, we used tools and equipment that were not suitable for this heavy - and essentially professional - work. While we were singing all kinds of songs by the international rock band 'Gen Rosso', dangerous situations regularly arose with wood splinters flying around or debris falling over us. But even in these situations the Focolarini believed that through good will and service to God, all difficulties could be overcome: God himself would protect us from all dangers: it was a “divine adventure”. So I thanked heaven when I slipped next to a large vertical nail, and not right on it. In retrospect, I find this way of working very irresponsible and risky.
We were available for activities in the Mariapoli center 24 hours a day, which sometimes left us in a heady haze of tiredness. Lella personally managed the construction of the centre. She called on me more frequently to take care of the participating young people and volunteers during the weekend and guide them in their work. In between, these people told me their life experiences that could deeply touch me. By surrendering to the situation, words and insights came to me that proved to be valuable guidance or comfort to people. And although people's struggles hit me hard and unfiltered, I felt enlightened at the same time. I just wasn't trained for this, and that felt mentally heavy and powerless. Still Lella gave me many compliments, encouraged me even and gave me more responsibilities during the renovation. I worked on almost all parts of the buildings: stone chipping for electrical cables, demolishing and rebuilding walls, constructing many bedrooms using wooden frames and plasterboard, installing ceilings, leveling and tiling floors in toilets and bathrooms, stripping and tiling the central kitchen in a vaulted cellar, laying carpets in the colossal spaces, hanging high curtains, wallpapering the large conservatory and dining areas, sanding and painting historic window frames, doors and stairs, treating the exterior walls and plastering interior walls. But also the unprotected emptying of attics with asbestos insulation and installing glass wool insulation there, without a face mask.
It is not surprising that I regularly felt a tickle in my lungs at the time, and that now 40 years later I have respiratory problems. Also in 2004 I suddenly developed acute back pain and was unable to walk for a year. On the X-rays the doctor saw an unexplained form of age-related osteoarthritis, which only occasionally occurred in construction workers. I was 41 and had never done any physical exertion anywhere other than Baak. Only recently did I realize that this was the result of the hard work at the center of the movement, just as I became aware of the great risks we were taking during the renovation work there.
I have escaped death several times. Like once during the insulation of the attic of the main building, when I fell through the thin plaster ceiling with a nest of dead bats and old asbestos insulation (!) I literally landed centimeters next to a stately staircase of at least 10 meters deep. I hadn’t broken anything and I was still alive, so the rickety scaffolding that was supposed to support the ceiling beams, remained in use. A volunteer did bring me a cup of tea and downplayed the incident by assuring me that I was protected by God. Like I was protected when I was standing on a bad ladder and a stone edge came loose from the roof and only grazed my arm? Everything almost went wrong.
During a year in the Mariapoli center, Lella regularly asked me to help her think about construction decisions and the organisation of meetings. But she also increasingly asked for attention to her personal needs. Our relationship became more confidential and she paid a lot of attention to my criticism of Focolare, in which she herself seemed to be entangled. In addition to her interest in my work, now more than 14 hours a day, she resolutely defended me against disapproving criticisms from some Focolare members and told me not to be deterred and above all to continue with spiritual guidance: “Love and do what you want!” She was the one who gave tasks to the people in charge of the center by assigning colors. She gave me the color indigo (=wisdom) and yellow (=prayer and faith matters) as a priority. In this way Lella showed me my value and I felt acknowledged. At the same time she started visiting me alone in my bedroom more often in the evenings to talk, confusing me with very intimate touches. These targeted visits and Lella's striking behavior in my presence must certainly have been noticed by the Focolarine around her. Suddenly I was recognized by them as 'important' in the hierarchical order and everyone nodded in agreement to my statements. As if I had suddenly become the interpreter of “the will of God.”
One evening the leader of the Gen youth surprised me with the announcement that I could go to the international Gen school in Loppiano (Italy). This trip of several weeks to one of the movement's towns, was an important indication of Focolare's ambitions with members: apparently they had found me suitable for leadership, and I certainly should not derive any self-esteem from that. Cardinal Simonis had offered to pay for my trip, which made me wonder if I was spiritually on track. Loppiano became a deepening trip and we stayed with young people of all nationalities in different houses. Every day we followed a program about Chiara's insights, charity in aspects such as sports and work, and we came up with musical shows about a theme of faith. I was not well balanced with God. And I struggled with the rigorous rejection of "special" friendships, which quickly made any sustained personal contact suspect and limited everyone to the exchange of spiritual experiences and brief pleasantries. But I struggled most with the feigned brotherhood: The gesture of handing over coffee and shooting someone dead with the other. I knew for sure that the Focolare life was not for me.
