Christianity is not a Self Help Group / Reflection from America Magazine

 

St. Francis Xavier, St. Ignatius of Loyola and Blessed Peter Faber are shown in an icon. 

Many of you probably know the story of St. Ignatius Loyola, whose feast day we celebrated in July—how an ambitious, vainglorious young man in the service of the king found himself in 1521 leading the defense of Pamplona against the most powerful army in Europe; how he refused to surrender in the face of the most desperate odds; how a cannonball shattered his leg as his army collapsed. You may have heard about how Ignatius was carried back to Loyola—for two excruciating weeks over mountainous terrain—to his ancestral home, where, while recovering from his wounds, he had a “conversion” experience while reading the Life of Christ and the Book of the Saints.

You can visit the room where it happened—it is called the Chapel of the Conversion. Except that name is a misnomer. True, Ignatius’ conversion began there, but it did not end there. Other Christians may describe their conversion experiences as having occurred at a specific moment. They may even pinpoint the exact date and time. But Catholics don’t generally think about it that way. For most of us conversion is a process, a series of moments, of advance and setback, and the process lasts a lifetime. That was certainly true for Ignatius. He had resolved in his sickbed to serve his earthly king no more, but rather, to follow the King of Kings. So he set out to rival the greatest saints through extreme feats of prayer and fasting—and nearly killed himself in the process. Ignatius was sincere in his desire to become a new man when he left Loyola, but he was still pretty much what he had always been—willful and ego-driven.

It was not until he reached Manresa, a small town on the River Cardoner—where he was so distraught from the lack of progress in his new life that he even contemplated suicide—that he finally gave up his will to a higher power. At the banks of the Cardoner, he told God, in effect: “I give up. I have done all I can. I have tried everything. I’m handing it over to you, to do with it what you will.” And that’s the moment things really started to change. In the days that followed, Ignatius’ eyes were opened to mystical visions of God and creation that would nourish and inspire him for the rest of his life. At Pamplona, he had refused to surrender and lost the battle. At Manresa, he surrendered at last and won the war.

There is a big lesson in that: We are not in ultimate control of our faith journeys, any more than we control our ultimate destinies. It’s true that we have to put in the time and effort—God can do little for us if we are unwilling to cooperate. But Christianity is not a self-help group; it’s a God-help group. As long as Ignatius continued to act out of his grandiosity—out of the belief that he was the origin and destination of everything—then it didn’t matter which king he served. Yet when he finally began to act out of gratitude—out of the acknowledgement that God is the origin and destination of everything—then all things became possible. Indeed, things came to be that Ignatius could never have imagined—like a worldwide company of men and their lay colleagues laboring today to advance the kingdom of God on nearly every continent and in every conceivable kind of good work, including the many schools mentioned in this issue.

“Put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly,” St. Paul told the Colossians. “Stop lying to one another, since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge, in the image of its creator.” Ignatius surely loved those words and would have seen his own experience in them, just as surely he would have seen his younger self in the words “vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”  To all that he might have added this admonition, a lesson forged in the crucible of his lifelong conversion: Stop lying to yourself too. The One who is the way and the life is also the truth. And the truth will set you free.

I Believe in the Beatitudes / Remembering Tom Cornell

 

I Believe in the Beatitudes’

Remembering Thomas C. Cornell

The illustration on the program for the funeral Mass for Thomas C. Cornell said it all. A colorful mandala by Commonweal and Catholic Worker artist Rita Corbin declared—and illustrated—“Pray, Study, Work for Peace & Justice.” Tom Cornell, who died on August 1, had done precisely that nearly every day of his eighty-eight years.

A graduate of Jesuit schools with a New England upbringing, Cornell arrived at New York’s Catholic Worker headquarters in 1962. He had read Dorothy Day’s The Long Loneliness in college, had heard her speak, and had applied for his conscientious-objector status, which he finally received after a four-year delay. (It took that long because, at the time, “Catholic conscientious objector” seemed an oxymoron to his local draft board.)

