A Prayer of St. Theresa of Lisieux

When I took one of the Jesuits to his doctor's appointment today, I encountered a prayer of St. Teresa of Lisieux on the wall of the waiting room that I really liked.

May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that
has been given to you....
May you be content knowing you are a child of God....
Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.

Rest in Peace, Fr. John

He departed for a new life at 2:35 AM this morning.


I thought I would upload this pic of him--it captures so much more than I could describe of him.

At the Bedside of Fr. John

My first conversation with Fr. John Schwarz was a few weeks ago when I began my work at the Jesuit infirmary. The weather was warm, and he wanted to go outside. We talked about all sorts of things: the current Wimbledon tournament, his time as a history professor at Seattle University, where I was from and how I entered the Jesuits, etc. Fr. John was easy to talk to and had a great sense of humor. I could just feel the warmness of his heart and the generosity of his spirit. At that time, I never would have suspected that he would soon be drawing near towards death.

About a week ago, Fr. John was taken to the emergency room, and I ended up spending a few hours with him there, relieving my other Jesuit brother who was intially with him, Cormac. When I had arrived, he seemed to be doing alright and was in relatively good spirits, considering the circumstances. We shared a few laughs, talked some time about spiritual matters, etc. It was late at night, so I would sometimes just watch him fall asleep and notice the rhythm to his breathing and the jagged mountains they made on the computer screen nearby. I took him back to the infirmary later that night, assuming he would get better.

That has not be the case, however. I noticed throughout this week a stark decline in his health and his ability to converse and could not help but juxtapose that past image of Fr. John outside on that warm day to the present image of him before me.

Today, when I visited him, I broke out into tears a few minutes after I had entered his room. I saw him and thought: "oh my God, he's dying..." I did not expect, nor was I prepared, to see him in his fragile state and to witness the people who were at his side, comforting him and praying over him. It hadn't entered my mind that today may be the last day I see him alive. My other Jesuit brother, Jason, and I sat at his side, as a result, for much of today--Jason moreso than me. He had brought in his laptop to offer some comforting music to listen to.

It is an experience to sit with someone for much of the day as they labor to breathe. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind. Was he afraid? Was he peaceful? What was it like to have scores of people come to your side, offering their words and comfort in their own way? There's a part of me that wondered if he just wanted to hear a good joke.

In many ways, my time with him today was a real gift to me. The staff who care for him are superb, and I have been able to witness the hard work that they put in day in and day out for him. I could see the real love and concern they have for Fr. John, and their openness to delve into the dirtiness of assisted living. I was able to see the number of Jesuits who came to visit him today, to offer him a blessing, to pray words of comfort, to hold his hand and tell him he was loved. In the midst of death, great beauty can spring forth.

Thankfully, Fr. John's family was able to fly up to see him, and they are currently with him, giving me time to decompress from the day, to rest, and to reflect back. I'm not sure if Fr. John will be alive the next time I see him, but please keep him and all of those close to death in your prayers.

May God's light perpetually shine upon him. Amen

Christ Amidst the Storms

This past Sunday, the Oregon Scholastics here in Spokane had a day of recollection--a time to pray, to share our faith, to discern our inner movements over the past year or so. Fr. Peter Byrne, a spiritual guru in our province, led our prayer and grounded it in that Sunday's Gospel reading--the Apostles and Jesus in a boat amidst the storms.

From Mark 4:35-41 (taken from the New American Bible Translation)

On that day, as evening drew on, he said to them, "let us cross the other side." Leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat just as he was. And other boats were with him. A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Quiet! Be still!" The wind ceased and there was great calm. Then he asked them, "Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?" They were filled with great awe and said to one another: "Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey.?"

One of the great gems of St. Ignatius found in the Spiritual Exercises is his belief that all people can have direct contact with God, and one of the ways that he has the exercitant experience this grace is through our power of imagination. He asks the one praying the exercises to imagine herself/himself at the scene, to experience the storm, to colloquy with Christ at this time. And, since we all have our own history, our own experiences, the way we may imagine and experience this storm will probably differ from one another.

I imagine that many people would probably experience a lot of anger and resentment towards God for putting them through stormy situations. I experience it a little differently. I have certainly navigated my fair share of stormy weather during my life journey, but when I look back, I never feel that I was ever alone in the boat. I believe that Christ was always there to lend a hand, to offer words of comfort, to lead certain people into my life, sometimes even to throw me a lifeline when I needed it--even if I didn't recognize His presence at the time. It's not a "I'll believe it when I see it" moment, it's a "I'll see it when I believe it" experience that I cannot describe any other way. The light of Christ pierces even the deepest darkness, calms our raging winds.

At the end of the storm, sometimes you'll encounter a rainbow if you look in the right spot.

In terms of the Oregon Province, one of the ways in which we situate our experience of bankruptcy is through this gospel passage. It's a stormy time for us collectively, but I have personally witnessed a strength of faith and hope in the Jesuits here. We believe Christ is always with us and will lead us through this uncertain future of ours, whatever that may look like. Our material goods may get taken, but we have greater treasure that can never be taken away. And, it is these gifts that we have faith will sustain us. AMDG

A Sunday Stream of Thought

If you are like me, your mind jumps a lot--a thought leads to another thought. Something I see or read jogs a memory, which in turn reminds me of something else. It's become something of an art form in the literary world.

I was reading the newspaper this morning about the Iranian conflict. Really, I don't know what to think or how to think about the whole matter. Part of me is heartened to see a people who seek change through peaceful protest. Part of me wonders, however, if the elections really were authentic. Can we ever really know in a democratic election whether every single vote was counted correctly? But, what do I know? Seriously. All I can tell is that people are angry and people want to see something different, and some are dying as a result of letting their voices be heard. What can I do, thousands of miles away from that different world tucked away in a tiny pocket of the US, but pray...pray for peace, to ask God to bring about in our hearts seeds of love and compassion towards all of our brothers and sisters? For an end to violence, for an increase in wisdom--that good may come from all of this.

