The little girl on the threshold

By Andrea Tornielli

“I felt like a little girl welcomed into a home that could also be hers...” Lila Azam Zanganeh speaks with a passionate torrent of words, none of which feel unnecessary. Her large dark eyes study her listener, as if reading their heart. Born in Paris to Iranian parents, she has taught literature and film at Harvard, lives between Rome, Paris, and New York, and speaks seven languages. She is a woman of the world who knows the world, and the mother of a two-year-old child. In recent days, she participated in the Jubilee of Communication alongside other members of Narrative 4, the nonprofit organization founded by writer Colum McCann to promote empathy and mutual understanding through the sharing of personal stories.

“Attending the Jubilee,” she says with emotion, “was perhaps one of the most important events of my life, alongside the birth of my son two years ago. I was born in Paris, and my Iranian mother had attended Catholic schools in Tehran. From childhood, she instilled in me a very open faith. I studied at a Catholic school. But no one ever told me that I wasn’t Catholic!”

When Lila was nine years old, she “discovered” that she could not receive Communion because she was not baptized. And according to the rules, she would have to wait until she was fifteen to be baptized. “I remember attending catechism in France. One day, in class, I asked a question: ‘Why is only Christ the Son of God? Aren’t we all children of God?’ The catechist—perhaps noting my last name—replied, ‘If you say such things, you don’t belong here.’” It was a painful memory. “But, by some miracle and perhaps thanks to my mother’s faith, I continued to have a very deep relationship with Christianity. You can imagine my emotion upon arriving at the Jubilee.”

Lila has always followed the Pope’s testimony with attention and admiration. “A priest from the Amazon once told me, ‘With this Pope, there is the law of the heart, and in your heart, you are already a Christian.’ I was deeply moved by Francis’ inclusive vision, his insistence that we must go out into the world to share Jesus’ message. I was overwhelmed when he spoke of a God who knocks, not to enter, but to go out and reach everyone.”

On Friday, January 24, the first act of the Jubilee of Communicators was a penitential vigil at St. John Lateran. “I often attend Mass, even though I know that ‘technically’ I am not Catholic,” she confesses. “And I can say that the liturgical service I participated in at the Lateran was the most beautiful I have ever experienced. At one point, we were told that sixty priests were available for confessions. A friend from Narrative 4, Rosa, who is very Catholic, immediately went to confess. When she returned, I asked if it had been a good experience. She replied, ‘Very.’ I told her, ‘I’m not strictly Catholic... do you think I can go too?’ She is usually very precise about these things, so I expected her to say, ‘Absolutely not!’ Instead, she said, ‘Yes, you can go.’”

Lila, the little girl who had longed for Communion but was unable to receive it because she was not baptized, got up and approached one of the priests. “I stood in line for the French-speaking confessors. When I reached the Congolese priest, the first thing I said was, ‘Father, my first sin is that I am not Catholic. But I have the Christian faith in my heart.’ He replied, ‘We are all sinners, and in God’s house, you are welcome.’ Then he began to pray. It was such a beautiful moment that I started crying, but from joy. He told me wonderful things. He invited me to stay connected to the Holy Spirit, and we spoke about love, which sometimes faces disappointment. He told me that others are always part of us and reminded me of the commandment of love. I cried tears of joy, and in the end, I laughed and thanked him because it was such a profoundly joyful experience.”

On Monday morning, during an audience for a group of communicators, Lila had the chance to meet Pope Francis in person and share part of her story. “He looked at me, encouraged me to keep going and to have courage. Even my Congolese confessor had understood the Pope’s spirit—this incredible openness, like someone who is both outside and inside at the same time, always pushing beyond.”

And so, in the embrace of the Jubilee and that moment in the confessional, Lila felt like a little girl still standing on the threshold, yet welcomed into a home that could be hers. She stands at the threshold, much like the great French Catholic writer Charles Péguy, who wrote pages of unforgettable depth and faith yet remained unable to receive the sacraments throughout his life because he was civilly married to an atheist woman and had three unbaptized children. Reflecting on Jesus’ three years of public life, Péguy wrote:

“He did not spend them whining or blaming the wickedness of the times… He did not accuse, he did not condemn anyone. He saved. He did not indict the world. He saved the world. Others, instead, denounce, reason, and indict, like angry doctors scolding the patient. They blame the sands of the age, but even in Jesus’ time, there were ages and their sands. Yet on that dry sand, on the sand of the age, an inexhaustible spring flowed—a spring of grace.”

That same grace now shines through the words and face of a writer who is “technically” not Catholic. But in her heart, one evening at the Lateran, the world and grace embraced—until they became almost indistinguishable.