On coming to New York, Cornell was immediately dragooned by Day into editing the Catholic Worker paper, an on-the-job training assignment at which he quickly excelled. But life at the Worker included far more than correcting galleys and laying out the pages. It required living with the poor in poor circumstances, serving countless meals, welcoming waves of guests and seekers, and publicly demonstrating against war and other injustices. As an editor, Cornell interviewed striking mine workers, traveled to Alabama to cover civil-rights developments, demonstrated at a nuclear submarine base, and personally inaugurated the first public protest against the Vietnam War—all in his first year and a half at the Catholic Worker.

Still, there was community life to be lived—and redeemed—on a daily basis, and Tom had an eye for reporting on that as well. As he noted, the atmosphere at the Chrystie Street house was “tremendously dynamic.” To prove his point, he begins a 1963 column by describing the sound of shattering glass from the Worker’s first-floor storefront window, “a window we replace often.” The column then transitions to a scene at New York’s Centre Street courthouse. Here Tom accompanies a young Beat poet to a court hearing. The man’s name is Szabo. An illustration accompanying the article—unusual for the Catholic Worker paper—highlights the young poet’s Elvis-like features and Fonzie-like carriage. Significantly, he sports a large crucifix around his neck.  Tom reports that the first thing he hears walking through the marble corridors is the booming voice of a red-faced Irish cop. “Hey kid,” yells the officer at Szabo, “What are you wearing that crucifix for?”  “Well, it’s like I feel an identification with Jesus,” the young man replies.  Policeman: “What do you mean by that?”  Szabo: “I believe in the Beatitudes.”  Policeman (laughing uproariously): “It sounds like a pretty shitty organization to me!”

Whether writing or speaking, Tom would often offset his ingrained “New England conservative instincts” with a wry—and sometimes ribald—humor. At the end of that “Chrystie Street” column, he returns to the scene of the shattered window. But now he describes a different sound: “There’s quite a racket downstairs,” he relates. “The fellow who broke the window just came back and kicked down the door.”

That same year at the Catholic Worker, Tom met and fell in love with Monica Ribar. They married the following year. At the time, Tom was helping to cofound the Catholic Peace Fellowship (CPF); years later he would also be involved in launching Pax Christi USA. Under the auspices of the Fellowship of Reconciliation, the CPF counseled hundreds of young men during the Vietnam era to follow their conscience in making decisions about the war. Tom became a mentor to many young men, some of whom remained lifelong friends. At the same time, he continued his active involvement in civil-rights issues and antiwar demonstrations. He marched with Dr. King in Selma in 1965, and burned his draft card on several occasions that year. (He had the chutzpah to ask his draft board for a replacement card so that he could burn it again.) To protest a new draconian law passed to deter such actions (penalties of up to five years in jail and a $10,000 fine), Tom helped organize a huge rally in New York’s Union Square. It was there, on November 6, 1965, that he read a searing statement lamenting that the “grave crime” listed in the new statute was not “the destruction of life but the destruction of a piece of paper.” His speech was met with threats by a group of counter-demonstrators who yelled derisively: “Burn your bodies, not your cards!” (Tom would later serve six months in federal prison for burning his card.) Part of Tom’s statement that day appeared in Commonweal, accompanied by the editors’ call for an immediate end to all bombing of North Vietnam.                                                         

But these are simply sketches from the earliest chapters of Tom’s long, peripatetic life of protest, witness, dissent, welcome, and pilgrimage. Over the course of the next sixty years, he worked with the Fellowship of Reconciliation, ran a Catholic Worker house of hospitality in Waterbury, Connecticut, traveled the world on peace missions, advised the U.S. bishops on their 1983 pastoral letter on war, raised two remarkable children (and later delighted in five grandchildren), was ordained a Catholic deacon, and, for the last thirty years of his life, lived and worked with Monica at the Catholic Worker farm in upstate New York.

Tom had a strong background in Latin, which he enjoyed brandishing, and a finely trained analytical mind. He put these to work, in season and out, as a writer and speaker, defining and then defending such quixotic notions as anarchism, decentralism, the sacredness of life at all stages, and nonviolent unilateral disarmament. He was always ready to encourage others but was also ready to correct and enlighten when necessary. For example, he reported for Commonweal on a 1968 meeting in St. Louis of a group of American Catholics called the National Committee on Catholic Concerns. He concluded bluntly that it had not clarified the issues under discussion, let alone “come to grips with serious and urgent proposals” raised by the group itself.

