Zacchaeus

BY BR. CHARLES JACKSON, S.J.

ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF LIS

The story of Zacchaeus the tax collector is well-known and we all know what he said to Jesus during the dinner with him: that he would give half his possessions to the poor and that if he had extorted anything from anyone he would repay it fourfold.  But I believe that there is far more to the person of Zacchaeus than simply a rich tax collector.  I sense in him a burning desire for understanding, acceptance and love.  Allow Zacchaeus to tell you his story.

I have to tell you what happened.  I like to think of myself as a thoughtful and intelligent man - and I am a thoughtful and intelligent man - but all that began to get muddled about two months ago.  It was just after Jared's wife Naomi gave birth to Noah, their first son.  I began to hear reports about an itinerant teacher in Galilee by the name of Jesus.  I understood that this Jesus had grown up in Nazareth, but now called Capernaum his home.  People spoke of the wonders and signs that he did, but they seem to have been more impressed by what he said and how he said it than by anything he did.  In a word, they seem to have been most impressed by him.  This Jesus seems to have touched the hearts of all who listened to him or in any way met with him.  But what I found most striking about everything that people said about him was that this Jesus welcomed everyone - and I mean everyone - and even shared meals with them.  Moreover, I am told that he even shared meals with public sinners and tax collectors.  I suspect that this was what first sparked my interest.  You see, I'm a tax collector - the chief tax collector, in fact, here in Jericho.  At first, I was only mildly interested in these reports about this Jesus - I mean, one hears a lot of news in a place like this - but several weeks ago, I became aware that I was getting more and more interested in this Jesus and had begun to ask people about him.  I suspect that I was initially impressed simply by the signs and wonders he did, or by the manner in which he seemed to touch the hearts of those who heard him, but when I heard of him sharing meals with public sinners and tax collectors - people so very much like me - well, that seems to have sparked something in me and my thoughtful and intelligent nature began to get more than a little confused.  I mean, I was not simply interested in this Jesus; I found that I was thinking a great deal about him and was beginning to imagine myself listening to him and speaking with him and even sharing a meal with him.  But this was not simply daydreaming; it was something I most ardently desired.  But all of that seemed so impossible, so utterly beyond my wildest dreams - until yesterday afternoon, when I heard that Jesus was approaching Jericho.

The word must have gotten out and gone far and wide, because when I ran up to the north gate, I found that a huge crowd had gathered.  People were just everywhere. I was devastated.  I so very much wanted to see Jesus, but my hope of seeing him - simply catching a glimpse of him or speaking with him - seem to have been dashed.  You see, I'm a short man, shorter than most everyone; I get lost in a crowd.  I was almost in tears.  But as I turned to make my way home, I found myself brought face-to-face with a small column that I had never noticed before.  It was no more than four feet in height and was probably just a remnant of a larger column which, in turn, was part of some larger structure.  I had no idea why it was there, but it seemed that it was almost meant to have been there - for me.  A small tree stood next to the column and would help me to climb up on it.  I suspect that I looked more than a little foolish as I clambered up on the column, but I was now able to see above the crowd.  I had found the perfect place to see Jesus.

As events unfolded, I didn't have to wait very long.  No sooner had I climbed up on the column than I became aware of considerable commotion: a large number of people suddenly began to enter the city.  As they entered, I noticed that they were soon stepping aside and turning to look back through the gate as though they were waiting for someone, and I suspected that they were waiting for Jesus.  Finally, as a large cluster of people came through the gate, I saw Jesus.  I don't know what I expected Jesus to look like - someone taller, perhaps, or more visually impressive - but what I remember most about him from that first glimpse was the personal warmth that seemed to radiate from him.  I mean, as he looked out at the crowd, it seems that he wasn't seeing a crowd of people, but individual persons - people who had names and meaning and were worthy of love.  In fact, it seemed that love radiated from him - and I felt privileged simply to be able to see him.  And I was delighted that I had found such a wonderful place from which to see him and that he would pass so close to where I was standing.  But what happened next is something I had never hoped for - or even imagined - but it is something that I will never forget; it is something that has changed my life.  As he approached the place where I was standing, Jesus paused for a moment.  At first, it seemed that he was simply gazing at the people around him - and I suspect that he was - but then he turned and looked up at me.  I don't know how long he looked at me, but it was more than a passing glance, but in that glance I found something I'll never forget - for he seemed to look into my soul.  I don't know what he saw there - Did he see my confusion and fear?  Did he see my loneliness and hunger for love?  Did he see the uncertainty that seemed almost to define my life? Did he see every-thing that I had ever hoped for and longed for?  I don't know what he saw as he looked at me, but as he continued to look at me I sensed in him compassion and understanding and acceptance and love. 

