This Ignatian Life

Ignatian Spirituality in real time
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My Best Year Yet

January 17, 2010 By: Lisa Category: Ignatian Spirituality, Lisa's Posts Comments Off

A friend of mine is a consultant helping businesses develop their annual strategic plans. She uses the same process of 10 reflective questions to help individuals create their own personal strategic plan asking what must I do to make this my Best Year Yet? Last year she helped me create my own plan—but of course, being me, well let’s just say it wasn’t exactly my best year yet. I didn’t keep up with the monthly online goal tracker, my 10 goals were far from being met, and I felt more like a failure for once again not achieving what I pledged to do last January. I rationalized a few of the goals away: It wasn’t my fault I didn’t become fluent in Spanish because the language school was lame; I could cheat and say I really had become a more attentive spouse (just don’t ask my husband!). But regardless of the reason, the truth was I hadn’t done what I had said I needed to do to have my Best Year Yet. So when she enthusiastically wanted to get together to develop my plan for this year it felt more like my tax attorney excitedly wanting to get going on that audit!

As I reflected in prayer on both the questions she had asked of me and my awkwardness with trying to project my path forward this year, I recognized her business planning tool was practically “Ignatian Spirituality Lite.” Right from the start, the coach states her job is to hold you accountable to what you say you are going to do, that honest accountability being one of the most powerful indicators of plan success. If only my spiritual director realized how much her “accountability services” were worth in the secular business world! Like Ignatius’ directive in the Spiritual Exercises, my personal strategic plan is to begin with gratitude and finding the good in what has been and what IS rather than our tendency to focus on our trouble spots (hmmm… now what Spirit might those be coming from?) In creating a plan one must answer questions (phrased in more secular terms) about consolations and desolations and discern the message of them. I am encouraged to articulate “my limiting paradigm” which ironically sounds a lot like the ‘three types of persons’ discussion I had with my spiritual director. Do I say I believe but really don’t? Do I give all but that one thing which I hold in reserve for myself? In place of that constricting thought churning in my head, I name a new paradigm. Following Ignatian Spirituality, that for me would be the directive of the First Principle and Foundation: I want and choose what better leads to God’s deepening life within me. But am I really prepared to live by that? Do I really want that?

While many people would frame such reflection tools as “self-help”, doing so in the context of prayer clarifies easily that my “self” tends to be more the problem and the “help” is definitely from One greater than I. If what propels my growth this year is anything other than the God my heart seeks, be it money, vanity, or personal ambition, I will be less than I was created to be.

Ultimately, I must identify my roles and goals for each role. These are winnowed down to my top 10 goals for the year, and each month I define my tactics for advancing that goal. Implicitly, if I achieve my top 10 goals I will have my Best Year Yet. Here is where I made my crucial mistake last year. I listed the typical roles: wife, mother, employee, community member, best friend, and …believer. I noted my monthly mini-goals for growth in each role. And, thinking I was following Ignatius’ directive, planned all the proper tactics right down to the daily prayer time. But to segment my faith life from those other roles is precisely what Ignatian Spirituality fights against. If being faithful or growing in my relationship to Christ is one of many other goals I am trying to achieve, right up there with learning Spanish and reading novels, it too easily gets lost in the daily to do list and denies the greatest resource I have—the grace of God—to be actively engaged in achieving those other goals. What if instead, I saw that daily prayer time as a tactic to achieving the other goals on my list, every goal on my list? What if my service projects or learning Spanish were not an end in themselves, but a means to my life’s calling to praise, honor, and serve God?

Perhaps this year I will have just one goal in my personal strategic plan: Live love in each moment.

If I could do that, it would be my best year yet for sure.

Photo: “Letterpress 2010” by Sarah Parrott from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

Long nose, small mouth.

December 28, 2009 By: lizivkovich Category: Liz's Posts 1 Comment →


My friend just showed me his new tattoo, a replica of an icon of the Blessed Mother and Jesus on his forearm, absolutely breathtaking. “Icons have long noses for wisdom and small mouths for humility, the idea being that they don’t speak very often.” he continued as he showed me the actual image on the internet. I thought that if I ever became a saint and they made an icon of me they wouldn’t have to alter it much because I have a long nose and a small mouth. As for the corresponding virtues… well.

