On Good Friday, I had the opportunity to join up with the FSPlus team on their pilgrimage through London to visit 7 churches and pray the stations of the cross. Culminating in the Good Friday service at Mount Street, I then left to go and conduct another set of stations at work for some colleagues. Suffice it to say I was “crossed out” by the end of the day. (Pun most definitely intended – it is Easter after all.)

On a more serious note though, the excursion proved very prayerful and fitting for the occasion. I was struck by the differences in the churches we stopped in. Each one had a particular ‘vibe’ about the place, and it was also interesting to see how the empty tabernacles were highlighted in each one. The focal point of every church, only emphasised the more clearly that Christ was gone; dead. All that remained was the mere outer shell of that metal box; opened up, empty, and cold. Like scattered sheep, we wandered, from church to church, to find out that indeed, the Lord was not to be found there. He had passed from this life. The gravity of that situation was real in Jesus’ time, is real today, and will continue to be real and relevant in our lives. Not only on Good Friday will the apparent “dark night of the soul” emerge. We too may find ourselves, like the psalmist, asking, “Why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22). Even though we see this apparent desertion by Jesus, appearances can be deceiving. It is not however, a deception on behalf of our Lord, but an inability on our part to notice that the sanctuary lamps do continue to burn brightly in another corner of those churches, by the altars of repose; reminding us that God is there and will always be there. And seeing that, we can rest assured in the hope that He continues to work His love through our lives to bring about His will in the fullness of time and to bring all things to Himself.

I have some pretty interesting characters as friends, so in all fairness I really wasn’t that surprised when I received a comedy novel about Jesus (‘Lamb’ by Christopher Moore) in a birthday package all the way from America. I think what was more unexpected was the extent to which this novel affected me and made me think.

I have to clarify that while the author had clearly gone to a great deal of research the book was not aimed at being a great theological or religious text. The writer himself says that it evolved more out of curiosity about the years of Jesus’ life that are missing from the gospels. The story is told from the perspective of Jesus’ best friend (Levi, known as Biff), and had me receiving strange looks when I couldn’t help but laugh out loud on the bus.

The denouement of this book is, of course, the Easter story; a story that I have heard more times than I can remember, but I found the crucifixion and the events leading up to it genuinely upsetting. Not because of any graphic details or sentimentality but because this is the story of Jesus, a person. It is a lot harder to read about these events when you have gone through the joys and sorrows of being teenager and young adult with him, seen him struggling with his mission; when you have laughed with Jesus.

I hear the story of the passion every year in Holy Week, I was able to answer the questions and say the right things for the religion classes in school. I can even dip my toe into a little bit of the theology, the deep meanings and significance behind every action. And I’m not saying that this isn’t important, but for me, I was able to compartmentalise everything too easily, to have succinct exam style answers; that Jesus was sent down by God to save us from our sins, and that was why this had to happen.

But what this lets me forget is Jesus’ humanity; that he was a friend, a son, a brother; that he lived, and loved, lost and even laughed, with us. This is so overwhelming and momentous, on a level that I can barely start to comprehend. Yes, Jesus was born so that he could die and rise again for us, but he also chose to do this. He could have said ‘actually I want a quiet life, I’m going to just be a carpenter’ but he didn’t.

These are ideas and thoughts that I am struggling to begin with, that will definitely be to the forefront of my mind during this Easter season, but I know that I feel blessed to laugh with Jesus.

The Jesuit Volunteer Community provides fully-funded opportunities for volunteers aged 18-35 from Britain and overseas to work in British inner cities for a year, or for a month during the summer. JVC volunteers live in community, commit to a simple lifestyle and explore spirituality while working for social justice with people on the margins of British society. Roland Dale writes about his year in Manchester working with a training centre for ex-offenders and a campaigning organisation

Part way through the year programme, I remember being sat round our wobbly dinner table explaining to a guest that the JVC experience was sure to be one of the most important experiences of my life. She rather pointedly asked me how old I was, which made me pause for thought: at my age, how could I be so sure that this would be the case?

The JVC year is certainly about exploring the four values of community, simple lifestyle, social justice and spirituality, but this isn’t where it ends. Through the work in placements, through the life in community, through all the ups and downs, I didn’t just find out more about myself. I didn’t just find out more about my fellow community members. I didn’t just find out more about the struggles of those on the margins of society.