Now if Jesus had simply moved on, it would still have been a life-changing experience for me - but he continued to look at me.  But then, just when I thought he might be turning away to continue his journey - for it seemed that he intended simply to pass through Jericho - he stretched out his hand toward me and with the love that seemed to radiate from him he called out, "Zacchaeus."  I was stunned to hear him call my name.  Perhaps he had heard others speak it, but he was calling me.  "Zacchaeus," he called out again, "Come down! - for I must stay at your house today."

I really don't know exactly what happened next.  Everything is now a blur.  All I knew was that Jesus was calling me.  Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that Jesus would want to speak with me - much less share a meal with me and stay with me.  Me!  He was calling me!  I fought off my dazed mind and somehow managed to climb down from the column.  My head seemed to be spinning.  I wasn't sure what was happening to me.  Was all of this simply a dream?  But as I turned to face Jesus, I discovered that he was right in front of me and was extending his arms toward me.  "Zacchaeus," he said warmly as he took my hands in his.  He was looking into my eyes, yet it seemed that he was looking into my soul.  "Zacchaeus," he said again, "I must stay at your house today."  I stood there, feeling like I was still in a daze as I looked into his eyes.  I wanted to stay there forever.

The Many Faces of Ohana

BY REV. DAVID C. ROBINSON, S.J.

ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF LIS

If one turns to a dictionary to find a definition of the Hawaiian term ohana, the most basic description refers to a tradition of extended family units. However, the lived reality of the ohana principle in the islands encompasses a wide range of interpersonal and social connections that allows for a wonderfully flexible and encompassing notion of what constitutes family-blood relations, adopted family status, intentional social groups, and a variety of spiritual networks as well. When people refer to 'my ohana,' they may mean any of a number of relational contexts in their lives. Why is this significant? In many Western communities, the use of the term family has tended to remain rather restricted to the realm of immediate relatives and those linked to them by bonds of marriage. As a result, it can become more difficult to recognize a wider significance to the world, which can reinforce a sense of us and them, rather than a complex unity that can grow and adapt.

In Luke's gospel, we find an extended series of events in which the disciples are struggling to discern the nature of their power and authority, and they propose to use that power to restrict or punish others. Jesus is very emphatic in saying that "Whoever is not against you is for you." He did not want the gospel to become a matter of who's in charge, leading to division and competition at the heart of Christian community. Unfortunately, history has tended to dull that admonition, as witnessed by the sectarian conflicts and inter-religious disputes that have marred our lives as disciples. Jesus' prayer in John's gospel, "that they may be one," was certainly not intended to initiate a select religious club or private spiritual coterie. Although he never spent a vacation in Kauai or Maui, his inclusive view of life certainly paralleled the world of ohana in a gracious and healing way!

  

During my all-too-brief times of working in Hawaii, I have come to appreciate the profoundly unitive possibilities of life in an ohana. In the upcoming weeks of Lent, as we reflect on how Jesus loved and died to manifest an all-encompassing love that did not distinguish between 'gentile or jew, slave or free,' we might ponder what it means to expand our own boundaries of spiritual hospitality, to embrace the 'other' with greater reverence. That would certainly be a healing gesture worthy of the family of God.

The Transfiguration

BY BR. CHARLES JACKSON, S.J.

ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF LIS

 "Jesus took Peter, James, and John and led them up a high mountain apart by themselves.  And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no fuller on earth could bleach them.  Then Elijah appeared to them along with Moses, and they were conversing with Jesus.  Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, 'Rabbi, it is good that we are here!  Let us make three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.'  He hardly knew what to say, they were so terrified.  Then a cloud came, casting a shadow over them; from the cloud came a voice, 'This is my beloved Son.  Listen to him.'  Suddenly, looking around, they no longer saw anyone but Jesus alone with them.  As they were coming down from the mountain, he charged them not to relate what they had seen to anyone, except when the Son of Man had risen from the dead.  So they kept the matter to themselves, questioning what rising from the dead meant." (Mark 9:2-10)

During the course of his public ministry, Jesus proclaimed the kingdom and was acclaimed as a great prophet.  Yet along the way he also encountered closed minds and hearts, and then outright persecution, and it soon became clear to him where all of this was leading.  One day, as he and his disciples were on their way to the villages of Caesarea Philippi, immediately after having heard Peter's great testimony of faith that Jesus was the Christ, he told his disciples that he must suffer greatly, be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the scribes and be killed, but after three days he would rise.  But as he spoke these words it was clear to him that his disciples could understand nothing of this.

Several days later, Jesus took Peter, James and John, and led them up on a high mountain by themselves.  And there he was transfigured before them and revealed in all his glory.  His garments radiated with the refulgence of the eternal light that was shining in him and through him.  Elijah and Moses then appeared and were conversing with him.  Finally a cloud appeared, casting a shadow over the disciples, and from within the cloud they heard a voice: "This is my beloved Son.  Listen to him."

