I propose to compare the Ignatian practice of imaginative prayer with Lectio Divina (Latin for “divine reading”), the latter rooted in Benedictine spirituality and incorporated into Anglicanism through the tradition’s monastic influences. Ignatian contemplation relies on the creative imagination and the senses to enter into biblical scenes, whereas Lectio Divina centers on attentive reading and meditation on words and phrases that the Holy Spirit highlights from Scripture. By contrasting these two approaches of praying with Scripture, I hope to illustrate how I exist between both Catholic and Protestant traditions, integrating the wisdom of the early church and that of the Reformers in the Anglican via media (Latin for “middle way”). More broadly, I aim to show how these streams of Christian prayer embody distinct understandings of Scripture, imagination, and human flourishing, particularly in light of Ignatian humanism.

 

      Ignatian contemplation, as taught by St. Ignatius of Loyola in the Spiritual Exercises, invites practitioners to immerse themselves in a Gospel scene, placing themselves within its setting and allowing the story to unfold around them. They can choose to follow an existing

character, create and become a new character, or simply be themselves. Engaging the imagination is crucial to the experience, as they must bring their attention to all aspects of the chosen scene, the “sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and feelings” (O’Brien). Ignatian humanism is evidently present in this practice, as it centers on the intimate experience of the human person communicating with God and entering deeply into the biblical narrative, even allowing the Holy Spirit to lead them “beyond the text” (O’Brien). Rather than reading Scripture in order to determine its original meaning, this humanist approach focuses on the person encountering the passage and how it moves them—what it stirs within their spirit.

 

      Anglicanism is generally more acquainted with Lectio Divina, a practice that shares similarities with Ignatian imaginative prayer while differing in method and emphasis. Lectio Divina emerged in monastic communities in the early centuries of the church and was later

shaped by St. Benedict in the 6th century, giving it much older roots than formalized Ignatian contemplation (Contemplative Outreach). Monasticism entered England as early as the 4th century with figures such as St. Ninian, and from that time the English Church has been deeply marked by monastic practices—so much so that in certain periods abbots held more authority than bishops (Hale 2). Because Lectio Divina arose out of this Benedictine monastic tradition, it naturally became a significant devotion within Anglican spirituality.

 

In practice, Lectio Divina does not rely as heavily on imagination as Ignatian contemplation, as it simply requires practitioners to focus on a word or phrase from a Scripture passage that speaks to the heart. In this way, people are less encouraged to follow their creative

mind down a path leading to the creation of a new scene, but rather to simply meditate on words that comfort or convict the heart. Benedictine stability is a central facet of the monastic tradition and, by extension, of Lectio Divina. This stability shapes the practice of Lectio Divina by grounding prayer in contemplation of God within one’s immediate environment—the words on the page of Scripture—rather than, as in the Jesuit mission, by going “anywhere for God,” into the depths of imagination and the world. Anglicanism has always had a Benedictine bend emphasizing communal life and worship, notably with its Book of Common Prayer. Of course, the Jesuits engage in similar communal practices as a religious order, but their cohabitation is more tangential to their real goal to be “compassions on a mission,” and to teach and work for justice to the greater glory of God.

 

      What one is able to take away from their contemplative prayer is also dependent on which form they are using and ultimately which tradition they adhere to. In the Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius lays out guardrails to guide any sort of contemplative prayer or use of

Scriptures. The first rule states, “We must put aside all judgment of our own, and keep the mind ever ready and prompt to obey in all things the true spouse of Christ our Lord, our holy mother, the hierarchical church” (Ignatius of Loyola). Essentially, any sort of private discernment of what Scripture says is secondary to what the Magisterium of the Church teaches. In the thirteenth rule, Ignatius writes that “what seems to me white, I will believe black if the hierarchical church so defines” (Ignatius of Loyola). The Jesuit Order’s Roman Catholic orientation restricts the personal experience of the practitioner who uses imaginative prayer. St. Ignatius’ former life as a soldier likely influenced his devotion to the papal authority and openness to taking orders from the Church structure.

 

      Lectio Divina, as used by Anglicans, lacks such guardrails because of our rejection of the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, that is the pope, over other bishops, as well as a formal modern magisterium (opting for the three legged-stool version of authority: “Scripture,

Tradition, and Reason”). Article 20 of the 39 Articles of Religion (an important document to Anglican history, although not binding on Anglican faith) asserts, “Wherefore, although the Church be a witness and a keeper of Holy Writ, yet, as it ought not to decree any thing against the same, so besides the same ought it not to enforce any thing to be believed for necessity of Salvation” (“The Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion”). The Anglican Church tends to have a more communal understanding of authority—similar to the ethos found in monastic

communities—combining both democratic and hierarchical elements. As a result, the inspiration one draws from practicing Lectio Divina can be interpreted more freely, without the binding interpretive framework characteristic of the Roman Catholic Church.

 

      Throughout my research, I noticed that Lectio Divina and Ignatian contemplation can pose problems to traditions that practice a more literal reading of Scripture, which is importantly not often the case in Anglican or Catholic contexts. To biblical literalists, anything that treats Scripture as a tool to have a divine encounter rather than the divine encounter itself is suspect. The popular evangelical apologetics site, “Got Questions,” warns readers to be wary of "anything that originated with monks, practiced by mystics, recommended by popes, and taught by Catholic teachers” and that “a devotional reading of Scripture should not replace ‘intellectual, studious’ Bible study but supplement it.” Some of their warnings may contain a touch of validity, of course intellectual Bible study should not be replaced with meditation. However, prioritizing one over the other lends to a “reading of Scripture for answers” rather than “using Scripture to gain wisdom.”

 

This is why I ultimately inhabit the Anglican world while maintaining a connection to the Catholic tradition: I value the wisdom of the saints who came before, yet I also recognize the need to constantly reform in light of the Spirit’s guidance. Ignatian contemplation and Lectio

Divina are two forms of prayer that aid myself and other Christians in listening to the Spirit. Furthermore, I find that doctrinal purity tests common within the evangelical Protestant movement (and common still in conservative Roman Catholic spaces) can often hinder a living,

evolving faith—necessary for humanism, which requires one to be present to the ever-changing human condition of today. I therefore appreciate the insight of the English Reformers who sought a via media, a “middle way” between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism to stop the violent conflicts between the two groups and take the best from both movements. With this path of moderation, Anglicans stayed anchored to the orthodox faith, but also allowed the Spirit to continue informing their practice. They didn’t throw out teachings from the early church too liberally, but they also adapted practices that encouraged Christians to become more personally engaged with their faith. For example, celebrations of the Eucharist started to be conducted in English in 1549, centuries before the Romans allowed for mass in the vernacular (“English Reformation”). The most important aspect of my spirituality is worship in community, with a liturgy that allows for praying together while accommodating a range of beliefs. Anglicans and Catholics allow for this; however, I am struck by the fact that “common language” and “common worship,” that is “common prayer” are more central to Anglican spiritual heritage.

 

       I have a great appreciation for both Jesuit imaginative prayer and Lectio Divina, rejoicing in the fact that the latter, despite its Catholic origins, was lauded by the great reformer of the English Church and the first Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. He ends his Homily on Scripture with “Let us ruminate, and, as it were, chew the cud [Scriptures], that we may have the sweet juice, spiritual effect, marrow, honey, kernel, taste, comfort and consolation of them” (“Information Sheet: Lectio Divina”). Following Cranmer’s example, Anglicans like myself, along with our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters, approach Scripture not merely to read, but to meditate upon it as a pathway to a deeper, more mysterious encounter with God.