MY FAMILY TREE 

An Ignatian Reflection

The first questions that we ask others on meeting them for the first time, are usually related to their family and where they live. The roots of our family ground us in this world while the leaves of our family trees stretch into the next. Jesus’ family tree details fourteen generations and, like every family tree, Jesus’ tree contains an assortment of characters from the wise and brave to the foolish and the disreputable. But Jesus’ tree is also our family tree – where all are invited, welcomed and loved.

This Christmas, as you are putting up your Christmas tree, or look upon another, take some time to think about family trees and how important they are. Give thanks for those ancestors, both known and unknown, who carried the torch of faith through the ages, and remember them in prayer. As you are putting up your Christmas tree or look upon another ask yourself: how Jesus is a conscious and deliberate part of your family tree?

Toward a Habit of Gratitude 

Vinita Hampton Wright

What kind of prayer expresses thanksgiving that is honest? Do I begin with my complaints and then end with words of praise and trust? Some of the psalms from the Bible follow that structure, so it must be OK. But is it enough simply to say, “Things are horrible, but I know that God is good, so I thank you, Lord, that you are watching over me”?
There’s probably more to it than that.



First, the complaints. If you’re going to gripe, you may as well be specific:
“OK, it’s really annoying that the same week this enormous gas bill arrives, the car must go to the shop.”
“Seriously? Someone has managed to use my credit card in Romania?”
“I take back every prayer for patience I’ve ever prayed! Heavenly Father, you have put so many exasperating people in my life—I don’t want patience that badly. Can I be just somewhat patient and not have to deal with all of these crazy relationships?”
“How long, Lord, must I ask for help with this mortgage? How long must I be without a decent job?”

Next, remember your history of grace:

“Four years ago, we thought my aunt would die of cancer, but she’s in remission.”
“That one time, out of nowhere I got this freelance job that helped us pay for the refrigerator we needed.”
“I’ve been depressed before, and I’ve been helped by family, friends, therapists, and doctors.”
“I’ll never forget the moment when I was looking at our little girl and was overwhelmed by the sense of God’s presence. I will never again doubt that God is here and loves us.”

Then, turn the complaints into requests:

“Lord, I can’t control the increase in utility rates, and I’ve taken good care of this car. Please help us cover these unforeseen expenses.”
“Help me calm down about the credit card and contact the bank—and help those professionals protect my account. Also, if the person who stole my information is desperate, help him or her get what he or she needs through means other than stealing.”
“Give me wisdom so that I can understand how much weight to give any particular conversation or event. Sometimes I panic and turn everything into a crisis. Or I feel that one person is taking advantage of me—so of course everyone else must be too.”
“If there is anything I should be doing about the mortgage that I’m not doing, please help me see it. If there are any job leads that I’ve missed, help me see those too. Please lead me to the right information and the right people.”

Finally, turn on the thanks:

“Thank you for the solutions that are on their way, even while I’m frustrated and hurting.”
“Thank you that Jesus lived an actual human life, which means that he knows what it’s like to have problems and learn to pray rather than stress.”
“Thank you for the people who really care about me and who will support me through whatever happens.”
“Thank you that I have the power to choose my responses to situations—that I’m not a victim but a person with spiritual, emotional, intellectual, and other resources, and one of those resources is prayer.”
This is no magic formula—just some specific steps to take toward a habit of gratitude.

Overturning the Tables of the Evil Spirit

Andy Otto, Discernment

I’ve always struggled with the story of Jesus, in a seeming rage, turning over the tables of the money changers in the Temple. But after reflecting on how the evil spirit pesters us constantly, I have a new understanding of what was going on in that Gospel story. Jesus was not reacting to the buyers and sellers themselves, but to the evil spirit at large. The holy place of the Temple, a house of prayer, became corrupted with greed. 

That greed was caused by human beings, yes, but architected by the evil spirit.

Jesus had witnessed many ways how the evil spirit could corrupt. He was even personally tempted by the evil spirit in the desert. But in the Temple Jesus had had enough. The story reveals that Jesus shared our human nature, our built-in human response when we’ve had enough with the evil spirit. We notice unhealthy patterns in ourselves and the world at large, we notice how the evil spirit seems continually to draw humankind toward self-destruction, and sometimes the evil spirit causes us to hit rock bottom. At that point we respond like Jesus, with anger, and turn over tables. We’re fed up with evil and sin, so we must take drastic action. We must be forgiving and gentle with ourselves, but we can’t be gentle with the evil spirit.

