The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything (4 page)

In this way Ignatius kept in touch with people from all walks of life from across Europe (and, later, with missionaries overseas), considering their questions and problems and answering them with care. His letters were a way to love and serve others. From them we can glean some of his spiritual insights too.

Another resource for understanding the Ignatian way is Jesuit
activities
. In
The First Jesuits,
John W. O’Malley, S.J., points out that to understand Ignatian spirituality, it is important to look not simply at what Jesuits wrote, but also at what they
did
. “That source is not a document,” writes O’Malley. “It’s the social history of the order especially in its early years.”

Knowing, for example, that the early Jesuits set up such varied ventures as schools for boys and a house for reformed prostitutes, while serving as advisors to popes and an ecumenical council, gives a sense of their openness to new ministries in a way that reading the
Constitutions
does not. And reading about their early work in education underlines the emphasis that Ignatius placed on reason, learning, and scholarship.

The history of the Jesuit
saints
who followed Ignatius is another resource for understanding his way. These men applied their own insights to the Ignatian way in both everyday ways and in extreme environments. Whether they were working among the Huron and Iroquois peoples in seventeenth-century “New France,” like St. Isaac Jogues and St. Jean de Brébeuf, or secretly ministering to sixteenth-century English Catholics while enduring persecution under the crown, like St. Edmund Campion. Or surviving in a Soviet labor camp in the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s, like Walter Ciszek. Or working alongside the poor, like the Salvadoran Jesuits who would be martyred in the 1980s. Each of the lives of these saints and holy men highlights a specific facet of Ignatian spirituality.

But holiness is not confined to the past. Over the last two decades I have met many holy Jesuits who have given me the gift of their examples.

In many religious orders, the members whose lives embody the ideals of their order are called “living rules.” Were the community somehow to lose its rule or constitution, it would need only to look at these men or women to understand it again. These
living rules,
whose stories I will share, are another source of insight on Ignatian spirituality.

Finally, there is the resource of
experts
who have made the study of Ignatian spirituality their lives’ work. Happily, this extends far beyond Jesuit priests and brothers. In a development that would have delighted Ignatius—who welcomed anyone onto his spiritual path— Catholic sisters, priests and brothers from other religious orders, clergy and laypersons from other Christian denominations, and men and women from other religious traditions have all embraced the way of Ignatius. Some have become among the most astute commentators on his spirituality.

T
HE
W
AY OF
I
GNATIUS

The way of Ignatius has been traveled by hundreds of thousands of Jesuits over the past 450 years, in all parts of the world and in almost every conceivable situation, many of them perilous.

Ignatius’s insights inspired the Italian Jesuit Matteo Ricci to live and dress as a Mandarin in order to be granted entry into the imperial Chinese court in the 1600s. They encouraged Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a French paleontologist and theologian, to set out for (literally) groundbreaking archeological digs in China in the 1920s. They galvanized John Corridan, an American social scientist, to work for labor reform in 1940s New York. (His story partly inspired the film
On the Waterfront)
They consoled Alfred Delp, a German Jesuit, when he was jailed and awaiting execution for aiding the Resistance movement allied against the Nazis. They comforted Dominic Tang, a Jesuit who, beginning in the late 1950s, spent twenty-two years in a Chinese jail for his loyalty to the Catholic Church. They motivated Daniel Berrigan, the American peace activist, in his protests in the 1960s against the Vietnam War.

And thousands of Jesuits somewhat lesser known to the world have found Ignatian spirituality a guide for their daily lives. The high-school teacher struggling to connect with inner-city children. The physician working in a remote refugee camp. The hospital chaplain counseling a dying patient. The pastor comforting a grieving parishioner. The army chaplain accompanying soldiers trying to find meaning in the midst of violence. This particular list is closer to home, since I’ve known each of these men.

Add to this roster the millions of lay men and women who have come into contact with Ignatian spirituality through schools, parishes, or retreat houses—husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, single men and women, from all walks of life, from around the world—who have found a way to peace and joy, and you begin to glimpse the remarkable vibrancy of this ancient but living tradition.

In short, Ignatian spirituality has worked for people from an astonishing variety of times, places, and backgrounds. And it’s worked for me. It helped to move me from feeling trapped in life to feeling free.

This book is an introduction to the way of St. Ignatius Loyola, at least as I’ve learned it in my twenty-one years as a Jesuit. It’s not meant to be overly scholarly or academic. Instead, it’s a friendly introduction for the general reader. It’s not meant to be exhaustive either. You can’t summarize almost five centuries of spirituality in a few pages, and each of these chapters could easily spawn four or five books. So I won’t be touching on every single aspect, for example, of the Spiritual Exercises or the
Constitutions—only
those areas that I think would be of greatest interest, and use, to the average reader.

