Jesuit Yoga II Cambridge, MA. One of the things that most attracts people to yoga, I think, is that it is wholesome, challenging, and able to bring a deep sense of well-being to body, mind, and spirit -- all without seeming to impose an alien worship on the practitioner. Even in the ancient Indian traditions, and certainly now in America, it has always seemed possible to practice yoga and at the same time maintain, even deepen, our original and continuing faith commitments. But at the same time, this very point is a source of worry for others, since yoga seems blithely unconcerned about matters of religion: as if its energies were elsewhere, making religious commitment seem not so much a problem, as simply optional. If yoga is a powerful religious system, shouldn't it conflict in a more direct way with Christian commitment? Or are we missing something? Since yoga is many things to many people, there are probably many answers to this question; much depends on where we learned yoga, how we practice it, etc. But I do find a certain wisdom and challenge again in the Yoga Sutras of Patañjali (introduced in my last entry). Early in the Sutras, Patañjali remarks on the efficacy of turning to God. In I.12, he had said that the fluctuations of the mind are calmed by constant practice, and by the learning of dispassion, detachment. After some intervening matters, he adds, Or --by turning to the lord. (I.23) The Sanskrit word for "lord" here -- ishwara -- may or may not refer to God as ordinarily understood, but certainly an important strand of the yoga tradition has assumed that Patañjali is here offering that option, as if to say, "If not constant practice and dispassion, then try turning to the Lord -- that will work too." For many people, perhaps, the most effective path is turning to the Lord; to the person who is attentive and focused, the divine person in turn responds graciously, giving him or her the calmness and clarity desired. Now it may be unsettling that Patañjali is so matter of fact about all this: bodily discipline can work; detachment can work; OR turning to the Lord can work. Being devotional is not the only way to achieve what one seeks, but it may indeed be your best way, so turn to the Lord. This openness may obviously be unsettling for some readers: you can find your way to peace through devotion -- but you have other options too. Patañjali goes on to describe this Lord: he is "untouched by afflictions, actions, the fruits of action, or their residue;" he is omniscient, with a knowledge that will not be surpassed; all teachers have learned from him, for he is not limited by time. (I.24-26) One can reach him by repetition of the sacred word Aum, a practice that clears away obstacles and affords us heightened consciousness (I.27-29). There is no mention here of the ordinary resources of devotion, love, affection; rather, we find our way to this Lord through the holy word, which itself is effective in changing us. This is intriguingly like -- and yet unlike -- a Christian commitment to know God through the word of God. All of this -- there is much more that could be said -- should be at least bracing and stimulating for us who are believers, dedicated to Christ, and yet too seeking calmness, clarity, dispassion, and freedom. It may be inaccurate for any of us to claim that our spiritual well-being is solely dependent on God. The rituals, practices, moral virtues and dispositions we cultivate over time may well give us much of what we find wholesome and helpful in our religion. It might even be that the Bible, as Word of God, inspires us in its eloquence and, over time, with the words by which we live our lives. God is at the core of all this but Patañjali may be asking us, How does God --plus the ritual and scripture and other things of your religion -- help keep your life together? Or, even more basically, we might ask: have we ever been intent enough in our spiritual practice, or deeply dispassionate enough, that we might realize what is means to say that turning to the Lord is an alternative even to my religion? It's a good question for a Jesuit too: detachment, poverty, obedience, chastity, energy, vision, love -- plus turning to the Lord? (Note: I usually borrow a hopefully free image from the web to start my entries; this time, I happily hit upon notice for yoga classes at Manresa House of Retreats, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. Check it out on the web: www.manresa-sj.org/280_Christian_Yoga.htm )