In the Temple that day Jesus was turning over the tables of injustice. He was reacting to the evil spirit that fuels systemic sin, corruption, and drives humankind toward brokenness and destruction. In fact, this story is often called the “Cleansing of the Temple.” How do we cleanse the evil spirit from the world? Unfortunately, we can’t change others, but we can be attentive and make sure that the good spirit is driving our choices. 

And while we do what we can to bring the good spirit into the world, we may still get fed up from time to time and need to overturn the tables of the evil spirit.

Resting in the Lord’s Gaze 

By Marina McCoy

“How do you, Lord, look at me? What do you feel in your heart for me?”
—John Eagan, SJ (from Hearts on Fire: Praying with Jesuits)

As Christians, most of us desire to cultivate the capacity to love others well. We also have a deep desire to be loved, known, and seen as we really are. A simple practice that St. Ignatius Loyola encourages before prayer in the Spiritual Exercises is to begin by placing yourself in the Lord’s presence, considering God’s care for you. One way is to imagine the Lord’s gaze of love. Although for Ignatius, this moment is preparatory to prayer, I have also found that an entire prayer period in which this moment becomes the whole of prayer is also beneficial.
(I also discovered that this practice has parallels with a form of Tibetan Buddhist meditation. My colleague John Makransky’s book, Awakening Through Love [Wisdom Publications, 2007], has greatly helped to deepen and to shape my prayer practice, as described below, and I am deeply grateful to him.)

Sit comfortably to pray either in a chair or cross-legged, depending on which is most comfortable to keep a straight back and ease of posture. Then, simply imagine God’s gaze resting upon you with love. Sometimes I imagine the physical Jesus looking at me, his eyes resting on me with love, acceptance, and understanding. At other times, I allow the feeling associated with the Lord’s loving presence from prior prayer experiences to wash over me, like a warm and gentle breeze, sunlight, or the embrace of a loving friend. Perhaps you have another way of imagining God’s loving presence that is familiar: remembering a loving family member or friend who has enacted the love of Christ for you. Rest in this gaze and embrace of Love, and let go of all other distractions. Allow yourself to rest in and to be warmed by its enveloping presence.

Recollecting God’s love through other people in our lives who have loved us is very useful in this form of prayer. The care of family members, friends, mentors, spiritual companions, or others still shines its light upon us, and continues to embrace us because all love is rooted in Christ. As the Gospel of John phrases it, “I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit” (John 15:5).
When I first experienced this kind of prayer more spontaneously, I was praying for the wellbeing of a particular spiritual friend who had mentored and cared for me with great kindness over many years. As I did so, I began to feel connected not only to my friend’s caring heart, but also more broadly to the overflowing Love that is the very heart of Christ. 

My grandfather was also a profoundly loving presence. Although he passed on years ago, my belief that he is still loving me from heaven allows me to connect more deeply to the divine Love that embraces us all. Slowly, I am learning to see the plenitude of God’s love known through many people. We can imagine Christ and his many friends, whether alive or with the saints, who stand near him and look at us with love along with the Lord.
Praying in this way, we can discover that the same love that we have received as a gift is also within ourselves, a gift of the Holy Spirit given to each one of us. Whenever we love others, we draw on this interior well of love, one that waters our own souls and others. Over time, we can grow to experience a deeper sense of the unity between God, self, and others, beginning with this simple act of resting in the gaze and embrace of the Lord and his friends.

The Paradox of Christian Freedom 

Andy Otto

Jesus came to set us free. From what ? The kind of freedom Ignatian spirituality preaches is freedom from the attachments, fears, and blockades that inhibit our human flourishing.
One of those blockades, sin, is more than choosing to do wrong. Sin includes operating our lives from a place of fear—preventing us from being our truest selves. Blockades to the freedom of our flourishing are those places in our lives that seem comfortable and safe but in truth keep us stagnant in faith and keep us from our dreams.

For instance, in marriage I might like to keep an escape hatch open so I can get out “just in case.” What seems to be the freedom of keeping options open prevents me from genuine commitment. When the thought of financial freedom keeps me in a job that drains the life from me and does not utilize my gifts, I’m impeded from the freedom of developing my gifts. The fear of change and endless “what-if” scenarios may cause me to freeze in the safety of my current life situation.
The paradox of Christian freedom is that when we take risks and make choices, we don’t restrict our freedom; we increase it.

God calls us to have freedom from our fears and attachments so that we may have the freedom for a full life. When we cling to our comfort zone in fear, we sin, a sign that the evil spirit is trying to prevent us from fully living out God’s call. We must allow Jesus to lift our burdens from us!
The genuine freedom that comes from following the call of God to let go of the illusory “safe path” leads to greater trust in God and one another. When we let go of unhealthy attachments, fears, and other blockades, we gain the freedom to be our best selves, our most whole selves. And then our dreams can unfold, our relationships can be more trusting, and we can cultivate our gifts and talents in new ways.

