The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything (20 page)

T
HAT’S
PLENTY
ABOUT PRAYER
for now. I don’t want you to think that the way of Ignatius is about nothing but hours and hours of prayer. Remember that one of Ignatius’s ideals was the contemplative
in action
.

So after all that praying, let’s stretch our legs a bit. Let’s talk about how the way of Ignatius will affect your active life, your walking-around life.

And let’s start with three ideas at the heart of the Ignatian vision that strike terror into the hearts of many readers: Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. It would be hard to find three more threatening words.

Everyone wants to avoid poverty, it would seem. Who wants to be poor? Doesn’t everyone want to be as rich, or financially secure, as possible? Work hard and get ahead, right? That’s the motivating force behind capitalism—Adam Smith’s insight that by following self-interest the common good can be best served. The Protestant work ethic and the notion that God will bless those who work diligently with financial success are parts of the warp and woof of American culture. Poverty in this framework is not only something to be avoided, it is shameful.

Voluntary poverty, therefore, sounds absurd, almost un-American to many people.

And chastity? Who doesn’t want sex? Sex is an extraordinary expression of love, and part of a healthy emotional life for most adults. But we inhabit a culture where
everything
seems to be about having sex, preparing to have sex, or trying to get more sex: prime-time television, magazine ads, popular music, movies, and the Internet. You don’t have to be a prude to admit that we live in a hypersexualized culture. In such an environment chastity is seen as a joke. Or just plain sick.

And obedience? It’s seen almost as “ridiculous” as chastity. In a culture where people rightly celebrate the freedom to do, say, and be what they want, obedience is seen as mind control or, worse, slavery. As Kathleen Norris, author of
The Cloister Walk,
has written, obedience is viewed by many people as “desirable in dogs but suspect in people.” Why would you let anyone tell you what to do or say or think? And if “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” lies at the foundation of our political system, then obedience also seems un-American to many.

In a culture that celebrates money, sex, and freedom, a religious life of poverty, chastity, and obedience is not only irrelevant but a threat—to the economy, the social fabric, our political system, and an individual’s well-being. All three should be soundly rejected, combated even, by any healthy adult. Right?

Well, not so fast.

Because those are precisely the values that St. Ignatius Loyola and the first Jesuits sought to embrace in the form of a lifelong vow to God.

Why would Ignatius do that? Why do Jesuits still do that?

W
HY
?

Ignatius did not invent the idea of poverty, chastity, and obedience. The “vowed life” was the longstanding tradition of Catholic religious orders like the Benedictines, Dominicans, and Franciscans centuries before the birth of Ignatius. (All Catholic priests and bishops are expected to live simply, but technically, only members of religious orders take formal vows of poverty.)

Why do members of religious orders do this? Let me give you just two reasons: one theological, the other logistical.

The theological reason is that members of religious orders are trying to emulate Jesus of Nazareth. While Jesus was probably born into the lower middle class, he lived his adult life like a poor man. (“The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” Jesus says in the Gospel of Luke, 9:58.)

Poverty.

And though Jesus could have gotten married, he chose not to. There are plenty of reasons to believe this statement, chief among them this: the Gospel writers mention almost every member of his family. (“Your mother and your brothers and your sisters are outside,” says someone in Mark 3:32.) So omitting mention of his wife, if he had one, would have been unlikely.

Chastity.

And though Jesus could have done whatever he wanted to, he was obedient to his Father’s will, even when it took him to the cross. (“Not my will, but yours be done,” says Jesus in Luke 22:42.)

Obedience.

Jesus was poor, chaste, and obedient. This is the main reason that members of religious orders make these vows: in imitation of Christ.

The second reason is more logistical. The three vows help with the daily life of the religious community. Poverty means that we own nothing of our own, but all things together. This makes community life simpler and encourages unity. Chastity means that we’re not married, and so we can devote more time to those with whom we minister. Obedience means that one person is ultimately in charge of things, which provides for clear-cut lines of authority. Each vow helps with the running of the community.

At this point I’ll bet you’re thinking,
Big deal
. Or maybe,
So what?
Or even,
Maybe I should skip this chapter!
You’re thinking,
I’m not in a religious order, and I have no intention of living out poverty, chastity, or obedience. What does this aspect of Jesuit life possibly have to teach me?

More than you think. In the next few chapters we’ll deal with each of those “threatening” ideas and how they can help you lead a more satisfying life. First up: poverty.

T
HE
C
AUSE OF
G
REAT
D
ELIGHT

Anthony de Mello was an Indian Jesuit priest renowned for his spiritual insights and, especially, his parables and stories. The author of many books on the spiritual life until his death in 1987, he was a popular lecturer within Catholic circles.

Some of de Mello’s parables were drawn from Indian culture, others were his own creation, still others a sort of mélange. Here’s one about a
sannyasi
(a wise man) that illustrates de Mello’s outlook on wealth and poverty. As with many of his stories, it finds its inspiration in Eastern spiritualities but is quintessentially Ignatian. It’s called “The Diamond.”

Poverty is a mystery for me. But not in the way you might think.

The mystery is why more people don’t choose to live more simply. I’m not suggesting that all people need to sell everything they own, beg for alms, let their hair and fingernails grow, and live in a cave, like Ignatius did after his conversion. (And which even he realized was excessive.) Rather, as de Mello’s parable suggests, not being controlled by possessions is a step to spiritual freedom, the kind of freedom that most people say they want.