I’m still only beginning to pick through and understand the importance of my JVC year, and months later, the experiences and questions they raised are still fresh in my mind, resonating with me even as I live and work on a different continent, in a completely different environment. In a rich, interconnected way that defies simple explanations, I think I found out something new about God. Something wonderful, life-giving and life-changing. Can there be anything more important?

If you’re reading this with interest, if any of this appeals to you, I urge you to find out more. Fill out the forms. Apply. It has been and I’m certain it will always be one of the most important experiences of my life.

The title is a line from one of my favourite movies V for Vendetta, a movie which I recommend that you see, putting aside all arguments about the occupy movement (which has adopted some of the imagery from the movie and the graphic novel).

It is taken from a part of the movie where a young woman who has been imprisoned and tortured is released and brought to the roof of a building where she stands, frail and powerful in torrential rain, and speaks these words.

Personally, I love the rain: the sound of it on roofs and windows; the smell of a sun shower on a summer’s day. I love how it makes the entire world look like some wonderful watercolour painting. The only two things I don’t like about the rain is the difficulty of entertaining children inside when it’s raining, and when my feet get wet!

In my last job I worked a lot with children and young people, in a part of the country that had particularly inclement weather, and we hated the rain. The rain made our job a great deal harder, trying to find indoor activities and space for the children in our care, and we rejoiced when the sun came out. So this line reminds me to appreciate the things that might be a bit challenging to us.

It was an extremely demanding job but I was able to see some amazing things in the difficulties that we had to deal with. I am a big believer in seeing God in other people (and that means in their good and bad sides). In the first family group that I worked with there was a small girl who was autistic. She would get upset and throw epic tantrums because she wasn’t able to tell us what was wrong. It was indescribably frustrating not knowing how to help her, but seeing her learn who she could go to for comfort when she was distressed, and seeing her happiness as she splashed in the sea was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Without a doubt, I could see God in this child, not despite of the challenges that she brought, but because of them, because they were a part of her
beauty.

So, what I am trying to say is that I love the rain and I love that line because of how it reminds me that God is in everything: in the big things, the small, the challenging and the uplifting. It is in the the magnificent nature scenes like the Grand canyon or the Aurora Borealis, and even in the day-to-day things that annoy us, a sodden day that leaves us soaked throughout and makes our trains late.

In our CLC group recently we prayed with the story of Jesus walking on water. At a time when I’m thinking of taking a punt on a way of life that’s closer to my heart, it reminded me to trust that what God knows I can do is a much more accurate guide to life than what I think I can do.
The scene is set in confusion. It sounds a lot like life. Jesus has asked the disciples to take the boat on ahead, but now he needs to get in it, and it’s drifted off. Imagine Jesus standing on the shore, shaking his head; he wouldn’t have started from here, given the choice. He’s got to get to that boat –they need him – but what are the options? Well, he’ll have to walk on the water. Off he goes.
His initiative is met with panic, rather than gratitude, in the direction-less boat. What on earth? Never mind that the disciples know Jesus, have seen his work, and have every reason to trust him from prior experience. “It’s me,” Jesus insists. How many of the scary changes that crop up in life are actually presenting an opening for Jesus? This is where Ignatian discernment proves so helpful for me.
Peter steps up and enters right into the spirit of things. “If it’s you, tell me to come to you on the water.” I love this part. Jesus would never wish to humiliate Peter, so he must actually believe that Peter can do it. He knows Peter is just an ordinary man – but instead of saying, “don’t be daft, stay dry,” he encourages him to get out and give it a go. And it works. Peter really does walk on water, until he realises he’s doing it, and that it should be impossible. That’s when he begins to sink. It’s like watching a child riding a bike for the first time, turning round and realising his Dad is no longer pushing, then falling off simply because he thinks he doesn’t know how to ride.
Jesus rescues Peter at once and they get back in the boat. The focus is often put on the rebuke about Peter’s lack of faith, but to me it sounds like the bike-teaching father dealing with the endearing idiocy of his offspring. The message for me is this: get out of that boat, get back on that bike. Trust in a God who thinks we are up to even the unlikeliest task.

