Ignatius of Loyola

Between the Lines: Holy Week, at table

Steve · April 17, 2014 · 1 Comment

Mosaic at St. Louis Cathedral Basilica. SJG photo.

In Luke 22:14-20, Jesus yearns to once more eat the supper of unleavened bread with his disciples. In doing so, in sharing the bread and wine, he both recalls the history that made them God’s chosen people and institutes a new meal, one that will forever bind him to his followers of all succeeding generations who gather around a table in communion with him and each other. He gives them something that they cannot earn — only accept and take into themselves — his own body and blood…

I am grieved to be leaving these friends so soon, these men and women who were willing to follow me based on faith, on a sketchy idea that I was something more than a guy from Nazareth. They have been good, loyal friends. One of them will deny me three times within the day and yet be the rock I need to build my church upon when I am no longer here. Another will betray me, but that’s all part of the plan, too. For without that denial and betrayal, and without my death, there is no reason for me to be here among them, as one of them.

I need them to remember me in a special way, and I think this simple and special meal is just the thing. It is sacramental ritual, of course, a physical sign of my invisible truth, but it is also ordinary. It is the most common activity of human life – eating and drinking, drawing sustenance from the fruit of the vine and the work of human hands.

This is a free gift I offer, and anyone who accepts this gift accepts me. That is how I made my way through this world — accepting and ministering to those who came to me just as they were — and I see no reason to change that now. Indeed, no one is worthy to receive me; no one can earn my presence in their lives. I come for the broken and hurting, as well as for those who seemingly have life figured out.

My presence is mine to give, and I give it freely to all who call my name. It would pain me deeply if this meal became something else, something set apart for the elite and the elect, for those who believe they have earned it. I came for the least of these, for the poor, the sick, the confused. I came for those willing to choose a different path of freedom because something deep inside them calls them to do so.

This meal is free. It is me. It is for all.

Ask yourself in silence: Where does this powerful sign of Christ’s true presence in the world sit in my life? At the center or on the edges?

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Note: In the “third week” of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, we are asked to look into the heart and mind of Jesus during his last days, to have compassion for him (to be “with him in his passion”) and feel as if he might have felt with his world collapsing around him. We are asked to remember three things: that he was fully human in his suffering, that he could have retreated into his divine nature but didn’t, and that he did all this for us. In these “Between the Lines” reflections during Holy Week, I share some of my imaginings, contemplative glimpses into the story of Christ’s passion that are meant only to pull you further into the story and draw you closer to Christ.

Between the Lines: Holy Week, preparation

Steve · April 14, 2014 · 6 Comments

St. Augustine, Florida's "Great Cross." SJG photo.

In the “third week” of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, we are asked to look into the heart and mind of Jesus during his last days, to have compassion for him (to be “with him in his passion”) and feel as if he might have felt with his world collapsing around him. We are asked to remember three things: that he was fully human in his suffering, that he could have retreated into his divine nature but didn’t, and that he did all this for us.

In the coming days I will share some of my imaginings, contemplative glimpses into the story of Christ’s passion that are meant only to pull you further into the story and draw you closer to Christ. We begin with preparations. In Luke 22:1-13, Jesus and his disciples prepare for Passover and Judas Iscariot makes plans for his betrayal. And we ask ourselves, how might have Jesus felt?

I know the end is coming. I know my followers are faltering and one has even crossed over to the side of those who want me dead. This makes me sad, but I know it’s all part of the Father’s will. If it were not Judas it would just be someone else. But it is Judas, has always been Judas. From the day I called him, he has been moving toward this. I love him deeply, despite what he’s about to do.

So I know what’s coming, can sense what’s about to happen, and I know I need to fortify myself with the ritual of Passover, which carries with it both ancient memory and a new meaning and purpose. This is a new form of worship, an offering of my body and blood, a thanksgiving celebration that will go forward from this day, giving strength and sustenance to all who share in it.

And yet, this is my body that we’re talking about, my passion, suffering and death. There’s no other way around this. Not even my divinity, my connection to my Father, can take a way the pain of being a man facing death. I am afraid of what this will do to my friends, afraid they won’t be able to take it all, afraid that the work and way we have started will cease.

So I am unsure, but I know somehow that there is strength in this meal, this time around the table with my friends. Let’s begin.

Ask yourself in silence: What is this meal, this “last supper” to you?

