The other day, in a random café, I saw a scene that made me think. Every table was occupied… but no one was talking. Four people together, each looking at their phone. Silence. Physical presence, but inner distance.
And I thought: how easy it is today to live surrounded by people… and feel alone.
This society insists that we are self-sufficient individuals, little islands that don’t need anyone else. “Live your life,” “don’t let anyone affect you,” “protect your space.” And yet, when we did the Cursillo, we discovered something very different: that we are made for encounter. That when someone truly listens to us, something inside us lights up.
I remember my own Cursillo. It wasn’t the techniques or the talks that made the biggest impression on me. It was the feeling that someone was sincerely interested in me. That my story mattered. That my wounds weren’t scary. That clear gaze of a brother who didn’t judge, but simply accompanied me.
That’s when I understood that we are not islands. We are bridges.
Over time, life puts us back in front of people who are difficult for us. That difficult colleague. That family member who is always on the defensive. That neighbor who seems to live angry at the world. And it’s so easy to label… so comfortable to keep our distance.
But one day, if we stop for a moment—as we were taught in the Cursillo—and ask ourselves, “What is going on inside them?”, everything changes. Perhaps behind that harshness there is fear. Perhaps behind that aggressiveness there is a wound. Perhaps behind that indifference there is a deep loneliness.
Empathy makes no noise. It doesn’t appear on social media. But it transforms environments.
Jesus did it that way. He didn’t pass by. He stopped. With the widow who had lost her son. With Mary weeping at Lazarus’ tomb. With Peter, broken by his betrayal. He didn’t start with speeches. He started with presence.
And that, if we think about it, is very Cursillista.
How many times at an Ultreya does someone start telling us about their week and, without realizing it, we are all holding that testimony in our hearts? Not because we have brilliant solutions, but because we share life. Because we have learned that charity begins with understanding.
Of course, it’s not always easy. Sometimes we’re in a hurry. Sometimes we’re tired. Sometimes our pride whispers to us that it’s not worth it.
But then we remember something fundamental: we are not alone in this. Grace is not theory. It is concrete help. It is the Spirit gently pushing us to take that extra step. To stay five more minutes. To listen a little more.
And prayer… that simple prayer we learned perhaps on our knees in the Cursillo chapel… is what refocuses the heart. Because when we look at God, we learn to look better at our brothers and sisters.
In the end, humility is the key. I have learned that often there is no need to explain anything. There is a need to be there. There is no need to correct. There is a need to embrace. There is no need to give lessons. We need to say, “I am here. Count on me.”
In a world that wants to isolate us, we are called to be community. In a world that shouts opinions, we can offer listening. In a world that divides, we can unite.
And every time a Cursillista lives this way—at home, at work, in their environment—something changes. It may not make the news. Maybe no one applauds it. But the Kingdom grows.
Because when we stop living as islands and start living as brothers and sisters… the world becomes a little more like what God dreamed it would be.
And then, almost without realizing it, we smile again and say, with our hearts on fire:
De Colores.