But Ignatian spirituality is so capacious that even an introduction will touch upon a broad spectrum of topics: making good choices, finding meaningful work, being a good friend, living simply, wondering about suffering, deepening your prayer, striving to be a better person, and learning to love.

The way of Ignatius means there is nothing in our lives that is not part of our spiritual lives. To use David’s homey image, all those “boxes” that you might be tempted to keep closed—marital difficulties, problems at work, a serious illness, a ruptured relationship, financial worries—can be brought out of the dark box and opened up to the light of God.

We’ll look at how to find God in everything and everything in God. And we’ll try to do so with a sense of humor, an essential element in the spiritual life. There’s no need to be deadly serious about religion or spirituality, because joy, humor, and laughter are gifts from God. So don’t be surprised by occasional humor, especially at my expense. (Don’t be surprised by the occasional Jesuit joke, too.)

And we’ll also look at some clear and simple ways to incorporate Ignatian spirituality into your own daily life. Spirituality should not be complex, and so I’ll offer simple practices and real-life examples.

Another final but important aside: you don’t have to be Catholic, Christian, religious, or even spiritual to benefit from some of the insights of St. Ignatius Loyola. When I’ve described for nonbelievers the Ignatian techniques for making a good decision, for instance, they are invariably delighted by the results. And when I’ve told atheists why we try to live simply, they appreciate the wisdom of Ignatius.

But it would be crazy to deny that for Ignatius “being spiritual” and “being religious” wasn’t the most important thing in the world. It would be equally crazy to separate God or Jesus from Ignatian spirituality. It would render Ignatius’s writings absurd. God was at the center of Ignatius’s life. The Jesuit founder would have some pointed things to say—most likely in a very long letter—about someone who tried to separate his practices from his love of God.

But Ignatius knew that God meets people where they are. We’re all at different points on our paths to God. And on different paths, too. Ignatius himself traversed a circuitous route, and he recognized that God’s activity cannot be limited to people who consider themselves “religious.” So Ignatian spirituality naturally embraces everyone from the devout believer to the tentative seeker. To use one of Ignatius’s favorite expressions, his path is “a way of proceeding” along the way to God.

So I’ll do my best to make Ignatian spirituality understandable, useful, and usable for everybody, no matter where you are in life, but I’ll also be clear about the centrality of God in the Ignatian worldview, and in my own, too.

Overall, don’t worry if you don’t feel close to God at the moment. Or if you’ve never felt close to God. Or if you have doubts about God’s existence. Or even if you’re reasonably sure that God doesn’t exist at all. Just keep reading.

God will take care of the rest.

S
INCE YOU’RE ALREADY READING
this book, I figure that besides being interested in making good choices, finding meaning in your work, enjoying healthy relationships, and being happy in life, you’re at least
mildly
interested in religious questions. So let’s begin with a tough question.

Since the Ignatian way is founded on the belief that there is a God and that God desires to be in relationship with us, it’s important to think about God first. At the very least, it will make everything that comes afterward seem easy by comparison.

This doesn’t mean that you need to believe in God in order to find Ignatius’s insights useful. But to do so, you have to understand where God fits into his worldview.

So: how do I find God?

That question marks the starting point for all seekers. But, surprisingly, many spirituality books downplay or ignore it. Some books assume you already believe in God, that you have already found God, or that God is already part of your life. But it is ridiculous not to address that question in a book like this. It would be like writing a book about swimming without first talking about how to float.

To begin to answer that question—How do I find God?—let’s start with something more familiar. Let’s look at the various ways people seek God.

Even though there are as many individual ways to God as there are people on the earth, for the sake of clarity I’ll break down the myriad ways into six broad paths.

Each has its benefits and pitfalls. You may find yourself on several different paths during your lifetime. You may even feel like you’re on more than one path at the same time.

S
IX
P
ATHS TO
G
OD
The Path of Belief

For people on this first path, belief in God has always been part of their lives. They were born into religious families or were introduced to religion at an early age. They move through life more or less confident of their belief in God. Faith has always been an essential element of their lives. They pray regularly, attend religious services frequently, and feel comfortable talking about God. Their lives, like every life, are not free from suffering, but faith enables them to put their sufferings into a framework of meaning.

The early life of Walter Ciszek, an American Jesuit priest who spent twenty years in Soviet prisons and Siberian labor camps beginning in the 1940s, reflects this kind of upbringing. In his autobiography,
With God in Russia,
published after his return to the United States, Ciszek describes growing up in a devout Catholic family in the coal belt of Pennsylvania. Family life centered on the local parish: Sunday Masses, special feast days, weekly confessions. So it is not a surprise when Ciszek says this in his book’s first chapter: “It must have been through my mother’s prayers and example that I made up my mind in the eighth grade, out of a clear blue sky, that I would be a priest.”