Cambridge, MA. Several months ago I mentioned that I was teaching a seminar on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. This fundamental yoga text, from nearly 2000 years ago, is brief -- 195 very succinct verses -- but it is the reference point for all the later yoga systems. I promised to report on the results of the seminar (with ten fine students) at its conclusion (this week), and so here (and hereafter) I offer some reflections. Given the great popularity and accessibility of yoga -- I was told recently that 20 million Americans practice some version of it -- it may seem a bit too academic to go back and study the Sutras, but I was convinced by my seminar that this is very much worth the effort, even necessary if we are to know what yoga is all about. Yoga is extremely supple in its ability to take on various rationales -- nondualist, devotional, health-oriented, Hindu, Buddhist, etc. -- and my impression is that even expert teachers of disciplined yoga practice are rather fluid -- sometimes unhelpfully vague -- in their explanations as to what it is all for. The Sutras help pin down a succinct attitude toward the practice and its purpose. Consider these select verses (in my own somewhat loose translation, indebted to published translations which I've consulted along with the Sanskrit text): I.1-5 "Now, instruction regarding yoga. Yoga is the restraint of fluctuations in consciousness. With such restraint, the seer abides in his own-form; otherwise, the mind takes the form of the fluctuations. The fluctuations are fivefold: valid cognition, error, false conceptualization, sleep, and memory. They are afflicted or non-afflicted." I.12, 23 "Through practice and dispassion, the restraint of the fluctuations -- or by dedication to the lord." I.47-49, 51 "When there is clarity in the non-reflective state, there arises calmness with respect to self, and then there is truth-bearing wisdom, which in content differs from wisdom that is taught or learned by inferences; for its object is specific. But when even that is restricted, everything is restricted, and that absorption that is final." However physical yoga may be, it is, in Patanjali's view, primarily about the mind, its disturbances and distractions (fluctuations), and the way in which detachment, practice, and even devotion (dedication) can free the mind from what ails it -- with results unimaginable for those comfortable with the constricted, distorted mind. Only if such matters are clearly understood -- as explained in the first chapter of the Sutras -- will the physical practice, the breathing exercises, the expanded capacities and higher insights do the practitioner any good: unless you change the way you think, nothing you do will help you much. Each of these verses -- and the rest of the 195 -- merits close reading, since (in the Sanskrit at least) no word is superfluous, each makes a point. My seminar was all about this close reading, with about eight of the classical and modern commentaries as our guide. It was also, readers may recall, a comparative course, in the sense that I brought to bear on the Sutras insights from the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, which we read along with the Sutras. More on this in a later segment in this series of reflections, but I will close this one by observing that in linking the yoga to the Christian tradition, I am by no means a pioneer. Already in the 1950s Fr. Jean-Marie Déchanet, a Benedictine priest working in the Congo, published La Voie du Silence and, in English, Christian Yoga, in which he expounded the salutary practices and, with extreme caution, made the case how and why Christians could benefit from yoga. In the 1960, Fr. Gaspar Koelman, a Jesuit working in India, did a meticulous study of Patanjali, The Patanjala Yoga, that is invaluable even today. From a very different angle, in 1990 Ravi Ravindra, a Hindu scholar, published an insightful interpretation of the Gospel according to John entitled The Yoga of the Christ. And -- lest we forget -- there have been many columns, essays, and letters by Christian leaders cautioning Christians against being enchanted by physical practices that ultimately mean a whole way of life -- possibly or probably incompatible with Christian values. (See for instance, Laurette Wills' comments at http://www.praisemoves.com/ChristianAlternative.htm and, of course, the 1989 letter of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, "Some Aspects of Christian Meditation": http://www.cin.org/users/james/files/meditation.htm ) So the fruits of my seminar -- this latest "Jesuit Yoga" -- need to be carefully assessed, for the sake of the general question, How can we benefit from the ancient and wise tradition of yoga, as Christians? My hope is to add at least two more to this series of reflections -- Jesuit Yoga II and III -- to spell out a bit more of what I mean. I also very much welcome comments from readers who (for better or worse) have brought yoga together with Christian (and/or Ignatian) spirituality. Note to the studious reader: The Sutras are available in numerous translations, and those interested would do well to sample several, perhaps beginning with those by G. Feuerstein, C. Chapple and Yogi Ananda Viraj, or Barbara Miller. There are likewise numerous studies of the Sutras, and here I would recommend [for the determined reader] Ian Whicher's The Integrity of the Yoga Darsana; more popular and accessible works are works such as B.K.S. Iyengar's Light on the Yoga Sutras, and Feuerstein's several commentaries.

