• Not Farewell But Fare Forward
• A God She Knew So Well
• "Not Fear, But Hope"
• In A Little Corner of Wales
• "The El Retiro Family"
• How Are We Redeemed?
• "For Love is Strong as Death" - Song of Solomon
• News Briefs
• The Cross: The Rightside-Up World
• The Jesuit Differentiator
• The Spiritual Exercises - Their Content and Practice
• The Influence of Spiritual Exercises on Jesuit Retreats

Executive Director's Message - Summer 2005 Newsletter

There is an inevitability about the sands of time: they run out. It may be sooner or later, but it is inevitable.

We have a certain number of years allotted to live, a number of years we give to a job, a certain amount of time we devote to a project - but everything is circumscribed by time. The decision is not always in our hands; we do not necessarily determine the temporal parameters of our lives. At times, we can. Or, we can at least contribute to the process.

Last fall, Father Provincial Tom Smolich and I began to discuss the next step for me and for the leadership of The Jesuit Retreat Center.. After seven years in this position, I considered that new blood and new energy - a new (and younger) face - would be beneficial to the retreat house, and that a return to the academic life would be an appropriate way for me to continue my service as a Jesuit. Father Smolich graciously agreed and decided to mission me to Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles where I will be the Minister for the Jesuit Community and will also teach part time in the English Department.

Father Tom Carroll was assigned to The Jesuit Retreat Center last summer, so he has been able to step in nicely: we have been working together these last weeks in order to make the transition on July 1 a smooth one.

It remains for me to fulfill a necessary, and pleasant, obligation: a word of gratitude.

John Donne said it several centuries ago, albeit in another context: “No man is an island.” If any institution is successful, it is because the people involved work together toward a common vision and are willing to sacrifice at times to ensure that vision remains alive. No one person can ensure such success.

My gratitude, therefore, to the people of The Jesuit Retreat Center: the housekeeping and kitchen staff, maintenance and gardening staff, the administrative staff - they are irreplaceable, generous, and talented. All retreatants who have been here appreciate what it takes to make them comfortable, what it takes, administratively, to create a pleasant and peaceful environment where rooms are clean, the roses are blooming, the buildings are in repair, records are carefully kept, and the meals are eagerly anticipated.

My gratitude to the Jesuit Community: a dedicated, obstreperous, prayerful and happy group of men whose one concern is for the retreatant. This is where the rubber hits the road: helping the retreatant find and build a relationship to God in such a way that the relationship will help in the building of a Kingdom of peace and of justice. In short: helping the retreatant become “another Christ.”

My gratitude to the men and women, lay and religious, who have come to join us in our work: those who have given retreats and who have spent hours in counseling sessions. Without them, we would be hard pressed to fulfill the obligations of our busy calendar.

Finally, my gratitude toward all those retreatants and benefactors who have made The Jesuit Retreat Center possible. Nothing is done, or fixed, or added without gifts. And no words - despite the many thank-you letters we send out - can say with appropriate grace how much this small place of God’s love depends on warm-hearted Samaritans.

Thank you very much - and let us pray for one another.

