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Ad majorem Dei gloriam, daily prayer, God's will, grace, jesuits, love one another, reflection, retreat, St. Ignatius of Loyola, The Society of Jesus, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, The Spiritual Exercises
When I was in elementary school at Our Lady Help of Christians parish, it was the custom on our tests (and probably other written work) to place a small cross at the top of the page and underneath to print JMJ (Jesus, Mary, Joseph). I don’t remember being instructed each time to do what was most likely supposed to become a habit of dedicating our work to the Holy Family but I suspect for many of us it was either a desperate prayer for help or a desire to be seen as pious. Later on, as we grew into the upper grades and got more sophisticated, the letters changed to AMDG (Ad majorem Dei gloriam = for the greater glory of God). Knowing the meaning in English was easier than remembering the Latin words, at least until we got to high school. It wasn’t until much later that I learned how famous that phrase was.
Today is the feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of The Society of Jesus, commonly known as the Jesuits. The life story of Ignatius and his “society” is a great read which I will not repeat here (see “saint of the day” from www.franciscanmedia.com for the concise version) but it is clear that the influence of this man who lived from 1491 to 1556 – and died on this day – is greater today than in his lifespan because of his work that has come to be known as The Spiritual Exercises. Originally written for the Jesuits themselves, in our time the Exercises have been incorporated into the lives of people – religious and lay – throughout the world who are seeking spiritual growth. Based on the gospels and written as a four-week retreat, it is a rigorous daily commitment to prayer and reflection that can set one on a course for life. For those who cannot spend an entire month in retreat, there is “the nineteenth annotation” process, wherein each “day” becomes a week spread over 30 weeks. (much information on line).
The goal of everything for Ignatius was doing the will of God, thus the motto: Ad majorem Dei gloriam. This desire is captured in a simple, sincere prayer attributed to him that I believe may be the most profound gift we can offer to God each day.
Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will – all I have and call my own. You have given all to me. To you, Lord, I return it. Everything is yours; do with it what you will. Give me only your love and your grace, that is enough for me.
There are two adjacent ranch-style houses on our road whose owners each planted four trees in a row across their front yard. I have watched them grow over the years and sometimes wonder if it was the desire of the owners to have a lot of shade, to hide from the road or just to satisfy their love of trees. They have seemed to me as they’ve grown like a line of sentinels from one yard to the other. Because I am always driving when I pass them, I really don’t know if they are the same kind of trees; I just admire their beauty and their strength.
For some time now, the Sisters of St. Joseph, Albany Province have had as a province goal to see food as a human right and to work toward the elimination of hunger in our country and elsewhere in every way possible. Although it seems an insurmountable achievement, we work toward it as we can. Some of us write letters to our government representatives or call when legislation like the Farm Bill comes up for a vote. Some work in a soup kitchen or food pantry and at most of our province gatherings we are asked to bring a non-perishable food item in support of those volunteers and our goal. Some would call us foolish for thinking we could really achieve much progress toward realization of such a societal change as the number of children and adults who go hungry each night is astronomical (and shameful in a country such as ours). Yet we “soldier on” hoping that our voices will be heard and our attempts will change the consciousness of others in our midst.
Living at a retreat center where different groups come virtually every weekend from May to October can be a real learning experience in many ways. Some of the people have been coming for years in the same manner as people who go on vacation to the same place during the same week(s) each year and look forward to reconnecting with others who become friends for a lifetime. We get used to each other and look forward to one another from year to year, regardless of those “little personality quirks” that may have rankled at first.
Everything is so still this morning. It reminds me of the line in Paul’s Letter to the Romans where he says that “all creation is on tiptoe, waiting for the children of God to come into their own.” That image is my favorite translation because it is so visual but also because it implies for me an intense use of both ears and eyes. We won’t see it if we have our eyes closed and we won’t hear it if we’re not really listening. Even if all of our five outer senses are engaged, there needs to be an interior readiness for the in-breaking of God’s presence. I’ve come to the conclusion that it is an incremental thing, sparked either by our own silence or by a communal encounter of recognition. Deeper than silence, the stillness becomes palpable and we know something that we didn’t know before – indescribable but deeply true. Again it is John Philip Newell whose prayer suffices for this morning.
When I was baptized, the rule in the Roman Catholic Church was that only saints’ names were allowed to be given. Everyone needed a saint as a patron throughout one’s life – someone to pray to and look up to for whatever needs arose. I got lucky with my middle name: Ann. It seems no one was aware that “Lois” appeared in the Bible in one of Paul’s letters as grandmother to his young companion, Timothy! Some people questioned the spelling of Ann. “That’s the pagan way,” they would say. It didn’t matter to me because I knew that regardless of the spelling I had the grandmother of Jesus taking care of me, and pictured her somewhat like my grandmother Brigid, my mother’s mother. Even when I entered the convent at age eighteen, I felt safe having a life-sized statue of St. Ann(e) right outside the back door that we passed coming and going. It brought her and her grandmotherly softness and care around me like a hug every day.
A commentary on today’s lectionary psalm (126) suggests that it was written to express “the joyous return of the Hebrew people from exile in the East.” In the meditation that followed that commentary, there was a striking paragraph that seemed better than anything I could offer this morning so I repeat it here for your consideration.
Here’s a prayer-poem from John Philip Newell that we might might save and pull out on days when the air is heavy with the rain of the night or the scent of the soil that makes one want to go out and dig in the dirt. (Or is it just me?)
This morning’s first reading from the prophet Micah is one of the more familiar texts from the Hebrew Scriptures used in prayer services at events, especially if the audience is considering a social justice agenda. Chapter 6, verse 8 even appears on posters and is a great summary in answer to the question: “What does God ask of us?” It’s succinct, broad-based and even lyrical in its construction in most translations.
Often when I open the USCCB website where I find the lectionary readings for the day there is a line that jumps out from the page and calls for my attention. Today I didn’t have to look too deeply as it was already italicized. The sentence from chapter 12 of Matthew’s gospel has God saying, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” I thought immediately of Pope Francis and the focus early in his pontificate which has continued unabated. He even wrote a more than one book about mercy so it’s very easy to quote him on the subject. Here is something from his homily in 2013 on Divine Mercy Sunday that reminds us of the fact that even the closest friends of Jesus needed mercy for their failings – and they got it!
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 