This Ignatian Life

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My Prayer for Holy Week

March 29, 2010 By: Lisa Category: Ignatian Spirituality, Lisa's Posts Comments Off


Breathe deep. The hour has come.

Breathe deep again.

Imagine the deep breath Jesus must have taken as he climbed on a donkey’s back for the ride into Jerusalem, knowing the pit of vipers he was riding into.

Be aware of your own, tired, fearful deep breath. Where will your holy week pilgrimage take you? Where don’t you want to go, but somehow know you must? This isn’t about giving up chocolate for lent or meat on Fridays. There is a calling in each of us to be…something more, to face that which we deeply fear in ourselves, or to challenge the injustice before our eyes, knowing full well, in so doing, we will be inviting in pain, heartbreak, perhaps even crucifixion.

Breathe deep. I’m scared too. It helps that you are here with me. I don’t even know you or where you are right now, but just knowing you are reading, seeking as I am something more to this life, tells me I am not alone.

This week is the pinnacle of our faith. How seriously do we take it? Will we just go through the rituals this week, reenacting a last supper, genuflecting before a cross, and happily finding eggs on Sunday or will we truly seek to be resurrected people by next Monday? I’m not sure I trust that grace can take hold of me that fast. Were you to answer the first, that empty ritual is good enough for most folks, just go to mass and check the box, I must admit, my deep breath would turn into a sigh of relief. Whew. That I can do. But I would have to admit to some desolation in my heart—really? Honestly? That’s it? That’s all there is to be done to experience Oneness with God in this life?

But were you to take my hand and tell me from your heart “The hour has come,” my deep breath would quickly become restricted, short, gasping a bit. We seek to be a resurrected people and you can’t get there without going through the crucifixion. Your own crucifixion. My eyes would well with tears. I’m so not ready to be or do this calling. And I pray God help me.

And I find a bit of an answer:

When we have let ourselves go and no longer belong to ourselves, when we have denied ourselves and no longer have the disposing of ourselves…we begin to live in the world of God himself, the world of grace and eternal life. (Karl Rahner, Reflections on the Experience of Grace)

And in that, in letting go of my fears, in accepting whatever is to come from mounting this donkey into holy week, denying my common sense to stay where it is safe and just do what everyone else does, I find consolation. I don’t want to go there, but somehow I know it is where I have to go. Each of us has a “there”, a Jerusalem, where we don’t want to go, but we know we must. It will not be easy, but it will bring our hearts the Oneness we seek. This is our faith. Do we really buy it?

I find consolation as well, in going with you, in knowing that I have companions on this road who are about to face their own hour, whatever that may be for you. I will be with you as you are with me.

Breathe deep. Here we go.

Photo: “Via Delorsa Plaque” by betta design from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

Jesus between 12 and 30

September 06, 2009 By: plickteig Category: Paul's Posts Comments Off

At 12, when his parents find him at the Temple, Jesus shows that he knows he’s the Son of God.

At 30, when he is baptized in the Jordan, Jesus also knows that he’s the brother of all humanity, and he’s ready to face profound temptations.

I like to contemplate, with my imagination, the span of Jesus’ life between those two key moments.  Something happened during that time which can explain the difference between Jesus’ first Passover feast in Jerusalem (in the Temple among the doctors, provoking admiration with his intelligence) and his last one (washing the feet of his disciples like a servant, and transforming the ritual meal into a saving gift of self… and about to be crucified outside the city walls).  It seems that during that time, Jesus grew in his inner “downward mobility”; he advanced on his path of humility which is punctuated by the Incarnation and the Cross.  Surely, the walk back home to Nazareth, after the embarrassment of being scolded by his parents in front of the Temple doctors he’d been talking to, was an important part of this path of humility for the young Messiah.  Jesus may have been of “legal age” as an adult in his time, but Mary and Joseph knew he still had a lot of growing up to do (“in wisdom, in stature and in grace”).  Clearly, Jesus’ understanding of his own identity and vocation deepens during these years.  Perhaps the most important difference, for us at least, is that he identifies with the Messianic identity not of the political king, but of the servant who suffers in solidarity, from Deutero-Isaiah.  Jesus identifies with us, with the humanity that we share with him.  This is the Jesus who tells his disciples “You give them something to eat,” because all and any people in the crowd are “our” people and we can’t just send them away to fend for themselves.  This is the Jesus whose invitation to grow in holiness is at once an invitation to accept fully my humanity.  This is the Jesus who makes genuine friendships with different kinds of people, the Jesus who feels compassion for sinners and who lets himself be surprised by a Syro-Phoenician woman.  This is the Jesus who saves.