Lella suggested that I at least come and study in Amsterdam, near the zone centre. She made me enthusiastic about choosing physiotherapy, a ‘beautiful profession to advance the “Work”’ and support Focolare, according to her. I decided to accept her request as an assignment.
Just before I left Baak, Lella’s financial assistant stopped me with an urgent request to contribute 350 euros to the housing costs of the Mariapoli center. Something snapped inside me. I stood speechless in the hall in my worn-out clothes, and didn’t understand. Hadn’t I given all my time, health and strength to transform the entire Mariapoli center into a luxury star hotel? Hadn’t I also paid rent for a room in Nijmegen where I never stayed, and all the transport costs, worn out clothes and used up personal belongings? And now Lella’s assistant wanted even more? Did this come from Lella? I called my parents, who were furious. My former friends from the movement didn’t hesitate for a moment and immediately came to pick me up in a car. I didn't give the money.
After this incident I wanted to live on my own, but due to the continuing housing shortage in the capital I remained dependent on a room that the movement had made available for me in the ‘Genhuis’, a large apartment for ‘internal’ Gen who were studying or working. In the meantime, Lella kept inviting me to visit her at the zone centre, a Focolare house nearby, where she now stayed more often than in Baak. Her intentions towards me became more refined, but at the same time more intimate, something that would now be called 'grooming'. Lella sought my proximity by means of organizational requests for help, and when we were alone she kept holding my hand for a longer time, stroking my face and hair and used her tone of voice and eyes to express her ‘human interest’ and therefore forbidden love for me. She also did this with a whole group of people present. For example, she might be speaking to a group on a topic like “Affection” and suddenly turn to me and say, “We all need to control our desires, don’t we Rosh?!” Anyone might think that Lella simply had a big heart and wanted to connect with my personal struggles against intimicy, but when you are the one who is groomed, you know better. It is just difficult to identify true motives when someone gradually oversteps personal integrity with small touches and words. And even more so when a woman uses motherly attention for sexually tinged advances.
Lella had heard that I was very fond of mountain walking, and that summer she suggested that I go on holiday to Northern Italy with a number of Focolarine from her house. I had not been able to build up many friendships in Amsterdam, so I agreed. The Italian ambassador to the Netherlands had made his house in Sestriere available to us. With a Brazilian Focolarina who was otherwise very reserved, I immediately developed a very deep bond. We walked a lot together and spontaneously shared our interest in art, music and poetry, even had similar insights about life with God and Focolare, for which she had been living in Europe for 25 years. By talking freely about our lives, we got a better picture of ourselves and our history. She had been misunderstood for years because of her friendships, and was therefore regularly sent to another country. In various ways, the militant lifestyle of Focolare had spiritually cornered us both.
In Amsterdam we continued to meet 'secretly' in parks, at markets, and watched football in the zone center when she was alone. All things that we could identify with again as people. By developing this relationship, the distance to Chiara and the movement grew and at one point I discovered that art was my personal 'language' and that I wanted to study it. The focolarina enjoyed my work and regularly came to my studio or to the Genhuis when I was alone. She encouraged me to become a teacher because she thought I could explain so clearly. One day, however, a housemate came home from work too early and we knew immediately that the presence of a focolarina at the Gen house, was suspicious and would be reported to Lella. She immediately called for the focolarina and, in my presence, confronted her in a derogatory manner about her vow of chastity, the badness of our relationship and the fact that she had been in my bedroom.
Lella addressed her as a strict mother as if I neede protection from a focolarina who did not have her priorities clear. But we were two adults who just needed some space to see ourselves as human beings while Lella, regularly crossed boundaries, with her as with me. Without asking and without permission. She could exchange the role of mother with that of seductress at will, only because she was the highest responsible person in the Netherlands. There is no professional guidance for such a hierarchical top position in Focolare. The Brazilian focolarina brought out the worst in Lella and was blamed for a 'special friendship' out of frustration and jealousy. But who would have proven that and made Lella answer?