Sister Dorothy gave me a theme for Advent reflections; when to speak and when to keep silent. At first my theme applied to the things that I say from my mouth to the ears of those in hearing vicinity, than it expanded to letters and e-mails, and finally the last few days to twitter, Facebook, my blog. We speak a lot in 2009 in the US. I spoke a lot in 2009 in the US.

I have done four things this morning, made coffee, prayed my examen, am writing this blog post and deactivated my Facebook account. A friend and I talk about how Facebook brings us both into sin. When she looks at Facebook pages she thinks “Look at these beautiful people leading perfect lives, I’m not good enough.” I have the opposite reaction. When I look at my ‘friends’ and compose my status updates I feel superior, like I have something important to say, a life more relevant than theirs and they should all read what I say and affirm it. (This post is getting increasingly vulnerable.)

This summer I began to lament that community life shows how much the people you love love power, I raged against it where I saw it around me. This fall the rage has subsided to the realization of my own desire for an even more public life than I already have; the needs for acclaim, recognition and affirmation overwhelm my speech and my thoughts. I don’t just want to be with the band, I want to be the band!

I have lost touch with my own irrelevancy because I haven’t made the space to have an internal life, to be silent. Having a blog, writing monthly prayer letters, having a Facebook… all the speaking has crowded out time for silence. I had to finally admit this Advent that I don’t have the holiness yet to speak in all these places with a small mouth and a long nose. I don’t have the holiness to lead a public life that isn’t about me.

Mary said “From now on all generations will call me Blessed because the Lord has done great things for me.” Not because I am smart, funny, sarcastic, or super wise but because God did something beautiful in me that brought joy, life, freedom to others. I was humble and I said “yes.”

For 2010, I’ll pray for a long nose and a small mouth.

Photo: “Des dames du temps jadis” by “serlykotik1970″ from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

Gas Station Coffee & Do-It Yourself Homilies

December 27, 2009 By: mbensley Category: Megan's Posts Comments Off


Gas station coffee. It is one of my favorite things. 1/3 cappuccino to 2/3 coffee. I have had some of my best conversations with friends on road trips, strangers on Greyhound buses, and family members on the walk back from the gas station over a steaming cup of french vanilla. I’m not sure if it’s the no-frills styrofoam cup or the sinful amount of sugar, but gas station coffee really makes people slow down, open up and be real.

The homily at mass this morning in rural upstate New York begged for some gas station refreshment. Father J openly admitted that he needed a breather from the homily-giving after the wear-and-tear of Advent and turned the floor over to the congregation to reflect on the season and what it has meant to each of us this year. The plea for a participatory homily was met with a full 3 minutes of silence and I couldn’t help but become nostalgic for some gas station coffee. It really gets people talking. Enough awkward silence will also get people talking and soon several women had shared their reflections on Advent 2009. I was surprised, and somewhat proud, of the non-sugary stories that my hometown hamlet produced. One woman confessed that the holidays were enlightening as she came to terms with the fact that she, the eldest of eight, was not going to have children of her own even though she had been changing diapers since she was seven years old. Another woman, a nurse, opened up about the long, heart wrenching shifts she struggled to make sense of throughout the Advent season. She shared that as the days passed by she soaked up more and more sorrow from her patients’ suffering. There were several other Advent anecdotes shared and explained, each one seemingly confirming Fr. J’s decision to “open the floor up.” What’s more, each story ended with the storyteller expressing thanks to the congregation for the opportunity to share their story, and thanks for (perhaps unknowingly) being present every Sunday to love, to support and to reassure over the past four weeks.

At the end of mass, I wanted to caravan down to the Hess on the corner with the twenty families present at mass and buy everyone a cup of gas station coffee. You see, the “open the floor up” homily and gas station coffee have more in common than it might seem at first glance. They are both invitations. Invitations that at first we turn our lips up at: “I’ll stick to my fair trade latte, thank you very much.” Or, “Bring on the traditional talk-at-me homily, Fr. ______ .” I admit that I am often of these attitudes. Yet, there is something refreshingly simple and direct about both gas station coffee and what I’ll coin as “Do-it-yourself” homilies. They both get people talking, get people listening to each other and dare I say, get people more Christ-like. Really now, if Jesus Christ himself were looking for a cup of coffee this day in age, I think he would much rather throw down $1.25 in quarters and be on his way with his unadorned joe than pay three times as much after waiting in an altogether too long of a line at a holier-than-thou establishment. And if he turned the corner, coffee in hand, and entered the parish adjacent to the gas station and walked inside, which would he rather hear: the thoughts of one vowed preacher, or the flawed hems and haws of several “Do-it-yourself” conversations?

