The following article was
originally posted in Spanish on Crux Sancta. It details the anonymous testimony of a woman, now likely in her late 70s, who followed the Neocatechumenal Way for a period of about 3 years in the late 1980s. We invite the reader, as always, to test the veracity of this story by comparing it against the testimony of many others who have spoken across the years and around the globe, and perhaps even against your own lived experience.
At the beginning of February, what was presented as the "catechesis of the Neocatechumenals" began in my parish. I was 40 years old, had two teenage children, and had been a widow for a little more than two months.
Along with my children, I attended these talks that took place two nights a week. It was quite late for me, but I was attracted by the songs and the approach to the Word of God, which they explained in an animated way. After the talks concluded, there was a first "convivence" in which there were some very beautiful ceremonies, but what caught my attention was at the end of the third day, when the stay had to be paid for, a black bag was circulated among the attendees during a prayer gathering. Into this bag we were encouraged to deposit "what each one could, with generosity, taking into account that there were brothers who could not pay."
In the first round, the necessary amount was not collected. Another round was made, after which, with very heartfelt words, our catechist assured us that something great had happened: the sum was not only enough, but more than enough! His speech took on a magical tone. He came to say that a miracle had occurred in our midst, that something had come out of our pockets in which nothing was left out of pure generosity. Yes, yes... I'll come back to this episode later.
After this convivence, what was called "the second community of XXX" was born, the first one having existed for 3 or 4 years. Four responsibles were named. There were no married couples to separate, so one was me (I'm a teacher), along with a colleague of mine and two university students. From the first moment, a demanding rhythm was imposed for those who have jobs and prior responsibilities. We met regularly each week: once to prepare the readings relating to the "word," once for the celebration of the Liturgy of the Word, and once for the Eucharistic celebration on Saturday night.
This was all extremely tiring because we would finish around midnight or after. Later I realized that tired people are more impressionable and easier to manipulate.
In addition, as a responsible, I had to participate in some convivences just for responsibles. This was a burden for me because I had to leave my children and my in-laws alone.
At that time, our pastor suffered a heart attack and had to leave the parish to another priest, a good and honest person, but incapable of stopping the itinerant (I will call him John), who had come to, what they continued to call, "catechize us."
I soon became disliked of John's wife, a cold and sour woman whom I never saw smile. One of the times we clashed was after a "catechesis," in which she repeated several times, "...who doesn't hate his brother--and notice that the word 'hate' in the Greek language is really hate, hate, not to love less, HATE, etc. etc.--is not worthy of Me." I responded to this intervention by proposing the Gospel of St. John and his First Letter, but I noticed her inability to reason and only drew her ire.
On one occasion, during what they designate as a day of convivence, in the round of experiences, a girl accused me of a lack of hospitality. Her argument was that, having made my house available to the community for the Easter night agape, I should have allowed them to make trouble. And none of my brothers showed consideration for my neighbors! But things got even more complicated.
Neocatechumenal praxis establishes that after two years, there is a "step" to I don't know what. It was the end of January, there was a lot of work at school, and my 82-year-old father-in-law had a throat problem and was awaiting surgery, and I was the one who had to take care of his treatment. Well, just in those days you had to go to another town for the magical step that takes you to I don't know where. I decided to communicate my family situation to my "catechists" (as they called themselves) and I suggested that I attend the convivence during the day, but that at night I felt the moral and ethical duty to be at home. Their answer was that I had to expose everything to John, who was not my catechist, in neither name nor practice. I know now that there are ranks among the Neocatechumenals who consider themselves "catechists," and that except for the itinerants at the top, no other has decision-making power. Their mission consists only of informing the itinerant boss of how many there are in the community and how many of them have not made the "steps" and for what reasons.
I met John on January 17, Saint Anthony's Day, which is a holiday in our diocese. He listened to me with an air of smugness and assured me that if I did not sleep in the convivence location, the Lord would not pass by for me, but that I was free to come and go as I pleased. So he gave me to understand that my proposal was valid for "being useful" without neglecting my in-laws.
Consequently, myself along with three other people went and came back on Friday, as well as Saturday and Sunday.
On Sunday, the ceremony - not a liturgy, but mere posturing - of the "step" took place. They told us we had to be there by 3:00 pm. We brought flowers for the table, a bottle of "Opium" perfume to perfume the oil and many sweets for the agape with which the ceremony would conclude. When we arrived, everything was almost ready. There were about 50 people sitting in a circle around the lectern and the table. The flowers that we brought they had thrown away.