I have long been anxious to “do my part” for the world, to finally be able to work and give and teach and serve, no-holds-barred.  But God is showing me, in these long years of Jesuit formation, that I still have a lot of growing up to do.  I still have a lot of inner “downward mobility” to do if I want to keep following the humble Lord who makes himself a servant and a brother to all.  And so as I move on now to theology studies, my next stage of formation, I will keep asking our Lord to grant me inner knowledge of him, that I may better love and serve him.


Photo: “Baptism of Christ (Detail)” by “Sacred Destinations” from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

Putting On A New Life

June 28, 2009 By: plickteig Category: Paul's Posts Comments Off


I got a new suit when I took vows as a Jesuit. I want to say that it was not that big of a deal, but it was. See, when we entered the novitiate, we received a small stipend once a month and we had to keep track of all our expenses on this little piece of paper. At the end of the month that little piece of paper would be handed in to the Minister, along with whatever money we had left over, and we would receive another stipend. Our superiors always told us that we were to keep track of our expenditures so that we could become better “stewards of resources.” In my mind, though, I was always a little convinced that I was being tested. There was this little blank space on the last line of our expense sheet that asked how much money the novice would be returning that month. That was the test. A seemingly innocuous little line was devised to reveal whether or not I was truly attuned to the practice of poverty. Since I usually spent all of my money, I often felt that I had been tested and found lacking in this particular virtue. Regardless, despite my shortcomings, by the end of the novitiate I was “approved” for vows. This approval was underlined by the fact that I was entrusted with the money I would need to buy a black suit. I made a mental note that when I bought that suit, I would buy something that was good quality, but also relatively inexpensive. I wanted something that would last, that would show how much I knew about what would be required of this life.

Since I planned on having this suit until I was ordained, for a good ten years, I was careful about choosing a “classic” cut. This idea was placed in my mind by something I had heard an older scholastic say while commenting on life as a Regent. He said that his own vow suit still fit, almost. Unfortunately, he had spent a little too much time eating things he shouldn’t and even a little more time sitting in front of the TV to relax after a 14 hour day, rather than going to the gym to work out. As a result, he had recently experienced more than a little difficulty securing various buttons. Nevertheless, he would work these pounds off at some point and, by the time ordination rolled around, he would be back in the same condition he was when he took first vows. This struck me because I had gained about thirty pounds since entering the novitiate (all within the first three months). What would happen once I took vows? Would I fit the garment that was being cut for me? I wanted this suit to last because that would prove something. I would make a good choice. I would show that I could be a good steward. I would prove that I was worthy of the suit.

Over the next six years I began to live life as a vowed religious. As time wore on, I carried my Jesuit suit with me from place to place, taking it out now and again when duty called. The thing is, while I was very active in various ministerial roles, there was seldom any need to wear the suit I had taken such care to purchase. Soon, I started to realize that while the suit was in decent condition, it was cut in a style that no longer seemed appropriate. This was especially disappointing because, when I bought it, I had not realized that even seemingly “classic” suits might tend to become a little thinner here, and a little wider there. So, while I had thought at one point that the suit was the perfect cut, my ideas about the ideal suit had changed. Then something else happened: I tried on the suit one day and it no longer fit. It was not a weight issue because, first of all, I weighed only a few pounds more than I had as a novice and, second, the real problem was that the suit had become too baggy in the waist and smaller in the shoulders. Again, the suit did not change, it was in great shape, but I was in better shape. Somehow, as I lived my life as a Jesuit, the garment that I bought and believed would accompany me for years, no longer fit.

Light-hearted comments about novitiate expenditures and black garments aside, my understanding of what it is to live as a companion of Jesus is something like that suit. At some point I made a choice to put on my life in Christ. I had an idea of what that life should look like, and I gave myself to it, allowing myself to be formed by the choices and desires that would allow me to wear it well. It was an ideal, cut from my desire to become a good man, shaped by my shortcomings, and held together by my hope in Christ. In the back of my mind I was always measuring myself against that ideal, but even though the basic idea of what it is to live that life never really changed (I still long to be a kind, creative, caring person), my appreciation for how it all fits together failed to remain the same. In Christ I continue to outgrow old ways of thinking. In Jesus, I find that the ideas I have about how to live as a Christian are constantly being replaced, pushed aside in favor of more appropriate ways to live out that call. In this way, the thing I thought was ideal becomes a strangely limited expression of my desire to live, love, and serve as an agent of God, and I find that every day becomes an opportunity to put on a new life in Christ.

Photo: “Buckman Coats 3” by “conorwithonen” from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)