In his now much quoted 2005 Stanford address, Steve Jobs said, “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards.” Looking back over a given period in our lives we can connect the dots and see where God has been actively working through us and those around us. What poses a much greater challenge is to trust that God is right with us in the here and now, in every single moment, and has the dots of our future in His hands.

At work last week I was observed and assessed as part of performance management in my job as a teacher. I was having a challenging week and the day before I began to seriously doubt whether I could successfully get through it. As I was considering whether to ask if it could be postponed, the woman who was to do the observation came to discuss another matter with me. I came very close to asking. When she left I realised that God had clearly been telling me not to, assuring me that even though it seemed a tough task, that the dots would lead to peace, not disaster. (Jeremiah 29:11). Indeed they did. Despite having a heavy workload of her own, a very dear colleague turned her energy to me and stayed for 3 hours to help me prepare. We have been praying together in a quiet room we recently discovered was free, so that evening the first thing we did was to pray for God’s wisdom and strength. From there, we began to discuss ideas and eventually formed a plan. At several points she warned me of the danger of thinking too much about each detail or of changing my mind about things we had decided on, that those things were not from God. Instead she reminded me of our prayer, and that now we had to trust that God was providing exactly what we needed.

On the day of the observation I received the grace of courage and an inner peace and calm that could only have come from God. There was such power in that peace, I felt released to be who I was created to be, trusting that God is in charge. I heard someone recently describe faith as believing that even when you are in a situation you do not like, no matter how stuck you feel or how long you have been in it, God can transform it. In her book “Inner Compass (1999)”, Margaret Silf invites us to trust that God’s Spirit will hover over the mess, bringing wholeness out of brokenness, as once that same Spirit brought creation out of chaos.

Even after experiencing and witnessing the fruits of faith, both in my life and the lives of others, I can quickly find myself fearful and doubting. “I know you were there then God, in an amazing way, but what about next time?” Or, in the next step I can find myself walking back down paths I have painfully learned many times lead me away from God. But I have come to understand that at such times, God does not want us to be consumed with guilt, as that takes us further away from Him. The gift of forgiveness is always there, if we can but first forgive ourselves. I am greatly encouraged by the fact that despite living alongside him, hearing his teachings and witnessing his miracles first hand, Jesus’ own disciples repeatedly struggled to believe what was before their very eyes. Jesus knows our human nature. He does not give up on us and certainly does not want us to give up on ourselves. The Spirit repeats over and over, in as many ways as necessary, the call to have faith in the power of God. Though we cannot connect the dots looking forward, we can pray for the will to surrender all in ever deepening trust that we are being led in our mission to serve God and be a light in the world.

