Feat of St. Ignatius

AMDG.

“Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam”

“To the Greater Glory of God.”

 

These four simple Latin words form the Jesuit motto. We frequently use AMDG at the beginning or end of a letter.  AMDG is engraved on the vow ring my mom gave me twenty-three years ago.  Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam explains everything about the Society of Jesus and its men when it is working  at its best.

 

Ignatius of Loyola was a complex man.  Born into minor Spanish nobility in 1491,  he spent most of his youth learning to be a soldier and a member of the royal court.  He was very vain and liked to wear flattering and form-fitting clothes. Though mostly uneducated, he could read and had very fine penmanship.  When he was twenty-two the hot-headed Basque soldier was seriously injured while leading his overmatched men in the Battle of Pamplona.  It was one of the most blessed injuries in the history of war.  While convalescing in the castle of Loyola he was gradually drawn by the desire to do great things for God, to do all things AMDG for the Greater Glory of God.  It is a fascinating story.  

 

One example of his drive and determination was obvious when he prepared to enter the University of Paris in his mid-twenties. Because he had not had an adequate education he went back to the equivalent of junior high school to learn the Latin and Greek he needed to go study at University.

 

Ignatius was charismatic.  Once at the University of Paris a group of men gathered around him to do the Spiritual Exercises that he worked out while in Manresa.  Some of these men, including Francis Xavier and Peter Faber, were among the original nine companions when the Society of Jesus was established in 1540.  

 

He wrote an enormous number of letters,  was involved in writing the Jesuit Constitutions, missioning men throughout the world, and answering hundreds of questions as the Society grew. At times he had to put his foot down.  All novices read his famous letter on obedience, a 4000 word missive that he wrote to young Jesuits in Portugal who were in a rebellious mood. However, it was the fruit of his prayer that changed world history in ways that can never be overestimated.  

 

Despite the enormous demands of the rapidly growing Society, dealing with hostility from other orders and the occasional pope, he was disposed 

to hear and contemplate the word of God in the midst of, and despite many, distractions.  His health was not good.  Yet, he continued to pray and work

without grumbling, always to the Greater Glory of God. He only dictated his autobiography reluctantly in response to the demands of his men.  It is very short.  Ignatius died in 1556, age 65.  He had been named the first general of the Society in 1541 and was still holding that office at the time of his death. 

 

Jesuits pray a number of prayers written by Father Ignatius.

One of these is the prayer for Generosity. 

The prayer outlines how to live AMDG. 

 

"O Lord, teach me to be generous

To serve you as you deserve

To give and not to count the cost

To fight and not to heed the wounds

To toil and not to seek for rest 

To labor and not to ask for reward

Save that of knowing I do your holy will."

 

St. Ignatius pray for us.

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The photos are from the Basilica of St. Ignatius in Loyola, Spain.  Had the opportunity to present a paper at a conference there in the summer of 2019.  A photographer's paradise.  

 + Fr Jack, SJ, MD

 

 

Well THAT took a lot of chutzpah: Homily for the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Gen 18:20-32

Ps 137

Col 2:12-14

Luke 11:1-13

Importune and importunate are words that generally appear in Sunday crossword puzzles, biblical commentaries, and the kind of speech that the Cartwright boys on the Ponderosa would call high faluttin’.  

 

Importune is not used often in conversation but, in this case, importune is the ideal word to describe the driving force behind both the first reading and the Gospel. The verb to importune means: to beset with insistent or repeated requests, to annoy, to ask for urgently or repeatedly.  The adjective importunate means troublesomely urgent or persistent in requesting or entreating.  Some days it seems as if the sole function of a three year-old is to importune.  Can I have a cookie? Can I go outside? Can I go to school with my sister? Can I, can I, can I . . . . ? Every parent on earth has either given in at least once just to stop the persistent requests for a Happy Meal or has said in frustration: "Because!!!  That’s why!" despite having sworn never ever to say that. 

 

The picture of human nature in the first reading is fascinating.  The dialogue between Abraham and God suggests an aggressive poker hand:  Raise.  Call.  

Raise.  Call.  Abraham raises. God calls.  Abraham raises again.  God calls. Abraham goes all in.  God folds. 

 

In the commentary on this passage The Jewish Study Bible notes “Recognizing the sovereignty of God and his own subordinate status, Abraham speaks with great deference and scrupulously avoids chutzpah.”  I’m not so sure that Abraham avoids chutzpah.  Challenging God six times  so as to reduce the critical number of innocent men needed to save the city down from fifty to ten 

seems almost paradigmatic of chutzpah.  But perhaps not.  I’ll leave the fine points of defining chutzpah to the Yiddish experts.  