Within days, the 'Center of the Work' in Rome decided to expel the Focolarina from the movement and send her back to Brazil with only €1000. Lella said that she had never wanted this, but that she had to submit to the judgment of Rome. With that, a very capable 49-year-old woman, after 25 years of service and major economic contributions to a European Focolare, was simply written off. It was a favor from Lella that I was allowed to take her to the airport with the focolarine and barely had a minute to say goodbye. After that, no one wanted to know how we would survive, 1,000 kilometers apart and outside the ‘Focolare family’.
A few months later, Lella called me out of the blue to ask how things were going. Wouldn't I like to come and talk to her again? After all, it wasn't my fault that a Brazilian focolarina had seduced me while she was married to God. And she even judged Brazilians to be a young people who were not yet spiritually mature... I would always be welcome, though. Again, I was shocked and now angry. I told her exactly what I thought of the situation and ended the conversation with the words: "You hang people on a cross yourself and then stand under them to pray!" In no time the Genhuis was sold and I was homeless. Fortunately God did not abandon me and an Amsterdam friend had found a room for me.
Wounds of boundaries
After a few more years I met an English actress in Amsterdam, Clare, who did both (political) cabaret and the Buddy Holly musical in London. She had come into my pub during the annual Queen's Day festivities and sat down on the stool next to me. Before we had even greeted each other she whispered in my ear: "Can I call you Sir?" I recognized her playful elitist behavior from boarding school, and she apparently saw through my distant attitude. That evening Clare challenged me to join her in a sexual game as a dominant partner. I didn't know what to do and therefore automatically reacted as I did in Focolare: to lead serving and to serve suffering. Make or break, and with Clare I was the one to physically restrict her. By means of handcuffs she ordered me to shape her submissive intimacy. I didn't realize then that I had ended up in an abuse situation again, only now in the opposite form. I thought I had my life in hand, but in reality Clare determined what my dominance should look like.
I became totally entangled in my own sexual needs. Traveling back and forth between London and Amsterdam, role playing with Clare became essential and we decided I would move to London when she got a role in the Buddy Holly musical at the Victoria Palace Theatre. She would have to perform two shows a day, 7 nights a week, and we had enough money to travel while I finished my last year of art studies in Amsterdam. I cancelled my house in Amsterdam and thought I was ready to 'started over'.
It took me another month to find out that Clare had been addicted to cocaine for years and had her dealer in the theatre. I felt It took me at least another month to find out that Clare had been addicted to cocaine for years and had her dealer in the theater. I felt deceived and betrayed and mentally distanced myself from her. I became like an island on her island, with only a few Dutch friends to whom I could find comfort. She however blamed me for her using more cocaine and encouraged me to tie her up tighter and then hit her. Drawn into her fantasies and my own needs, we ended up at extravagant parties with actors and many famous people from the theater world. Her boundaries became mine.
This damaging relationship lasted a year and Clare’s drug use brought out other psychological problems in her, such as the undisclosed MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder). I got to know multiple personalities in Clare who alternated, which was intense. She than confessed that she had stopped taking lithium, which amplified things. I had no energy left and with my last bit of strength I urgently referred her to a psychiatrist. That same night I fled on a ferry to Amsterdam. The only thing that kept me warm was a sweet stranger who sat next to me like an angel the entire journey.
The profound experiences in London had everything to do with two opposing people. One had had too much freedom in her life and therefore did not want to think and decide for herself. The other, after a strict life with Focolare, had so little say in his life that he needed to be recognized for who he was.
Clare and I were both damaged by confusing love with fancy dress commands. It turned out that I, for one, was completely unaware of my own boundaries and how to set them. But how complicated it may have been, I now had to learn to protect myself against obedient automatism and desired behavior. I had to find ways to live on my own authority and to deploy natural defenses.
It was 1991 by now, I was 27 years old and back at square one. Still not graduated as a teacher in Arts and again without a home. Some friends from Amsterdam took me in until I was offered my first home. That happened on my birthday, which I experienced as a true gift from heaven. There was even humor in it since the house was opposite to the former Gen house! In that same year - 1992 - I was able to complete my education as an artist and a art teacher, and I met my current wife Olga.
The Focolare past haunted me for years. For a long time I had the tendency to say yes to everything, which also made me easily exploited. Natural instincts to take care of myself first seemed dulled or worked out of my personality. But how can one love others if one doesn’t know how to love oneself?