Cambridge, MA. There are many good things and interesting things to reflect on after the Pope's visit to the Washington and New York, but here I pick up on only one: Benedict's April 17th visit with representatives of various religions, at the John Paul II Cultural Center in Washington. Benedict's remarks to the gathered religious leaders made a multi-layered and firm case for interreligious dialogue, putting to rest, permanently I hope, the notion that this Pope wishes somehow to halt the inexorable move toward dialogue that has characterized the post-Vatican II Church. Here I highlight only a few key elements, first citing the Pope and then adding a brief comment.* First, "...This country has a long history of cooperation between different religions in many spheres of public life. Interreligious prayer services during the national feast of Thanksgiving, joint initiatives in charitable activities, a shared voice on important public issues: these are some ways in which members of different religions come together to enhance mutual understanding and promote the common good. I encourage all religious groups in America to persevere in their collaboration and thus enrich public life with the spiritual values that motivate your action in the world..." Comment: This is a striking first step: interreligious prayer services, along with other virtuous acts in common, are good and should be practiced, regularly, to enrich public life. That is to say, "interreligious prayer services" as practiced in the United States are not ruled out, but are encouraged. Second, "in urban areas, it is common for individuals from different cultural backgrounds and religions to engage with one another daily in commercial, social and educational settings. Today, in classrooms throughout the country, young Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and indeed children of all religions sit side-by-side, learning with one another and from one another. This diversity gives rise to new challenges that spark a deeper reflection on the core principles of a democratic society..." Comment: This collaboration, in daily life, including learning from childhood to learn from another across religious boundaries, is more basic than formal dialogues. This honors a diversity that enhances rather than detracts from the values we most care about. Third, "as we grow in understanding of one another, we see that we share an esteem for ethical values, discernible to human reason, which are revered by all peoples of goodwill. The world begs for a common witness to these values." Comment: Society is helped by dialogue as we learn with one another how to be good; that such values are rooted in nature and reason does not mean that we are somehow excused from learning with our sisters and brothers in other religions. Fourth, there is something more: "Religious freedom, interreligious dialogue and faith-based education aim at something more than a consensus regarding ways to implement practical strategies for advancing peace. The broader purpose of dialogue is to discover the truth. What is the origin and destiny of mankind? What are good and evil? What awaits us at the end of our earthly existence? Only by addressing these deeper questions can we build a solid basis for the peace and security of the human family." Comment: By this fourth point, the Pope exhorts everyone to embark on a quest for truth; he did not say, "We have the truth, you should seek it," and it would be wrong for us to imagine that he did not include Catholics among those seeking to discover the truth. Fifth, and only in light of this broad exhortation to the truth, Benedict offers explicitly Christian witness: "Confronted with these deeper questions concerning the origin and destiny of mankind, Christianity proposes Jesus of Nazareth. He, we believe, is the eternal Logos who became flesh in order to reconcile man to God and reveal the underlying reason of all things. It is he whom we bring to the forum of interreligious dialogue. The ardent desire to follow in his footsteps spurs Christians to open their minds and hearts in dialogue (cf. Luke 10:25-37 [Good Samaritan]; John 4:7-26 [Samaritan woman at the well])." Comment: It is interesting that this expected confession of faith -- what "we" believe -- is offered as the Christian contribution to the dialogue, without any hint that it is a viewpoint transcending all others, above and apart from dialogue. Implicit is a further expectation, that others too will share in dialogue their religious answers to life's questions, for all of us likewise to consider. It is instructive that the two New Testament texts offered are not from among those that explicitly and famously speak to evangelization or the uniqueness of the Christian path, but rather passages of more elemental exchange: where a Samaritan reaches out to a man abandoned by the roadside, and where Jesus enters into a simple and unpretentious dialogue with a Samaritan woman; the first is a dialogue of action, the second a forthright exchange that works because it is effective on a human level. Such is the manner of our contribution to the dialogue. Sixth, and in light of all the previous steps, we must be able "to discuss our differences with calmness and clarity. While always uniting our hearts and minds in the call for peace, we must also listen attentively to the voice of truth. In this way, our dialogue will not stop at identifying a common set of values, but go on to probe their ultimate foundation." Comment: If we seek peace, we must seek truth; the fruit of truth is peace in our midst. "the truth unveils for us the essential relationship