Executive Director's Message - Fall 2004 Newsletter

A God She Knew Well

An image has remained stuck, over the years, in my imagination.
As a young Jesuit, I was studying in New York City during a summer school, and one early morning (earlier than is possible for me now!) I walked into St. Patrick’s Cathedral to serve Mass at a side altar. The whole Gothic interior was in gloom, hushed and almost empty, waiting for the day. While kneeling in the back, I noticed a large man with a flowing coat - he must have been sweating on that hot morning - up at the front, near the main altar. He stood erect, with his head held high, his arms stiffly at his side. Every once in a while, his head moved up and down, or sideways, as if he were arguing with someone.
To my right, and off in a corner, snuggled beside a large statue (some saint? - can’t remember), stood a bent woman, but fashionably dressed. She was absolutely still. Her grey head was immobile.
Sound familiar?
It would be rash to make judgments about their respective prayers, but the image fits Jesus’ parable - a parable about how we approach God. It is also a parable about self-knowledge.
The Pharisee, so Jesus relates, walks into the temple, takes up his accustomed, and public, position and says this prayer to himself: “I thank you, Lord, for not making me like other people; on the contrary, I do everything you want me to do. Pray, give alms, follow your law. And I’m certainly not like that sinner over there in the corner.” Jesus’ hearers, of course - and he was speaking to a group of people who prided themselves on being righteous- would have applauded the Pharisee. He was, indeed, a good man. He did what was expected of him.
The tax collector, on the other hand, stands in the shadows, and asks, simply, for God’s forgiveness.
The problem is that even though the Pharisee follows the rules, he is far more interested in himself than he is in God. He is carrying on a monologue. It’s as if he is standing in front of a CEO of a powerful company, with resumé in hand, relating how well-equipped he is for the job he is applying for. And he has done it all on his own. He has earned the position. And because he has sculpted himself so well, he can afford to dismiss any other applicants as being obviously unworthy. He has no idea who God is.
The tax collector knows God. He therefore knows he is a sinner. And because he recognizes who he is, he can more readily reach out to God because he is doing so from the dimmest corridors of his heart. He accepts that everything he is, everything he hopes for, is grace. He has earned nothing. What he brings to God on his own is a blighted heart that needs the love he trusts will be his.
There is a circularity in our lives, in our relationship to God. We cannot know God unless we know ourselves; and we cannot know ourselves unless we know God. This bouncing back-and-forth is a constant in our prayer. It is the way we grow in total self-knowledge: that is, in knowing how God fits comfortably into the crevices of our lives - and, perhaps more tellingly, how we fit into the crevices of God’s life.
The elderly lady in St. Patrick’s fit well into the corner of that cathedral. In silence, she was engulfed by the gentle love of a God who knew her well.

Not Fear, But Hope
Executive Director’s Message Summer 2004 Newsletter

“Perfect love casts out fear” 1 John 4:18 -

Christians have one guidepost: Jesus Christ. He is the Way and the Truth and the Life. He is God and therefore the way to God; what he speaks we can rely on, and all human understanding finds its meaning in him; and we share his life of forgiveness, service and love.
In personal crises, we have to struggle to keep that guidepost I mind. But - even if more troubling - we have to keep him in mind in social and political crises.
I do not use this space for political comment; it’s important, I think, in the light of the work we do here, to avoid partisan posturing. Our spotlight is on Jesus, on the relationship of love we build with him, and how deeply he affects our lives. But it is precisely because of that relationship, and what it means in our practical decision-making, that I make a comment I hope is not partisan but has reference to us all.
Last week, I was driving down 280 into San Jose and a large van slowly passed me on the left. It moved in front of me, and on the back was a large American flag. Under the flag were the words, in caps and big enough for any satellite to notice, “FEAR THIS!”
Presumably, there is a legitimate fear that serious enemies should seriously experience when attacking this country. They fear retaliation, they fear the devastating and violent consequences of war. We ourselves should fear those consequences. Poland feared Hitler and the sign of the swastika. America feared the planes flying over Pearl Harbor. And, yes, the North Vietnamese feared the American helicopters. Fear is a natural concomitant of war.
But do we really want to tell the world that they should fear the American flag? Does that represent our status in the world community? Is this what we, as a world power, have come to? Does any American feel comfortable about our engendering fear in other peoples?
The flag of our country represents freedom, justice, the protection of human rights, the value of the individual, a sanctuary for the persecuted: Are not these the things we want other people to honor, and not fear? The flag has represented an attempt to establish order and civility and peace; we know, especially since the hard wars on our own land, how difficult a task that is. But to many peoples - we must be honest - it unfortunately seems now to represent military power, the power to coerce and dominate. The flag has not lost its luster, it still brings to mind the first, ringing sentence of the Declaration of Independence, but do we really want it to engender fear?
It is easier, and less ambiguous, for an individual to follow the Beatitudes than a government. Granted. It seems more appropriate for people to love one another than for countries to love one another. Granted. Governments are in the business of justice and must, righteously, protect their citizens. But is it not appropriate for a government - a flag - to offer the world hope rather than fear?
One major lesson we imbibe from the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola is that of hope: all the meditations lead to the resurrection and to the consolation that because Jesus has a future, so we all do. Once again, he is the guidepost. He points the way to a future that can only be prepared for by working on the present; by examining our motives; by struggling for peace; by a sincere effort in prayer that will attune us to wisdom.
The prayer of hope will give us a voice - the echo of the voice of Jesus - that will call for compassionate justice.
The flag is not a Christian symbol, and we should not turn it into one. But it is a symbol of freedom for all Americans, and freedom is the beginning of hope. Let us be sure it is also a symbol of hope for our world.