Dear Parishioners,
On Monday 8th August 2016, I traveled with Martin our Rector, out to Ndwedwe to visit the school Musawenkosi. Owing to the dire situation with the toilets, this little school, which provides much needed care for the children, while their parents work, has been closed.

The classroom is one big room, with a door and three windows, which don't have any handles and are wired shut. There is a large steel cabinet, where the blankets are kept, and they have some foldout mattresses, for rest time. There are 2 small tables and 2 slightly larger ones and 25 chairs, a teacher's table and two chairs. Posters and some of the children’s art adorn the walls. There are less than 10 toys in the school! The kitchen is in an adjoining room, which is neat and tidy, with a fridge, a two plate hotplate and a sink, with a cupboard for the bowls and cups. This also has two windows and a door, and to protect the property, they are currently paying someone to sleep there.

The schoolroom has an alarm in it, but by the time the alarm company responds, the thieves will be long gone. The classroom desperately needs a carpet for when the children have rest time. I appeal to anyone who is revamping their home or replacing their carpet, to consider donating it to the school. Or even a portion of it. As the school has no running water, the small tank they have, is filled up once a week. The fencing is rather flimsy, and maybe some spiky plants could be planted on the outside. I appeal for some assistance from you to help get this school back on their feet, and by making small donations, we can make a difference to these children and their teachers. Many of the items I'm asking for will not come at a cost to you, except your time. 

Could you please help with the following: 
1. The blank page in the free newspaper. This can be used for scribbling etc. 
2. Empty ice cream containers, for storing crayons etc, or a First aid box. 
3. Empty clean 2 litre milk bottles, to tap the water from the tank for use for use in the kitchen. 
4. Any old towels you no longer require, to dry the little one's hands after a visit to the toilet. 
5. Any old toys ( in good condition) 

In addition I appeal to you to choose ONE item from the list below: This is a monthly donation for the school, and by adding your chosen item, to your shopping basket, each month, you will barely notice it, but the good it will do is immense.
Box of tissues, cake of soap, toilet roll, dishwashing liquid or refill, Handy Andy, a litre of long life milk or any other useful donation. 
Thank you for taking the time to hear about Musawenkosi and how together we can make a difference. 

Kind regards Mary Hardy

Our Intrusive God

Posted by Andy Otto in Reflections

During my summer off from teaching, one might think it would be easier for me to make time for God, yet I found myself either working on my writing or planning for the new school year. One afternoon I sat down with a cocktail and decided to devote some solid time to working on a project for my business. A few minutes in, the doorbell rang. I ignored it. It rang again.
Frustrated, I peeked downstairs and saw a homeless woman at the door who I knew had come by before. As I peered over the railing, she saw me. I reluctantly went down, opened the door, and greeted her kindly. For the next ten minutes she poured out her story and struggle to me. I asked her questions about what her immediate goal was, which was to get a bus ticket to a nearby city where she had some friends who could help her. During my time with her, I thought about my cocktail that was getting warm and my unfinished work. What did that all matter when this woman just wanted some water and someone to listen?

The next Sunday at Mass I heard the reading about Abraham encountering three strangers near his tent and quickly and joyously offering them food and hospitality. He even calls himself their “servant”—to strangers! Author Alice Camille reflects on this unexpected moment in Living with Christ:
He probably wasn’t praying or looking for divine direction or even thinking holy thoughts at all. …Yet in that very domestic, private, and unassuming hour, he had a celestial encounter with three persons described by most commentators as angels. Abraham wasn’t looking for God. But God was looking for him.
What felt like an intrusion in my planned afternoon was an encounter with God through the visit of a woman who just needed someone to listen to her. I had gotten caught up with my own agenda and had been ignoring God, yet God burst into my afternoon unannounced. This is so Ignatian.

Our encounters with God are not always in church or an intentional time of prayer. They can happen anywhere and at any time. God sometimes intrusively rings our doorbell, forcing us out of our own self-absorption and into a harsh reminder that God is not going anywhere. We need not be looking for the divine in order for it to show up. More often than not, it’s God who takes the initiative in the relationship. We’re simply called to answer the door and engage.

When Did You First Encounter the Risen Christ?

