News - May 2024

About 30 years ago, two Jesuits I know were driving through the Alaskan bush, arguing about theology—as Jesuits can do. The older Jesuit complained that the younger men were not teaching the Eskimos about transubstantiation (i.e., St. Thomas Aquinas’ explanation of how the bread and wine become the body and blood of Jesus). “Well,” said the younger Jesuit, “the truth is that I am not sure I understand that whole view of the world.” At this the older Jesuit started to sputter and yelled, “Then what do you tell people about the Eucharist? What do you believe?” The younger Jesuit looked thoughtful and said, “I believe that whatever it was that happened between Jesus and his disciples at the Last Supper, happens every time we gather around the altar and break the bread and share the cup. I am not sure exactly of how it works, or what it all means in metaphysical detail. . .but I know it’s something real and powerful that changes everything.”

The California Ignatian Advocacy Summit took place April 14 and 15 in Sacramento. Jesuit high school students, including from St. Ignatius, as well as parishioners, priests, volunteers and adult Ignatian leaders engaged directly with legislators at the California State Capitol on legislative priorities selected by the students in the fall. The focus areas were housing/homelessness, climate change and migration. See the response from St. Ignatius High school students and Advocacy Day priorities in our email newsletter and on our website under "news" or directly at stignatiussf.org/news

Reading recently about the attacks by Israeli militias on food and medical supplies destined for the starving refugees of Gaza, about the genocidal attacks against women and children in Darfur, and about the dissolution of Haiti under gang leadership, I was drawn back to a book I read more than two decades ago, describing the once unimaginable Rwandan massacres, “We Regret to Inform You That Tomorrow We Shall Be Killed With All Our Families.” This book’s title comes from a letter written to a pastor by a member of his congregation, who did not know that the pastor, at that very moment, was leading the group who was about to massacre the writer and his family. Indeed, throughout the book, there are countless stories of priests and ministers, religious women and lay leaders betraying the people with whom they worshipped—giving up their neighbors and their companions to the forces of race-hatred and the pressure of mob rule. In one particularly heartbreaking story, two Rwandan religious sisters—two nuns—were convicted of genocide for participating in the killing and burning of people who had come to them, originally, for refuge and protection. That vowed religious, dedicated to the faith of Jesus, could be involved in such horrendous acts as these should not, I suppose, surprise me—and today, sadly, it likely would not. Yet, reading this passage again, I am still struck by the defense, offered by the nuns for their actions: “We did what we could reasonably do in the situation. We are not heroes; we are just ordinary women.”

Several months ago, I had a conversation with my spiritual director that has proven invaluable. As a “doer,” and as one that too easily acts out of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, I was encouraged by her to end each day by taking just a few minutes to reflect on “how you and your colleagues made it possible for the kingdom to expand a bit more that day.” That advice has helped me notice the many places in our parish where there is vitality, growth, enthusiasm, energy, hope, and joy. It is helping me to notice those things more as I experience them, in the moment. And it leads me to consider how best to continue to steward all that God is doing among us.

On Mother’s Day, we celebrate our mothers and step-mothers, our grandmothers and godmothers, any and all whose love for us has given us life, bound our wounds, celebrated our achievements, forgiven our wrongs, lit our paths, and given us reasons to hold onto hope and life with joy. We honor those women whose love for us has been a metaphor for God’s own love for us.