Last Mass Reflection at Ciszek

Today, I gave my last Mass reflection at Ciszek Hall, so I thought I would share it for anyone interested. As always, what I write for Mass is always intended for my immediate Jesuit audience, but perhaps it can be some fruit to others.

Anyway, a quick note that during my April 1st fun post, I totally didn't intend for the part where I wrote how I wanted to write an update to be part of the joke. I actually had meant to write an update, but then the craziness of this past month went into overdrive, and I'm just getting a quick breather from it all. From the various papers/exams due, to my time at the Jesuit Conference in DC to discuss the role of Jesuits and Communications in the 21st century, and to organizing a great deal of the Easter Triduum music at the local parish here (bilingual, no less), it's been difficult to find time or energy to write. This upcoming week, I have two more papers and what is called the De U-- the capstone oral exam that I will have to take to finish up my Master's, so I'm sure I won't be writing anytime soon, especially since afterwards I have to worry about moving back to the West Coast. Hopefully in due time, though.

FYI: the Gospel reading today is taken from Luke 24:13-35

In today’s Gospel reading, we hear how the Risen Christ appeared to two of his disciples on the road to Emmaus. We hear at the beginning of the passage how the village is about seven miles from Jerusalem, and that it was nearly evening by the time they reached Emmaus. We can assume, then, that Jesus had spent practically the whole day with them, yet it was only near the very end when they came to recognize Him through the breaking of the bread, at which point Jesus disappears from their midst. And, as they reflected and did their examen, so to speak—they noted how their hearts burned, and how this intense feeling within was confirmation that Christ truly was in their presence.

When I think about times when I have felt my heart burning within me, that intense feeling in which I could not help but believe that I was in the presence of God, I typically think about my Kairos retreat during my senior year of high school at the beloved CA retreat center in Applegate. Kairos, as it was described to us, was defined as God’s time. This was God’s time—a time in which we were invited to intimately place ourselves in the presence of God and to be receptive and vulnerable to God’s grace at work. The student leaders and faculty shared personal and often vivid stories of their lives—stories of great vulnerability—and how they strived to see God at work in the midst of their great struggles and joys. I’m sure those of you who will be moving on to regency will be invited into such situations.

I remember a moment in particular after I had the opportunity to confess what was going on within me during the retreat. I was sitting in the chapel and gazing upon the cross of Christ. As I looked at the cross, I remember being overwhelmed with the intense feeling that Jesus was really with me. That Jesus was there, his arms outstretched, his gaze inviting me to draw ever closer to Him.

As I looked at the cross, I found myself in tears, because I had never before felt the presence of God so strongly. I could not help but believe that this truly was the work of the Holy Spirit, that God really was present to me at that time. There, I believe my heart began to truly burn for the first time, and I tend to think about that time as the seed of my vocation into the Society.

When I think about our Father Ignatius, I cannot help but contemplate the fire that burned in his heart throughout his lifetime. As he read about the Saints and about their love and desire to follow Christ, I can imagine the transformation taking place within his heart. At his bed, in the reading of Holy men and women, Ignatius was having a Kairos moment. God deemed that to be the appropriate time to seize his heart and mind and set it aflame, and from that point Ignatius would never be able to look back.

Ignatius at the river Cardoner was also a Kairos moment for him. As he sat and contemplated the mysteries of Christ amidst the beauty of nature, I imagine the fire in his heart as he began to understand more and more the ways that God was working in his life and the way God was working in the world. Ignatius was often so moved that he would tear up just thinking about how beautiful, for example, the Trinity was, as it seemed to him to be like three harmonious musical keys.

And, on his way to present himself to the Pope, Ignatius had a Kairos moment in the Chapel of La Storta, where the Father came to him in an intimate way and placed Ignatius with his son Jesus. I imagine the intense feeling that Ignatius was having during this vision, and how this vision sought to confirm the deep desires he believed Christ was placing within him.

Ignatius’ heart was set on fire by our Lord, and he could not help but want to share and enkindle that fire with others.

I think this is why GC 35 truly wanted to remind us about how our charism is founded upon this inner flame given to us in God’s time. For all of us, I would venture to guess that all of us have had Kairos moments in our lives prior to entering the Society in which we felt ourselves to be on fire with the love of God—a flame so strong and intense that we sought to enter into such a radical life. And why? Because God had lit a fire within us, and we had a burning desire to respond to his Call. Like Ignatius, we received something from God that was so profound and so intimate that we could not help but want to share the life of God given to us with those around us. As first year novices, we then all entered into the Spiritual Exercises, in which we devoted a full month of silence where we truly dedicated our lives to Christ—a Kairos month meant to ground our lives as Jesuits even to this day. In those days, we encountered the living God in a real and intimate way, and we might have found ourselves like the disciples, in which our hearts burned because of Christ’s real work within us.