Tom admitted having what he called a “Jesuit hard head,” and was always happy to bring it to bear when editing others, including Dorothy Day. He took pride in correcting her syntax (not always to her liking), and sometimes deleted elements of her rambling style. Yet he readily admitted that her columns held vast treasures: whole paragraphs of incredible insight and understanding, which were an invitation to self-reflection and delight. He judged rightly when he commented that their spiritual depth had “the power that you associate with an Avila.”

In his last years, Tom suffered greatly from the effects of shingles and a chronic, exquisitely painful neuropathy. Still, he carried on, welcoming guests to the Catholic Worker farm (“this incomparable community”), helping edit the Catholic Worker paper, being present to his family, serving as a deacon, mentor, and member of the board of the guild for the canonization of Dorothy Day, and planting trays of onion seeds when confined to sitting on the front porch. His final published words in the Catholic Worker (August-September 2022) were a riff on Catholic Worker anarchist Ammon Hennacy (d. 1970). The inimitable Hennacy, Tom wrote, was “sometimes a ‘pain in the ass,’” but “he was always very dear.” To the end, Tom could be both witty and appreciative.

He was buried on the feast of the deacon martyr, St. Lawrence. Like Lawrence, Tom had given his life daily in service of the Beatitudes. As St. Leo the Great said of Lawrence, so we can now say of Tom Cornell: “Let us rejoice…over the happy end of this illustrious man of God.”

Ignatian Spirituality @ Bon Secours / Right in our Backyard

 

I knew nothing of the Sisters of Bon Secours before moving to Baltimore.  It was an Ignatian-inspired retreat that would bring me to the sisters’ beautiful Retreat Center in Marriottsville, MD, when I was still new in town.

The Charism of Bon Secours is to bring God’s healing, compassion and liberation to people in need. Special attention is given to those who are poor, sick or dying by helping to alleviate their suffering and bringing them a message of hope and assurance that there is a God who loves them  

Compassion:  Encountering our God of compassion is central to the life of a Christian and, in many ways, the point of the First Week of the Spiritual Exercises. We may be tempted to think of the First Week—the week in which we meditate on hell and all its dark fruits—as a guilt trip. It’s easy to think that the point of these meditations is to make us feel bad about our sins. But really, that First Week of St. Ignatius’s foundational text is about recognizing all that God yearns to save us from.  In essence, the first movement of the central text of Ignatian spirituality is a journey into compassion, a recognition that ours is a God who loved us first, who loves us still, and who will not stop loving us, no matter what.  That’s a compelling message—and the charism of Bon Secours challenges us to bring that message of compassionate love out and into the world                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Healing:  In the Second Week of the Exercises, we walk with Christ. We place ourselves alongside him, becoming immersed in the scenes. And so many of those scenes of the Second Week, of Christ’s active ministry, find him healing the people he encounters.  He heals them of bodily afflictions; he heals them of doubt and shame and insecurity. And he invites me—he invites us—to do the same.  That, too, is the invitation of the Bon Secours charism: How might we place our own insights, experiences, and desires alongside the healing hands of Jesus and accompany him in this work? What unique vocation has God called us to through which we might offer the world a healing touch ?                                                                                                             

 Liberation:  Finally, in the Third and Fourth Weeks, we quite literally experience liberation—and its opposite. As we accompany Christ through the Passion in the Third Week, we see him burdened by the weight of betrayal, dashed expectations, lost hopes, and the Cross itself. He is bound to its wood by a system of oppression, by structures of injustice. Evil present in our world holds him fast, and he willingly accepts his fate.  But then—and this is the key not only to the Fourth Week, not only to the Exercises, not only to the Bon Secours’s charism, but to the whole project of Christianity—Christ is liberated from the shackles of sin and death and oppression, breaking through the confines of death and rocky tomb alike.  In and through this moment of liberation, God’s Holy Spirit invites us to love and serve Christ found in all of creation. We are not merely liberated from sin and death; we are liberated for love and service.                                                                                                                                                                              