between the world and God. We are able to perceive that peace is a "heavenly gift" that calls us to conform human history to the divine order. Herein lies the 'truth of peace.'" In this reception of the truth, we gain peace. Again, Benedict shares a hope with his listeners, the peace we all seek: "By giving ourselves generously to this sacred task – through dialogue and countless small acts of love, understanding and compassion – we can be instruments of peace for the whole human family." The Buddha, Mother Teresa, and Mahatma Gandhi would all approve. Some final thoughts. It is easy enough to pick and choose from among the elements I have listed here, but we should feel required to take to heart all of what the Pope said: not just his call to shared prayer, not just his call to cooperation for peace, not just his call to seek the truth together, and not even his confession of Christ as the answer we propose. The Pope was inviting his listeners that day – and we who read his words later on – to take to heart all that he says, not just the parts we like. But might not someone object that this was merely a speech, and merely one given politely to a group of religions leaders? Surely, it might be said, these words count for much less than authoritative pronouncements from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, for instance. Technically, that may seem right: but in practice it hardly seems a sign of respect for the Holy Father to imagine that he would say anything to these leaders that he would take back when speaking to Catholics alone, or sitting alone in his office writing notifications. I cannot imagine that his plea that we continue to pray and work together across religious boundaries is only some expression of public sentiment, intended merely for one moment in Washington DC. Better that we honor all these words that the Pope spoke as expressive of the best thinking of our Church today; better that we learn to get on with the dialogue that engages our actions and words, ethics and search for truth, confessions of faith and prayer shared across religious boundaries. There is no turning back.

*Note: for the whole address, go to http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/speeches/2008/april/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20080417_other-religions_en.html

Cambridge, MA. I am sure I am not alone in having mixed feeling about Pope Benedict's coming visit to the United States. Of course I share the respect and even reverence due to the Papacy in general and to this holy Pope in particular, and of course I share in the prayers of all those hoping that his visit will help challenge and invigorate the American Church, while awakening all Americans to the wider range of religious truths and values for which the Church stands. It is providential that he is on the east coast, while the Dalai Lama is in Seattle. But there are factors that dim my enthusiasm. Perhaps I am a typically introverted Harvard professor, when I lack enthusiasm for big crowds and big media events. I have not contemplated traveling south to join the crowds looking to glimpse Benedict during his visit. I was not invited to any special event, nor do I watch much television, so the week may slip by before I realize it. But it also true that I am one of those who feel that there is a real conversation to be had, most desperately important for the American Church -- and that Benedict, so perceptive and so intelligent, is a person with whom we might conceivably have that conversation: about the direction of change in the Church; about how to speak the faith powerfully to that large segment of Catholics who are disillusioned by the Church and have walked away from our parishes; about clericalism, the priesthood, and religious vocations; about the risks and challenges of that true interreligious learning that draws people back to God; and even about the forbidden issues that are-not-to-be-discussed: the place of gay women and men in the Church; the fact of Catholic women who have discerned it to be the will of God calling them to ordained ministry; the long-running agony even among good Catholics about abortion. Of course these issues are often written, argued, yelled about -- there is no lack of opinion on such topics! But it is still most poignant that when this particular Pope -- again, so gifted, holy, perceptive -- appears in our midst, the needed dialogue -- listening, before speaking -- is unlikely to happen. This is a week of crowds, media events, extensive coverage, papal addresses in large venues and to important invited guests, but it does not seem (according to the media -- I have no insider information) that that tougher, direct, honest exchanges -- where no one gets to speak without listening first -- will occur. So my hope for the success of the Pope's visit is necessarily dampened by a sense of how much more might occur if his visit were also to proceed in a quieter, off the record manner, where he could stop and listen to a wider and more unpredictable range of Catholics. We can dream: it would be truly providential were Benedict to drop in again next year, unannounced, telling no one that he is coming, perhaps staying at a Catholic Worker House -- and then visit with small groups of Catholics for unscripted and private conversations. Short of that, we must at least remember, this week, that alongside the public event and the lectures, there remains another conversation that needs to occur before the Church can find its voice again. Let us listen to what is said loudly in public, but also for is not said, not listened, not heard, in the days to come.

