Ignatius left his sword before a statue of the Virgin, however, his transformation was not instantaneous. He had to learn how to live. Over many years he struggled to come to terms with what his symbolic gesture was intended to reveal. He went from noble, to beggar, to pariah, to crazy-man on campus.  He eventually made friends, but he was neither the most affable nor appreciated of young Catholic thinkers (see: inquisition).  In time, however, he learned how to live in a new way that allowed what he believed in his heart to be revealed in his actions.  He gained understanding.  He gained wisdom.

Some say that Wisdom only comes with learning how to live with love in the midst of difficult circumstances. This is a hard truth for many of us because it reminds us that the one problem we all share, our inability to understand how to live with one another, cannot be addressed in any way but through our experience. We have to learn how to live with one another.  No merely symbolic action will suffice to create the change in our lives that we desire. Words and gestures give us something visible to hold onto, but they are nothing if they are not experienced in our hearts.

Wisdom is a mix of love and understanding that only comes with time.  Wisdom cannot be extracted with machines from the earth, or mapped out with a set of instructions; we become aware of it as we learn how to love even when faced with the hardest choices of our lives. Wisdom is more than a set of tools or rules. It must be pulled from the depths of our experience as creatures, living in uncertainty, clinging to our belief in the goodness of God.

There are really own two questions that I ever ask: God, how are you loving me, and how have I been loving you? From these two questions come of a slew of others: Was I open to the kindness that was offered to me today? Have I learned to care for others? Do I seek to understand others even when it’s difficult, even when they bother me? Am I willing to face hardship and misery as I encounter it in my own life, in my doubts about God, humanity and my own nature? Lord…How do I love when I hurt? How can I be forgiving when I am so angry? How can I live with creativity when I see so much destruction? How do I live a life of integrity when it seems so difficult and so few seem to value it? How do I acknowledge both the fact that I am called to serve you, my God, but I am, too, a sinner? All of these questions are about loving and being loved. How I handle these questions, whether I honestly grapple with who I am, what I desire, and what I desire to desire, tells me who my true God is.

I like to think that when Ignatius was laying down his sword, it was not just a symbolic act of fidelity, but revelatory of his movement away from weapons, both exterior and interior, that were harming his relationships with God and others. The act, in itself, would have meant nothing if Ignatius had not learned to live in another way. His prayers, thereafter, were not an assertion of the way he lived, but they way he desired to live. He sought in his own heart to be wholly faithful to God, without counting the cost, heeding the wounds, seeking for rest, or asking for any reward except for knowing that he did God’s will. He sought these things not because he did them well already, but because they were an articulation of what he desired in the depths of his soul. He had to grow into these words. He had to learn how to live his desires. Like Ignatius, I am still learning how to love. I am still growing into wisdom. In this way, each prayer is a reminder not only of who I am, but who it is that I desire to become.

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