Important appointments, travel, public commitments, plus the many tasks that being the president of the Focolare Movement entailed were a typical day in the life of Chiara Lubich. This was true even in September 2004, when she was 84.

Then, quite unexpectedly, halfway through the month, all her activities ground to a halt with no apparent cause. It was, for Chiara, the beginning of her “night of the soul”—physical suffering, spiritual trials, questions without answers.

“I remember that she just said, ‘I don’t feel well,”’ says Giulia Folonari—known to everyone as Eli—Chiara’s closest assistant, who had lived in the founder’s home focolare since 1953.

Could you describe the way Chiara lived throughout this period of illness?

She lived it as a precise will of God. Chiara was accustomed to recognizing and loving God’s will in every situation, and she approached this illness with the same attitude. For her, one word from the doctor expressed God’s will, and so she was very obedient. She always followed her treatment in order to get better and to fulfill God’s plan for her.

What happened from a spiritual point of view?

Chiara’s life was marked by soaring heights and deep abysses, by suffering and light. Last year, through her writings, she explained a little of the profound spiritual trial that she was undergoing. She told us that in the “dark night of the spirit,” as St John of the Cross calls it, God intervenes in a radical way, purifying the soul in accordance with his perfection, without the soul being able to understand this overpowering intervention. Only God knows. But he is there, he acts.

Chiara did not sense God any more, she couldn’t tell he was there. She used an image: she said it was as though the sun had set on the horizon and had disappeared for good. From the notes she wrote, you could tell that she was going through a “dark night of the soul” even more terrible than the “dark night of the spirit.”

In one of these notes she asked herself: “Why am I alive? What am I doing in this world? What have I lived for if my Ideal no longer exists?” One thing she said struck me very deeply: “I am suffering for all the sins of the world, for all sinners.”

In the splendid telegram the pope sent us, he emphasized the redemptive value of suffering, and to me it sounded just like what Chiara was saying during the last week of her life.

Did Chiara miss that very intense life that she had been living?

Chiara never thought along those lines. She didn’t have the strength to do all that she would have wanted to do, but she always looked ahead to create something new.

She wasn’t able to meet Pope Benedict XVI. She must have been disappointed.

Yes, of course she was. They had met when he was still Cardinal Ratzinger, when the revised statutes were still in the approval process. Last September she was a bit better and had wanted to go to see the pope, but then her health prevented it.

She met with people of the movement for various reasons. Was there a common thread that ran through what she said to all of them?

She answered questions on a wide variety of things related to the movement. But to everyone she said to focus decisively on becoming acquainted with and loving Jesus and Mary more and more. And to do this by living the words of Sacred Scripture without wavering.

What did she say to all of you in her focolare?

She was someone who expected a lot from us, someone full of love. The latter years were marked by an even greater fullness of love. She had an infinite amount of patience, which was really impressive, because she felt we were not in tune with her soul. There wasn’t always that full measure of unity, but she didn’t come down to our level. She felt her task was to help us go forward, and so she said what she could in order to help us to live the collective spirituality.

During this state of physical and spiritual suffering, was there something that gave her joy?

Her life was her relationship with God. If that wasn’t there, nothing gave her joy, nothing at all. And we didn’t know what to do, because we could see the positive effects that her suffering was having on the life of the movement. There were abundant fruits, but they didn’t mean much to her. Then, at a certain moment, she began saying that she saw them also as a fruit of her life, and this gave her some consolation.

Did her physical decline make her think about death more frequently?

Death was never mentioned. Perhaps inside she felt that moment was coming, but that it would have been when God willed it.

Was she still interested in following what was going on in the world, in watching the news?

Towards the end she didn’t watch anything any more, nor did she ask how things were going. She found out about the news from letters sent to her by the communities in the movement throughout the world. So she was aware of the unrest in many African countries and also of the tension between Venezuela and Colombia. But whereas before she would say, “Send a message right away to tell them that I am praying, and that I await their news,” she stopped doing that. I don’t know whether it was because of her extreme tiredness or because the supernatural dimension in her had become prevalent in everything.

Did anything happen recently that has made her smile?

Well, Andrea Riccardi, founder of the Community of St. Egidio, came to visit her recently. He said to her, “Look how thin I’ve become! That’s because you don’t invite me to lunch anymore.” And she replied, “As soon as I get home I’ll invite you right away.” Chiara always kept her sense of humor when she had the strength.

What about her last piece of writing?

She herself wrote a spiritual thought intended for the whole movement, which will be published shortly. Then she corrected and re-corrected the text. It is about the quality of our relationship with God and with each other, based on the Gospel put into practice. But there was still one more thing she wrote after that: her message for the 50th anniversary of the movement in Germany.

Did the spiritual night that Chiara experienced last right up until her death?

Every so often she would call out “Mother,” almost as though she were asking for help, for understanding. Then, a few days ago Chiara suddenly said, “the Madonna,” and she looked straight ahead. After a moment or two, I asked her if she was experiencing a sense of consolation. She replied “Yes” and remained peaceful for the whole afternoon, smiling occasionally. The last two days were very serene. Perhaps, also the days before were like this even though she sometimes asked to see her confessor.

In her last week, Chiara asked several times to be taken home from the hospital. Were you pleased about this or worried?

A long time ago she had written that people who are about to die ask to go home, but this desire is not for their earthly home, but for their heavenly home. When she expressed this longing, I felt a lump in my throat.

Was Chiara happy to be back home?

Certainly. We got back at 1 a.m. Later that morning, when she awoke, she looked out the window at the garden. The sun was shining and she was happy. It was clear that the sun had returned for her, both inside and out. But then, during the afternoon, March 13, her conditions worsened.

Many people came to her room to say goodbye. She was drowsy and short of breath. Some people gave her a kiss or stroked her right hand. A stream of people kept coming, “to be near their mother,” as many said.

There was suffering, gratitude and affection, as people sang songs full of meaning right below her window. Emotions ran deep. The last person to visit her around 10 p.m. said, “You are about to enter the bosom of the Father and remain there forever.” Chiara replied with a clear “Yes.” It was her last word.

All her life she had spoken from the “heart” of the Father. At 2 a.m. the morning of March 14 she completed her journey.

In his telegram, Pope Benedict XVI used the same expression “bosom of the Father.”

Full Story published in Living City (May/June 2008), the Focolare Movement's monthly magazine of religion, dialogue and culture