As Jesus was his disciples on the road to Emmaus, and as Jesus was with Ignatius, so too is Jesus with us, even when we are blind to his intimate presence. All time is Kairos—all time is God’s time, for He is always with us, never leaving our side.

In my humble opinion, the people of God deserve nothing less that Jesuits who are on fire with the love of God. And we should expect nothing less of our Jesuit brothers than to know that each of us have this flame within. Of course, I’ll be the first one to admit that I have not always tended well to my flame or to that of others, nor do I expect to feel on fire everyday for the rest of my life. Just the same, in spite of my own weaknesses and faults and blindness, You should expect me to have a burning heart for Christ that grounds my life and vocation as a Jesuit, and I would expect nothing less of all of you. And I personally don’t think that is too much to ask. Only with hearts truly aflame can we set the world on fire and make present to all the already present presence of our living God.

As we approach the table, let us come before the Lord, as the psalm says, with hearts that rejoice in his presence. Here, in the proclamation of his Word, and especially in the breaking of the bread, we believe that God is here with us in an intimate and special way. Every liturgy for us is a Kairos moment for God’s grace to enter ever intimately within and to renew our flames. This is God’s time. Jesus is here, alive, and with us. Alleluia!

When Jesuits Leave

The bonds that Jesuits form with one another are special relationships in which our shared life connects us to each other in a very unique way. We live together, labor together, and pray together. We are men rooted in the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius in which our intimate experiences of Christ unite our hearts and minds together with the Lord. We share a life that appears quite foolish to the outside world yet makes sense to us as Jesuits only in light of our lives of faith.

When Jesuits decide to leave the Society, as a result, it can be an extremely jarring moment for us when we hear the news. This past year, we saw many men in our company who chose to leave their lives as Jesuits. We ask the question ‘why?’ and wonder what events transpired that led to such a decision. There is that feeling that a member of our spiritual family who has been with us for so much time has decided to leave us. These departures inevitably challenge the vocations of us who continue on with this life as we ask ourselves why we stay. This vocational challenge, however, is not necessarily a bad thing.

About a month ago, while I was taking my day off from my work in LA, I was relaxing at our LA villa house near Redondo Beach when I received a phone call. I was excited to see that it was from John and very much looked forward to sharing our summer experiences and how it was going so far. John first asked about how my summer was, and I shared a little bit about what I was doing at Dolores Mission and Homeboy Industries. After I was done sharing, John went on to remark: “So Ryan, I’ve made my decision…”

I knew exactly what John meant when he said that, but I didn’t expect this phone call would be “that” time.

I remember feeling devastated back in January when John mentioned to me that he was thinking about leaving the Society. During my time at Ciszek Hall, he became one of my best friends in the house, and last year we became next door neighbors. John was one of the type of friends you would have who often poked fun at you, but deep down you knew he really valued and respected you (although he would never admit that easily). Not only could we have fun and joke with one another, but we could also vigorously argue about philosophical/theological viewpoints and eventually also discuss highly personal things. When he told me that his leaving was a possibility, I remember feeling myself enter a place of deep desolation and the need to talk to my superior and spiritual director about it. In those talks, I recognized a desire to want what was best for John—even if that meant that he would leave. I often prayed for Christ to lead him in his discernment and to follow where God was leading him at this time of his life.

Over the next few months, we would have a few conversations where I would ask him how things were going with the discernment. Sometimes, he didn’t want to talk about it, but I respected that. I only wanted him to talk to me about if he felt free to have the conversation and wanted to discuss it. In those conversations, it was apparent that John’s leaving was a possibility, but not necessarily a certainty. John spent quite a bit of time thinking about this because it was not clear to him during the semester what he would do.

So when John remarked that he made the decision, I became very aware that his subsequent words would be big ones for him to share with me. I did not have a clear sense in me what he had decided, so I awaited anxiously to hear what he would say. Finally, he said: “I’ve decided to leave the Society…”

Upon my arrival back to the Bronx, I have recognized a real sense of loss within me. When I walked past his door, I was deeply reminded about those words he shared with me a month ago. But, on the other hand, I carry with me a lot of gratitude for the friendship and brotherhood we developed over the past two years at Ciszek. I also carry with me a sense of peace, because I believe in this specific situation that John would not have left unless he felt that God was calling him into a different place. John was open with his superior, his spiritual director, and his formation assistant for quite some time, and so I trusted his discernment and those who were leading him at this time in his life.