I am just one man, concerned about his neighbors on the other side of the world.

As I continued reading, I came across an article about gang violence on Long Island. An innocent 15-year-old stabbed to death, for no other reason than that he may have been thought to be a member of a rival gang. A family shattered, a best friend wondering why. He was 8 years younger than me.

Even within the same country, the same city, so many of us are worlds apart.

That thought reminded me of my visit back home during Christmas. I went with my family to visit my Auntie's grave. The cemetery was strikingly radiant and festive during at that time, with nativity sets, bright flowers, candy cane decorations, strewn across the entire place. A can of Budweiser sat at the head of one the graves. I was reminded of this time because I was struck by the birth dates of some of these tomes--they were born around the same time as me. Most of them had Latino last names, and I could only help but wonder...

The article later talked about the importance of education, which somehow reminded me of the holiday that we celebrate today. My parents worked extremely hard for my siblings growing up, wanting the best for their children and striving to put all 5 of us through Catholic education. When I was younger, I carried the real burden of success, and I honestly hated them for placing it upon me. As I've grown older, however, I recognize and see the great, although imperfect, love that my parents had for us, of working their tails off so that we could have a better future. And, indeed, all of us are doing quite well and flourishing, and I know that would not have been possible without their sacrifice. So, I am very grateful for my parents, and I thought I would recognize them both since I didn't write anything for Mother's Day.

Well, that's most of what has been percolating in my mind this morning. A pretty normal day.

Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus

Today is one of my most favorite feast days in Catholic worship--the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

In the novitiate, one of my novice brothers shared a deep prayer experience he had of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. He recalled during one of his prayer moments that he had such an intimate experience of Christ that it was as if he could feel Christ's heart beat against his. At one point, it was as if their hearts were in sync--his heart joined in union with that of Jesus.

To this day, I continue to be moved by that faith sharing, and it has influenced my prayer on a number of different occasions. Indeed, I have made my own brother's prayer experience my own prayer, and the rewards I have reaped from such prayer have been very great for me. It is that warmness and intimacy of Christ that I so identify with, that connection that I believe He desires of all of us.

At Ciszek Hall, my first homily in the community was about the Sacred Heart, not because it was the feast day, but because we were celebrating St. Margaret Mary Alacoque (who shares a feast day with St. Hedwig), remembered for her strong devotion to the Sacred Heart. She actually had a Jesuit confessor, St. Claude de la Colombiere. One of the Jesuits from Bea house that presided today shared about her life--people thought she was delusional during that time, but it was Colombiere who was one of the first to affirm her prayer experiences. St. Margaret Mary is one whom we can find great inspiration in truly understanding this feast day.

May today's feast day bring you closer to that warmth and love which Christ offers to all of us.

Peering into My Future through My Elder Jesuit Brothers

Over the past two weeks, I have been spending a bit of time with the Jesuits in our infirmary here in Spokane, WA. Most have more than triple my own life experience. All of them, having ministered to others for so much of their Jesuit life, now rely on the help of others to fulfill their own basic needs.

One day, if I make it to that point, I too will need others' hands to be my own, to do the things I will not be able to do myself.

It is a humbling experience to be in the presence of these men. As people who greatly value our own independence, our encounter with those who have lost these facilities gives us pause to reflect on our own life, our own humanity, our own mortality.

They, too, were young once.

A few days ago, I accompanied one of the Jesuits to his eye appointment. The doctor had put yellow dye in his eye for whatever reason--I'm not a doctor, hell if I know why. When he came out, I thought it was one of the coolest things I had seen. It was like he had some inherent mutant powers that were just beginning to manifest in his old age. Storm's eyes become cloudy just before lightning strikes--I teased what supernatural occurrence might come our way. Well, later that day, I went out for a walk with him and asked him about the appointment. By that time, however, he had forgotten that he had gone to the eye doctor and asked me multiple times what day it was. He could tell me stories about events 30-40 years ago with amazing clarity, but the recent past becomes all but forgotten. He was a military chaplain who, in his career, received (if I can remember correctly) four purple hearts. I brought him around GU campus--to reflect at the statue of Ignatius at Cardoner, to contemplate the influence of Fr. DeSmet as one of the first people to venture out to the Northwest, to marvel at the simple beauties of nature on campus, finding God in the midst of it all. As we neared the end of our walk, I told him: "well, you can't help now but cherish the present moment. I'll remember it for the both of us--at least to the best of my ability!" It's a young memory, so it'll probably keep better.

All of these men have served in tremendous ways, and I don't think I will ever truly know what their life was like before my first encounter with them--who they have touched, what they have built in their lifetime. Yet, towards the end of their life, the elderly among us all too often become the forgotten. As the young go out to build memories, I think the old yearn to share their own--for those who will listen. But, I think they also enjoy hearing our stories as well--I think sometimes it makes them feel young again to see the life and energy of budding youth.

I've imagined myself if/when I reach old age--it's difficult not to when you become involved in the infirmary. What will sustain me? Where will I find life? I imagine that it is at this time, more than ever, that we find ourselves turning to our faith, relying in God. I can't help but think about Pedro Arrupe and his famous words after experiencing a debilitating stroke--words that continue to be incredibly moving and powerful for me. I will let his words end my post today:

More than ever I find myself in the hands of God.
This is what I have wanted all my life from my youth.

But now there is a difference;
the initiative is entirely with God.

It is indeed a profound spiritual experience
to know and feel myself so totally in God's hands.

-- Pedro Arrupe SJ,