The transfiguration, so reminiscent of the theophanies experienced by Moses and Elijah on the mountain of God, was a profound and even overwhelming experience of God.  Moreover, the words uttered by the divine voice were reminiscent of the words which Jesus heard at the Jordan.  Yet there was an important difference: the words were addressed, not to Jesus, as they had been at the Jordan: "You are my beloved Son" - but rather to the disciples: "This is my beloved Son."  In fact, if we look closely at this passage, it is clear that the transfiguration in its entirety was meant, not for Jesus, but for the disciples - and, from this perspective, for us as well.

As the disciples gazed at the transfigured Jesus, they saw Moses, the law-giver, and Elijah, the greatest of the prophets, conversing with him.  The disciples were thus brought to understand that Jesus followed in their great lineage.  Yet the divine voice made clear that Jesus was far greater than they.  "This is my beloved Son.  Listen to him," the voice told them.  Like all faithful Jews, the disciples revered Moses and Elijah, yet they were brought to understand that Jesus was far greater than they.  Jesus would soon turn south toward Jerusalem, where he would be arrested, tortured, condemned to death, and killed.  The faith of the disciples would soon be sorely tried.  Yet in this profound experience God had brought them to understand that Jesus was utterly beyond all that the world could do - and in this God is speaking to us as well - and that in spite of all the anxiety and fear they might experience, they should never lose heart or faith in Jesus.  "This is my beloved Son; listen to him."  It seems that we can almost hear the echo of the words God so often spoke to the doubting prophets and Jesus so often spoke to his doubting disciples - and who speaks to us today as we continue our Lenten journey - "Fear not!  I am with you!"

Searching for the Promise of Easter

BY FR. DAVID C. ROBINSON, S.J.

ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF LIS

As the season of Lent draws to a close, we carry within us the yearnings we feel for God, perhaps honed to a finer edge by a heightened time of personal prayer and reflection. We are asked to recognize our amazingly human capacity to see the path to our spiritual fulfillment and then to turn aside to indulge in some ultimately insignificant distraction. At times it might seem that our end-point of the season is Good Friday-the cross that bears our failures. However, we know well that crucifixion is not the destination of our journeying. Easter is the goal toward which we strive with longing. If our Lenten pilgrimage is intended to last some forty days, our Easter celebration stretches for fifty! Nonetheless, we sometimes need to be reminded that we are indeed a 'resurrection people,' a family united in the promise of life, not of failure and death.

In 1875, a group of five Franciscan nuns, exiled from Germany by the religiously restrictive Falk Laws, were headed to England aboard the Deutschland and ran aground at the mouth of the Thames River. For over thirty hours, the vessel was pounded by stormy seas, yet there was no immediate rescue effort put in motion. The ship was gradually shattered by the elements, and many people drowned, including the nuns who remained in prayerful support of one another and their companions as death came for them. The incident deeply impacted the Jesuit poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, who responded with a profoundly existential cry of the soul, titled "The Wreck of the Deutschland." In this lengthy poem, he struggles with the violence of nature and the seeming silence of God in the presence of such heart-rending anguish. He asks, as we all do, 'Why, Lord?'

As with all great literary cries in the face of suffering, the poet does not receive a rationale for disaster. Instead, Hopkins discovers in the faithfulness of the nuns to their trust in God's promise a beacon of hope in ultimate victory over death. He offers the prayer of all who come with trust to the portal of Easter-"Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us." Like the sisters united in the face of destruction, we are invited to let God 'easter' in the uncertainties of our own storms, or the foundering of our own dreams on the shoals of circumstance. As Hopkins does, even if we struggle to grasp a vision of where our Easter fullness lies, we can recognize in the faithful lives around us the seed of God's presence, God's abiding life within. This is our Easter promise enfleshed.

Jesus knew in his life of ministry that the victory of God was not a social or political triumph, but rather the eastering of life in a world that is all-too-often difficult to comprehend or appreciate. The cross was not simply a painful detour on the way to a greater prize, but rather the threshold of the human path to a home in God. As this great truth of Spirit easters in us, we can indeed find ample reason to celebrate the coming season, for fifty days and beyond, because we celebrate the realization of a promise that will be kept.