Although men enter and leave the society for various reasons, I think John’s time in the Jesuits served as a special time for his own development and growth as a person. I had the opportunity to speak on John's behalf about two weeks ago, since he asked if I could be one of his references for a full-time youth minister position he is seeking. I remarked to the pastor that John's time with the Jesuits and being formed by Ignatian Spirituality was a major asset to this position that makes him quite unique among the pool of applicants. Although his decision to leave is difficult, I pray that John is able to flourish in this time of major transition and that he may always know and experience the love of God who constantly pours forth his grace.

A Glimpse Into My Prayer-Relationship

I've been thinking about my relationship to God lately during this season of Lent. What is my relationship like at the current moment? What are the hopes/desires of the relationship? Have I allowed myself to listen and be receptive of God's movements, or am I doing most of the talking in this relationship?

Like anything, it's one of those things where I say: "well, it could be better."

In many ways, I feel that what I often desire in my relationship with God is what I often desire of my closest relationships: intimacy (in the non-sexual sense of the word), authenticity, openness, understanding...a relationship that is stripped of the masks, where I can genuinely share not only life's struggles but also life's joys. A relationship open to growth and to challenges rooted in love. A relationship where I can simply laugh, smile, and be grateful for the time spent together.

Sometimes some of the most profoundest moments of a relationship can be spent in utter silence.

I have found myself particularly grateful for a number of shared moments I have had with some brother Jesuits. Deep, spiritual conversations on the subway, random hallway chatter, esoteric philosophical/theological debates, daily crossfit exercises, shared prayers before the Lord's table, even playful "pwnings." When I look back at these moments in prayer, I cannot help but simply say "thank you" and bow before holiness clothed in ordinariness. For, in those moments, I often find glimpses of the living Christ, glimpses which often go unrecognized until conscientious prayer moments bring them into the light.

If there is one thing I have been recognizing lately, it is that I have been very much learning about my relationship with God because of what I have been learning about my relationship to those around me. Good, healthy relationships take time to develop, and I very much feel that way about my relationship with Christ. It is a relationship I strive to tend to everyday, but of course, some days are better than others. But, God has always been there, always offering His unconditional love whether I take notice or not.

On the flip side, I have also noticed that my relationships with others is greatly improved when my relationship with God is in right order. When I have not been tending to my prayer life, I notice a stark difference in the way I am able to relate to others. Symptoms include irritability, heightened sensitivity, and even a little "bitchiness."

In my experience, a healthy relationship with God leads to a greater ability to do works of love, and works of love are the bricks through which the earth becomes built like heaven.

Why Am I a Jesuit?

"It is often said nowadays that the present century thirsts for authenticity. Especially in regard to young people it is said that they have a horror of the artificial or false and that they are searching above all for truth and honesty.
These "signs of the times" should find us vigilant. Either tacitly or aloud-but always forcefully--we are being asked: Do you really believe what you are proclaiming? Do you live what you believe? Do you really preach what you live? The witness of life has become more than ever an essential condition for real effectiveness in preaching."
~Pope Paul VI, Evangelii nuntiandi, S76

I've been thinking about this question of being a Jesuit recently. I find myself wracked with uncertainty and overwhelming weakness, wondering if I have the capacity and the strength to live this life amidst the challenges and the struggles that I inevitably face. Can I give authentic witness to this vocation?

There's a part of me that feels selfish about writing this post as I compare my own struggles with the suffering that the people of Haiti are going through and think to myself: "my struggle is nothing compared to what they are going through. How dare I complain about my own struggles."

On the other hand, I feel my struggles to be quite real, and it would be silly for me to ignore the reality of what is going on inside of me. It is silly anyway--almost bordering on dangerous-- to play the comparison game of who suffers more.

As I was praying earlier, I felt called to write this because I need to write this for myself more than anyone else. In the midst of this time of First Studies, I need to rekindle that fire that led me first into the Society.

Why am I a Jesuit?

I have probably referenced this well-known quote of Fr. Pedro Arrupe before, but I continue to draw inspiration and strength from it:

"Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evenings, how you will spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."

I was recently reading the letter that I wrote to my former provincial before I took vows during my 8-day retreat. I remember thinking that I was not going to take vows unless I truly believed in what I was going to profess.

