Ignatius of Loyola

Today’s Word: Rain

Steve · September 8, 2013 · 2 Comments

Today’s word is rain because, well, it’s raining. I’m up early this morning after a late night out with my band, and I’m sitting in my favorite chair next to an open door. The early morning breeze is cool and a gentle rain has been falling for the past hour or so. Off in the distance thunder rumbles. This rain, hitting off the deck outside the door and splashing noiselessly into the thirsty earth, today speaks to me of prayer and the presence of God.

St. Ignatius once described our interaction with the Spirit as “lightly and gently, like a drop of water that enters into a sponge.” Think of the gentleness of that; it’s barely noticeable until we are filled. Without the Spirit, we are an empty shell of being, dry and useless, just taking up space. But when we open ourselves to the Spirit, when we set ourselves out in the rain, so to speak, we can be filled, inundated, inebriated even by the gentle yet powerful presence of God. Then we become more that we could ever become on our own, filled with joy and purpose and ready to serve others.

Ask yourself in silence: Do I make time to “set myself out in the rain?” Am I willing to empty myself of my own desires in order to be filled by the Spirit of God?

Today’s Word: Consciousness

Steve · August 12, 2013 · 4 Comments

Self portrait in shadow and brown grass. SJG photo

They’re the tiniest of errors
He made them every day.
Ignore them, they’re forgotten
But, never really go away.

– John Caravelli, The Tiniest of Errors

Have you ever driven somewhere and, upon arrival, realize that you remember virtually nothing of the trip? Here’s a better question: Have you ever come to the end of a year and wondered where it all went and what you did with it? Been there, wondered that…

This is one of the greatest challenges of our busy lives. All too often, we’re leading Socrates’ “unexamined life,” which, as we all know, is “not worth living.” Our days, weeks, months and years rush by in a flash of seasons, holidays and anniversaries, and we find ourselves a year older and with not much else to show for it. That’s why most philosophers, poets and theologians can all agree on at least one thing: Stop and smell the roses. Or the coffee. Or the strawberries. Or whatever it is that will slow you down a bit and help you appreciate what’s going on around you.

St. Ignatius suggests an “examination of consciousness” at the end of each day. This is not just a recounting of our sins and failings (although they may creep in…) but rather a prayerful recollection of the myriad ways that God has touched our lives. “Ignore them, they’re forgotten,” as my friend John writes in his song. But when we take the time to remember them, we are blessed and made all the more aware of the countless ways that God insinuates himself into our lives everyday.

Ask yourself in silence: How did God enter my life today? What people, experiences and moments (now in hindsight) spoke to me of God? And perhaps most importantly, how can I be more aware tomorrow?

Today’s Word: Mirror

Steve · July 31, 2013 · 4 Comments

In his Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius encourages us to pause before we begin to pray and “become aware of God aware of me.” Consider, he suggests, that God “beholds me.” What an idea! We believe this at some level, of course, or else we would not pray at all, but this idea caught me off guard when I heard it a few weeks ago at a retreat preached by Paul Coutinho. We are so focused on God when we pray that it can be hard to fathom the idea of God being focused on us!

But that is exactly the gift that God offers us when we commit ourselves to times of solitude and prayer. Our all-seeing, all-loving God looks upon us as we pray, like a parent staring down into the crib of his or her new-born child, waiting for the child to move or breathe. (Remember that feeling, parents?) Just so, God watches us for signs of our spiritual life, listens for our words and encompasses us in a divine embrace when we place ourselves in his presence. God beholds us.

When we pray, we have the chance to see ourselves in the mirror of God’s eyes…to see ourselves as God sees us. With that in mind, how much more should we yearn for times of intimacy with God, times for us to look at each other in amazement and wonder?

Ask yourself in silence: While in prayer, can I somehow see myself as God sees me? How does that idea sit with me?

Today’s Word: Empty

Steve · July 30, 2013 · 3 Comments

We say little children are like sponges because their young, uncluttered minds are emptier than ours and thus able to soak up everything around them. We adults, on the other hand, are so filled with information, data, deadlines and headlines that it can feel like we are filled to the brim. No more room! One more reason to become like little children, I suppose.

St. Ignatius (whose feast day we celebrate tomorrow) once wrote that, when we pray, we should become like sponges, soaking up God’s presence. But wait…if we’re so full…where’s the room for God? Ah, exactly. In order to be filled by God, we must empty ourselves, squeezing out the excess of our lives and making room for the divine. We live lives saturated by all the noise — good and bad — that surrounds us on every side, demanding our attention and our response. Only when we shut ourselves off from this constant din and empty our minds of the surplus of our lives can we expect to find God and allow ourselves to be filled in a new, truly refreshing way.

Ask yourself in silence: How can I empty myself in order to make room for God in my life? What has to go in order for there to be more room for God?

Today’s Word: Doxology

Steve · July 23, 2013 · 4 Comments

The other night, Sue and I were sitting on the deck at the very end of the day as the light was fading and darkness was just creeping in. The crickets and the frogs were doing their thing incredibly loud, a crescendo of spindly legs and balloon-throated amphibians, a symphony of sound that rose and fell every 30 seconds or so, as if led by an invisible, knowing, baton-wielding hand. But whose?

“The whole of creation comes from God, goes back to God and is in God,” Paul Coutinho writes in his newest book, An Ignatian Pathway. “Creation finds its identity in God and the interconnectedness of all life.”

Ignatius once described the trinity as a three-note chord. And so I wonder, listening to the crickets and frogs, how many individual notes are sounding tonight, all of them resonating with the pure tone of the trinity ringing throughout the universe?

Praise God from whom all music flows. Praise God all singers and players here below. Praise God above the heavenly strains of sound and silence. Glory be to the composer, and to the singer, and to the conductor, one God forever and ever. Amen.

Ask yourself in silence: What do I hear when I take the time to be silent and listen? How does music connect me to God?