Ignatius of Loyola

The Seven Last Words: Behold

Steve · March 22, 2016 · 4 Comments

During the hours when Jesus hung on the cross leading up to his death, he uttered seven “words” (actually short sentences, as recorded across the four gospels), and these words continue to be meaningful and insightful to us today if we’re willing to spend some time in quiet with them. For they are not only remembrances of that day and of Jesus’ suffering and death, but also serve as reminders of how we are to live in our own moments of suffering. As we enter Holy Week, I offer seven short reflections on these words and ask you to consider what they might mean to you, today.

Mary — Woman, behold your son. SJG photo.

Three: “Woman, behold your son. Behold your mother.” John 19:25-27

Jesus looks down from the cross and sees what must be a son’s worst nightmare — his mother, watching him suffer and die. Standing there with her friends, close relatives and his beloved disciple (John), his thoughts turn from his death to their life, to their care for one another. Looking at his mother, he says, “Woman, behold your son.” And to John, “behold your mother.” He knew those were all the words he needed to say. He knew from that day on she would be cared for and revered by John and the early Church community. She was to be blessed indeed.

As I read and contemplated this passage today, the phrase “no mother should bury a child” kept coming to mind. I wondered to myself, where is the greater pain: in the mother watching her son die or in the son watching his mother watch him die? For us all, the pain of death can be so intense that we find ourselves asking (or screaming), “why God?” We hurt so much because we love so much, of course, because even as the life we love so much slips away we already feel the loss of relationship and presence.

Certainly Jesus knew the pain his mother was feeling, knew that she needed to be cared for in a society where widows and motherless children were often ignored or worse. So he did the best he could for her in offering her the companionship of John. Jesus neither asks nor commands John about this task; he simply and gently presents them to one another.

As we walk our Christian life, we are called to be more aware of one another. We are asked to “behold” one another, for certainly there are those in our life — whether we are aware or not — who are suffering and in need of our attention. Indeed, perhaps what they most need is for us to simply see — behold — them.

It is this same interaction of beholding that St. Ignatius uses to describe our prayer and relationship with God. When we enter into prayer, he suggests that we “consider God considering us.” As I write this the world once more is grieving over the killing of so many innocents in Belgium, so as we pray tonight we offer up a prayer especially for all those affected. We ask God to consider them, to behold them and gather them into his arms.

Ask yourself in silence: Who needs me to behold them today?

Tomorrow: Forsaken

The Seven Last Words: Paradise

Steve · March 21, 2016 · 2 Comments

Pardise — Paradise in Nicaragua. SJG photo.

Two: “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Luke 23:39-43

Hanging on a cross and utterly helpless, Jesus’ torture — both physical and mental — continues. He has been in relentless pain for hours. He has plenty of reasons to be angry, to seek vengeance, to lash out at his attackers. And who would blame him? What man — especially an innocent man — would not defend himself, after all? Even one of the criminals hanging beside him, condemned to death the same as him, gets his licks in. “You’re the Messiah,” he shouts at Jesus, “save yourself and us!” But Jesus does not respond. Is this weakness or strength, we wonder? For this is how we see the world. An eye for an eye…

But in a quiet moment between the harangues of the thief, the other man speaks up, perhaps seeing for the first time the error of his life and ways. He knows, after all, that he deserves what he is getting. He calls out in anger and confusion at the one attacking Jesus, “Have you no fear? Are you a fool? We are guilty and our punishments fit our crimes. But this one — what is it about this one? — has done nothing wrong. Jesus,” he calls out in some last-minute attempt at redemption, “remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

What kind of response he was expecting we can only guess, but I can’t believe he thought for a moment he would hear this from Jesus: “Okay, I will,” Jesus says. “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Paradise — another world, another day, another chance.

Once again, we see the wounded, hurting, oppressed Jesus turning to love and forgiveness. He had no reason to do this and yet he is ready and quick to forgive and offer redemption. Hanging there, wracked with pain, he continues to love as if he has no choice.

The offer of paradise he offers the penitent thief is what he offers us still. In spite of our pain, our failings, our doubts, dependencies and deep-held grudges, he offers us paradise — another world, another day, another chance.

Ask yourself in silence: How can I find it in myself to be compassionate to those who lash out at me? How can I somehow find the strength to love in the very face of illness, evil, hatred or even death? How can I accept the offer of paradise?

Tomorrow: Mother

The Seven Last Words: Forgive

Steve · March 20, 2016 · Leave a Comment

One: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” Luke 23:33-34

We arrive at the place hauntingly called Golgotha (the Skull), where Jesus and his cross are lifted into place on that ugly hill, a criminal to his left and right. Jesus is tired, wounded and bloody from the torture he has experienced and from the long walk to Golgotha carrying his own instrument of death. He owes nothing to anyone.