To bring the comparison to an end, I have to share how the homily ended. Fr. J asked in an appreciative tone if there were any last stories to tell before continuing on. There was another bout of silence before a bearded man dressed in camouflage hunting pants and a camel colored Carhartt jacket approached the altar with a folded piece of paper. Father J took the note and read it, smiling, as the man turned around to the congregation and announced: “The roads on Route 11 seem a little slippery, so please be careful on your way home.”

We all have our ways of contributing to these “Do-it-yourself” conversations, whether it is words of reflection, storytelling, commentary or advice. In these “post-Advent” days, let’s all embrace the spirit of gas station coffee and homemade homilies— slow down, open up and get real with the people around us.

Photo: “Bad Gas Station Coffee” by “desert-dweller” from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

No Room at the Inner Inn

December 22, 2009 By: jjok Category: Ignatian Spirituality, John's Posts 1 Comment →


The Reverend Larry Gillick, S. J. was recently a guest on my podcast, Catholic Comments. I have known Larry for almost 20 years, but he continues to surprise me with the depth of his insight about life and human motivation. This conversation was no different. We talked about Advent, which – to paraphrase Larry — he called the season of making room for Christ.

Since my days as a theology student, I have generally thought of Advent as a season of waiting and expectation. There are good reasons to understand it this way. After all, we are waiting for the birth of the Lord with expectation. Also, the readings of the season point to the second coming and the general resurrection, for which we all wait, though with varying degrees of expectation. For me, thinking about Advent in this way had become so routine that the season had lost its ability to edge me toward any kind of spiritual insight during what might be called the American Season of Frenzy, which happens to correspond to the Christian Season of Advent.

During the interview, instead of pulling out the standard trope of “waiting,” Larry said that Advent was about making space for God. Think about it. If you are like me– and I know many people are not — Christmas preparations feel a bit like a pain in the ass. They come at a really bad time in the life of an educator. In late November and early December, the momentum of the semester builds toward a crest that crashes into final projects and exams. When these are finished, I have just enough time to grade them and then careen around the city Christmas shopping in crowded places (which I really do not enjoy). All of this combines to create a baseline of unease (at best) and annoyance (at worst).

So, lately, the approach of Advent has been a source of irritation because it means that once again the Season of Frenzy has descended upon me. In this state, I care little about waiting and am unmoved by apocalyptic promises of the second coming. Finish the exams, throw up the tree, get through it all so I can rest — this is my attitude on the days when I am most tired.

At the interview Larry compared bringing the Christmas tree into the house to the making space in our hearts for the arrival of Christ. Moving the furniture to accommodate the tree is analogous to clearing an inner space to accommodate the reception of the Lord. “But we don’t want to do it,” Larry said, “we resist.”

I resist. With Christmas approaching– as I write this it is just a few days away– I find myself, ignatian style, contemplating the innkeepers of ancient Bethlehem on the eve of the arrival of the Holy Family. Who can blame them for turning away Mary and Joseph and the unborn Christ. They were busy. They had businesses to run. Their inns well full. Besides, it was the freaking Government’s fault for imposing the stupid census that required people to travel to their ancestral village at a difficult time of year. Why should I bend over backwards for a couple of losers who left too late and did not make a reservation. Didn’t they watch the news for God’s sake. They deserve to sleep on the street because they are such poor planners. Joseph must be a pretty lousy husband — not very responsible.

Sometime I think that Ignatian contemplatios are a bit juvenile. I mean really, putting yourself in a Bible scene? Who does that in the twenty-first century except children and fundamentalists? But, when I do it, it almost always bears fruit.

I am — we are — so much like the innkeepers of Bethlehem when it comes to the spiritual life. During the last couple of weeks that have defined the season of Advent, I can see, in retrospect, times when the Lord was asking for a room and but the inner inn was closed. My reasons were pretty good, though. I had stuff to do, places to go, papers to grades, podcasts to produce, blogs to manage, a class to take, food to cook, people to form, children to raise. I was busy, and besides, God could wait because God always does.

As the Advent season winds down, I am finally ready for room-making and God is there waiting. God, of course, is undisturbed by having to wait, but I find myself wondering how much more graceful the last few weeks would have been if I had made room then.

Maybe next year I’ll do better.

Photo: “No Room at the Inn” by “Jrwooley6″ from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

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