Cambridge, MA. The March 22nd issue of The Tablet includes a fascinating record from our recent Catholic history: the transcript of a 2003 conversation between Cardinal Franz König, retired archbishop of Vienna, and Fr. Jacques Dupuis, SJ, a distinguished theologian who was, at the time, under scrutiny by then Cardinal Ratzinger's Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. The conversation, well worth reflection, gives us a vivid sense of the concern of both men regarding the future of dialogue in the Catholic context, particularly in light of the investigation of Fr. Dupuis and the gloom cast by Dominus Iesus, the CDF's 2000 document. Dialogue is, in their view, essential and entirely appropriate to the Catholic faith, and never a mere tool of evangelization. Whether vital and fruitful dialogue could be carried on in accord with CDF views -- and in view of the increasingly cautious views of Pope John Paul II -- seems, in the conversation, to be in doubt. Both men died the next year, and there is little evidence that either became more optimistic in his last months. It may be that the roles afforded to the various players remain set, even as the individual players come and go: the Vatican will continue to urge caution and to insist on the integrity of the faith, even in the context of dialogue; ecumenists and experts in interreligious dialogue will still have the job of raising, over and again, the theological and practical questions related to the fact of pluralism and its meaning for Christians: How are we to live out the Christian faith in a world where religious diversity persists and grows more evident? How are we to enter dialogue with deep respect for the persons with whom we dialogue -- and thus too, deep respect for their religious traditions -- even if we do not step away from the truths of our faith? Neither Vatican cautions nor theologians' persistent questions are likely to go away. Although the conversation took place only five years ago and Joseph Ratzinger of course lives on as Pope Benedict XVI, the König-Dupuis conversation seems also a record from a different era. Things are speeding up. The world about us is becoming increasingly interreligious, as people move from tradition to tradition, and experiment in integrating the practices and even beliefs of different traditions into their own. The recent Pew Forum's U.S. Religious Landscape Survey ( http://religions.pewforum.org/ ) shows that Catholics are by no means immune to this phenomenon. While we cannot conclude that caution is no longer necessary, or that theologians ought not to ponder the possibility of interreligious exchange, there will also have to be room for careful reflection on the situation on the ground, where interreligious exchange increase daily, borders crossed all the time? As a baby-boomer, I am not ready to say that my generation, like the interlocutors in the 2003 conversation, is already passing from the scene. But clearly, our questions and answers too will seem antiquated not that long from now -- and someone will have to supplement Roger Haight's excellent synthesis on theologians since Vatican II (Lessons From an Extraordinary Era, March 17) with attention to still newer voices. The roots of Christian identity and the future of dialogue have to be reconsidered yet again by the younger and just now emerging generation of theologians around the world, as they discern where interreligious exchange and learning across boundaries will be taking us in, let's say, 2025 or 2050. The Vatican's cautions will probably be more or less the same, and theologians will continue racing to keep up with the providential growth of interreligious exchange in the many intersecting communities that comprise our world today.