Put in his situation (or one similar to it), what would our first words be to the crowd gathered before us? Perhaps something along these lines: “Stop! I have done nothing wrong! I don’t deserve this! This isn’t supposed to happen to me! You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Jesus, instead, turns away from hatred, denial and retribution and toward love, acceptance and forgiveness: “Forgive them, Father. They are just incapable of knowing what it is they are doing. As painful as this is for me, as unjust as the whole situation is, please, just forgive them.”

As we face (or contemplate) our own moments of suffering and death, we are asked to consider Jesus, the gentle healer and forgiver. Will we be able to reach deep beyond the pain and turn the situation to love? Will we be able to forgive those who have hurt us, who have left us feeling alone or with a burden that has been nearly too great to bear?

Ask yourself in silence: What will be the legacy of my suffering? Will it be more pain for someone else or a turn toward the kind of love modeled for me on the cross? Even as I exit, can I leave love behind?

Tomorrow: Paradise

Being There: Jesus Heals the Paralyzed Man at Capernaum

Steve · March 12, 2016 · 7 Comments

In Ignatian spirituality, we are encouraged to place ourselves in the midst of a gospel story in order to more fully encounter Jesus who teaches, heals, befriends, suffers and dies. In this occasional series, I’ll take a journey into that world and pray it helps you find your way there, too.

To begin, I turn to this marvelous story of healing in Mark 2. I believe I first encountered this story as a child, caught up by a Sunday School image of this man being lowered down from the roof so that Jesus can touch and heal him…

Mission Door — Mission door near San Antonio. SJG photo.

As you walk down the dusty road leading into Capernaum, you hear the rumble of voices before you even realize what is going on. A crowd is gathering, converging on the simple home of the itinerant teacher named Jesus. Some even call him a healer. Others say perhaps he is a prophet. A few have said, “Maybe he’s the Messiah we are hoping for.” But who would be foolish enough to believe that?

You push your way through the crowd to see for yourself, edging your way into the doorframe. The air smells of dried clay and cedar, and you lean back against the wood and feel it push into your back. You peer over the heads of those encircling the bearded man at the center of the small room. Quietly and yet with a natural confidence and seeming authority, he is explaining the law and the prophets. No one moves and no one talks. He has captured their attention and their imaginations. He laughs easily and frequently, his eyes dancing in the slant of light coming in through the small windows to his right.

Book Review: One young Jesuit’s journey along “A Purposeful Path”

Steve · August 27, 2015 · 2 Comments

A Purposeful Path: How Far Can You Go with $30, a Bus Ticket and a Dream?
Casey Beaumier, SJ
Loyola Press, 2015

The answer to the question in the title, first of all, is “pretty far, and the journey’s more important than the destination.” And that’s almost always true in life, yes?

Beaumier’s book is a brief memoir of his 1994 Jesuit pilgrimage, an experiment each young Jesuit novice undertakes, during which time he is sent out from his community with only $30 and a one-way bus ticket. The purpose? He must survive by begging, and the point of the experiment, he writes, is to “receive a very special grace of profound trust that the Father will always provide, precisely through the kindness and generosity of other people.”

I had never heard of this pilgrimage until a few years ago when I met a couple of novices in a class I was taking at Aquinas Institute of Theology, and I’ve been intrigued by the notion ever since. So I opened the book with curiosity and wondered what it might have to teach a 55-year-old lay spiritual director and writer. The answer I received was, “a lot,” and so I highly recommend the book to anyone looking for reassurance about his or her own life journeys. We are, after all, all pilgrims.

Beaumier’s journey, fueled by a desire to meet famed writer and teacher Maya Angelou, takes him from St. Paul, Minnesota, to the Appalachian Trail, on to Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and then to Washington, DC, and New York City and finally to New Orleans. Along the way he learns important lessons from both likely and unlikely mentors, including from Fr. Henry Hasking, SJ, who gives him this sage advice on the meaning and purpose of the generosity of others. He tells Beaumier: “You need the courage to ask for what you need in life, and that starts by believing that you are worthy of what it is that you seek. If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t even think of asking for it. Everything is here to help you on the journey. That’s God’s design and plan.”

Reading this, I thought of how many times I felt that I wasn’t worthy to ask God for what I desired, and I recalled many times when those I was directing felt exactly the same. So this is wonderful advice for all of our journeys.

Later, kneeling before an altar as another priest prayed for and with him for the success of his journey, he receives these simple and perfect words of truth: “Be kind. Be kind. Be kind. Remember to be kind to people. Don’t forget to be kind.”

And all the people said, “Amen.” Whatever we do and wherever we go, let us remember to begin and end our days with kindness. The rest will fall into place.

Beaumier receives many good lessons along the way and has numerous encounters with kindness and grace received from God and others. But the hanging question, you are likely asking is, “Did he ever meet Angelou?” Ah, that’s the question. I could tell you the answer but it just wouldn’t be fair to you or the author. Buy the book, for it’s worth the answer. I can only say, please don’t stop before reading the afterword. Like the rest of the book, it’s a story of pure, unexpected thanksgiving, a celebration of grace and the kindness of strangers who are open to becoming friends.