LIS Associate Highlight  (December, 2011) JOAN C. TRIVETT Laguna Beach, California ISFP Graduate 2004 I was reading an Advent reflection the other day, about when Jesus turns to Andrew, who was then a disciple of John the Baptist, and asks, "What are you looking for?" (Jn 1:38). The author of the reflection goes on to say that these words were not a casual question, but rather one directed at the soul. When I came to LIS I was looking to answer that question for my own life. Finding my children grown and married, I retired early from a career in aerospace and began to consider what was next. Through a women's Bible study group, I was introduced to the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius.  That ignited a fire in my heart to learn more about Ignatian spirituality, which, of course, led me to LIS. Joining the first Ignatian Spiritual Formation Program in 2001, I knew I had found the answer to what I really wanted in life. I had discovered my life's purpose and passion, which is to share the deep joy and wonder of God's abundant and compassionate love with others through the gift of Ignatian spirituality.  The formation was profoundly transformative, deepening my relationship with God and challenging me to step into a world of ministry that required me to learn more about my faith and to be willing to live it out in new ways. In the years since, I have companioned people through the Nineteenth Annotation of the Spiritual Exercises, traveled to Colorado for weekend missions on Ignatian spirituality; taught about various aspects of Ignatian spirituality, especially, discernment; and given retreats and days of prayer with other members of the LIS team working with Deacon candidates and their wives, lay ministers from various parishes, individual parishes, public groups, and individuals. My life is full of purpose and deep joy. The staff and Associates at LIS are a source of wisdom, encouragement and fellowship. As is always true of the Lord, the more I try to give of myself in gratitude for God's grace, the more I am blessed and in debt to the One who cannot be out given. As Ignatius says, our lives are ones of grace upon grace. And that is enough for me.       A Christmas Reflection  Many years ago when I was a young Jesuit, I spent a year in a Jesuit brothers' juniorate program in Milford, Ohio, a small town about ten miles east of Cincinnati.  My purpose in attending this program was to be trained to be a kitchen manager.  things that year - about myself and about the Society of Jesus - but I also learned that I didn't want to be a kitchen manager.  My training took place at Good Samaritan Hospital, a large Catholic hospital in Cincinnati.  Each week on Sunday night, I made the trip from Milford to the hospital, where I would live and work until Friday afternoon, when I would return to Milford.  I was not able to return to Milford to celebrate Thanksgiving that year, but I was able to do so for Christmas.  I have many happy memories of Christmases I enjoyed as a boy, and I would enjoy many Christmases as a Jesuit in the years ahead.  But I can point to Christmas 1964 as the most wonderful Christmas of my life.  From one perspective, there was nothing that should have made that Christmas stand out above any other I experienced.  But to be so suddenly transported out of a situation at the hospital that had lost all meaning for me and which I was simply enduring and to be dropped into the midst of a celebration with Jesuits whom I had grown to love seemed beyond my wildest dreams.  I had never questioned my Jesuit vocation - it seemed like a wonderful fit from the very first day - but I look back to the winter of 1964-65 as the time when I had fallen head over heels in love with what it meant to be a Jesuit. In his book, The Restless Heart, Ronald Rolheiser makes an observation very pertinent to this: "In our day-to-day lives, when all is well, and health, friends, inner peace, and good cheer are in abundance, we tend to lose our awareness of reality as it really is. ... Put crassly, when times are good, and we are not lonely, we tend to worry more about our boat and our next vacation to Hawaii than about the wounds that bleed unattended and uncared for in our unfinished world.  But when we are lonely, when we come face-to-face with emptiness and lack of meaning, we are given a great opportunity to understand life and ourselves."  Long ago, an experience of loneliness and a struggle to find meaning in my life afforded me a graced opportunity to sort out my desires and to discover what I most deeply desired.  We all yearn for security and comfort in our lives, and we look forward to happy events with family and friends.  Yet if we are truly honest with ourselves as we look back over our lives, we invariably find that we grew most as persons when security and comfort were so terribly absent.  It is no small thing to be able to say that "everything works together for good for those who love God" (Rom. 8:28; emphasis added), yet this is truly a part of the good news we celebrate this Christmas.  Have a blessed Christmas!  Written by: Br. Charles Jackson, S.J.

 LIS Associates of the Month (November, 2011)

JACK GONSALVES and  DOLORES MARTINEZ

Jack R. Gonsalves

Cerritos, California

ISFP Graduate 2004

You may have heard that the Lord writes straight with crooked lines.  It was an experience of desolation and a significant trial in my life beginning the summer of 2000 that led me to LIS.  In desolation, I sought solace at El Retiro San Inigo, the Jesuit Retreat Center in Los Altos, California.  After spending a week there in quiet and prayer I found peace and consolation.  I discovered personally, and in a profound way, that God loves us even when we are broken and desolate, and accepts us right where we are at.  During my retreat my spiritual director, the late Fr. Dare Morgan, S.J., encouraged me to continue spiritual direction upon my return home, which I did through the Loyola Institute for Spirituality.  My spiritual director for the next 8 years was Sr. Jean Schultz, S.P., who invited me to take classes at the Institute.  For me the three years of formation at the Institute were life changing and transformative.  The Institute gave me a way of life that has led me closer and closer to God. 