It was Olga who emphasized that not all people are good, that I have to protect my inner self from them. And sometimes she acted as a gatekeeper to prevent abuse of me. If I hadn’t been given so many qualities at birth, I would never have found the freedom to navigate through my spiritual and human powers again. Thank God I was blessed, not thanks to Chiara.
Wounded
All in all, Focolare has proven to be able to disrupt and hinder relationships between people and God in a penetrating way. They make people who are on a spiritual journey dependent on the appreciation of a movement that puts Unity at the center, but do not truly appreciate the individuality of people. That is not good for a healthy relationship with yourself and with the world. Little Rosh was born independent and complete and then placed in a bed between children in an orphanage. But like all children, he dependent on adults for protection and care in order to grow solid reationships with others and in my case the Maker, God, without his name being important.
Focolare was more set up as a refuge for people who needed safety or attention, not to mature individuals. Instead of spiritual kinship, I found a movement that wanted to convince me of something they themselves perhaps lacked: “Unity”? There was much more sorrow among the people there, than the opportunity for me to help bear it. And the real gold in people was never appreciated.
At the end of 2013 something strange happened. It seemed as if I was invisibly taken by the hand through all the experiences in my life. As if I was given a mirror in the words and actions of other people, acting as I did. And while I was not given the chance to judge those people, I had to reflect on myself which was exhausting to do. And though no one could see this happening, for me it was God's invitation to test myself as a human being and learn how to master my spiritual gifts. And in that, my own personality turned out to be the biggest pitfall: I bowed too quickly to the opinion of well-behaved people.
For example, I was asked to become chairman of the largest tenants' organization of 42,000 households in Amsterdam, which I initially did not want. When I was urged to take it up, I improved many rules and means. But I also approved policies of the board of directors that were purely aimed at increasing the commercial power of the housing corporation at the expense of the tenants. Why? Because I had let myself be clouded by luxurious attention, and had not sufficiently checked facts and calculations. And in the same way my recruiting role within a political party was used purely electorally and not for the substantive ideals. So I had been placed before my own mirror, in which I had to find my route to recovery. God deliberately let me fall in order to stand up myself. I learned the most valuable lessons from it.
Wounds of a new beginning
Leaving the Focolare movement also means that you are completely out of it. That is why untill now I could only share the unknown and strange history from my youth, with a few others. Outsiders and even my two lovely daughters only suspect that Focolare was some kind of sect. They have no idea of religion or spiritual awareness and I would not know how to clarify it other than in my artwork.
Fortunately, in 2022 an organization of former focolarini, OREF, was created, which was able to restructure this loss of past by expressing and interpreting each other's experiences and communicating this to the responsible Roman Catholic Church.
But the pain remains that you cannot explain how we as Gen children first played carelessly with each other, shared ordinary life and, like others, got into mischief during holidays, only to end up in a spiritually manipulative regime. It was not like a scouting or a drum band, it was more like a military compound in a religious war. It was the idea of a safely fenced-off area, where we would sneak around dark buildings at night, anxious to be caught by focolarini and then get a scolding or “purgatorio”... Until we learned that the enemy was not outside the gate, but in our midst.
The hierarchical structure that had been set up led to control and betrayal, to curry favor with the “top”, smiling but at the expense of others. I had to leave my school friend and hundreds of others behind in that focolare atmosphere, because interest in me would be limited to reconquering. Bringing in a “lost sheep” temporarily raises the status of the member. So when I contacted Monica a few years ago to see how she was, she immediately brought a judgment from the top about another ex-focolarina I was in contact with. You can't be too naive, there is no room for trust:(re) introducing of potential members, is actually the main priority of the 'Work' of the movement. All members have that in mind, which is why the many supposed friendships I thought I had built up, ultimately turn out to be nothing more than superficial acquaintances.
Focolare is over for me and too much to mourn. That is why I started doing what I know for sure has lasting value: devoting myself to art and sharing my soul content with the people with whom I experience a natural bond, such as with some former focolarini. Together we show that we are complete as people, and want to let our hearts speak for the good. And for me there is also a God who supports me, loves me and gives me the freedom and confidence to take the right path. In this way, I have only recently come to understand the life of Jesus as a perfect example of a knight who lived what he teaches in freedom. True mastership.
Rosh Knoope.