The Mark of Holiness:  The charism of the Congregation of the Sisters of Bon Secours is as vital today as it was in France in 1824. In the wake of the French Revolution, a group of 12 women discerned their call to be “good help” to those in need. They went against the expectations of their day, leaving cloistered life to minister personally to the sick and dying.  This courage to discern and act upon God’s desire for our lives—even when it’s unexpected and perhaps even unorthodox—is another parallel between the Bon Secours and the Ignatian way of proceeding.  Maybe, though, the invitation to discern and act on the will of our God, who desires compassion, healing, and liberation for those most in need, isn’t the exclusive territory of any spiritual tradition.

Perhaps it is simply the mark of holiness to which we are all called.

WHY CONTINUING EDUCATION ?

WHY DO WE NEED CONTINUING ADULT EDUCATION IN OUR PARISH COMMUNITY ?  SOME THOUGHTS FOR US TO CONSIDER

What the world needs now is spiritual and moral values in terms of which sound judgments can be made. The problems we face involve people, families, communities and nations, not merely things, and so we are dealing primarily with values and ideals and this is a special concern of the Church. Civil rights, poverty, peace and war are not issues that can find solutions in mere economic, or social, or intellectual terms; these questions and thousands like them will be answered primarily in terms of spiritual and moral values, and here is where we can make our greatest contribution.

An Incarnational View of the World

We can learn that God is present and active in our lives and in the world. We can learn to recognize the "footprints of God" in our daily experiences.  In an incarnational view of the world, there is no such thing as a secular subject as all learning helps to develop and bring to full bloom that image of God that is in each person.

Immersion in the Paschal Mystery

Our lives are a series of small and not so small dying’s and risings. In union with the Paschal Mystery, we realize that there is redemptive power in suffering, and in the power of the cross. In it lies the answer to the mystery of all of life's successes and failures. In the experience of the Paschal Mystery, we also realize the need for community. Like Jesus, we encounter our own Simon of Cyrene to help us along the way.  

Service for the Common Good

We can learn that since community is at the heart of who we are, there are no strangers, only brothers and sisters in the Lord. We have a responsibility to respond to the needs of others because we are all part of God's family.

A Nuanced View of Scripture
We can be given the opportunity to explore the beauty and richness of Sacred Scripture seen through the lens of faith and lived out in daily practice. We can experience the ongoing revelation of God in Scripture as the One who leads the Israelites through the promised land, and who redeems them through His cross and resurrection. We can learn to apply Scripture to our own lives as a tool for prayer and the true guide for virtuous living

The Value of Relationships as a Reflection of the Divine
As a community we celebrate our successes and achievements. We share grief and downfalls. We unite together in solidarity, and even challenge each other to become better reflections of the divine. We are made for community.

LIVE LIFE HAPPY

 

A posting on Facebook from Bishop Monica Kennedy. 

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SEEING JESUS IN A NEW LIGHT

 

Seeing Jesus and All Things in a New Light

After the Resurrection, everything must have looked new for Mary Magdalene, whose feast is July 22. Contemplate for a moment Mary bringing the good news to those women who supported Jesus’ public ministry. This story is inspired by John 20:1–2, 11–18 We call it  “To see all things new in Christ.”

“I have seen the Lord!” Mary Magdalene exclaimed, bursting into the room.        

“What?” I replied, putting down my knife and setting aside the cutting board.                                                                                                        

“Yes. It’s true. He is alive!” Mary said breathlessly.                                            

I felt goosebumps as Mary recounted her story. I knew that after the Crucifixion Mary remained alone at the grave with her grief. She refused to hurry off with us for the sabbath. When noisy guards accosted her, she finally joined us in the women’s quarters. She said the lump in her throat was as enormous as the stone blocking the grave.                                     

“Today I dressed at first light,” she said in her best storytelling voice. “As I stumbled along the rocky path, a chill in the air, I inhaled the sweetness of wildflowers—like those I had strewn on his shroud. How could today feel fresh? My beloved, my best friend, was gone.” Mary shook her head.          