 Since completion of formation in June 2004, I have been involved in a variety of ministerial activities including guiding others through the 19th Annotation of the Spiritual Exercises, teaching the Ignatian style of prayer, and giving retreats and days of prayer.  I have found that ministering to others and being a companion to them on their journey to God has been the most enriching and grace-filled experience of my life.  I feel as though the Lord has been drawing me nearer and nearer to His sacred heart as I witness His gracious love at work in others.  It is a wonderful gift Jesus shares with us in ministry, when we are open to His grace, because He enables us to see what He sees, to hear what He hears, to feel in our hearts what He feels, and then respond as He would respond, with love and compassion.  What a gracious and wonderful gift it is to witness God's constant labor of love in our lives, and what a profoundly humble and trusting God who would invite us to pabrticipate in this labor of Love.  I am very, very grateful for all that the Lord has done, is doing and continues to do in us.  God is indeed, very, very good!  Alleluia!!

Dolores Martinez ' 

Santa Ana, California

ELI Graduate 2003 

I came to LIS by the Lord's grace. I was working with someone at the Diocese of Orange and they kept insisting that I go to L.A. to take some spiritual direction courses. At the time I didn't want to go alone so I invited a good friend to join me but after talking it over with her we felt that L.A. was too far  a drive for us to go to take these courses, so we never ended up going. 

 Several days after this program ended the same person at the Diocese of Orange asked me, “When are you going to take the spiritual direction courses,” and I said, "when they're offered in Spanish and five minutes away from my house." Little did I know that by saying this my course in life would forever be changed. A few months later I received a call from Fr. Tacho Rivera, S.J., who was working at the Loyola Institute for Spirituality, and he asked me if I would be interested in taking some spiritual direction courses in Spanish that he would be directing.  Well of course I couldn't say no, and so my path led me to LIS and to a group of people who have shared great moments with me during the course of ELI, which is the Latino Ignatian Team.

 LIS is very enriching, especially for people who are not able to leave their parish because many cannot drive; others have to take care of their families; and it's difficult to attend retreat centers. What LIS does for people is bring the retreat to them, in their environment, near their home. They truly do bring spirituality to life in that sense.

 Silence

 "Be still and know that I am God."(Psalm 46:10) 

One of the first things of which we become aware when we embark on our spiritual journey is that we live in a world pervaded by noise.  We may find the noise pleasant, or annoying, or simply neutral but, regardless of its form, it is still noise.  More importantly, we can become addicted to noise and find ourselves unsettled and restless if we are without the familiar background noise of a television, radio, CD player or whatever.  God's action in our lives can be very subtle and is often recognized only by our being quietly attentive to him.  If we are truly desirous of developing our relationship with God, we need to foster a comfort with and a desire for quiet in our lives.  There are many means toward this end, yet a simple but very effective one is to create small pockets of quiet in our lives - by taking a quiet walk in a nearby park or around the neighborhood, or by sitting quietly at our desk for a moment or two, or by doing nothing more than driving home with the radio turned off - not to be quiet with our thoughts, but simply to be quiet.

 Not all the noise in our lives, however, stems from the world outside us.  There is also the noise that arises in our inner world: the voice within us that incessantly comments, speculates, judges, compares and complains; or our mind that incessantly revisits the past or rehearses a possible future through our imagination.  When we become consciously attentive to a thought, we become aware not only of the thought itself but also of ourselves aware of the thought.  We thus sense a conscious presence - our deeper self - beneath the thought.  Surprisingly, the result of this is that the thought loses its power over us and quickly subsides.  The thought has no meaning for us and quickly vanishes.  We thus experience a discontinuity in the mental stream - a gap of what Buddhists call 'no mind.'  At first, the gaps will be short, a few seconds perhaps, but gradually they will become longer.  When these gaps occur, we will experience an inner stillness and peace.  With practice, this sense of stillness and peace will deepen.  It is the pervasive quiet we yearn for.

 Written by: Br. Charles Jackson, S.J., Associate Director 

A Harvest of Wholeness

As we wend our way through the waning days of summer, it may seem that we have our gaze focused in two directions at once—one longing look back at the days of warmth, celebration, and seemingly all-too-brief relaxation that remind us of the fruitfulness of life and the earth; and another anticipatory look that guides our thoughts to the upcoming season of harvest, when the quiet march to winter is brightened by the gathering of the riches of our work and that of our communities. Yet we know our life is not lived in the past or the future, but only in the power of the present moment. What is it that we hold in this ‘space between?’