 

The action in the Gospel is something of a contrast to the negotiations in Genesis.  

 

In his commentary on this Gospel, Luke Timothy Johnson notes that “Luke understands God’s way of giving as exceeding that between friends.”  While our dialogue with God is conducted, for the most part, within the confines of human vocabulary and concepts, it does not—or should not—necessarily follow the conventions of typical human-to-human social interaction or conversation.  

Importune, importunate, and chutzpah really have no place when one considers prayer.  Can there ever be too much prayer?  Can one ever annoy God with prayer?  

These are questions that could send a group of theologians into a tizzy of speculation and pondering if not outright hostility toward each other,

particularly if they’ve had a few drinks first.  The simple answer is, NO.  No dissertations or monographs needed. There can never be too much prayer.  

No one can weary God with prayer.  Luke’s Gospel narrative is, like Abraham’s dialogue with God, very human.  

 

It would require no effort to act out this scene for a movie or on a stage.  The narrative is rich with human detail ranging from the locked door and the comfort of being snugly in bed—who can’t identify with that?—to the desperation of the one who is importuning his neighbor.  Please.  I must offer my guest something.  

Just a few loaves of bread.  Please.

 

The message is simple:  persistence pays off.  If a friend can be moved to respond through another’s importuning how much more will God respond to the prayer of His people?  How will He respond when we knock, when we ask, when we search?  What should we expect?

 

We should expect what we need.  Not always exactly what we ask for but what we need.  

 

Johnson introduces a fascinating point in his discussion of Luke’s of Luke’s version of the Our Father, a stripped down one compared with Matthew’s.  Luke’s and Matthew’s versions of the prayer share one phrase:  Give us this day our daily bread.  

 

The word epiousios is not found anywhere in Greek literature.  The translation depends on the shaky grounds of etymology and context.  There four options 

in the rarified world of Biblical translation:

 

Supernatural bread  That translation is described as the least likely, 

Daily bread which is the usual translation, 

Future bread, which suggests that we want to be certain of a steady supply. 

and finally give us our necessary bread.    This fourth makes a lot of sense.   

Do we have the faith to trust that God will grant us what is necessary or what we need?  

 

Is there a better request with which to importune God than give us what we need?  

 

The only possible response to that gift is to say with the psalmist:

 

I will give thanks to you, O Lord,

   with all my heart

For you have heard the words

   of my mouth . . .

When I called you answered me

   you built up strength within me. 

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Street photography is a fascinating area.  It can also be intrusive.  Many people are very sensitive about being photographed today, more so than in the past.  They can become downright aggressive if they think a photographer is capturing a shot of their child.  I don't shoot photos of people often and shots of this type even less so.  I never ever ever shoot selfies.  Ever.  Part of the reason is that 'selfie' is one of the ugliest words invented in decades..  These two were taken in Ljubljana.  The difference in the overall appearance each man speaks volumes.  How is he feeling?  What is going through his mind?  Both are alone but in different emotional worlds.  

  + Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Roll Out the Welcome Mat: Homily for the 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Gn 18:1-10a

Ps 15 2-5

Col 10:24-28

Lk 10:38-42

 

Psalm 15, the responsorial psalm is so short that it was said in its entirety.  It began with a question: Lord, who shall dwell on your holy mountain? that the psalmist then answered.

 

“The one who walks without fault; acts with justice

speaks the truth; and does not slander; 

who does no wrong to his brother, 

who casts no slur on his neighbor, 

who holds the godless in disdain, 

but honors those who fear the Lord”

The one who keeps a pledge, 

who takes no interest on a loan

and accepts no bribes against the innocent.” 

 

The psalmist then promises:  “This one will stand firm forever.”  

 

In his commentary on the psalms Jesuit Father Dick Clifford noted that Psalm 15 contains ten descriptions of the ideal worshipper,  a top ten of behavior for all people whose wish their actions to reflect their faith. The challenges  to reaching that goal are daunting.  We don't always do justice.  Gossip and idle chit-chat lead to slander without us noticing.  Always think twice before responding 

to a bit of news about someone with:  “Well I heard.”  It can get ugly fast.   

 

We breathe easy at the proscription against lending money at interest because most of us don't do it. But, we create quid pro quo situations with others that may demand exorbitant interest  that is not necessarily financial.  “You owe me big time“ may require more blood, sweat, and tears than 12% interest on a loan. 