We sat down, too. John burst into the room and called our attention with a peremptory gesture: "You, you and you, come with me." We got up without knowing what was happening, but we had the feeling that nothing good awaited us. We followed him into a small room where two priests--the priest who replaced our pastor and an itinerant priest--were waiting for us. Rudely and with a lack of education, they told us that we could not make the step - wherever it goes - because we had not spent the night in the convivence house, which was the reason why "the Lord had not passed for us." I stood up and said that God does not happen here, there, or in other places, but happens in people's lives, and I appealed to his understanding through the mediation of St. John Bosco, whose feast was that day. John responded with contempt, "And who is this St. John Bosco?", to imply that he had more discernment than any saint or that God himself bowed down before the criteria of an itinerant Neocatechumenal. I had never witnessed such a display of pride, contempt, and lack of love for the other, which is Christ.
We left that assembly humiliated and mistreated, and the week passed in a rather traumatic way. On Saturday afternoon, we met again with the brothers of the community who had made the famous step. The brother whose turn it was to give the environmental monition of the Eucharist spoke of the presence of the devil within the community, of some who were the devil, and he repeated the concept several times and managed to make us feel called out: "Is it me?" "They are those who have not made the step."
Despite this, we participated again on other Saturdays, as well as in some Liturgies of the Word. During a Word, the responsible who had mentioned the presence of the devil in the community called us aside, begging us to raise some money as soon as possible because there was about to be a convivence to form a new community. For this reason, I quote his words: "We have to do as always, that is, have a generous sum at your disposal, in the event that when the bag is passed, not enough money comes out in the first round." That's when I understood that our community had acted in the same way. Other people put in the missing money! It could always have been argued that it was Providence, but why not say outright where the money came from? Why deceive with an impression of mystery and magic to impress us?
I wanted to discuss it with the priest of the responsible team and he replied that... I shouldn't judge (?!). I stopped going to the community.
After a while a friend told me that if I wanted to return to the community, I could go and do that famous step in which I had to reveal my "cross" in front of everyone. I answered no. A year later, the "Shema" was announced to the people of the community where I had been for three years. So I asked if I could participate as an "external": I would have liked to spend a few days in prayer and recollection. The answer was not surprising: no one had the power to decide whether or not, they had to talk to the itinerant boss, John. He said no. But a few days before the feast of St. Anthony, the pastor - the substitute for our good sick pastor - called me on John's orders, saying that John wanted to speak with me. I reiterated that I did not want to see him, and the priest told me to make a gesture of obedience... and I reluctantly accepted at the priest's insistence, trusting his criteria. I did not repeat that mistake.
I was summoned to the parish at 8:30 pm on January 17, 1989. I thought I was the only one the team of itinerants headed by John wanted to talk to, but I was surprised to see five other people. I was also surprised that we found ourselves in some kind of criminal court, without a lawyer and without knowing the charges against us. The six of us were sitting side by side, leaning against a wall, and in front of us, the inquisitors: John, his wife, a forty-something spinster, the priest who shined John's shoes, and a Neocatechumenal who had spent many years in India.
The questioning began with the married couples, which generated a lot of debate. They were asked questions that those of us who didn't know them shouldn't have heard, and they barely managed to articulate plaintive justifications without the servile priest stopping them, for which I felt more and more dismayed and bewildered; I would never have expected such a thing. So, I asked them to tell me immediately what they had to tell me, because I was not going to keep listening to what was not my business, and if they had nothing for me, I would leave now.
Then, with a gesture of offended authority, John asked me if I had taken the step. I answered that I had not and that surely the Lord would have decided when it was time. He was silent. He asked me if I wanted anything and I told him that I would like to go (on my own) and join the community to pray in the Shema. He replied that it was absolutely impossible unless I first did the famous step. I wondered if by any chance there was a passage in the Gospel that prohibited anyone who wanted to join others in prayer. I also said that many times and everywhere the Pope repeated: "Open the doors to Christ!", in the sense of welcoming Jesus and the brothers and helping them in difficulties...
John replied to me: "You have to obey and that's it, whether you like it or not, we are God!"
I was stunned. No one silenced him, and he added, "and if not God himself, we are his angels!"
Again, no one objected. I expected a word from the priest, from one of those present... nothing!
I picked up my bag, got up, and left forever.
The photo banner displayed at the Vocational Gathering with Kiko less than two weeks after her death, with digitally added prayer hands – already they began to decieve and manipulate.