In the tradition of the Old Testament, the Sabbath was a time of rest each week, a day in which the preoccupations of work and society were set aside to acknowledge the gifts of God and to rest in the knowledge of life’s ultimate abundance. After a ‘week of years’ (6), the land was to be left fallow for the 7^th year, as a Sabbath rest for the earth. After a ‘week of Sabbath years’ (7), the 50^th year was a time in which everyone and everything rested—indebted lands were returned to their ancestral owners, indentured servants were freed, and the equality of all within the society was reaffirmed. This cycle of cycles acknowledged the deep-seated human need for periods of rest, but also for a sense of restitution or equilibrium in life and society.

Perhaps as we move into the concluding months of 2011, we might adopt a bit of the Jubilee spirit, recognizing the need we have to enter into days of diminishing light and lowering temperatures with an inner awareness of the personal and social rhythms that can encourage us to balance the fecundity of summer energy and the limiting interlude of winter. We need not simply “load our harvest into barns” and batten down the hatches for storms or long, chilly nights. We can affirm this ‘space between’ as an invitation to welcome equanimity, to search for those aspects of our communal life which promote generosity, mutuality, and bonds that nurture our common future—rather than merely ‘waiting-out’ the time between visions of beaches, mountains, or family excursions, and the first, tentative nudging of spring growth and a welcoming breath of warming air. Our Jubilee will not be a comprehensive religious, legal, and political redistribution of resources and relationships, but it can offer us an opportunity to realize that the cycles of life, like the cycles of nature, thrive when we allow the ‘space between’ to blossom with its own vitality and promise.   

Written by: Fr. David C. Robinson S.J., LIS Associate Director

I Was a Stranger

We are all familiar with the famous lines of Jesus from Matthew's Gospel: "I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me..." (Mt. 25:35).  Of course, Jesus is not speaking of direct ministry to himself. Rather, he states that "just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me." (Mt. 25:40) Perhaps we have occasionally felt a twinge of regret that we have not responded often enough to God's family with the simple gestures of care which are highlighted in this gospel passage. However, as Jesus emphasizes repeatedly to the disciples, the call of God is not to look backward, but to be awake to what is inviting us in the immediacy of the present moment.

Contemporary culture praises the months of summer as a time to kick-back, grab-the-gusto, and indulge ourselves. Certainly, relaxation and family fun are values we need to cultivate in a world all-too-given to the excesses of schedules and exploding calendars. Nevertheless, during the times of enjoyment, we can keep both eyes and hearts open to the sudden strangers in our midst. A casual invitation or unexpected occasion can provide us with a miraculous opportunity to offer a moment of nourishment or belonging to someone we might readily pass by without even a glance.

Last month, I was invited by a friend to accompany a group of middle-school students on a class outing to HomeBoy Industries and the MOCA exhibit of Art in the Streets in Los Angeles. The majority of these students come from complex and difficult family and social environments, not unlike the gang-family at Homeboy, or the artists whose works are on display at MOCA. Dealing with cognitive and behavioral challenges, these students are not the ones invited to participate in field trips or school outings. They are the 'strangers' in their own schools. There were certainly enough complications and nay-sayers to torpedo the whole project, but a handful of volunteers were inspired to take the risk, and to accompany these students on what was for most their first off-campus school activity.

As might be expected, there were delays, glitches, and occasional misunderstandings. Yet, it could not be denied that something transformative had taken place. One boy embarked on a photo-shoot throughout the day, capturing people and geography in colorful and creative ways. Another student, semi-autistic, began the excursion sitting by himself at the back of the bus, and not interacting with his classmates. By mid-day, he was immersed in the group, and creating his own photo-narrative of his experiences.  This was a collective of strangers, on the way to discovering the meaning of community. They are now putting together a video/DVD of their adventures, gathering their insights and inspirations, to be shared with families and the wider school community.

Were there projects and unfinished work, or the call of summer relaxation, that beckoned the faculty, staff counselors, and volunteers who journeyed with this hopeful band of strangers? Yes. Were there some who only saw the difficulties and breaches of schedule that inevitably occurred? Yes. Was there, nonetheless, a breakthrough experience that pointed to the truth Jesus taught so many generations ago--What we do for the strangers among us, we do for him and all the people of God? Most emphatically, yes!

We, each and all, are met on our ordinary paths by the faces of the ones who need just a bit of nourishment, something to lessen their inner thirst, or a welcome home to a world that no longer labels them strangers. What a miraculous way to share a portion of our summer days.

Written by: Fr. David C. Robinson S.J., LIS Associate Director

Lent: A Season for Yearning

Lent is indeed a spiritual season for all Christians, and carries a unique meaning for each member of the community. For many, the focus of our Lenten observance is found on Ash Wednesday-the recognition of our mortality, our human foibles and weaknesses, our essential need for the presence of God. For others, Lent is a time of abstinence and fasting, a season to 'give up things' for God as a sign of our total dependence upon divine generosity for  sustenance and nourishment. For others, the 40 days are an essential period of inner searching and reflection, a quest for attentiveness to the wonder of our spiritual life as companions of Jesus. For all, each of these realities plays a part in shaping community prayer and ritual, our identity as people of both the Passion and the Resurrection.