“First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.”
I’ve been pondering these words recently. As Christians, we are taught to evangelise, and spread God’s word and bring others to him. I always thought I was acting like a Christian if I showed myself to others to be doing good deeds, to be saying nice things, to be prayerful. Rather piously I thought “Well, if people know I am a Christian and they see me doing good deeds or saying good things and going to Church, then that might draw them to God.” However, when I recently heard the above words of Jesus to the Pharisees, written in chapter 23 of Matthew’s Gospel, it struck me how, while these may be good intentions, God is in fact more concerned with what we are thinking and feeling, on the inside, rather than necessarily how we are acting.
This reflection led me to pay more attention to what I was thinking or feeling at a certain time in comparison to how I was acting towards others. I found that there would sometimes be instances of a disconnect. Sometimes, for example, I would find myself acting civilly towards someone, whilst inside my thoughts towards such person might be a bit disparaging. Other times, with the aim of pleasing someone, I would say something which sounded positive, although inside my thoughts towards such thing might be quite negative. I realised that, whilst the intentions of trying to make someone else feel better and trying to please were on the one hand noble, the outside of my pot was perhaps cleaner than the inside.
This reminded me of the film “What Women Want”, with Mel Gibson. It’s about a guy (played by Mel Gibson) who is randomly given a gift of being able to read women’s minds and see what they actually think. Suffice to say, he discovers that what women think about him is not necessarily how they act towards him. Indeed, whilst they may act quite civilly towards him, in reality their view is that he is arrogant and fancies himself. For Mel Gibson’s character, this soon acts as a wake-up call, since he always saw himself as something of a stud.
This is not the place to discuss whether we should always show to others exactly what we are feeling or whether we should hide bad feeling towards others. But when I was reminded of the above film, it did make me realise that at the route of all of these bad thoughts towards others is judgements – judgements about others, whether negative or positive. We all make judgements about others, both positive and negative. We are taught from an early age the old adage “never judge a book by its cover”, however in reality, we can often be critical towards another person without necessarily knowing their circumstances. By the same token, we can often put another person on a pedestal, thinking someone is much better or greater than we are.
In fact, we are all made in God’s image, and so all others around us are sons and daughters of God. In this regard, any judgement of others is a judgement of God. When God created us and created the world, He “saw that it was good.” So rather than judge others, either very positively or negatively, we should try and become more accepting to what is around us.
How can we avoid judging others and become more accepting of those around us? Well, as a wise priest once said to me, the first task is being aware of any judgements we make. One tool of Ignatian spirituality which is helpful in doing this is the Examen. The Examen is prayed daily, often towards the end of each day, and gives us the opportunity to look back over each day and see where we were drawn to God by our deeds and also where we felt our actions pushed away from God. It is a useful time to look inside our pots, rather than just concerning ourselves with how they look from the outside. At the end of the Examen, we are also given the opportunity to look towards the next day, and to pray about what we have learned during this prayer time. The Examen is a helpful opportunity to be mindful of where our judgements of others have pushed us away from God, and to pray that we might be more like Christ in accepting his people in the future.
In “What Women Want”, Mel Gibson’s character acquires a certain peace and humility through realising that has not been as perfect as he thought. I pray that, in practising the Examen and being more aware of how we are feeling on the inside, and how judgemental we can be, we can take steps to be more accepting to others, and can also acquire such peace and humility.
The above reflection was written by a young adult who attends First Sunday and Third Sunday Masses.

Someone who I love to read to when I need a bit of inspiration or when I find myself getting bogged down with the silly worries or fears of everyday life is Anthony De Mello, SJ. With his mix of stories, psychology, Jesuit spirituality and reflections from the Eastern religions, he paints a picture of a life that can be worry free, enjoying each moment, without caring what others think. After reading his book “Awareness”, I came away thinking, “I definitely want some of that!”

One of the reasons De Mello offers as to why we get unhappy, frustrated and angry is that we identify too much with the self, or we identify too much with the “I”. I never really understood what this meant until recently, when a friend described it to me as realising that all our good deeds and good work come from the Holy Spirit working through us, and not by us alone making great things happen. My friend’s statement made me appreciate how all of the good things I do in life are because of the graces God has bestowed on me, all the gifts He has given me, and the ways in which He answers my prayers by working through me and with me. As Jesus says to the crowd in John’s Gospel, “it was not Moses who gave you bread from heaven, it was my Father.”

Reflecting on my friend’s words made me think how much of my joy comes from believing that any good presentations I do at work, any good goals I score on the football field, any advice I give in voluntary work (to take but a few examples from everyday life), all comes from me, and my ability and my skills and intelligence. I identify with this, and get a real kick out of it. By the same token, so much of my worry comes from not thinking I will be good enough at work and will make mistakes, so much of my frustration comes with my inability to learn something quick enough. I identify with this, believe that I am not good enough, and it makes me down and worried. Along these lines, life becomes a rollercoaster of emotions, from low to high, from sad to happy.

In reality, however, God’s Spirit is at work in the different things I do in my daily life. As Jesus says in Mark’s Gospel when telling his followers that they will be arrested and judged: “…don’t worry about what you should say. Say the things God gives you to say at that time. It will not really be you speaking. It will be the Holy Spirit speaking”. God works through me, and He has his own plan for me, regardless of how I identify with my own successes and failures. God is, as Isaiah says, the one who formed us in the womb and called us by our names.

When I heard my friend talk about how it was the Sprit moving in us which allows us to do great things, I felt a sense of relief. I felt it took the pressure off me to perform at work, in the things I do, with friends, and get things rights all the time, since I know it is not all down to me, but God working in me. My task is to turn my heart to God and ask and allow for the Spirit to work through me.