.  

In The Analects Confucius, who lived 500 years before Jesus, also describes virtuous behavior.  We read in Book XII Chapter II: "Chung-kung asked about perfect virtue.  The Master said, "It is when you go abroad, to behave to every one as if you were receiving a great guest; to employ the people as if you were assisting at a great sacrifice; do not do to others as you would not wish done to yourself." 

 

Chung-kung replied: "Though I am deficient in intelligence and vigor I will make it my business to practice this lesson."  

 

I'd like sit down with Chung-kung over beer and pizza because, after hearing what perfect virtue entailed, he admitted, in effect, I am a sinner, but I will try.  We have the same problem. We are deficient in knowing how to act. We are weak when confronted with non-virtuous but easier options.

 

When we compare the first reading with the Gospel it is apparent that Abraham’s behavior was much more virtuous than Martha’s.  Abraham seems to have been 

a master of understatement.  "Let me bring you a little food that you may refresh yourselves."                                           

 

A little food?  Rolls.  Beef.  Curds and milk.  It seems as if there was quite a bit of exertion put into preparing this little bit of food.  And then he hovered over his guests, waiting on them, attending to their needs, until the meal was over.  There was no complaint about how hard he was working, there was no whining about the cost, or anything else.  Martha also worked hard, but with little virtue.   The narrative is instructive  even today. 

 

Unlike Abraham, who was almost obsequious to his guests, Martha committed a serious violation of basic etiquette when she dragged a guest into her quarrel with her sister.  Imagine telling a guest in your house" make that sister of mine get in here and help me instead of sitting around doing nothing."  Imagine saying to a guest, "Maybe if you tell him that kid of mine will do something around here.

He sure doesn't listen to me, the lazy slug."  

 

Embarrassed wouldn’t begin to describe the guest's feelings upon being exposed to such rudeness.

 

Attending to the comfort of one's guests and making them feel welcome defines hospitality. That is what Abraham did. That is what Martha failed to do.  

 

Martha and Mary are not either/or:  It is not the choice to serve at table or attend to the words of Jesus.  We are to serve AND to hear the words of Jesus.  We are called to prayer AND to work.  Had Martha remained quiet—I suspect she was dropping plates and slamming cupboard doors more loudly than necessary—

she too could have heard Jesus’ words. 

 

Given the reality of our daily lives we are called, to do both simultaneously most of the time.  Our challenge is to be disposed so that we can hear Jesus and take in His teaching in the midst of our busy lives.

 

The motto of the Benedictine order is: “Ora et Labora”  Work and prayer. Not work or prayer but work AND prayer. Labor and attending to Jesus' word at the same time.   

 

It is not easy, but it is, like the admonitions in the psalm and the advice in The Analects, an ideal toward which we must strive,if we wish to stand firm forever

and live in the presence of the Lord.  

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Posting early as it is going to be a very busy weekend with a lot of time behind the wheel.  Two Masses in Worcester, one on Saturday at 4 and the other on Sunday at 7 PM with a Mass on Sunday morning in Framingham.  The photos below are from the Church of St. Georges in Lyon, France.  I was there for June and July 2014, arriving in N'Djamena, Chad on 30 July.  The stained glass is beautiful with more yellows and warm colors than usual.  St. Georges has (had?) an indult to celebrate the Tridentine Mass (Extraordinary form) exclusively.  When the sun poured through the stained glass and hit the thick clouds of incense it was quite a visual impression.  Did not shoot that.  Unless asked or given permission I do not shoot during liturgy and, even when asked, not during the consecration.  On those time I've been asked to shoot I gfenerallly do not receive communion as I am not participating in the Mass.  

  Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

The Prodigal: Homily for the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lk 10:25-37 (The Good Samaritan)

 

The parable of the Good Samaritan evokes an image which, along with the Prodigal Son, is part of common English usage. Images that may even be used 

by those who profess no faith or who are militant atheists. It places significant burdens on our shoulders to notice, to care, and to act.   They are the burdens of being an instrument of God’s justice.  Two factors separate the Samaritan’s actions from a mere good deed: risk and commitment.  The Samaritan took a risk when he stepped outside the script and intervened to help another. He bound himself to the anonymous victim through an act of love.  

 

Hate is not the opposite of love.  The opposite of love is apathy or indifference.  

Apathy was the sin of the passers-by who either didn't care enough to notice or noticed but didn't care enough to get involved. Things haven't changed.  During psychiatry residency I got to witness a modern reenactment of this parable. 