As we journey through the days and weeks of Lent, we can feel a certain tugging of the soul, that underlies our meatless meals, our times of reconciliation, our masses, stations of the cross, and Rice-Bowl offerings. Our prayers and practices are a rich resource for nurturing our attention to God and our fellow-travelers along the Lenten path. However, there is a deeper hunger than that brought on by our refraining from hamburgers or chocolate. There is an abiding current of longing that is constant, even if unexpressed. This yearning is a fruitful well for self-discovery in our approach to Easter. Learning that we are more than the sum of our forgiven sins, more than the sum of our unrealized spiritual ambitions, more than the sum of our images of God-we feel urged to immerse ourselves in a mystery we cannot name. We come to recognize that Lent is not a daunting march through death to hoped-for new life. Rather, it is a miraculous walk to the still-point, the center, of our search for God and for the godly in us. If we are attentive, we begin to sense our growing connection to the divine gift that filled the life and ministry of Jesus, and that calls to us in the midst of our preoccupations, distractions, and premonitions of failure.

Lent points to the victory of life, our life, and our life in the endless divine promise we can so often overlook. This is why we feel the yearning for more prayer, for times of spiritual retreat, for a surrendering of heart that says to God what God says to us in this season-I am yours; live in me.

Written by: Fr. David C. Robinson S.J., LIS Associate Director

Reflections on Fifty Years as a Jesuit

Fifty years ago, when I entered the Society of Jesus, I knew that I would pray.  It came with the territory. I had heard about Jesuits spending an hour each day "in prayer," but I had no idea what it meant.  Unlike most Jesuits, I didn't begin my Jesuit life as a novice.  Until about thirty years ago, all brothers began their Jesuit lives as postulants.  A postulant was simply a candidate to the Society of Jesus.  He wasn't technically a Jesuit nor did he wear the distinctive garb of that time, the black cassock.  During the six months that I was a postulant, I read the New Testament and lives of the saints, but I wasn't introduced to prayer.  But I remember listening to novices talking about what they did as novices and, among other things, they talked about prayer.  Although they used a lot of words I didn't understand, I understood enough to realize that prayer was something I wanted to be a part of.  If they did it, I said to myself, well, so too would I.  And so I discovered - somewhat on my own - prayer.

I can't speak about other Jesuits.  Perhaps for them prayer has always been an effort, a struggle they daily contend with.  For me, however, prayer was something I took to like a fish takes to water, something I have loved from the very first day.  Yet prayer was never anything that I did or any skill that I had.  Rather it was what God did in me. It is awkward to speak about falling in love with God, yet that is what happened.  No, it didn't happen overnight.  It unfolded over time, but it happened.  And in my Jesuit life, that has made all the difference.

There's a beautiful scene toward the end of Robert Bolt's play, A Man for All Seasons.  Thomas More has been imprisoned in the Tower of London by King Henry VIII, and events seem to be turning against him.  His beloved daughter, Margaret, has come to visit him.  She's trying to find some way for him to swear to the Act of Succession, but he refuses all her entreaties.  Finally, she just explodes in frustration, "But in reason!  Haven't you done as much as God can reasonably want?"  More pauses for a moment, as if looking for words: "Well ... finally it isn't a matter of reason; finally it's a matter of love."

On a wonderful October afternoon in 1957, God surprised a high school sophomore with the desire to be a Jesuit.  And over the years he has continued to surprise and delight and invite that boy-become-a-man as he has grown in his Jesuit life.  The God who had once grasped him has never let go.  As Thomas More said "finally it's a matter of love."

Written by: Br. Charles Jackson, S.J., LIS Associate Director

Jesus' Baptism: Some Thoughts

"Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John.  And as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him.  And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, my Beloved; my favor rests on you' " (Mark 1:9-11).

We are not told how Jesus came to hear about John.  We are, however, told that Jesus came to John, listened to him and was baptized by him in the Jordan.  But why?  Why was it that Jesus, the Sinless One, chose to identify himself with sinners and be baptized?  Was it that he desired to express solidarity with all those who had come to John, solidarity with those who recognized their sinfulness and sought forgiveness in a baptism of repentance?  In effect, this is what he had done, but was this really what had motivated him?  Could it have been out of a sense of his own humanness, his own need for God?  Later tradition held that Jesus was without sin, butthis is not to deny that he was subject to all the moods, feelings, emotions and inner struggles that are part of being human.  When all is said and done, we have to wonder if Jesus at this time of his life really knew who he was.  Did he know that he was God's Son, and did he understand all that that implied?  To the people of Nazareth, with whom he had lived for almost thirty years, he was ordinary in every way.  When he later returned there and preached in the synagogue, the people were astonished. "Where did he get all this?" they asked.  "What is this wisdom he has, and these wonders that are worked through him? ... Isn't this the carpenter, the son of Mary?" (Mk. 6:1-3).  It is not unreasonable to imagine that Jesus thought of himself in these same terms - as an ordinary citizen of Nazareth.