Executive DIRECTOR'S MESSAGE
"The El Retiro Family"
From Fall 2003 Newsletter

Several years ago, on a bleak November morning, I woke up a bit later than planned. I was staying at a small hotel in San Sebastian, in Spain, and wanted to catch a bus to Azpeitia so I could visit the nearby Loyola Castle - the ancestral home of Ignatius Loyola. I skipped breakfast and ran down the street with camera bag over my shoulder, hoping I’d jump on the right bus.
An hour and a half later, after wandering in and around some beautiful, green, low mountains, the bus arrived at the small town square, and from there I walked to the castle, two kilometers away. When I arrived at the mammoth structure, I couldn’t find anyone to show me around. The place was deserted. I did discover the original “Casa de Loyola,” which is actually enclosed in the larger structure built in the seventeenth century, and just walked in.
I was completely alone in the silent, old castle: a square, four-story stone and brick building with wooden beams. Most of the rooms, including the room where Ignatius convalesced from his wounds at Pamplona, have been turned into chapels - and rather ornate chapels at that.
It was, indeed, silent, but the silence spoke clearly of a man who, in those rooms, found God.
It is a cliché to say roots are important. But they are. For us Americans - who are the world’s adolescents - it’s important to walk the lanes and fields the saints have walked and to worship at the altars where they have worshiped. It situates our prayer, encourages it - maybe even makes it more real.
It is important to trek through the past in order to discover the roads which have led each one of us to this place and this moment. It makes us conscious of how we have come to be what we are.
I was particularly moved, not by the Baroque encrustations of well-meant artists, but by a small oratory, almost a hole in the wall, which was left relatively untouched and had been used by the Loyola family as their place of worship. It was there that Francis Borgia said his first Mass, and preserved in a glass case on the wall is the chasuble his sister made for him for that Mass. The carving above the altar and the painting of the Annunciation are exactly as they were in Ignatius’ time.
And I thought, “Here is my family. The voices I hear, the spirits that wander these rooms and stand here at this altar, belong to me; I am a part of their life.”
The term “family” is analogical, of course. But it is appropriate. When we experience a close-knit relationship with a group of people, we inevitably use that word because the relationships are similar to the ones we have known from our earliest years: warm and accepting, nurturing; loving. And when that experience is tied to a place - a family home, a vacation spot, a church/parish community - our emotions and history are further enriched.
Perhaps that is why we can speak of the “El Retiro Family.” Ours is a place where groups of people come each year to experience and nurture a special relationship - with God. That experience binds us to a group and to a geographical locale. To come here is often, as retreatants say, like coming home.
I didn’t go to Spain to find my spiritual roots, and I didn’t expect to find anything more at Loyola than an architectural relic. But I discovered ghosts around me in that dark, small and silent oratory. I recognized Ignatius in that silence. He reached forward, and I reached backward, and I thanked him for welcoming me to his family.

Such a journey and such knowledge help us to build strength and purpose for the particular family we work with and work for. That is the task for all of us here at El Retiro - of all who have lived here and who have worked here and prayed here, who have given their time and resources to build this home of peace.

