The Jesuit Guide To (Almost) Everything - James Martin [126]
A few years later, however, Francis Cardinal Spellman, the powerful archbishop of New York, saw to it that Murray was named an officialperitus, or expert, at the Second Vatican Council. There the previously silenced Murray would serve as one of the architects for the Council’s “Declaration on Religious Freedom,” which drew on Murray’s earlier, banned work and clearly affirmed religious freedom as a right for all people. Toward the end of the Council, John Courtney Murray, along with other scholars who had been silenced, was invited to celebrate Mass with Pope Paul VI, as a public sign of his official “rehabilitation.” Murray died a few years later, in 1967.
Maybe you’re reading about those two Jesuits and thinking, That’s ridiculous! or Why didn’t Drinan continue with his political career? or Why didn’t Murray write what he wanted to write? Indeed, some Jesuits have decided that they cannot abide by their vows and have left to say or do what they feel they must.
What enabled men like Drinan and Murray to accept these decisions was the trust that God was somehow at work through their vow of obedience. Through their vows, offered freely to God, they believed God would work even if their superiors’ decisions seemed illogical or unfair or even foolish.
The stance is similar to the seriousness with which couples take their marriage vows during rocky times. Often in marriages, unhealthy, hurtful, or destructive situations must be confronted and changed. But through it all, the couple trusts that though their marriage is turbulent (or seemingly dead) and seems to make little earthly sense, their vows remain a sign of God’s covenant with them, a symbol of the sacredness of their commitment and a reason to trust that God will see them through. The vows are part of one’s relationship with God, and one trusts that God will fulfill his part of the deal.
The vow of obedience rarely leads to situations that are so painful. Most of the time the vow is easy, and most Jesuits begin their new missions with alacrity. And even in cases when they don’t agree with the wisdom of the decision at the moment, the wisdom is often appreciated in retrospect, sometimes many years later.
At one point in my formation, as I had mentioned, I fell in love. It happened in East Africa, not long before I was about to continue on to theology studies. At the time I had completed all the necessary paperwork and had been accepted into a graduate theology program, as my peers had been.
When I told my provincial, in a phone call, about how confusing it had been to fall in love and that it had briefly caused me to call into question my vocation, he decided that it would be better to delay my theology studies for another year.
It was a crushing disappointment. For one thing, my friends knew I had already been approved for theology studies. My provincial’s decision meant that I would have to admit the delay. Mostly, I worried, was this a sign that I was being asked to leave the Society? Had I failed the Jesuits?
It was the closest I ever came to leaving the Jesuits. Why stay if I can’t do what I want to do? Why stay in the face of embarrassment? Why stay if the Jesuits didn’t (seemingly) want me? This was how I falsely interpreted things: after all, the provincial had said not a word about my leaving.
Confused, I met with my spiritual director, a prayerful and kind-hearted Jesuit. George spent many years as a science teacher and late in life had rediscovered the Spiritual Exercises. At age seventy, he accepted a new assignment at the Jesuit retreat house in Nairobi, where I saw him for spiritual direction every month. He was an avuncular man with snow-white hair, a broad smile, and an affinity for royal blue cardigans. Simply being in his presence was a balm for my spirit. There were few people I respected more.
Or was more grateful for. Once, when I contracted mononucleosis