Every year, when we celebrate the feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, I realize that many Catholics know the name of Ignatius because of the Jesuits but know surprisingly little about the man himself. Yet his life is much more than the story of the founder of a religious order. It is the story of a Christian who allowed God to transform him completely. And for that reason, his life speaks not only to Jesuits but to every baptized person.
Ignatius was born in 1491 in the Basque Country of northern Spain, the youngest of thirteen children. As a young man he dreamed of military glory, honour, and success. Holiness was the last thing on his mind. But God often enters our lives through events we would never have chosen ourselves.
In 1521, during the battle of Pamplona, a cannonball shattered Ignatius’ leg. His dreams collapsed in an instant. While recovering, he asked for books about knights and heroic adventures. None could be found. Instead, he was given a Life of Christ and the lives of the saints.
At first, he read them simply because there was nothing else to do. But gradually something remarkable happened. He noticed that when he imagined returning to his former life of fame and ambition, the excitement quickly faded and left him empty. But when he imagined following Christ like St. Francis or St. Dominic, he experienced a deep and lasting joy.
This simple observation became the beginning of one of Ignatius’ greatest discoveries: God speaks to us through the movements of our hearts. Some thoughts leave us restless, self-centred and empty. Others fill us with peace, hope and a greater love for God and for others.
This is what Ignatius later called he discernment of spirits.
Discernment is not a technique reserved for priests, monks or theologians. It is an essential part of every Christian life. Every day we are confronted with decisions, temptations, fears, ambitions and desires. Not every good-looking opportunity comes from God. Not every difficulty means that God has abandoned us. Ignatius teaches us to ask quietly: Where is this leading me? Does it draw me closer to Christ? Does it make me more loving, more free, more generous? Or does it make me more closed in on myself?
This is perhaps one of Ignatius’ greatest gifts to the Church: teaching ordinary Christians how to recognize God’s voice amid the many voices competing for our attention.
After his conversion Ignatius spent almost a year in Manresa. There he experienced both profound consolation and terrible darkness. At times he was overwhelmed by scruples and despair. At other times he experienced an overwhelming certainty that God loved him unconditionally.
There he discovered another truth that lies at the heart of Christian faith: God’s love cannot be earned. We do not deserve it by our achievements or our sacrifices. It is pure grace. Our task is not to manufacture God’s love but to receive it with open hands.
During this period Ignatius began writing notes that would eventually become the Spiritual Exercises, a small book that has helped millions of Christians over the last five centuries to deepen their friendship with Christ.
Ignatius eventually studied at several universities, enduring poverty, misunderstanding and even imprisonment. At the age of forty-three—an age when many people today think life is already settled—he gathered a small group of companions, among them Francis Xavier and Pierre Favre. Together they founded the Society of Jesus, which Pope Paul III approved in 1540.
Ignatius himself remained in Rome while his companions travelled throughout the world. He founded schools, homes for orphans, houses for women wishing to leave prostitution, and places where converts to the faith could receive instruction. When he died in 1556, the Society had already grown to more than a thousand members serving the Church on several continents.
Yet if we remember Ignatius only as an organiser or founder, we have missed the most important point. Before he was an administrator, he was a mystic.
His deepest conviction was that God can be sought and found in all things.
Not only in church.
Not only during prayer.
Not only in extraordinary experiences.
God is present in our families, in our workplaces, in our conversations, in our successes and disappointments, in our studies, our friendships, even in our suffering.
This does not mean that everything is equally good. Sin remains sin. Evil remains evil. But it means that there is no place where God cannot reach us and no circumstance in which he cannot draw us closer to himself.
For most of us, holiness will not consist in founding a religious order or becoming famous saints. It will consist in recognizing Christ in the ordinary circumstances of everyday life: in raising children with patience, caring for ageing parents, doing our work honestly, forgiving those who have hurt us, praying faithfully when prayer feels dry, and making daily choices that lead us closer to God.
Ignatius would probably tell us that sanctity is not primarily about doing extraordinary things. It is about allowing God to transform ordinary life.
One of the most beautiful practices Ignatius recommended is the daily Examen. At the end of the day, we quietly ask ourselves: Where did I encounter God’s presence today? For what can I give thanks? Where did I fail to love? And where is God inviting me tomorrow? Such a simple prayer gradually trains our hearts to recognize that God has been walking beside us all along.
Ignatius lived during the turbulent years of the Reformation. While he defended Catholic doctrine firmly, he also insisted that truth must always be accompanied by charity. He wrote:
“Great care must be taken to show forth orthodox truth in such a way that if any heretics happen to be present, they may have an example of charity and Christian moderation.”
Those words remain remarkably relevant for us here in Sweden. We are called to witness to the fullness of the Catholic faith, but always with humility, respect and genuine love for our Christian brothers and sisters.
Finally, Ignatius leaves us with a prayer that beautifully summarizes his entire life. It is not the prayer of someone who has lost everything, but of someone who has discovered that Christ is worth more than everything else:
Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my entire will. All that I have and possess You have given me; to You, O Lord, I return it. Everything is Yours; dispose of it according to Your will. Give me only Your love and Your grace, for this is enough for me.
May this prayer become our own. And may St. Ignatius teach each of us to discern God’s voice, to seek and find God in all things, and to follow Christ with generous and undivided hearts.
Dominik Terstriep S.J.