What for many people would be a difficult decision was for young Walter Ciszek the most natural thing in the world.

The benefits of walking along the path of belief are clear: faith gives meaning to both the joys and struggles of life. Faith in God means that you know that you are never alone. You know and are known. Life within a worshipping community provides companionship. During times of hardship, faith is an anchor. And the Christian faith also holds out the promise of life beyond this earthly one.

This kind of faith sustained Walter Ciszek during his years in the Soviet labor camps and enabled him, as he finally left Russia in 1963, to bless the country whose government had caused him untold physical and mental suffering. At times he struggled with his belief— who wouldn’t in such conditions?—but ultimately his faith remained firm.
With God in Russia
ends with these haunting words, describing what Ciszek does as his plane takes off: “Slowly, carefully, I made the sign of the cross over the land I was leaving.”

Others sometimes envy people who walk along the path of belief. “If only I had faith like you!” one friend often tells me. While I understand her sentiment, that perspective makes faith seem like something you
have
rather than have to work at keeping. It’s as if you’re born with unquestioning faith, like being born with red hair or brown eyes. Or as if faith were like pulling into a gas station and filling your tank.

Neither metaphor is apt. Ultimately, faith is a gift from God. But faith isn’t something that you just have. Perhaps a better metaphor is that faith is like a garden: while you may already have the basics— soil, seeds, water—you have to cultivate and nourish it. Like a garden, faith takes patience, persistence, and even work.

If you envy those on the path of belief, don’t worry—many people go through a period of doubt and confusion before they come to know God. Sometimes for a long time. Ignatius finally accepted God’s presence at an age when many of his peers were well on their way to raising a family and achieving financial success.

None of these six paths is free from dangers. One pitfall for those on the path of belief is an inability to understand people on other paths and a temptation to judge them for their doubt or disbelief. Certainty prevents some believers from being compassionate, sympathetic, or even tolerant of others who are not as certain in their faith. Their arrogance turns them into the “frozen chosen,” consciously or unconsciously excluding others from their cozy, believing world. This is the crabbed, joyless, and ungenerous religiosity that Jesus spoke against: spiritual blindness.

There is a more subtle danger for this group: a complacency that makes one’s relationship with God stagnate. Some people cling to ways of understanding their faith learned in childhood that might not work for an adult. For example, you might cling to a childhood notion of a God who will never let anything bad happen. When tragedy strikes, since your youthful image of God is not reflected in reality, you may abandon the God of your youth. Or you may abandon God completely.

An adult life requires an adult faith. Think of it this way: you wouldn’t consider yourself equipped to face life with a third-grader’s understanding of math. Yet people often expect the religious instruction they had in grammar school to sustain them in the adult world.

In his book
A Friendship Like No Other,
the Jesuit spiritual writer William A. Barry invites adults to relate to God in an adult way. Just as an adult child needs to relate to his or her parent in a new way, he suggests, so adult believers need to relate to God in new ways as they mature. Otherwise, one remains stuck in a childlike view of God that prevents fully embracing a mature faith.

Like all of the six paths, the path of belief is not without its stumbling blocks.

The Path of Independence

Those on the path of independence have made a conscious decision to separate themselves from organized religion, but they still believe in God. Maybe they find church services meaningless, offensive, dull, or all three. Maybe they’ve been hurt by a church. Maybe they’ve been insulted (or abused) by a priest, pastor, rabbi, minister, or imam. Or they feel offended by certain dogmas of organized religion. Or they find religious leaders hypocritical.

Or maybe they’re just bored. Believe me, I’ve heard plenty of homilies that have put me to sleep, sometimes literally. As the Catholic priest and sociologist Andrew Greeley once wrote, sometimes the question is not why so many Catholics leave the church—it’s why they stay.

Catholics may be turned off by the church’s teachings on a particular moral question, or its stance on a political question, or by the scandal of clergy sex abuse. Consequently, while they still believe in God, they no longer consider themselves part of the church. They are sometimes called “lapsed,” “fallen away,” or “recovering” Catholics. But, as one friend said after the sex abuse crisis, “I didn’t fall away from the church. It fell away from me.”

Though they keep their distance from churches, synagogues, or mosques, many people in this group are still firm believers. Often they find solace in the religious practices they learned as children. Just as often they long for a more formal way to worship God in their lives.