Cambridge, MA. Cycle A in the Sunday Lectionary brings us some wonderful Lenten Gospels. In addition to the temptations of Jesus in the desert and the Transfiguration, we are given several of the great scenes from the Gospel of John: Jesus meeting the Samaritan woman at the well; the healing of the man born blind; the raising of Lazarus. Powerful in themselves, these readings are all the more potent when read, visualized, prayed in sequence, as we work our way through the Sundays of Lent. Perhaps because, as I've noted before, I have been teaching the Yoga Sutras -- a quintessential text of spiritual understanding and practice -- along with the Spiritual Exercises, I have particularly sensitive this year to the formative, transformative possibilities latent in such texts: they are not merely about the Christian life, they are vehicles of our advancement along the path. First Sunday of Lent: Jesus is tempted after 40 days in the desert, not before -- and so we are reminded that in Lent we do well to face up to what we really desire, honorable or not, and reflect on the meaning of those desires. Second Sunday: abruptly, without any evident preparation or obvious follow-up, and amidst familiar symbols and words of their tradition, Peter, James, and John are suddenly blinded as it were by the overwhelming glory of the Jesus they thought they knew so well -- and so the question is posed to us, When in our lives did Christ come suddenly and unexpectedly, changing nothing and yet everything at the same time? Third Sunday: Jesus, sitting there at the well, is most deeply incarnate -- tired and thirsty, bereft of miracles, sermons and pronouncements, for a moment without his disciples, just an unnamed stranger; and to him comes this woman carrying the baggage of her whole tradition, belief, personal life -- so what is the baggage we need to let go of in Lent, if we are to be simply ourselves, meeting Jesus who was nothing but himself? Fourth Sunday: it is simple enough that Jesus cures the man born blind (though how could anyone have thought he was born blind due to his own sins, assuming that reincarnation was not an option?), but the story is filled with people who cannot see what is before their eyes, who deny what they see, who definitely do not want to see God's hand at work in this unexpected act of this uncertain individual -- and so we are confronted yet again, Where has God been so obviously working in my life, right where I cannot admit this obvious, evident presence, and keep turning the other way? And of course there is still more to come, on the Fifth Sunday, Palm Sunday, and throughout Holy Week itself. Ideally, all of this provokes ever more intense reflection, as we are carried along from week to week in these ancient scenes that uncover who we are right now, how we create ourselves as we claim to be Christian. Lent is a season of spiritual exercise, acts of contemplating the Christ who tells us who we are; heard alertly, the Gospels invited a kind of yogic practice that unburdens our minds, that we might see more simply and clearly who we are, what we desire, where God is already touching our lives. This is the ideal, but of course our actual experience of life in Lent may fall short. Our attention spans are short; different preachers on different Sundays may draw the congregation's attention in very different directions. And in any case, people may end up coming for different Masses with different themes, or turning for a Sunday to a different parish, or missing Mass altogether. Those of us who are clergy may not really understand how the Lenten Gospels touch -- or don't touch -- the lives of individual Catholics, and the idea of Lent as a prolonged time of reflection may be at a remove from reality. Yet here too, the very same Gospel accounts may help, since none of them presumes a settled, predictable religious framework. The desert is almost by definition the place to be on one's own; there was no predictable preparation for the Transfiguration, no planning; when Jesus met the woman at the well, it is best taken as a chance occurrence; when Jesus cured the blind man, no one could really have guessed how the good exposes the bad, in the peculiar set of angry reactions to follow. So perhaps the matter is simpler still: our Lenten Gospels not only give us food for thought and prayer, but shed light on the manner of our lives, and how God may be showing up over and again, in odd places, without preparation, and even when our least desires and darkest blindness seem to combine in dampening our expectations that anything might happen in our church or our hearts this year. Prepared or not, worthy or not, it can happen to us.