Anthony De Mello sadly died at the age of 57. His unique spirituality has helped many approach God more easily. The following excerpt is taken from what is said to be his last sermon, and for me, perfectly encapsulates how we need not worry about getting everything right, or identifying with our successes and failures, since God’s Spirit is at work through us and in us, and the God who has a plan for us is in all things -

“Don’t change: Desire to change is the enemy of love
Don’t change yourselves: Love yourselves as you are
Don’t change others: Love all others as they are
Don’t change the world: It is in God’s hands and he knows
And if you do that change will occur
Marvellously in its own way and in its own time
Yield to the current of life unencumbered by baggage.”

The above reflection was written by a young adult who comes to First and Third Sunday masses.

‘Life-changing’, ‘incredible’ and ‘amazing’ were among the high praise I had heard others use to describe their experiences of Magis in Australia. Surrounded by such acclaim, I was deeply curious about the Jesuit pastoral preparation for World Youth Day. It was frustrating that no-one seemed able to distil the reasons for their enthusiasm into a few pithy sentences. Apparently, Magis was something that could not be described; it had to be experienced. Keen to discover it for myself, I signed up for Madrid 2011.

Some parts of Magis can be described: the experience itself was divided into two stages. The first was the gathering weekend, where 3,000 pilgrims arrived in Loyola for a 3-day Jesuit festival. It looked a little like a Catholic ‘Glastonbury’, in 30-degree sunshine. We were fed; we were clothed (with bespoke hoodies, t-shirts and caps produced by Zara). We played, and we prayed. Music festivals ran until late into the night. We slept together in classrooms, or, in the case of some 100+ girls, side-by-side in the school gym (the biggest slumber party I have ever attended). On the final day, Jesuit Superior Adolfo Nicolas celebrated Mass for us. It ended with The Killers’ song, ‘Human’, to which the pilgrims enthusiastically partook in a specifically choreographed Magis dance, which we had learned over the previous days. It was enormous fun. The weekend encapsulated the triad of belonging, behaving and believing that one member of our group used to sum up religious experience.

The second stage was the apostolic experience. There were 99 experiences, divided into 6 categories – Social Service, Arts and Performance, Spirituality, Faith/Culture, Ecology and Pilgrimage. We listed the categories in order of preference before arriving and knew precious little about the experience, except the title, which we received in the weeks beforehand. Having prioritised spirituality, I was delighted to learn that my experience would be that of Interreligious Dialogue.

This took place in Manresa, on the site where St Ignatius had lived as a hermit. His experience during this time formed the basis of his spiritual exercises. The rather more comfortable Jesuit spirituality centre has since been built around the cave where he lived. This was our home for the week. Six members of the UK group, and 20 other Magis pilgrims from Romania, Syria, Belarus and Lebanon spent the week meditating on how to relate spiritually to those following other religions. Despite language barriers, together we considered the Aboriginal Traditions, Jainism, Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam and other denominations of Christianity. We concentrated on the essence of each religion, and explored this using the music, symbols and texts of the relevant faith. At first, I found it difficult to use the writings of other cultures in my own (Catholic) prayer. There seemed to be a fine balance between finding God in all things, including, for example, the Torah, and being so inclusive that one felt open to a conversion to Judaism. Gradually, I discerned that the opposite occurs. It is by being open to finding God in all things that ones own faith grows. By detaching ourselves from the vehicles through which God reveals himself, God becomes easier to find.

It was while we were in Manresa that the London riots occurred. Following our experience of fellowship in Loyola and Manresa, which we would discover again in Madrid, I wondered how so many young people could gather together, so joyfully and with such love for each other in Spain, and another group of a similar age, could behave so differently in England. While I don’t have an answer, I was struck by the sense of identity and belonging that was offered by the Magis experience. Being in Loyola and Manresa rooted us in our faith. This was a physical experience, as these sites are important to those who follow Ignatian Spirituality; it was also a psychological one, as it was profoundly grounding to be surrounded by so many young Catholics. We share the same beliefs, and the same behaviour. Despite linguistic, social and cultural differences, we belonged together. In addition, it was clear that a huge amount of work had been involved in hosting us, and in the planning and staging of the events. Everyone from the Jesuits, to the volunteers and not least by our own team at based at Farm Street had worked tirelessly to ensure that everything ran smoothly. We felt valued as young people, and it was clear that we were special. How many of the rioters could say that they also experienced a sense of having a valued place in the eyes of society and/or God?

Our days in Manresa were highly structured. They began with a form of Tai Chi at 8am (though a few of us keen beans went early-morning running from 6.30am), and were punctuated by prayer, ‘magis circles’ (in which we shared our reflections with others, in style similar to a CLC meeting where one listens without comment to what is being said) and daily Mass until the final examen at 11.30pm. Although not part of the schedule, many of us took the next hour or so to bond with our room-mates. I already miss praying frequently with others and am beginning to wonder if bedtime prayer via Skype might be feasible. Another significant aspect of our stay in Manresa was vegetarianism. Father Xavier, the priest leading the experience, extolled the virtues of a meat-free diet in relation to prayer, and I did notice a difference in terms of feeling spiritually lighter. A number of us have tried to remain pescatarian since returning home. Whether or not this is a long-term change, it has increased my awareness of the level of animal products in my diet, and has prompted me to seek out more information on the impact of over-consumption of meat on the environment.

Having returned from what was probably the most transformative fortnight of my life, I now understand why the effect of Magis – the part everyone had raved about and the reason for going – is difficult to describe. At its heart, it is an intensely, intimately personal experience of God. As such, such an experience is only ever going to be your own. In his book ‘Why Go To Church?’, Timothy Radcliff explains that the reason for going to Mass is to be sent from it. In the same sense, the reason for going to Magis is to equip you with the tools to be magis (‘better’/'greater’/'more’) for God. Ironically, it is the journey you make post-Magis that is the pilgrimage. It is impossible for me to impart the enormity of what this may mean for you – you will have to go to Rio in 2013 to discover it yourself.

I’m sure it’s all a coincidence but it did strike me as interesting that on the catholic feast day of All Saints (2nd November) at the other side of the Atlantic a huge, some say seismic, election is taking place – I’m writing this at 5pm, so the Americans are still inthe middle of it. The expectation is that many disappointed voters will use the opportunity to punish president Obama and his (for now) undelivered promises byvoting for an opposition candidate. At the same time in Britain a new Entente Cordiale is taking shape in a joint declaration of the British prime minister and the French president that says, among other things, that they will provide each other with the “floating airstrip” for their French- or American-built jet fighters. One would have hoped that the umbilical cord of the Channel Tunnel could have been strong enough a link to express and guarantee mutual interest and pursuit for peace. Anyway, whether or not one agrees with what is going on, at least it is done within the context of democratic rule,where there is a fairly accurate, be it far from perfect, system of checks and balanceswith public accountability on multiple levels.

Meanwhile the Church, in two weeks time, appropriately and purposefully, ends her liturgical year with the feast of Christ the King. All the Sunday readings of the five or six weeks leading up to that date increasingly prepare us for it, as a crescendo movement runs through these passages from Luke‘s Gospel. Their literary style moves from simple parable stories to accounts of actual meetings of Jesus to a full-fledged doomsday prophecy. Content-wise, the situation moves from secular to religious settings, dealing with an ever increasing number of people, until all are involved, when the world as they know it is predicted to come to an end. And that upsweep serves a very clear purpose; it deliberately wants to uproot people‘s thoughts and perceptions from their everyday life and socio-political reality. For the Kingdom that Jesus preaches “is not from this world” (John 18:36). Pilate didn‘t get it then, and we still have a very hard time understanding and accepting this.

That Kingdom, already, but not yet fully, present in this world, will eventually reach its fulfilment at the end, when time will cease to exist. At that moment women and men will no longer be subject to the natural and human laws and there will be no injustice and death anymore. However, in order to see and hear this Kingdom, Jesus says, we have to convert; we have to change our perspectives. We have to look and listen to him, for he doesn’t just know the way, he is the way. And it is only when we understand this that we will see God, in Christ, and will we be able to make the Kingdom come true. That invitation still stands, as it has since the beginnings of the Church, for us, here and now. To be able to recognise Jesus Christ as the eternal and universal King, we have to let go of our understanding of how the world and human societies work and should work, and listen to him instead. Then we can truly leave at the end of Mass and bring his peace by loving and serving our Lord.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Bart is a Jesuit of the Netherlands province, studying at Heythrop Collegetowards his ordination to the priesthood next year. He lives in a Jesuit community in Sth.London