Mark tells us only that Jesus "was baptized by John in the Jordan."  It is difficult, however, to piece together exactly what happened.  The imagery of the heavens being torn apart, a dove descending, and a voice being heard projects a profound experience of God, yet it leaves much unsaid.  At first glance, it seems to describe what was nothing more than a dramatic statement of God's affirming love for Jesus.  Yet it is important to recognize that within weeks of his baptism at the Jordan the unassuming carpenter from Nazareth was speaking with authority and acting with great power - and we must ask ourselves: What truly happened at the Jordan?  What was at the root of Jesus' experience that so transformed his life?

It is not impossible to imagine that in choosing to be baptized by John, Jesus had made a dramatic self-offering to God and, in response, God 'embraced' him as a father would a son.  For Jesus, the result was a profound experience of being loved by God and what may have been a new awareness of himself: as God's 'Beloved' and of God as his Father.  His experience of this love was of "the heavens being torn apart and the Spirit, like a dove, descending on him."  The Holy Spirit, God's abiding presence, entered into him, empowering him.  For Jesus, his experience at the Jordan was more than simply a call; it was an overwhelming sense of being grasped by God for his service.  He had been brought to understand that God had chosen to make his decisive intervention in history at this very moment and that he, Jesus, was to be the means of bringing this about.  It would not be unreasonable to say that Jesus was overwhelmed.  Mark's words only hint at what must have been his confusion and inner turmoil - "and at once the Spirit drove him into the desert."

 Written by Br. Charles Jackson, S.J., LIS Associate Director

The Faces and Places of Advent

The month of December can seem like a battle of attrition between the invitation of Advent to a time of reflective stillness and anticipation, and the speed of an ever-accelerating race to Christmas, that is marked by purchasing, preparations, and pressure-packed celebrations (if such can truly be called celebratory!).  In a world of seemingly endless tweets, texts, voicemails, and emails, we are submerged amid tsunamis of ads and invitations. Where is the space for inner silence, the quiet place of rest as we look for the coming of the nativity promise?

In the past few weeks, helping to facilitate retreats in English and Spanish, focused on the growth of personal and communal spirituality, I have been made more aware than ever of the deep longing people of faith have for inner connection to the God who calls them beyond the mundane and trivial to a rich encounter with an endless horizon of divine presence and surprise. Life in and as Church can become enmeshed in yet another round of activities, of movement, focused on external results before inner or shared awakening to God. To make such an observation is not to promote individual or communal passivity, a ‘me-first’ sort of preoccupation with how I/we can be enriched as part of a religious family. Rather, it is an invitation to be more attentive to the working of the Spirit before, during, and after our active engagement with duties and projects that grow out of our faith commitments.

The human brain is an intriguing and complex organ, but it has certain redundant processes that track our way through life. An act of shopping bears many cognitive parallels to an act of feeding the poor or decorating the church sanctuary for Christmas. If all that we do gets reduced to unreflective ’action,’ we do not ‘learn’ or ‘grow’ in the spiritual dimensions of our being-in-the-world. Time for reflective prayer or contemplative focus on the mystery of divine love in the most elemental aspects of our daily walk helps us to ground or locate what we are and do in something more profound than the completion of a to-do list! The result is that activity is held differently in our perceptions and in our memories. The God-stuff of our lives becomes clearer and more integral to our sense of purpose and meaning. We are not believers-who-do, but students of spiritual wisdom who grow to understand the richness and inner gift of all life, not just the select moments that our schedules set aside to ‘pay attention.’

Advent reflection is not a sudden turn to monasticism, or a wholesale separation from our engagement with the day-to-day. Rather, it is an inner choice, a decision for spiritual self-care, that allows us to nurture our capacity for divine connection, whatever the place or circumstance. This is not necessarily a matter of radical change that separates us from our current life (though some modification would probably prove quite useful!).  It is a willingness to pay attention on a more consistent basis (once today, twice tomorrow—the discipline can become infectious) to the way in which our interior focus on the God who is present can help us to redirect our energies from the completion of tasks to the re-visioning of why we are tasked in the first place. Advent is a common space in which we are called to cherish our own daily experience as part of our inheritance among those who can discover the ever-new miracle of the Messiah, the birth of Jesus as our companion and guide to life with God.

 Written by Fr. David C. Robinson, S.J., LIS Associate Director