My introductory paragraph read:

"Dear Fr. Provincial,
As I compose this letter to you, I am surrounded by our Lord’s grandeur here at Hayden Lake. I am overwhelmed by the abundance of God shown forth through the beauty of the earth and am moved with awe and thanksgiving. Here, in this most sacred place, God has touched me, deeply and profoundly, yet again. I feel wholly unworthy, yet still God beckons, invites me into a greater mystery beyond my own understanding. God has led me to this point, and as I imagine the prospect of taking vows this upcoming August, I feel at peace. I have found my home, have found where I feel I belong—in the vineyard of our Lord. Therefore, with humble heart, I ask your permission to profess on August 16, 2008 simple perpetual vows into the Society of Jesus and to be admitted into first profession."

These words were not fluff to make the provincial think highly of me. I believed these words profoundly. It is funny to read how unworthy I felt myself to be in God's sight--the story of my life. Yet, God still calls. God sees something in me worth sharing to the world, and I have to believe that because I often do not believe that of myself. That has been echoed in so many people who have been as Christ to me and who have affirmed my decision to be with the Society.

The fire, though, needs greater tending. Anyone can offer herself/himself to God without necessarily being in religious life. Why am I a Jesuit?

I don't want to answer: "because what else would I do with my life?"

As I think about this, I am coming to realize that it is absurd for me to think that I can fully and completely answer this question. Tending to one's fire is, in many ways, the task of a lifetime. I imagine that all people must necessarily ask this question as they grow in years. And perhaps what originally fed the fire must now be fed differently.

I think answering this question presumes that I completely understand my vocation. Yet, I alluded in my vow letter that I felt led into a vocation greater than my own understanding. That this life that I wanted to lead was wrapped in mystery, yet I believed that God would walk with me through thick and thin and strengthen me through His love and mercy to enter fully into this life.

I became a Jesuit, in part, because I felt the amazing power of God's love in my life, and I wanted to respond and share that with others. I saw the Jesuits as a conduit through which I could best share what I have been given to those around me. As a Jesuit, I have grown in faith and in love for our Lord, heartened by these brothers of mine who have taught and formed me into becoming more and more a Jesuit.

Yes, I am a Jesuit. But, in a different sense, I am always in the process of becoming a Jesuit. At this midway point in my time in first studies, I am called to revisit that question: "why am I a Jesuit." Do I have the grace to imitate Christ who humbly became as one of us up til death?

Only by God challenging me in this way can I really grow in my vocation, and I must be open to this challenge. And, that I can be open with this challenge is a grace for which I am thankful for. And, I know I do not enter into this challenge alone.

In my experience, religious life has been a very enriching life thus far, and I have grown in ways I never would have otherwise. But, this life is also not a walk in the park, and there are many painful graces to be experienced.

I hardly ever ask this of anyone (I have been recently), but please pray for me at this time. We religious pray for the world daily, but I think our vocations are strengthened by those who pray for us as well--that we might faithfully and authentically serve God and God's people with integrity. Please help us and support us to be the best people that we can be for the Church and for the world.

Joy and Consolation

While I was praying before Mass today, I found myself suddenly overcome with a deep sense of peace and joy. There was no particular cause to the incident. I had spent most of the day with a headache trying to sort through the myriad of Spinoza's philosophical proofs and propositions, and I came home from class frustrated by the onerous philosophical study. This joy I therefore experienced came as quite the surprise to me. Ignatius has a term for this spiritual movement: "consolation without preceding cause" (from the Discernment of Spirits for Week II of the Spiritual Exercises). Jesuits believe this to be the work of God within us. It is a grace. It is gift.

I cherish these moments in my Jesuit vocation. As I began to experience this joy, I could not help but respond with a sense of awe and thanksgiving. God was doing something within me that I had not necessarily asked for. In these moments, I find myself in a place of surrender. It is the call to let God in, to get out of the way, and to trust in the work that is taking place.

This is one of the ways in which I understand our 'Suscipe' Prayer: "Take Lord, Receive, all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will." In offering these faculties over to God, it removes the focus on self and redirects it towards God's action. Paradoxically, in the surrendering of self, we, in a sense, become more liberated, more free. By allowing God to take root and to take hold, to inspire and to animate, we become more fully who we are meant to be.
We become more human.

I feel blessed to be living religious life. Because of my vows and the life I have chosen to live as a Jesuit, my life must necessarily have God as my center if I am to live this life with passion, integrity, and joy. And, I am called everyday to live into this relationship that I have freely chosen to enter. God knows that I often fail at this. But, I try my best. And sometimes, I become surprised by joy.