Cambridge, MA. A Lenten reflection: I am surely not the only one who thought it sad, ironic, horrific, to read this weekend about "mistreatment of cows at the meat-packing plant." Some line had been crossed, and the normal slaughter of cows had given way to their mistreatment, apparently as some animals were sick, and had to be dragged to their deaths. Of course, we are a meat-eating culture. For all kinds of social reasons, ideas about health, and even by way of appeal to the rights of God-fearing people after the Flood, people insist on eating meat. Perhaps our economic order would collapse if we all became vegetarians (should that ever happen). But all such reasons for refusing to leave animals alone ought not cover over the fact of what a terrible slaughter it really is, the killing of animals to satisfy our hungers -- and unnecessary too, since surely there are very few of us who actually need animal products to live healthy lives. Yet society more or less ignores, rationalizes, cannot face up to the slaughter of animals. This is not the only way we evade unpleasant facts; random acts of violence against humans young and old only rarely gain our full attention, while systemic violence, so deeply engrossed in the normal divisions of our world into rich and poor, the powerful and the weak, insiders and outsiders, etc., seems almost natural to the way we live. So why sit up and take notice at the abuse of animals at the slaughterhouse? I've been a vegetarian well over thirty years now, so perhaps it is not surprising that I take notice when scandal at the slaughterhouse-- so ordinary -- becomes news for a weekend; or perhaps it is something about cattle, gentle animals which do no harm, but suffer endlessly to satisfying our need for beef. But it is also true that our hope for decency lies in our ability to be shocked somewhere in our lives, to take notice of some truly unacceptable violence, and refuse to say it is ok. Once we begin to notice and then to refuse to go along with any violent habit, we see the connections to other such strategies, other instances where yet once more we tolerate the intolerable, turn away and simply refuse to notice that things are not ok. Refusing not to notice takes enormous effort, since our lives push us toward neglect; we are too busy, hidden violence is too much a part of the ordinary way of our lives, it is too hard to stop and insist on doing things differently. So it makes sense that we learn to neglect the victims of violence, human but also animal, and get on with our lives. All the greater then must be our admiration for those who refuse to agree, to accept the bargain by which being-content and going-along pays off. I admire greatly those who have stood for decades against abortion, euthanasia, and spousal abuse, against racism and against our government's systemic involvement in violence in Central America and elsewhere, and nowadays, against our seemingly unending war in Iraq and our dubious leadership in the sales of armaments worldwide; add to that list, I suggest, those who are steadfastly against the slaughter of animals, who refuse to see it as a human right to kill and eat animals, when most of us at least could live perfectly healthy lives without ever eating meat. Not that any of these issues is to be resolved simply or without exceptions. But the exceptions that entail the violation of life need to remain exceptions, and it is to resisters who persist in saying no to violence that our gratitude and admiration must be offered. If we think of their enduring witness, perhaps we will find the courage to stop tolerating the intolerable, even if taking notice demands of us that we change our lives. And if it can begin as simply as by taking notice of the very odd news that there is animal abuse in the slaughterhouse -- that's a good way to begin. Or begin somewhere else; the main thing is to begin. Isn't learning to pay attention and to reject the unacceptable part of what our Lenten discipline is about?

Cambridge, MA. Many of the early accounts of our new Jesuit general superior, Fr. Adolfo Nicolas, indicate the great influence of his many years in Asia on his understanding of Catholic and Jesuit life, and his strong belief that such rich cultures can and should deeply affect Christian intellectual and spiritual identity. He is quoted as referring favorably to the work of a Japanese Jesuit, Father Katoaki, who has recently translated and added comments on the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola, from a Japanese-Buddhist perspective, presumably both in fidelity to the Jesuit tradition and bringing a whole new dimension of the practice of the Exercises.

According to reports we find on the Web, Father Nicolas admits that it is still an open question how the Exercises might be presented to people of Asia's faith traditions, and to what effect. He is quoted as saying, "The question is how to give the Ignatian experience to a Buddhist, not maybe formulated in Christian terms, which is what Ignatius asked, but to go to the core of the experience. What happens to a person that goes through a number of exercises that really turn a person inside-out. This is still for us a big challenge."

Fr. Nicolas' insights bring to mind my own experience in Kathmandu in the mid-1970s, when I was teaching at St. Xavier's High School, a boarding school in which almost all the students were Hindu and Buddhist. It was the custom, as in Jesuit schools here in the United States, for the senior students to go away on weekend retreats, and even when the students were not Christian, the Exercises were still at the core of reflections on the world, sin, our responsibilities, and the power of making a choice for God in human life. In the several opportunities I had for cooperating in leading such retreats, I found it worked well to draw on revered stories from the Hindu and Buddhist traditions.