Executive DIRECTOR'S MESSAGE
How Are We Redeemed?
From Winter 2003 Newsletter

Liturgically, we are now between the two great celebrations of our faith: Christmas and Easter - the Incarnation, and Christ’s Death and Resurrection. Obviously these events comprise one great mystery: the Redemption. The Son of God became human, died and rose from the dead, and because of this we, too, look forward to rising, and living our life with the Lord.
Because of this. . . . What does that mean, exactly? How is it that because Christ lived and died, we can turn to the Lord and be forgiven, and we will overcome death as Jesus did?
We are all familiar with the metaphors from Scripture: Jesus is our ransom, we have been redeemed: we have been bought back, as some would say, from a world of evil by the blood of the cross. Jesus’ suffering and death made up for our sins and, in a sense, stood bail for them. As in all metaphors, there is a deep truth there: Jesus lived through pain and loss, suffered what we suffer, and was able to incorporate in himself all of our own suffering and weakness and even sin - and offer all of that to the Father. But it is not wise to take a metaphor too literally: God the Father did not turn over his Son, as a ransom, to the devil; that would make the Father a sadist.
This metaphor gives rise to other distortions. If God willed Jesus to suffer for all of human evil, then the more suffering, the better; the more blood, the more evil is dissipated. A whole piety can be built up emphasizing the enormity of the suffering, to balance the enormity of human evil. The “ransom” has to be sufficient for the crime.
Remember, too, that our apprehension of any theological truth is always partial; we are never in complete command, at any one point in history, of the fullness of God’s revelation. We have it, but we don’t always comprehend it completely (otherwise, we’d be God). In the last 2000 years, we have, through the guidance of the Spirit, deepened our knowledge of revelation; doctrine has developed. And in the next 2000 years we shall deepen it even more.
I would like to suggest that we look at the “Redemption,” not in a new way, but by deepening our knowledge of another Scripture strain: Jesus says to the Apostles, “I will send you my Spirit to abide in you,” and “Abide in me and I in you.” Or “Eat my body, drink my blood.” And his farewell words at the Ascension: “I am with you.”
This is at the heart of our faith, that Jesus’ Spirit lives in us. Do we understand what that means? We’re not talking pantheism, where we become something other than what we are; we remain human, and we remain individuals. But there is a Life in us which vivifies our days and cleanses our hearts. There is truly a divine Life, the Spirit, that is joined to our spirit.
Now let me quote from Bishop John Heap, retired Auxiliary Bishop of Sydney, Australia: “Since Jesus was human, he had to die. That is the end of all human beings as far as earthly life is concerned. Since this human being who died was God, this human being had to rise to be with God forever. Our natural end is death, but if the divine Spirit of Jesus is united to our spirit and lives in our being, then the outcome of our death will also be eternal life with God” (italics mine). (“A Love That Dares to Question,” p. 44.)
Our Redemption, in others words, is a result of Jesus’ life in us, a life that cannot die - and that life never leaves us. So neither do we die. Each one of us will have an Easter morning.

Executive DIRECTOR'S MESSAGE
“FOR LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH”  - Song of Solomon
From Fall 2002 Newsletter

Two things have been on my mind in recent weeks: the unexpected death of a friend, and a wonderful book I read about a month ago, The Fifth Season, by Robert C. S. Downs. 

The book was recommended by a Jesuit classmate - a hefty reader - and is an exploration of how a son copes with the gradual disintegration of his parents.  His mother has Alzheimer’s and his father has heart disease.   He cannot help his mother because his father will not admit his wife is fumbling before him; and he cannot help his father because his father will not speak about his own disease.   It is, yet, a book full of love. 

My friend, another Jesuit classmate, died of cancer this past summer.  After surgery, it was supposed to have been arrested.  But on a tour with former students, far from his home in Taiwan, he fell ill and died within two days.  Fortunately, a co-worker - a missionary brother - was also on vacation in a neighboring town and was with him when he died.  He held his hand and said, “Dave, this is the moment you have been waiting for, put your whole life in His hands.”  And Dave responded, “Yes, I put my life in His hands.”  He died a few minutes later.