“When I saw the stone rolled back, I wondered where the body was. I sobbed uncontrollably. And then,” she paused for effect, “I felt rather than heard someone approach, probably a gardener. But when he said, ‘Mary,’ my heart flipped from despair to elation to surprise to disbelief to confusion to ecstasy to overwhelmed and giddy delight. I wanted to hold him forever, to embrace his feet with my tears and never let him go. But he said not to hold onto him. And he said go to his brothers and tell them that he is alive.” “Did you tell the Apostles?” I asked, about to fall off the stool as I leaned forward precariously.                      

“I’ve just come from them, but they did not believe me.” Mary finally sat, and she exhaled heavily. She held her cheeks with both hands before dropping her hands on her crisscrossed legs.                                                                           

“What do we do next?” I asked with determination. “If the brothers don’t believe you, what can we do?”                                                                                      

Mary pondered. “Let’s pray the way Jesus taught us. Our Father, you who are in heaven…”                                                                                                    

We bowed our heads and joined her.                                                         

“Peace be with you.”                                                                                      

We looked up. There was Jesus, standing in our midst. Jesus! He was the same and yet different—scarred and bruised, but radiant too. We cried and ululated in joy. We rushed at him in a giant hug. I could smell burial ointment. Jesus laughed. Jesus, right here!                                                                                “Dear friends,” he said. “I love you. I will help you tell my stories and draw in new disciples. Do not be afraid! All authority in heaven and earth are mine. The Holy Spirit will be with you.”                                                                                    

We sliced bread and vegetables and ate together. Everything would be different now. We were already receiving power to see everything in a new light.                                                                                                           

 “We need to go to the brothers,” I said as Jesus vanished from sight. The others nodded. “We ought to get them moving on this mission. I know I feel challenged to do more than I’ve done. Everything will change. We will be Jesus for each other now. We must remember and repeat the meal we shared on the night before he died. Everyone, get moving! We all have work to do.”

This article appeared in Ignatian Spirituality.com 

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THE AWARENESS PRAYER

 

The Awareness Prayer

What does it mean to “find God in all things”? We’re all familiar with spiritual literature that speaks of finding God in nature, in art, in the birth of a child, and in many other concrete examples of creation—most of which we take for granted. The Ignatian Prayer emphasizes a much deeper awareness of God’s ongoing creation and unique call to each of us. The Examen prayer, also sometimes called the Awareness Prayer, is one way of going deeper.

Step 1: Pray for God’s help. Be aware of the presence of God, here and now. The other side of that coin is to be present. Prayer is a relationship, and your presence is just as necessary as God’s. Sometimes it’s really hard to let go of our pressing concerns, worries, and immediate plans. A simple breathing exercise before starting—two or three deep breaths in and out—may help. The time of day may make a difference: choose the time when you find it less difficult to be still and open to God’s presence.                                                                      

Step 2: What are you most thankful for today? Lift it up to God, and express your gratitude in whatever words come to mind. A review of the preceding day that focuses on many things you are grateful for may be a good idea, but be careful not to let the details distract you. Don’t forget to thank God for your more permanent gifts—you know what they are.                     

Step 3: What are the most powerful feelings you have experienced in the last day? Finding God deep within ourselves is a new idea for many people. If we approach it with honesty and openness, it can be a deeply personal experience of God’s unconditional love for each of us. This is also the point at which any distractions experienced in the preceding steps may be examined. I have often heard from spiritual directees that they are distracted from prayer by problems at work or in their families. If these “distractions” are ongoing, they may be a clue that you need to bring the issue to prayer, and ask God to help you find the grace in the situation. Sometimes God meets us in difficulties, in pain, or in disappointment.    

Step 4: Have you missed any opportunities to draw closer to God? Have you identified any feelings that are drawing you away from God? Asking forgiveness is not narrowly limited to material for sacramental confession.                                                                                

Step 5: What is God calling you to do now? It may be something immediate: today or tomorrow, God may be asking you to say yes to someone who has asked for your help or to apologize to someone you may have hurt. Or the call may be life-changing: God called me to a three-year course of preparation to become a spiritual director—in my mid-seventies. Look forward to the future with hope!