Long cast shadows from dark basalt stone were drawn upon the long and silent hallways of Casa Loyola like woven lattice. While quiet, one could hear the echoing footsteps of a humble and restless Magdalena shuffling water and food back and forth from a warm, candlelit room. With piety and devotion, she watched over an injured, moved, and quiet Ignatius who had been transported back from his battle in Pamplona over a week’s journey. His leg had been maimed and left as an offering for the angels, which humorously left his normal 5’ 2” height even shorter. Perhaps a penance for his ego.

This Springtime of 1521 would be different for our Ignatius. Battles would be fought, not across Spain, but with God. With his will. In his heart.

     

       Convalescence stems from the Latin com (i.e., with/together) and valere (i.e., strength, valor). The active nature of convalescence is to regain health and grow strong in recovery. While bedridden Ignatius’ strength had to be re-channeled, re-framed, and renewed. Convalescence as a principle in the active tone. I need not give the complete biography of Ignatius, as he is a companion to us all, yet it must be mentioned that his reading and learning of the Life of Christ and Lives of the Saints displayed what it is truly like to “flex the muscle” of healing. Not to “yawn” or “lean back” but to stay sharp, steadfast, and saintly.

       

       In a chat last year, in one of my bi-weekly visits to a dear friend Sr. Jean’s sanctuary in the Damen Center, I asked about her past. And if you’ve ever done this, you know the depth of her wisdom. She spoke of her brothers Edmund and Raymond being involved in WWII, and she described how troubled she was to hear this, and how it would change their family dynamic forever upon their self-sacrifices in the war. Sister Jean reminded my small-minded freshman brain, that pain can be an avenue towards Holiness and towards the Sacred. A form of Redemptive Suffering. She offered me St. John of the Cross’ words, that the “purest suffering bears and carries in its train the purest understanding”.

So how do we wrestle and empathize with the drama of Ignatius’ convalescence? How do we see our story in his story? How do we find depth, in the depth he provided us?

 

       This summer I was fortunate enough to be a part of a hands on, active, and inclusive convalescence abroad. Strangely taking more of a Magdalena role than an Ignatian role. For context Myself, Dr. Mike Murphy, Dr. Claire Noonan, and Loyola leaders, clerics, and U.S. catholic university administrators came together. This pilgrimage surrounded the 80thAnniversary of the Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan. We were included by Professor Hirokazu Miyazaki a Japanese catholic and anthropologist from Northwestern who was kind enough to “host” these institutions. He was the “touchpoint” for everyone and provided arrangements of translation, bullet trains, masses and prayer services, and all the rest. Our goal: Emphasize from the perspective of the catholic church, that nuclear disarmament is necessary, and any form of maintaining nuclear weapons and of course their use is morally illicit.

 

      Coming with a strong message, qualified people, into another’s home country however isn’t the quietest or most humble approach to peace and convalescence. Fortunately, with the wisdom of our leaders, we were active in the paramount element of healing: that of listening.

Japan has endured a slow and lengthy convalescence. After the dust settled from WWII, the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki became visitation sights to discourage nuclear weapons and fighting for peace year on the world stage. This is the form of listening and long-term healing that Ignatius practiced at Casa Loyola. And after weeks and weeks of reading and practice, he truly upholds this pillar of prayer, which now stands as a pillar of his Exercises - the skill and the courage to listen for God.

 

      Our moments of listening manifested in very concrete ways across Japan. This included gathering around and listening to the “Hibakusha”- who are the few pioneers left to share personal stories of them and their families’ experiences during the atom bombings. Secondly, striking encounters of the World Peace Service in Hiroshima, where myself and two friends, Maddie and Matthew from the Notre Dame delegation made prayer and peace lanterns to send along the Motoyasu River. Thirdly, holding seminar discussion with the U.S. catholic students, and Japanese catholic students, to understand what it meant for us to be there. We brought together our views of discouragement, discussion, and a drive toward peace in their country and around the world.

 

      Interwoven between all of this, was the kindness, generosity, and acute spiritual depth of the leaders with us. This included papers and discussions by academics, sermons from clerics, and simple stories shared over sushi which were all gifts. The harvest was abundant, and the laborers were abundant! What we had fostered was a group of motivated believers, all committed to humble listening whilst striving for peace. After all, convalescence means slowness, downtime, and quiet in order to listen. And critically, in the midst of such motion and hurriedness of our group, was the reminder and the Eucharist we were brought to in the convalescent healing process.

 

      Ignatius’ Examen, one element of his spiritual froth gifted to us after his convalescence, contains the adept skill of recognizing one’s Consolation (closeness to God) and Desolation (distance from God).So in the midst of the magnetism to this region of the world I felt as an American, I was personally bound to these tragedies. Uniquely, I felt both aspects of prayer whilst there. Consolation—in that such muscle was shown by the church and other universities, to play an active role in the gradual healing, and listening, and prayer for our nations. And Desolation—in that this was different than many other pilgrimages common within my faith. This is not finding yourself on the Camino, nor journeying to and praying in Sanctuary of Lourdes or Fatima. Our destination, was, yes, a place - but more so a group of people. People whose parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents underwent a sudden, violent, transformation from those of our grandparents, great-grandparents etc.

 

      To remind you- This is what I pondered when Sister Jean reminded me of her brothers in the war, and what I could very well see in her face. As she too struggled with accepting the horrors of that time. In these consoling and not-so-consoling movements of the heart, our rooms of dialogue, exchange, and togetherness were steeped in heavy breath of the Holy Spirit. I myself occasionally apologized, for my American-ness, nations actions and history, and my ignorance of thought. But these students didn’t want that, nor seek that. They stopped me in my tracks. My friend, Ikko, said “That’s not why you are here”. And then swiftly we were getting back to work.

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      Ignatius personally taught me, and others how to listen in prayer. In his convalescence, of the stillness and the quiet hallways of Casa Loyola, in his courage (valere) to push into an unknown realm of healing and strength he never initially could have imagined. And from the wisdom of our new Doctor of the Church, John Henry Newman, Ignatius did not ask to see the distant scene. He was called to that cot, to that cold room, to that Sacred silence.

 

      My reflection upon this pilgrimage has one filled with various perspectives and simple moments. This talk isn’t meant to be a diary, nor a memoir, nor a receipt of photos or memories—rather I hope it is brought as a gift and point of view to healing and growth seldom recognized in our world today. Additionally, these moments were glimpses into the rather paradoxical “effervescent silence” that our companion Ignatius experienced, and in these moments taught me what it truly means to convalesce and heal.