In the book, death is resisted, denied a reality, until - well, you have to read the book.  Suffice it to say that a deep expression of love makes it possible to admit the unthinkable.  And Dave’s death showed clearly that his love for the Lord made possible the grace to see his death as an opening into life. 

It is a truism that our culture cannot accept the possibility of death, unless it is hyped as violence and becomes part of the entertainment industry.  It is trivialized.  The media make a great deal of money on death; but it’s not real, it’s fake bombs and fake blood.   Everything is appearance.  And your own appearance has to be young and beautiful because that will prevent your death: young and beautiful people do not die.  When they do - James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, John F. Kennedy, Jr. - they become mythic because it is all so extraordinary!  

But Christianity, once again, and always, is counter-cultural.  Recall what Elizabeth Barrett Browning once wrote: “‘Guess now who holds thee?” - ‘Death,’ I said.  But there/ The silver answer rang. . . ‘Not Death, but Love.’” 

We have lost that connection between love and death.  But that’s what Jesus’ death was all about: trying to teach us how to love.  He is saying, “Look, when you love someone, you give yourself; you give up control and become vulnerable - here, on the cross, I have given up everything to show you how it is done.  I open my arms to my Father in this final act of love for you.”  And then he says, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

We all know that real love between two people exists only if there is a mutual giving up of preferences, of the self.  Total love is a total self-giving.   Death is really only the ultimate act of self-giving.  The last act of love we make.

Executive DIRECTOR'S MESSAGE
News Briefs (No Homily This Time!)
From Summer 2002 Newsletter

Well, just a small homily. 

A democracy cannot survive without an educated citizenry.   And a democracy that truly believes in and supports human rights, the need for personal and corporate justice, and the intrinsic value of human life, cannot survive without a citizenry that acknowledges the love of a God who establishes the value of that life.   God has to be part of the national discourse if laws are to be just.  The sacredness of life has to be honored if a nation is to care for its citizens.

That’s why we believe so strongly in Catholic education.   Its work is to be a yeast of grace for our human community - a community that can often get lost in selfishness and isolationism. As the 34th General Congregation of the Society of Jesus says, it is the Jesuit mission, including our schools, to bring “the counter cultural gift of Christ to a world that prizes prestige, power, and self-sufficiency.”

One element of that education is the opportunity to take time off, as Jesus often did, to pray and to reflect on one’s ambitions and relationships.  An opportunity to go off into the proverbial desert (though Los Altos is hardly a desert) and make a retreat.  It is gratifying to see so many students of the Catholic schools in the area come to El Retiro and spend serious time with the Lord.   Their stories are included in both our last newsletter and the present one.

And now the news item: It is also a good thing for Catholic educators to make a retreat, so we are devising a special mid-week retreat in August of 2003 (we plan ahead!) for the teachers in both the elementary schools and high schools of the diocese.  They are a dedicated community, needing their own time away with the Lord, and they have their own special concerns that need to be addressed.  More information will be available as preparations are made.

Second news item: The handicapped lift for Rossi Chapel has been completed.  We think it fits into the terrain nicely, without detracting from the beautiful architectural simplicity of the Chapel.  We are grateful to Gene Coogan and his daughter, Kathy Barretto, for a large gift that made it possible.  Many thanks to the foundations and individuals who helped to pick up the tab - and, of course, to all those who contributed to the Annual Appeal for this project.   Many people will be grateful.

Third news item: A St. Francis of Assisi shrine has been built up at St. Robert’s, taking the place of an old garage.  Now the retreatants up there will have a place of their own.   Once the bougainvillea are spread out, there will even be quiet shade.  Thanks, again, to Gene Coogan and Kathy Barretto, and also to two anonymous donors whose generosity has recently pulled us out of some tough spots.

No institution can remain static: it has to preserve its core identity and then adapt and grow.  New retreats, new audiences, new capital projects - all these help us expand the influence of God’s grace.   

