Ignatius of Loyola

I just returned from a short two-day retreat led by Paul Coutinho, an internationally recognized Ignatian scholar, author and speaker who brings an Eastern influence to Western Christian spirituality. Suffice it to say I took enough notes that I have plenty of “Today’s Words” already lined up for next week or so. Thanks to Paul Coutinho and the Bridges Foundation for putting on the retreat at the beautiful and historic St. Joseph Sisters of Carondelet Motherhouse in South St. Louis.

Today’s Word: Commingle

The ultimate goal of prayer, according to Ignatius, is to “commingle with the divine.” What a beautiful way to think about prayer. Prayer is not, with this understanding, about talking to God or praising God or even placing ourselves in the presence of God. It is about being so intertwined with God that you can’t tell us apart, so to speak. This commingling is love, and this love is a mutual exchange between the lover (God) and the beloved (that’s us!) In this exchange we empty ourselves to make room for God, and then God fills us back up with his presence.

Our commingling with God, Coutinho explained, is like looking at the rays of the sun and the sun itself. There is no way to tell the difference because it is all one. In this sense we echo St. Paul’s words to the Galatians: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” (Galatians 2:20) The challenge for us, of course, is whether we are willing to leave ourselves open to such an exchange.

Ask yourself in silence: Am I willing to give up all I hold dear in order to make room for God? Can I pray, “Take, Lord, receive, all I have and possess?”

Prayer is a big word with a myriad of meanings. St. Ignatius Loyola wrote that, “everything that turns a person in the direction of God is prayer.” So what turns me toward God? Let me count the ways: Silence, of course, but also great music, which is just about opposite of silence (although there’s lots of silence in a great piece of music). Good spiritual reading, whether scripture or something more contemporary. A walk in the woods. Staring at the night sky. Going to church. Both being alone and being with good friends. Quietly contemplating my life and God’s movement in it. Singing at the top of my lungs. Holding my wife or children or grandchild. Reciting prayers I have known for years and which have been prayed for hundreds or even thousands of years. Or just talking to God as if he was an old friend sitting beside me on the couch — someone who knows me better than I know myself.

I’ve talked to people who tell me they do not know how to pray or that they “can’t pray.” But that is perhaps because they think there is some way that they are “supposed” to pray. To that I say (one of my favorite words): Balderdash. Prayer, to play off Ignatius’ thought, is turning your attention to God while doing something that you probably already enjoy doing — walking, listening to music, writing in your journal, sitting quietly. That part’s up to you. God doesn’t care. Perhaps the best piece of advice on prayer I ever heard came from the English priest and writer, John Chapman. He wrote (and oh, how this makes sense): “Pray as you can, not as you can’t.”

Ask yourself in silence: What am I doing when I feel closest to God? How can I pray?