 

The psychiatry department was on the second floor of an awful building across the street from the busy Tioga St. entrance to Temple University Hospital.  I was looking out the window contemplating the scene below at lunch time. The usual food trucks lined the street.  Patients, families, white-coated physicians, and scrub suited staff passed by in all directions.  Then the drama unfolded. 

 

A young man and his mother, both of whom appeared to be developmentally disabled, were seated on a bench eating the hot dogs they had purchased from one of the trucks.  The woman suddenly started to cough and choke.  Her son was gesturing and calling frantically for help.  Two ear, nose, and throat physicians—I use the term physicians sarcastically in this case—passed within feet of the boy but continued walking as if they heard and saw nothing.  Other docs and nurses ambled by as well, ignoring the mini-drama.  

 

Then one of the docs, whom I knew, and a student going over to the hospital, raced up to the boy and his mother.  The doc did the Heimlich maneuver.  The student ran into the hospital and emerged with a wheelchair.  They put the coughing woman into the chair and raced into the ER with her son running behind.  

 

I spoke with the doc and the still shaken student later. They were both rattled by the inaction of the ENT residents and by the response of the ER docs who told the student they could not go out of the ER to help a patient.            

 

Unlike the others, the doc and student got involved.  They noticed and cared about what was happening.  They acted without weighing risks of a malpractice suit.  They did not worry about hospital policy or looking like idiots doing the Heimlich in the middle of the Tioga Street Plaza. They cared for someone in need.

 

There is something more in the parable. In addition to the risk of helping a stranger in acute distress the Samaritan made a commitment that extended into the future.  This was not an example of the ridiculous bumper sticker: “Commit random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty.” There was nothing random or senseless about the Samaritan’s action. “Look after him, if there is any further expense I will repay you on my way back.”

 

Suppose the two pieces of silver didn't cover the expenses. What if the Samaritan didn’t return  because he forgot or took a different route, or was himself the victim of robbers.  The anonymous victim would have been stuck with the bill.  As he had been robbed of everything, he would have been put in debtor’s prison until he was able to pay up.  What does it cost someone when we break a commitment?  What happens when we renege on a promise?  What does it cost us when we don’t honor a commitment?

 

Like Jesus’ other parables the Good Samaritan is frustrating because there is no set conclusion. It is like seeing only the first act of a two-act play or finding that the last half of a mystery novel has been ripped out.  That incompleteness is an advantage, however, that allows us to insert ourselves into the parable and explore its meaning.  We can meditate on possible outcomes and scenarios without a set conclusion. We are not trapped by the equivalent of “and they lived happily ever after.”  We don’t know if the Samaritan kept his word and returned.

or if the innkeeper fulfilled his part of the deal. If we are being honest with ourselves, however, we do know that too often we do not keep our word or fulfill our part of a deal.

 

The good news is that we can be certain that Jesus keeps His word to us.   We know that Jesus’ commitment to us has never wavered. It will never waver.  He will never fail to honor the promises he made to us. We only have to ask. We only have to go to Him in prayer and we will be cared for.  

 

No silver pieces needed to settle the account.

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I was in Lyon on 14 July 2014 for the fête nationale française.  We lived two blocks from the bridge to the Old City of Lyon in what had been the Visitandine Monastery in which St. Francis de Sales died.  The weather was perfect.  I was on the street all day with my camera.  At night I went the two blocks to the river, set up a tripod and camera and shot away.  It was my first time shooting fireworks.  Was grateful I had the tripod with me.  The firework shots are self-explanatory, no explanation necessary. 

Beats the little wands and bottle of dishwashing liquid.  The maker was using a large wire loop and two long wooden dowels.  He waved it through the air. 

The Basilica Notre Dame de Fourvière that overlooks the city.  Fireworks were shot off nearby with the basilica forming the backdrop.

My kind of hotel.  Keep the glass and chrome I want something like this.

Lyon is the capitol of French cuisine.  Sidewalkcafes all over the old city

The Basilica at sunset.  

The kebab stand.

+ Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Standing at the Foot of the Cross: Homily for the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Isaiah 66:10-14c

Psalm 66: 1-3,4-5,6-7, 16, 20

Gal 6:14-18

Luke 10:1-12, 17-20

 

The reading from Galatians consists of the last four verses of the letter.  

As such, it functions as a summary of Paul’s message.  The reading begins with the well known statement: 

“But may I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, 

through which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world.”   