Executive DIRECTOR'S MESSAGE
The Cross: The Rightside-Up World
From Winter 2002 Newsletter

Recall an incident from the Book of Numbers: The Israelites are in the desert; they have to by-pass hostile territory, so the journey is going to be prolonged even further.   They’re never going to reach the Promised Land.  Tempers flare; they complain not just to Moses this time, but to God also.  They’re tired of the manna, and the dust; their bones ache.  

So the Scriptures say God punished them for their grumbling by sending among them deadly saraph serpents.  Their primitive understanding of God was even more limited than ours is.  They thought God directly caused everything: the serpents were God’s punishing hand.  We understand better that God is Love, God does not punish - rather, God calls us continually to respond to Love.

But they repent and beg for a cure, so Moses fashions a bronze serpent, ties it to a stake, and lifts it up for all to see.  If they look on it, they are healed.   That serpent has remained a symbol for healing: it is, for example, the logo for the American Medical Association. 

More significantly for us Christians, it is also a symbol for Christ.  In John’s Gospel, Jesus says, “When you lift up the Son of Man, you will come to realize that I AM.”  Though there are several alternate translations for this difficult passage, the general meaning is agreed upon: Jesus is saying that he has the authority of his Father - something his hearers find astonishing - and that he will be lifted up as a sign of his authority.

As we approach Lent, this is good to remember: Jesus, lifted up on the cross, is first of all a sign of healing.  We look on the cross, and as the Israelites were healed by looking at the brazen serpent, so we are healed. 

Second, the cross is a sign of authority.  It was difficult for the apostles and for Jesus’ friends to accept that the cross could be anything but a sign of degradation.  But in  the Roman world, it was a criminal’s throne.  In the first centuries of the early Church, the cross was not visible and was certainly not a symbol of Christianity; it was considered disgusting, a sign of contempt and of bizarre cruelty - a humiliating and embarrassing way to die.  So the early Christians found it hard to advertise, as we do now, that their Lord died in this way, as a despised criminal.  We wear the cross around our neck - unthinkable in the early years of the Church.

But, paradoxically, Jesus is telling his hearers that it is through the cross - being lifted up - that his words and his life will attain true authority.  The cross will give power to his teaching.   His death will give life to everyone.

It is now a commonplace, is it not: people are often willing to die for what they believe in - die in New York skyscrapers, in the mountains of Afghanistan.  And different cultures determine differently who the heroes are and who the criminals are.  But our religion urges us to consider that the motivation behind any selfless act must be love - just as Jesus’ motivation was love.  Not destruction, not revenge, not coerced conversion, and not righteousness.

The Jesuit Differentiator

 This article is the first in a three-part series.  In the next issue of the Newsletter, we will examine the content and practice of The Spiritual Exercises.  In the following issue, we will consider how these The Spiritual Exercises influence Jesuit retreats.

 What is the specialty, focus, and distinguishing feature of every Jesuit retreat house?  What is the Jesuit differentiator?  The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius.

Sitting in quiet and contemplation in Rossi Chapel, retreatants are inspired by the stained glass window above the altar depicting St. Ignatius in the cave of Manresa, documenting his spiritual quest—a document that later became The Spiritual Exercises.  What is frequently not observed is the Latin phrase across the bottom of the window:  St. Ignatius Loyola, Exercitiorum Spiritualium Omnium Patronus Coelestis. Translated, this reads as follows: St. Ignatius Loyola, Heavenly Patron of All Spiritual Exercises.  The Catholic concept of a retreat stems from these Exercises.

So what are The Spiritual Exercises and how did they come about?  Born in the Basque province of Azpeitia in 1491, Iñigo de Loyola was a soldier and a man of the world, reportedly given to gambling and swordplay.  Wounded defending the fortress of Pamplona against the French in 1521, he was sent back to the castle of Loyola to recuperate.  Bored during his recovery, he resorted to the only books in the castle:  one on the life of Christ and one on the saints.  This experience was the beginning of his conversion and the beginning of spiritual discernment.