One strength of this group is a healthy independence that enables them to see things in a fresh way—something that their own religious community often desperately needs. Those on the “outside,” who are not bound by the usual restrictions on what is “appropriate” and “not appropriate” to say within the community, can often speak more honestly.

The main danger for this group, however, is a perfectionism that sets up any organized religion for failure.

Not long ago, a friend stopped attending his family’s church. My friend is an intelligent and compassionate man who believes in God and whose parents had deep roots in Episcopalianism. But he believed his local church was too aligned with the affluent. So he decided to search for a community that recognized the place of the poor in the world.

After he left his church, he toyed with the idea of joining the local Catholic church, which he noticed many of the poor attended on Sundays. But my friend disagreed with their prohibition on ordaining women. So he rejected Catholicism.

Next he experimented with Buddhism, but he found it impossible to reconcile his belief in a personal God, and his devotion to Jesus Christ, with the Buddhist worldview.

Finally, he ended up at the local Unitarian church, which initially seemed to suit him. He appreciated their broad-minded Christian-based spirituality and commitment to social justice, as well as their welcome of people who feel unwelcome in other churches. But he eventually ran into a problem: the Unitarians didn’t espouse a clear enough belief system for my friend. In the end, he decided to belong to no church. Now he stays at home on Sundays.

My friend’s experience reminded me that the search for a perfect religious community is a futile one. As the Trappist monk Thomas Merton wrote in
The Seven Storey Mountain,
“The first and most elementary test of one’s call to the religious life—whether as a Jesuit, Franciscan, Cistercian or Carthusian—is the willingness to accept life in a community in which everybody is more or less imperfect.” That holds for
any
religious organization.

This is not to excuse all the problems, imperfections, and even sinfulness of religious organizations. Rather, it is a realistic admission that as long as we’re human, we will be imperfect. It’s also a reminder that for those on the path of independence—believers who have left organized religion—the search for a perfect religious community may be one without end.

The Path of Disbelief

Those traveling along the path of disbelief not only find that organized religion holds no appeal (even if they sometimes find its services and rituals comforting), but have also arrived at an intellectual conclusion that God may not, does not, or cannot exist. Often they seek proof for God’s existence, and finding none, or encountering intense suffering, they reject the theistic worldview completely.

The cardinal benefit of this group is that they take none of the bland reassurances of religion for granted. Sometimes they have thought more deeply about God and religion than some believers have. Likewise, sometimes the most selfless people in our world are atheists or agnostics. Some of the hardest working aid workers I met in my time working with refugees in East Africa were nonbelievers. The “secular saint” is real.

They also have a knack for detecting hypocrisy, cant, or lazy answers: a religious-baloney detector. Tell a person in this group that suffering is part of God’s mysterious plan and needs to be accepted unquestioningly, and he will rightly challenge you to explain yourself. One of my college friends practices his atheism religiously; his questions have kept me on my toes for the last thirty years. Try telling him about “God’s will,” and you will find yourself on the receiving end of a pointed lecture on personal responsibility.

The main danger for this group is that they sometimes expect God’s presence to be proven solely in an intellectual way. When something profound happens in their emotional lives, something that touches them deeply, they reject the possibility that it could be a sign of God’s activity. Their intellect may become a wall that closes off their hearts to experiences of God’s presence. They may also be unwilling to attribute to God anything that the believer might see as an obvious example of God’s presence.

It’s like the story of the atheist caught in a flood. The fellow figures that the flood threatening his house is the chance to prove conclusively whether God exists. So he says to himself,
If there is a God, I will ask him for help, and he will save me
. When he hears a warning on the radio advising listeners to move to higher ground, he ignores it.
If there is a God, he will save me,
he thinks. Next, a firefighter knocks on his door to warn him to evacuate. “If there is a God, he will save me,” he says to the firefighter. When the floodwaters rise, the man climbs to the second floor. The coast guard boat motors by his window and offers him rescue. “If there is a God, he will save me,” he says and refuses help from the coast guard.

Finally, he ends up on the roof, with the waters rising around him. A police helicopter hovers over the house and drops a rope to climb. “If there is a God, he will save me!” he shouts over the roar of the helicopter’s blades.

Suddenly a giant wave sweeps over him, and the man drowns and finds himself in heaven. When God comes to welcome him, the atheist is first surprised. And then furious. “Why didn’t you save me?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” says God. “I sent the firefighter, the coast guard, and the police officer, and you still wouldn’t listen!”

The Path of Return

This path gets more crowded every year. People in this group typically begin life in a religious family but drift away from their faith. After a childhood in which they were encouraged (or forced) to attend religious services, they find them either tiresome or irrelevant or both. Religion remains distant, though oddly appealing.