Once a church had fallen upon hard times. Only five members were left: the pastor and four others, all over 60 years old.

In the mountains near the church there lived a retired Bishop. It occurred to the pastor to ask the Bishop if he could offer any advice that might save the church. The pastor and the Bishop spoke at length, but when asked for advice, the Bishop simply responded by saying, “I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”

The pastor, returning to the church, told the church members what the Bishop had said. In the months that followed, the old church members pondered the words of the Bishop. “The Messiah is one of us?” they each asked themselves. As they thought about this possibility, they all began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each member himself might be the Messiah, they also began to treat themselves with extraordinary care.

As time went by, people visiting the church noticed the aura of respect and gentle kindness that surrounded the five old members of the small church. Hardly knowing why, more people began to come back to the church. They began to bring their friends, and their friends brought more friends. Within a few years, the small church had once again become a thriving church, thanks to the Bishop’s gift.

Source

This sounds very Ignatian to me:

Many people cannot begin to feel the life-giving attraction for Divine Reality until they pass through the painful experiences associated with grasping at habitual enjoyment. This desperate grasping includes selfishly accumulating material wealth, arrogantly cultivating power over others, and welcoming flattery, as well as enjoying absurdly refined comforts and ever more bizarre diversions. We must unequivocally see through this deceptive surface in order to enter the depth of ecstatic Divine Enjoyment.

In fact, it is from the Hindu tradition. It just goes to show me…

[Source: Grace Notes in Philip Novak's, The World's Wisdom: Sacred Texts of the World's Religions; p.44]

You know I love Criggo.  This newspaper blooper had me roaring with laughter and is Chicago-related.

It is just a little bit naughty…

Another extract from Jim Manney’s, God Finds Us.

Ignatius recognized that God’s will is not a precise blueprint, but neither is it a vague “whatever you want” blank check. God has a “plan” in the sense that he has an idea of the kind of person you can be and an idea of the life that would bring you the most joy. The broad outlines of God’s idea are the same for everyone—to love and serve God and neighbor.

But the particulars are unique to each of us. Finding God’s will means discovering God’s unique love for us, his desire to help us grow into our most authentic selves, and the way we can best serve him and his people.

That’s why we get rid of disordered affections. It’s like a cook peeling an artichoke to get to the heart, or a sculptor chipping away at marble to find the beautiful form inside. Beneath the love of money, possessions, honor, and pride, we will find what we really want.

And here is Ignatius’s great insight. When we find what we really want, we find what God wants, too. It’s a pretty remarkable idea, so I’ll say it again: when we discover what we really want, we discover what God wants, too.

Then why do I resist God so often and so thoroughly?

Oh, yes. Sin.

Some time back, we had the song “This is the Moment” from the musical Jekyll and Hyde. Here is another song from the same show, sung by the incomparable Linda Eder.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YZtdLOo3XQ

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn’t hear the band – he could see it. In his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.

He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, “Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.”

Source

Today I want to share with you an extract from Jim Manney’s God Finds Us. Here Jim writes about finding God in all things:

Some Christian traditions emphasize God’s absence from the world. Ignatian spirituality emphasizes God’s presence. This flows from a Catholic sacramental perspective that sees God as present in the world through the incarnation of Christ. It brings God down to earth.

“Christ is found in ten thousand places,” said the Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. It also elevates earth to God; Hopkins also wrote that “the world is charged with the grandeur of God.” “Nothing human is merely human,” wrote the theologian Ronald Modras. “No common labor is merely common. Classrooms, hospitals, and artists’ studios are sacred spaces. No secular pursuit of science is merely secular.” Everything that deepens our humanity deepens our knowledge of God.

This expansive view of God’s presence should make us humble. Finding God in all things means that no doctrine, religious tradition, philosophical scheme, or devotional practice can exhaust the mystery that is God. We will never reach the end of “all things.” We can’t grasp the immensity of the cosmos or the vastness of human experience. Something will always lie outside our understanding. Something will always come along to make God present to us in a new way.

I find this all deeply consoling.

I can’t sing, I dance only under extreme duress, I can’t play the piano except in my dreams, I don’t know how to draw a circle that isn’t wobbly, and the few ceramics I’ve attempted were admired only by my doting mother! That being said, I love the arts and feel blessed to be based in Chicago where we have the Art Institute, the Lyric Opera, and a vast array of theater companies.

I am equally as drawn to the arts found around the world, especially those that can speak so deeply to the beholder. Many years ago, I was wandering through the Vatican Art Museums and I came upon the Niccoline Chapel, a small gem with fresco paintings by Fra Angelico. It was so perfectly beautiful that it took my breath away—honestly and literally.

Starting today, Loyola Press will be featuring many kinds of beauty in its series, Arts and Faith. I’ve said before that there is a desire for beauty within all of us. Explore with us the ways we find God through the visual and performing arts.

In no particular order:

1. The first flowers in Spring
2. Memories shared with families and friends
3. The sound of children laughing with wild and exuberant joy
4. The aroma of a church where incense was recently burned
5. Seeing family members after a long absence
6. Reading Jane Austen
7. Witnessing acts of bravery, kindness and generosity
8. Eating fish and chips out of a brown paper bag
9. Knowing you’ve made a positive difference in someone’s life
10. Connecting with God

I’m sure I could come up with a couple of hundred things, but these ten were the first ones to emerge.

Want to add some more?

Our own Fran got her Master’s this weekend. Way to go! A virtual round of applause is in order.