“A horror movie.” That’s how Ricardo, a Jesuit friend from Mexico, described the streets of Los Angeles during a recent visit.
Families in tattered tents on Skid Row. Crazed men yelling at the shadows. Young women drifting in and out of opioid delirium. The scope and intensity of the homelessness crisis is acutely distressing: Christ, unhoused and alone, roams the streets of the great city as the well-to-do shuffle by.
“What are Jesuits doing in response?”, Ricardo was clearly insinuating, even as Jesuit social graces stopped him from asking directly. Where is the urgency that compelled Alberto Hurtado to start the Hogar de Cristo, Dorthoy Day to start the Catholic Worker?
That’s a question that weighs heavily on my heart. As a faithful Catholic convinced of Christ’s identification with the unhoused (“Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”) and a resident of California —a state which, if it were a country, would be the fifth largest economy in the word— this humanitarian crisis is deeply unsettling.
As Jesuits, we claim Jesus of Nazareth —the one routinely “moved by compassion” (Matt 14:14) to respond to the needs of others— for our patronage. How are we imitating Christ in our own response?
Last spring, I took a break from grading precalculus and statistics exams and lent a hand at one such Jesuit response to homelessness: the Ignatian Spirituality Project’s Southern California retreat.
ISP’s mission is to invite formerly homeless “to encounter God’s love, hope and healing through spiritual companionship that transforms lives”, providing a spiritual framework that supports stability, community, and resilience. The results are impressive, and deserve careful consideration from concerned citizens from all walks of life.
Out There and Back
Devin1 trembled as he began to speak to the ISP retreatants, one part nerves and one part tremor from years of life-saving mood stabilizers. He recounted a lucrative career in the gaming industry. Outside of work he sought out wild parties. Initial fun began to mix with problems. Run-ins with the law followed. Finally the fun stopped and only the problems remained.
He exhausted his savings, blew through social safety nets, and landed in the streets of Hollywood.
Gambling addiction and pills dragged him over bridges he swore he would never cross. Human connection waned. Mental and physical health followed suit. An unnamed low finally summoned LA’s beleaguered social service network—landing him a hospital bed where, like a convalescing Ignatius, he began the slow work of spiritual healing and recovery.
Devin’s testimony rang like a tuning fork in the hearts of the retreatants. His sacred story moved others to recount their own experience teetering on the void: the construction worker who was “5150’d” (hospitalized involuntarily during a psychiatric emergency) when the weight of the world became too great to bear. The retail worker who lost touch with family after the death of a loved one and began living out of their car. Stigma and painful memories faded away as they unburdened themselves of their past struggles. Clear evidence of the truth of Christ’s words: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
The group gave an understanding nod and each was strengthened by their comrades’ show of strength and hope in their darkest hours. When their own efforts had fallen short, God’s grace had carried them through. Inspired by these sacred stories of resilience, the retreatants were ready to look at the here and now and begin the innerwork that would equip them to travel their own road to wellness and wholeness.
Palatable
Street and jail minister Gary Smith, SJ, writes that the previously unhoused need “the space to confront the inner demons of self-inflicted darkness and blindness that dominated their lives.” They need, Smith continues, “the possibility to see themselves as God sees them. To find the hidden wholeness.”
Though the language is different, this goal of wholeness is largely the same as the goal pursued by intensive outpatient programs (IOPs) and partial hospitalization programs (PHPs) for behavioral health issues.
Clinical treatment programs help individuals extend grace to themselves when the sense of progress falls short of their own exacting standards (“I’m trying the best I can, that’s good enough”). Conversations and guided meditation help those in the throes of despair accept troubling thoughts rather than fight with them (“That’s how it is, and that’s the only way it can be”). The structured schedule of counseling and activities help participants and the cognitive distortions of catastrophizing and all-or-nothing thinking, building habits —both physical and psychological— that bolster resilience and stability and reduce the likelihood of future crises.
Crucially, ISP develops these dispositions in ways that are consonant with the deepest values and convictions of the formerly unhoused. Clinical interventions are ineffective if they are presented in a way that estranges participants. ISP retreats take care to avoid an overly psychological framework, opting instead for welcoming spiritual activities that connect with people from all walks of life. This helps retreatants feel at home, taking steps towards wellness and stability.
ISP retreats offer, in Ignatian parlance, a path out of the maze of spiritual desolation. The word desolation comes from the Latin de sole, meaning to be made alone, abandoned, or forsaken—an awful part of life on the streets. By helping retreatants to come to see themselves as God sees them, the group activities strengthen the bonds of kinship within the human family.
“We find that below the superficial differences of our lives,” —ISP co-founder Bill Creed, SJ, writes— “below the societal barriers between us, our common humanity runs deep. We find a new purpose in belonging to the ISP community, a community which teems with hope.” The results are transformative when we share openly in the presence of caring peers and our loving God.
More to be Done
By the end of the weekend, the ISP retreatants exuded an ease and camaraderie. They laughed more and were at greater peace with a past that had not unfolded as they had hoped. The God of their understanding was more visibly at work in their lives, strengthening their spiritual foundation and illuminating the path ahead.
Like murky water given time to settle, ISP helped retreatants see their lives with newfound clarity. As the group prepared to return to their shelters and explore long-term housing, they accepted rather than struggled with their present moment. Peace and resilience flowed from this weekend encounter with the God who is, was, and ever shall be.
From the very beginning, Ignatius insisted that Jesuit spirituality be adapted to the “circumstances of times, people, and places”. The creative, dynamic movement of the Spirit soothes and heals in ways that purely secular, technocratic approaches cannot. How many others would benefit from the chance to bring their whole selves —their values and deepest spiritual convictions— on their journey to wholeness and recovery?
As former secretary of the Jesuit Office of Justice and Ecology Ted Penton, SJ, writes, “ISP retreats provide an ecumenically-sensitive place for genuine encounter, healing, and growth.” With nearly 200,000 people currently experiencing homelessness in California —many with deep religious convictions— ISP retreats are an indispensable resource for case workers and shelter managers.
Let’s lean into this Ignatian response to the unhoused Christ on our streets. Let’s embrace the importance of faith in building strong communities and resilient spirits, working with ever greater urgency to put an end to the horror movie playing out in the City of Angels.
For other Jesuit responses to homelessness, consult: Guadalupe Homeless Project in East Los Angeles, Detroit’s Pope Francis Center, and The San Diego Jesuits’s Salon Tepeyac.
Photo by Matt Collamer.
- Pseudonyms are used for all the unhoused people mentioned in this article. ↩