His search for spiritual growth continued, and by the age of 33, he had determined to study for the priesthood.  In 1522 while on a pilgrimage, he stopped along the river Cardoner at a cave near the town of Manresa.  Intending to stay only a few days, he remained there for ten months.  It was there at Manresa that he began to document his spiritual experiences, a practice similar to the spiritual journaling that many do today.

Tranformed as he was by the experience at Manresa, he could not refrain from sharing this experience. While studying at the University of Paris, he directed fellow students for 30-day periods in the process of spiritual growth that he had developed at Manresa, the process that we now call The Spiritual Exercises.  Eventually he and the five friends he had directed in these Exercises decided to place themselves at the disposal of the Pope for whatever he wanted them to do, not as a religious order, but as individual priests.  It was not until 1539 that they decided to form a community.  On September 27, 1540, Pope Paul III gave formal approval to the new Society of Jesus.

The Spiritual Exercises which marked the beginning of Iñigo’s conversion and which were the foundation for the Society of Jesus are still key in the formation of a Jesuit and still basic to the Jesuit ministry.

To make these Exercises a part of your prayer life, plan now to attend a special retreat, The Spiritual Exercises of The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius on May 4-6.

The Spiritual Exercises - Their Content and Practice

 This article is the second in a three-part series.  In the previous issue of The El Retiro Accent, we looked at The Spiritual Exercises as the Jesuit differentiator.  The final article in the series will appear in the next issue and will consider how The Spiritual Exercises influence Jesuit retreats.

 It has been said that if you cut a Jesuit, he will bleed The Spiritual Exercises.  However, most non-Jesuits, unless they have been directed in the practice of the Exercises, have not developed that kind of intimacy.  One of the first steps in getting a grasp of The Exercises is to understand that The Spiritual Exercises is the title of the book that resulted from the journal St. Ignatius kept during his ten months in the cave near Manresa, and it is also the term used in reference to the practice of making a retreat based on The Exercises.  In this article, we will consider the form and content of the book and also the practice of The Exercises. 

      The Spiritual Exercises, although readily available at Catholic bookstores, would not be called “an easy read.”  It is not a book of popular devotion or something to be read through.  It is a manual of directions for a retreat director.  Initially, Ignatius wrote in his journal how God was leading him in prayer.  He, like many people who journal today, may not have noticed the pattern of God’s leading until he read his journal later.  What we do know is that he continued to work on The Spiritual Exercises for many years, adding refinements and suggestions for its use.  Substantially, The Spiritual Exercises remains the same today as when Ignatius completed it, divided into four “weeks” or sets of meditations around a theme:  Week 1:  Sin and Redemption; Week 2:  The Public Life of Jesus; Week 3:  The Passion; and Week 4:  The Resurrection. 

      While the book has remained the same, the practice has evolved in two significant areas: the imagery and the time used for the retreat.  The imagery used by St. Ignatius when he was directing The Exercises was the imagery common to him, a knight and a soldier: medieval military metaphors.  The imagery used by spiritual directors today has been adapted to be more meaningful to present day lifestyles.  The adaptations related to timing were made to enable busy people to experience at least an introduction to The Exercises.  To progress through the full series of meditations takes about 30 days with about 5 hours of contemplation every day.   The adaptations permit an 8-day, 5-day, or even a weekend retreat focused on The Exercises.  Aside from these practical adaptations, The Exercises are practiced as they were in the sixteenth century.  Then, as now, a retreatant practicing The Exercises meets with a director once a day to discuss the previous day’s experience and receive guidance regarding material from the Scriptures for prayer and consideration during the next day.  This pattern proceeds, just as when Ignatius directed The Exercises, for the entire retreat.