 Posted by Beckey Eldredge – In Reflections  

 I took a long sip of my hot coffee to give me a minute to process his question. Sitting across from me was a man in his late twenties who had just asked me, “When did you first encounter the Risen Christ?”                                                      

His question made me pause. Not only was I thrown off by the depth of his question within minutes of meeting each other, but I was not prepared to be the one asked this type of question. When he asked to meet, I assumed I would be in the role of director offering questions to let him reflect on his own faith journey.                                            

It was a challenging question, not because I had not reflected on it before, but because of how badly I needed to be reminded of the beginning of my journey:  The moments when I was drawn inexplicably to God by a restlessness and desire to learn more. The moments when I was almost giddy with joy as I became aware of God’s presence in my life.    

As the coffee warmed my throat, I realized I saw in the young man the same inquisitive nature that I possess—the part of me that loves to hear people’s faith stories and the part of me that loves to hear when God got people’s attention. I could feel his question hitting me deep in my core, a nudge from God to remember where it all began.                           

I did my best to share my beginnings of encountering Christ, and then I eagerly listened to his story. It invigorated me tremendously both to share my own story and hear his.   As I got in my car, I continued to reflect. What I realized on the way home was how the majority of my ministry work the last three years was walking with those more often in a season of deepening than beginning. How quickly I had forgotten the joy of the first encounter with Christ!                                                                                                     

The joy of the first encounter with Christ is unforgettable. It is the same joy that propelled the disciples forward to spread the Good News with fervor and urgency. It is the joy that propels me along my own faith journey. It is the same joy that draws people into a relationship with God every day.                                                                                   

It was in remembering my first encounters with the Risen Christ and in hearing the young man’s story that both my faith and my ministry work were invigorated.                

Reflect on when you first encountered the Risen Christ. Then pose this question to people in your life and listen to their stories.                                                                                     

We Can Be More Fully Ourselves 

Posted by Andy Otto in Discernment

When I was a Jesuit, people often told me I had a higher calling. It seems common language for those who’ve felt called to priesthood or religious life, but I don’t believe anyone has a “higher” calling. We’re all simply called to be the people God made us. God calls us to all sorts of paths, choices, and careers, but none is higher than another. If we’ve truly discerned what we’re good at and confirm that God desires it too, then we’ve followed our calling.

Tim Reidy, in a recent America Magazine podcast, talked with James Martin, SJ, about the end of the series Mad Men. He noted that Don Draper, after finding some personal growth at a retreat, returns to his work in advertising. “This happens,” Reidy says. “People find themselves, but that doesn’t mean they have to abandon all they’ve done before.” Don is good at what he does, so he returns to it. Choosing to follow God more nearly doesn’t necessarily mean going in search of some other vocation. It means returning to our vocation as better, more whole people.
Some vocations may be more demanding than others, but no one is better than another. My wife’s job as a campus minister could be quite demanding, at times more so than my graduate classes. She would sometimes be envious of my chance to take theology classes, and I would find myself envious of her full-time ministry. We’d idealize the other’s calling. But what we needed to remind ourselves of was that God had called each of us to where we were at that moment. And I believe that God took delight in us using our gifts and talents in the best way we could.

God does not call each of us to some “higher” vocation on some metaphorical pedestal. God calls us instead to a deeper sense of self, to be someone who is fully human and can pay attention to his or her gifts and flourish. And if God ends up calling us to another vocation or state of life, it’s not to somewhere that’s higher, but to somewhere we can be more fully ourselves.

To Labor and Not to Seek Reward 

Posted by Marina McCoy in Reflections

The Prayer for Generosity gives us words that assist us on a lifelong path of becoming more fully surrendered to God.
St. Ignatius’s words “to labor and not to seek reward” can include larger vocational decisions to seek God’s call for its own sake, and not for external rewards such as wealth, honor, or security. Instances are choosing to be a social worker, or starting a small business that can benefit my community, or beginning a family. However, this kind of decision is only a first step. As we encounter various obstacles in life, the question of our own motivation is continually challenged; our love purified; and our surrender to God deepened.

Students who undertake service projects at my university often constructively question their own motives: do they take up a service project for the sake of the others whom they serve? to increase their own learning? as a good resumé builder? to feel pleasure in helping another? Often our own motives are not clear even to ourselves until problems arise. For example, a person at a homeless shelter is angry because no more beds are available, and though this is not the student’s fault, she feels badly about the lack of gratitude and asks why she is there.
At such times, we confront not only a lack of “reward” but also a certain impurity in our own motives. Acknowledging that our own actions are not as other-centered as we thought can be humbling. Then we often have to choose how and why to continue. Ignatius’s words encourage us to take up these challenges as an opportunity for the purification of love.