Poverty enabled Ignatius to follow the “poor Christ” of the Gospels, to free himself from unnecessary encumbrances, and to identify with the poor, whom Jesus of Nazareth loved. As such, it was a source of joy. In a letter to the Jesuits in Padua, Italy, in 1547, who were struggling with the demands of the vow, he wrote that poverty “is the cause of great delight in him who embraces it willingly.” That surprising truth was something I discovered at the beginning of my Jesuit life.

T
HE
R
ICH
Y
OUNG
M
AN

After my eight-day retreat at Campion Center (when I thought about Jesus as a friend), I asked the Jesuits if I could enter the novitiate that same summer. Wisely, they counseled waiting for a year, until I had more experience of prayer and knew more about the Society of Jesus. Impatient, I asked them to reconsider. Eventually they agreed to let me commence the process, while cautioning that finding out so late meant I would have only a short time to quit my job, move out of my apartment, and prepare for the entrance date of August 28. So I embarked on the long process: undergoing several in-depth interviews, running through endless psychological tests, writing long essays, tracking down my baptismal records, and so on.

On August 15, the vocations director phoned to say that I had been accepted for entrance. “Is that what they mean by
getting the call?
” my sister asked dryly.

Immediately afterward, and even though this is not recommended, I started giving away all my possessions. (Most Jesuits wait until they take vows at the end of novitiate before they fully divest themselves of their possessions.)

My money and car went to my parents. My suits would sit in my parents’ house in case the novitiate didn’t work out. (I wasn’t taking any chances.) The rest of my clothes went to Goodwill Industries, which would distribute them to the poor. My books went to friends who dropped by one sultry afternoon to scour my bookshelves. “I wish more of my friends joined religious orders,” said one friend.

As I write this today, I can remember the initial burst of happiness I felt. How liberating it was! No more worrying about whether my suits were the proper shade of gray, my shoes the right brand, my ties the appropriate hue. No more worrying about whether I should rent an apartment or buy one. No more worrying about whether I needed a new this or a new that.

At Sunday Mass a few months before, the Gospel reading was of the “rich young man” who asks Jesus what is needed for eternal life. Its inclusion in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke underlines its importance for the early Christians. When Jesus tells the man to follow the Ten Commandments, the man replies, in the Gospel of Luke, “I have kept all these since my youth” (18:21). Jesus can see that he is a good person. Mark’s Gospel says Jesus “loved him” (10:21).

“There is still one thing lacking,” says Luke’s Jesus. “Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

But as Luke writes, the wealthy man “became sad.” He doesn’t want to give up what he owns. The Gospel of Mark is more poignant. “When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”

That passage is often interpreted to mean the only way to get to heaven is to sell all you own. “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” says Jesus in Mark. Consequently, this is a hard passage for many people to hear. A friend of mine once said, “I hate that story!” He felt that Jesus was making a ridiculous demand. “Who can do that?” he asked.

But as I see it, Jesus is not saying that one cannot own anything
at all
in order to be a good person. As St. Thomas Aquinas noted, “Possession of a few goods is important for a well-ordered life.” Everyone outside of monasteries and religious orders needs some possessions in order to live.

Beyond the emphasis on a simple life, Jesus is showing his intuitive understanding of what was preventing the young man from growing closer to God. He has put his finger on what Ignatius would call the man’s “disordered attachment.” To another person Jesus might have said, “Give up your status.” To another, “Give up your desires for success.” Jesus was not simply inviting the young man to a simple life; he was identifying an unfreedom, and saying, “Get rid of anything that prevents you from following God.”

As I unburdened myself that summer, I felt lighthearted. Now, as you can probably tell, there was some spiritual pride involved. (Spiritual pride is when you think,
Look how holy I
am.) But the joy had less to do with pride and more with the newfound feeling of being less burdened and more open to God.

Of course, I had to bring
some
things to the novitiate: I didn’t appear naked at the front door. The day after “the call,” the novice director phoned with a list of what items to pack: enough underwear and clothes for two years, a black clerical shirt, black pants, black shoes, and a few books if I wished. So it would be false to say that I gave away everything.

But the novitiate was a dramatically simpler lifestyle than the one I had been leading. Moving in with just a few clothes and a few books felt, well, simple. It’s similar to what you may feel when you go on vacation with just one or two suitcases. You find yourself surprised that you can live with so little. You think,
Why can’t I live like this all the time?
(As David would say, “Pay attention to that feeling.”)

Few people can, or want to, live like members of a religious order. You have to clothe yourself, house yourself, and probably need a car to drive to work. If you have children, you need even more in order to care for and nurture them. The point is not that you have to give
everything
away, but this: the more you stop buying stuff you don’t need, and the more you get rid of items you don’t use, the more you can simplify your life. And the more you simplify, the freer you will feel, and be.

There are a few reasons for this.

First, possessions cost not only money but time. Consider the time you spend worrying about what you wear. You have to think about it, shop for it, buy it, clean it, repair it, store it, replace it. The same goes for your house, your car, your furniture, your television, your appliances, your computer, and your other electronic gadgets. The less you decide to buy, the more time you have for the things that matter more.