The Jesuit Guide To (Almost) Everything - James Martin [134]
Richard rejected these answers in favor of a hard look at the reality of suffering, one that only comes with the long struggle to engage in an “intelligent discussion about the complexities of where and how the Divine presence fits into our fragile and human world.”
When we are suffering, our friends will naturally want to help us make sense of our pain, and they will often offer answers like the ones Richard described. Some answers may work for us. Others may leave us cold or even be offensive. But, in the end, each of us must grapple with suffering for ourselves. And while our religious traditions provide us with important resources, ultimately, we must find an approach that enables us to confront pain and loss honestly with God.
Suffering is a mystery for most believers, but it is one that we should engage with all our minds, hearts, and souls. And the way of Ignatius can help us do so. Let me suggest how.
SOME IGNATIAN PERSPECTIVES ON SUFFERING
The Ignatian worldview accepts and highlights the traditional insights of Scripture and the Christian tradition. But it personalizes those insights by inviting you to meditate deeply on the life of Christ, to ponder how God might accompany you in your pain, and to develop new insights for yourself.
The reality of suffering is highlighted in one of the first sections of the Exercises, called the Principle and Foundation. Ignatius, after outlining the purpose of life for human beings (“to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by means of doing this to save their souls”), reminds us to strive for indifference to all created things. That means not shrinking from accepting sickness, poverty, dishonor, or even a short life. Through a variety of meditations, Ignatius reminds us that life will often present us with hardships: this is assumed in the Exercises, as it is assumed in the Christian tradition.
Indeed, two of the most famous meditations in the Exercises incorporate some traditional Christian approaches on suffering. At the beginning of the Second Week, which focuses on the life of Christ, Ignatius asks retreatants to meditate on what he terms the Call of the King. In this meditation we are asked to imagine a charismatic leader asking us to follow him or her.
First we are asked to imagine “a human king” calling us to work alongside him. These days monarchical imagery can leave some people cold. The idea of following, say, Richard the Lion-Hearted into battle may not be as appealing today as it was in the time of Ignatius. As a result, many spiritual directors suggest imagining something closer to a modern hero or heroine: I chose Thomas Merton on my first long retreat and Mother Teresa on the second.
Imagine, suggests Ignatius, your hero asking you to follow him or her. Imagine how exciting it would be to receive a personal call from your hero inviting you to join in a great adventure. Most people, were they actually called personally by their heroes—Martin Luther King, Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, Pope John Paul II, the Dalai Lama—would immediately say yes. But your hero reminds you that you need to do exactly what he does, eat the same food, wear what he wears, work where he works, no matter how difficult.
Next Ignatius invites us to imagine Jesus calling us to work beside him. If we were excited by the prospect of a hero calling us, “how much more” would we want to follow Jesus. But, says Ignatius, we need to be content to experience what Jesus experiences. “Therefore, whoever wishes to come with me must labor with me, so that through following me in the pain he or she may follow me also in the glory.”
The Call of the King reminds you, as the Gospels do, that the Christian life will always involve some suffering—something that Ignatius, Walter Ciszek, and all the saints understood.