Today’s Word: Gaze

Steve · March 16, 2014 · 3 Comments

We spend so much of our lives creating and maintaining the person that our friends, family and co-workers see. This is the “self” of our upbringing, education and career, as well as of the myriad of other roles we take on — parent, spouse, church member, little league coach, employee or boss or volunteer. This is the self that becomes what people say about us: Nice guy or jerk, selfish or generous, authentic or fake. This is, to a great extent, how we will be remembered when we’re gone. But who are we, really?

St. Ignatius suggests that we always begin prayer by becoming “aware of God aware of me.” Caught in this mutual gaze of adoration (for surely God adores us even more than we adore God), we begin to find our true selves. Aware of God’s gaze, we can have the confidence to be our true selves before God, taking off the masks that we often put on just to make it through our days in all of the different roles that we must play.

There is nothing wrong in playing roles. We have mortgages or rent to pay. We have family obligations to meet. We have passions to pursue. But all of these will fade with time and we will find ourselves alone before God, who cares little for our masks and greatly for our naked souls. So we must ask ourselves, to which of our selves do we give the most attention and time? Which of our selves do we feed most often?

If we’re not sure how to answer that question, we need to spend more time in God’s gaze. For only that time of solitude and prayer will remind us of our true selves, as writer and Franciscan priest Richard Rohr writes: “I am who I am in God’s eyes, nothing more and nothing less. This is the serenity and the freedom of the saints.”

Ask yourself in silence: How much time do I give to nurturing my true self that is held in God’s gaze? How much time do I give to nurturing my career and the rest of my life? Do I need to readjust my priorities in any way?

Today’s Word: Balance

Steve · October 26, 2013 · 1 Comment

Perfectly balanced Sedona sunset. SJG photo

In a life full of discernment and daily choices — very often involving life or death whether we realize it or not — how do we position ourselves to best make those decisions so they are both in line with God’s will and beneficial for our lives and the lives of those around us? The answer, St. Ignatius of Loyola tells us in his spiritual exercises, is balance.

That kind of balance requires a steady and sturdy fulcrum. For Christian believers, this solid, centering rock is our Triune — loving, healing and forgiving — God. This balance and reliance on God demands that we not set our own values and demand that God fall in line with them but, rather, that we hold our lives in balance before all the things we have to choose from — many of them seemingly equally good — allowing God to gently nudge us in one direction or the other. Everything we do, every choice we make and every experience we receive, is a chance to reflect to the world a little of what we have received from God as he leads and directs our lives. How we approach our days, how we respond to difficulties and tough choices, speaks God’s name and professes God’s perfect love. Perfect balance.

Ask yourself in silence: On what is my life centered and balanced? When does my life feel off kilter?

Today’s Word: Consider

Steve · October 8, 2013 · 1 Comment

lily — Consider the lilies of the field. SJG photo.

In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus encourages us to “consider the lilies of the field” as a model for our lives. They don’t worry much about their lives, and neither should we, we are told. But let’s consider these lilies a little more. Consider these things: The lily does not choose where it stands in the field, or which weeds and thorns grow up around it. It cannot control the weather or how much sunlight it receives. In short, it cannot change the things it cannot change, like what kind of lily it is or what color. What it can do is stand and endure. It can “bloom where it is planted” and become the lily it was meant to become. It cannot become a tulip or an oak tree. The lily is beautiful on its own, as are we all in the sight of God.

In a recent Ignatian prayer exercise, I was asked to consider these lilies and, in doing so, to consider “how much of me is mine and how much is God’s.” It’s not an easy question, for some things seem to come from neither God nor me. Unless I abuse or don’t take care of my body, I don’t really “choose” health or illness, and neither does God choose for us illness or violence against us. Nevertheless, the choices we make, the will of God, and the things that just “happen” to us as humans in an imperfect world intermingle to become what we think of as our “lives.”

What we are called to do in the midst of all this imperfection is the punch line of this particular parable: “Seek God first and the rest will fall into place.” Like the lily, we cannot change where and how we were raised or how well we were nurtured. To a great extent we cannot control our health, although we are certainly called to care for ourselves and respect our bodies and what we put into them or do with them. Our greatest desire – wherever we are in life – should be responding to the will of the gardener and master planter, the sower of the seed.

Ask yourself in silence: What are the things I most worry about? Do I worry about things I cannot change? How often do I seek God first?