Have you ever used your imagination to pray? Does that sound strange? Imaginative prayer is a core component of Ignatian Spirituality. As part of our Jesuit 101 series, read how one Jesuit entered a gospel passage in which Jesus heals a woman. You might be surprised how awesome this form of prayer can be!
Beginnings are difficult, because they render us vulnerable. But we need not simply endure them with gritted teeth; if we enter into them with an open heart, we might find God inviting us into something new.
At some point in our lives, we all confront the question, “who am I?” We need other people to help us find the answer. An Vu tells us why.
What is death? Sometimes we learn the answer to that question when one of our loved ones dies. Read about what one Jesuit learned from his friend, brother, and mentor, Fr. Michael Christiana, passed away earlier this year.
Where is God in the sadness of saying goodbye to friends and loved ones? He is in the very people we are parting from. And in saying farewell, the divine image can shine through most brightly.
God’s voice is sometimes loud and sometimes as soft as a drop of water.
For me cleaning is hectic, but it is also a heck of a lot of fun. Joyful even! Finding old objects invokes time and place, like an engraved flask I got for being a groomsman when I was a teenager. There are also pictures of friends and receipts from meals long forgotten. I am also thinking of spiritual cleanings, and the moment to examine where I am and where I have been.
It’s easy for me to offer Jesus a litany of tragedies I’ve read about in the news. I know plenty of dying parents and sick friends and incarcerated brothers worthy of my attention in prayer. But it’s amazing what young lives can teach about life and prayer when I pay attention to God at work around me.
The velorio, a gathering in the home of the deceased, is a Mexican tradition that allows loved ones to gather to share meals, memories and to mourn. And, even still, life around us is a reminder that not even death can conquer our hope.
Sometimes God can feel far away, silent, like a package we ordered but somehow got lost en route. Christopher Alt recalls how two empty tummies and a Persian poet reminds him that the gift of God’s presence can also be found in God’s absence.