 

In just a few words Paul described  the radical change brought about by Jesus’ crucifixion: change in the universe, change in the world, change in Paul himself,  and, one hopes, change in us who responded to Jesus' summons: "Follow me." 

 

Paul’s sentiments are neither surprising nor out of step with his other writings.  

The verse recalls Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians where he wrote: “I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.  Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, 

persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”   

 

The late Jesuit scripture scholar Fr. Stanley Marrow frequently reminded 

students at Weston Jesuit School of Theology--he had to because they continually forgot--that Paul’s theology began at the foot of the cross and no where else.  We must always recall that our lives as Christians is lived

at the foot of the cross, the shameful, insulting, degrading and scandal causing 

instrument of Jesus' death. 

 

The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius begin at the foot of the cross. In the first exercise of the first week one is given the instruction: “Imagine Christ our Lord 

suspended on the cross before you, and converse with Him in a colloquy. . . .

Reflect on yourself and ask:  What have I done for Christ?  What am I doing for Christ”  What ought I to do for Christ?”   

 

We are born as Christians at the foot of the cross, not at the feet of the Risen Jesus, not at the entry to the empty tomb.  We are born as Christians at the foot of the cross, not gazing up at Jesus as he ascends, not standing alongside Jesus 

as he heals the sick, nor sitting next to Jesus as he repeats the Beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount.

 

We are born at the foot of the cross on which Jesus hung in agony, the cross on which he was an embarrassment to those who followed him.  It was his same Jesus who sent the disciples out on missionwith detailed instructions on dress, baggage, accommodations, how to comport themselves in the towns and homes in which they stayed. He also instructed them in what to do if they were rejected

or their message was ridiculed.  Accommodating their message to conform with message of those who ridiculed it was not among the options.  Some things must remain non-negotiable.

 

There is an endearing quality in the group's reactions as they returned

from their mission.  “ . . . rejoicing and amazed that even the demons were subject to them because of Jesus’ name.” 

 

Healing another is exhilarating no matter if one is a junior medical student on his or her first rotation, or a white-haired physician with decades of experience. 

The description of the return of the seventy-two suggests a group of medical students returning from their first day on the wards, babbling on and on to each other about what they saw, did, and learned. 

 

 

Would the disciples have acted differently, or been less effective, had they known that the one to whose name demons were subject, the one from whom they received their mission, was going to die the shameful death reserved for the lowest of criminals?  We know that their behavior when Jesus was crucified 

was less than admirable.  Would they have been disillusioned had they known what was to come?  Would they have preferred a Jesus who was a political-social activist, a military liberator from Roman domination, or the kind of all around nice guy who never challenged their assumptions about their own goodness and and for whom anything was acceptable if it could be framed in the language of love?

 

We cannot afford to be ashamed of Jesus’ death on the cross and all that grew from it. We cannot minimize the horror of that death. We cannot replace the reality of Jesus' death with something more palatable to modern or post-modern sensibilities.  

 

It is the crucified Jesus who is the center of the mystery of faith.

It is in the name of the crucified Jesus that the Church preaches,  

It is under the sign of the crucified Jesus that the Church heals the sick, 

comforts the sorrowing,  ministers to the poor,  and absolves us of our sins. 

 

If we remain at the foot of the cross asking the three questions from the colloquy:

What have I done for Christ? 

What am I doing for Christ?

What ought I to do for Christ?  

we can proclaim with the psalmist: 

"Hear now, all you who fear God, 

while I declare what he has done for me. . . ." 

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Over the past months I have been going through thousands of photos as I move everything from a collection of USB drives, one of which is on its last legs, to a solid state drive that has a much larger capacity and a much smaller footprint such that it resides in a pouch glued to the laptop.  I can pull out the program to edit whenever needed.  The photos below are from 13 years ago.  I took them during the eight-day retreat I made at St. Joseph Abbey in Spencer. The retreat ended two days before I pronounced solemn vows in the Society of Jesus on 1 October 2013. It was a perfect retreat.  Indeed, it is unlikely I will ever make another retreat there.  No way could I recapture the perfection of all its dimensions.  I go out to visit two of the monks who have been friends for decades but I no longer need to stay over.  

The Salve window.  It is lit from behind so that it is visible in the winter dark.  Compline is sung at Spencer at about 7:30 PM.  Well after dark in New England after DST ends.

The kind of still life I am always seeking out

The main door to the church as seen from inside the enclosure.  I was staying within the enclosure and thus had access to all of the area.

Early in the AM on the day I departed.  

The tabernacle and altar.

The abbey and graveyard. 

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD