The Jesuit Guide To (Almost) Everything - James Martin [110]
It almost didn’t happen. The first man that Ignatius wanted to send for the mission to “the Indies” fell ill. “Here is an undertaking for you,” said Ignatius. “Good,” said Francis, “I am ready.” Ignatius knew that if he sent Francis away, he might never see his best friend again.
So did Francis. In a letter written from Lisbon, Portugal, Francis wrote these poignant lines as he embarked. “We close by asking God our Lord for the grace of seeing one another joined together in the next life; for I do not know if we shall ever see each other in this. . . . Whoever will be the first to go to the other life and does not find his brother whom he loves in the Lord, must ask Christ our Lord to unite us all there.”
During his travels, Francis would write Ignatius long letters, not simply reporting on the new countries that he had explored and the new peoples he was encountering, but expressing his continuing affection. Both missed each other, as good friends do. Both recognized the possibility that one would die before seeing the other again.
“[You] write me of the great desires that you have to see me before you leave this life,” wrote Francis. “God knows the impression that these words of great love made upon my soul and how many tears they cost me every time I remember them.” Legend has it that Francis knelt down to read the letters he received from Ignatius.
Francis’s premonitions were accurate. After years of grueling travel that took him from Lisbon to India to Japan, Francis stepped aboard a boat bound for China, his final destination. In September 1552, twelve years after he had bid farewell to Ignatius, he landed on the island of Sancian, off the coast of China. After falling ill with a fever, he was confined to a hut on the island, tantalizingly close to his ultimate goal. He died on December 3, and his body was first buried on Sancian and then brought back to Goa, in India.
Dear Brothers
So that I may never forget you and ever have a special remembrance of you, I would have you know, dear brothers, that for my own consolation, I have cut your names from the letters which you have written to me with your own hands so that I may constantly carry them with me together with the vow of profession which I made. . . . I gave thanks first of all to God our Lord, and then to you, most dear Brothers and Fathers, for the fact that God has so made you that I derive such great consolation from bearing your names. And since we shall soon see each other in the next life with greater peace than we have in this, I say no more.
—St. Francis Xavier, from the Malacca Islands in 1546, to his Jesuit friends in Rome
Several months afterward, and unaware of his best friend’s death, Ignatius, living in the Jesuit headquarters in Rome, wrote Francis asking him to return home.
FRIENDSHIP AND FREEDOM
One important insight we can take from the friendships of the early Jesuits—especially between Ignatius, Francis, and Peter—has to do with the complex interplay between freedom and love.
Friendship is a blessing in any life. For believers it is also one of the ways God communicates God’s own friendship. But for friendship to flourish, neither the friendship nor the friend can be seen as an object to be possessed. One of the best gifts to give a friend is freedom.
This is a constant motif in the lives of the early Jesuits. A more selfish Ignatius would have kept Francis in Rome, to keep him company and to give him support, rather than allowing his friend to follow his heart. Shelton suggests in his article “Friendship in Jesuit Life” that the early Jesuits found their friendships to be a “secure base,” a safe place that enabled them to enjoy their lives and complete their work, rather than worry about the relationship too much.
What does this have to say to you? After all, you’re not going to lead a life remotely like