While The Spiritual Exercises are fully recognized and accepted today as a means of union with Christ, growth in prayer, and discernment of God’s will for us, it has not always been so.  Ignatius began directing others in The Exercises without Church approval.  Because he was a layman teaching the practice of prayer without a degree or license, he encountered significant resistance—even a stay in prison—from the Church, especially from the Inquisition.  However, after a long struggle, his humility and constancy were rewarded when Pope Paul III finally approved The Spiritual Exercises in 1548, eight years before Ignatius’ death.

      Every retreat directed by a Jesuit is influenced by The Spiritual Exercises.  However, some retreats are specifically designed to lead retreatants to develop their spiritual life as St. Ignatius taught.  This year, we have included in our new schedule several such retreats.  If you would like to learn more about The Spiritual Exercises, we invite you to attend one of these retreats. You will find them under the heading “Ignatian Spirituality Retreats” both on our printed schedule (enclosed) and on our website, www.elretiro.org.

Further information about St. Ignatius and The Exercises is available on the U.S. Jesuit Conference website at www.jesuit.org, and you may access an on-line Ignatian-like retreat on the Creighton University website, www.creighton.edu.

The Influence of The Spiritual Exercises on Jesuit Retreats

This article concludes the three-part series on The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius.  The first article focused on The Spiritual Exercises as a Jesuit Differentiator, the second on The Content and Practice of the Exercises.  We hope you found this series interesting and informative.

      “The Exercises are so much a part of us that we hardly reflect on their influence,” says Fr. Bernie Bush.  “Jesuits view the Exercises as a pattern - simple, but powerful - that informs all we do.  The Jesuits call it, ‘our way of proceeding.’” 

      Jesuits make the full 30 days of the Exercises at least twice in their lives and then make the abbreviated, 8-day version every year, so the dynamic of the Exercises necessarily informs not only their lives, as Fr. Bush suggests, but determines to a great extent how they direct retreats themselves.  This is true for any person, to a greater or lesser degree, who makes the Exercises and then is asked, in turn, to direct others.

      This dynamic, which we looked at in our last issue - generally, proceeding from a consideration of sin and our need for salvation, to a consideration of how we are saved through Christ’s redemptive act - works for any length of retreat.  For our weekend retreats, for example, retreat directors may design a series of talks that are specifically inspired by the steps laid out in Ignatius’ manual: a conference on our sinfulness, another on the Incarnation, a couple on the Public Life of Jesus, one on the Passion and one on the Resurrection - with variations. 

Or, with more latitude, directors may use the parables of Jesus as theme and content, but preserve the basic dynamic: the first conference on the Pharisee and Publican, showing the different approaches to personal sin; conferences on the Prodigal Son or the Lost Sheep to show God’s forgiveness, made possible for us through the grace of Jesus’ journey through his life and through the Paschal weekend; a conference on the Mustard Seed to show that the Kingdom, which is God’s dwelling in us, reaches and nurtures everyone; another on the parable of the Good Samaritan to urge us to share our grace with others; and finally, perhaps, one on the Good Shepherd from John’s gospel to indicate the peace and joy that can come from giving ourselves completely to the Lord.   The underlying rhythm is there: from an experience of need to an experience of joy in Christ.

      In all cases, whether in privately-directed retreats or in group retreats, the Exercises are Scripture-driven, and they circle around Christ’s life, passion, and death.  That experience gives meaning to the Exercises, because it gives meaning to our lives.

      The success of the Exercises does depend on a person’s basic motivation.  As Fr. Jerry McCourt says, “Ignatius was a practical man, and he wrote for a practical purpose: he wanted retreatants to understand that God has a plan which can be discerned and followed, allowing one to lead a centered life.  To be effective, though, one must be a person of prayer and discernment.”

Of course, each person who experiences the Exercises responds in a personal way.  But as Fr. Jim Hanley says, “St. Ignatius’ vision at La Storta, in which he was asked to walk with and complete the mission of Christ, is crucial to the meaning of the Exercises; a retreat is not, therefore, self-centered.  Ignatian spirituality is apostolic.  We’re expected to work with Christ for others.”