We can also labor without seeking reward by letting go of the fruits of our own labors. Often, we do not know our actions’ effects. A small act of kindness to a stranger on the morning commute may encourage another to act more gently in the next part of her day at work. A student who sits in the back of a class with cap pulled down low may later tell his teacher that the class was transformative.
St. Thérèse of Lisieux wrote of her desire to come to God at the end of her life with “empty hands,” so that God would take her not for her works, but only for herself. Like Ignatius she recognized that we are loved unconditionally. When we know of that love, then our gifts to God and others can then also be freer of self-concern. We can surrender ourselves into God’s hands in all our labors, trusting that God will use whatever we offer to bear fruit.

Purpose in this Moment 

Posted by Lisa Kelly in Reflections

So often in our lives we want that big picture, the clear road map, the understanding of the infinite, whether it is to know what the future will bring, what life’s purpose is, or even where this Ignatian Adventure might lead. But skipping to the end of the book would miss the point. Being human means we can’t know the whole picture. No human in history has clearly seen his or her complete road map, so it isn’t going to start with me.
Faith means taking the journey even though we don’t know how it will end. All I truly have is the present moment, and each and every moment holds a purpose. In each moment I get to make a choice to keep my feet firmly planted in the enormous love of God for me or to let my disordered attachments pull me into actions and worldviews that take me away from reflecting that love.
St. Ignatius recognized in his Principle and Foundation that we can easily be preoccupied with what our lives will be down the road—will I be rich or poor? Will I be sick or healthy? Will I live a long life or a short one? And in that preoccupation we miss the presence of the Spirit in the current moment. 

How can I “praise, reverence, and serve God” right now? In this moment? In this one little action or gesture? The choices we make within each moment will bring us one step closer or farther from our heart’s desire. Our purpose in life need be no bigger than our purpose in this very moment. What’s yours?

One Word at a Time 

Posted by Michelle Francl-Donnay in Ignatian Prayer

To listen to Andrea Bocelli singing Ave Maria, click on this Link

The interior of the church looked like it had been torn from the pages of Isaiah, “I lay your pavements in carnelians, your foundations in sapphires; I will make your battlements of rubies, your gates of jewels, and all your walls of precious stones.” The air was still, heavy with the heat of early summer and anticipation. I settled into my pew, tore my eyes from the distracting beauty that surrounded me to focus on the choral ensemble arrayed across the chancel.

Suddenly the tenors plunged as one voice into the soaring space, “Ave Maria…,” a line echoed by the baritones, then caught up into a complex harmony of overlapping phrases by the sopranos and altos. The music swirled above us and poured down the walls. Eddies of sound spun down the main aisle.
A word or phrase would surface in perfect clarity, then become submerged into the polyphony, only to re-emerge again on the next word. Gratia, grace. Benedicta, blessed. The depths of each phrase of the Hail Mary were sounded by threads of intricate harmony. My ear strained to follow the final note of the final Amen, until it too, was caught into the silence.

As I took the train home late that night, I was struck by how much like my prayer this setting of the Ave Maria had been. I gather myself in stillness to listen, plunge in with a word or two. Adsum. Here I am, Lord. God willing, I hear the music that ever surrounds us, but even with long practice the individual notes elude me.
Words tumble about, caught in the currents of my thoughts. Sometimes, there are flashes of heart-rending clarity. And in the end, the transcendent Trinitarian chorus carries me into silence again, my heart straining to follow their lead.
Perhaps because this particular piece had been composed by a contemporary of St. Ignatius, I thought, too, of his Second Method of Prayer. (SE 252) Gather yourself comfortably before God, he advises, still your gaze, and don’t let it roam about. Take a familiar prayer, like the Our Father, or perhaps the Ave Maria—the Hail Mary. Say the first word, hold onto it, explore it, relish it, turn it about. When you’ve exhausted that word or phrase, go on to the next. Let each word pull you more deeply into the Divine mystery.

This morning, listening again to Robert Parson’s Ave Maria, I realized that this is the rhythm not only of my prayer, but of my life. There are moments when I am blessed with an utter certainty of God’s presence, followed by moments when I am so distracted by the complex cacophony that pervades my daily life I lose track of the underlying melody entirely. I can be befuddled by, entranced with, or simply carried away by the complexity of the sacred tune swirling through the universe. And there are so many times when I strain to hang onto the barest whisper of God’s voice, unsure if it is still there.
Gratia plena, indeed. I pray to be filled with the grace to hear God resounding through time and space, and the courage to follow him into the depths. One word at a time.