I remember offering texts from the famous Bhagavad Gita, about how Arjuna, the warrior reduced to grief and paralysis by the fact of an oncoming civil war, finds in Krishna's wise teaching a way to know himself, accept loss as well as gain as a part of life, and go back to work, doing his duty because in it he is with Krishna, doing what is needed and right, regardless of success or failure. I remember too lifting up the image of Gautama who, dissatisfied with his comfortable and secure life in the palace, finally allows his heart to be touched, rent, by the facts of suffering, age, and death; who dared to go forth, making an irreversible change in his life by living in accord with his deepest consolations; and who found, amidst the suffering of all beings, the consolation of finally knowing where he had to be, live, teach, heal. I recall too how my students, in so many ways the most normal and ordinary of teenagers, could easily turn to prayer, and with the words and rhythms of traditional devotional songs, praise God with a deep, heartfelt love that harmonizes very well with the best of art and music arising from the Ignatian insight. With my students, I found that in such stories lies a way to God, for God does not spurn the small openings that appear when we discover, in what we've long heard and seen, that God has already been with us. The Spiritual Exercises turned out to be a key to a rich range of spiritual exercises, the choice for Christ shedding light on the supreme value of giving God first place in one's life and practice. I am sure that this kind of venture will be somewhat worrisome for some of us -- for is not companionship with Jesus, contemplation of his life and a choice for him, at the very core of the Exercises? Surely yes, and there is not much value in recasting them as a generic form of self-reflection. Nor does a new-found respect for God's versatility in all spiritual exercises translate into a vague pluralism or banal maxim, "To each his own." Rather, awakened in Christ, there is nowhere where we cannot see Christ and help Christ be seen, whether he be named explicitly not.

Yet it is also clear -- from my brief experience, but more importantly as validated in the ministry of Jesuits throughout Asia -- that the gift of the Exercises, like the gift of Jesus himself – can be given and received in multiple ways, with an abundance that cannot be restricted to the properly normative ways already well known in the Church and Society of Jesus. The gifts we're received can be shared more widely still: learning to see ourselves in light of what God has already done in our lives; looking with spiritual sensitivity and growing delight on the ways in which God has become accessible to our senses and ordinary experience; reflecting on men and women who chose to live entirely for God, showing that spiritual desire can be the most practical guide to life; finding in utter self-surrender a way beyond loneliness, fear, and loss, to new life, received back from God -- these are gifts made so very clear in the Exercises that are not denied to those who love Krishna, or who live by the word and wisdom of the Buddha. Nothing is immediately proved, theologically or doctrinally, by the fact that God flourishes both in and beyond the ordinary practice of the Exercises; yet we do well to recognize where God is, and use our gifts to enable people to see God with their own eyes, by their own words; and then, surely, God will take care of the rest.

Ignatian spirituality is not my expertise, but I've written an essay on the "Exercises in Asia" that might interest some readers. Yet what I have written here in this blog has arisen from my memories of some 35 years ago, awakened by the words of Fr. Nicolas. But for now, I conclude with a simpler link, a prayer that has come alive for me in light of the Exercises' final great prayer, Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my intellect, and all my will--all that I have and possess. Thou gavest it to me: to Thee, Lord, I return it! All is Thine, dispose of it according to all Thy will. Give me Thy love and grace, for this is enough for me. (Elder Mullan, S.J., translation) Because of the Exercises, not despite them, I have learned to love this Hindu prayer of self-giving: I have been wandering about this world from time without beginning, doing what does not please You, my God. From this day forward, I must do what pleases You, and I must cease what displeases You. But my hands are empty, I cannot attain You, my God; I see that You alone are the means. You must be my means! Hereafter, in the removal of what is not desirable or in the attainment of what is desirable -- could anything be a burden to me?" (Nadadur Ammal) The Exercises open us into the love of Christ, in every dimension of our being; Fr. Nicolas and Fr. Katoaki remind us that this opening is ever larger than we've previously imagined.

But as Fr. Nicolas also points out, all of this is still a challenge accompanied by incompletely answered questions; and to make progress, academic reflection has a contribution to make. I am teaching a seminar this semester on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, the classic (c. 5th century) synthesis of yoga's way of understanding self and world; with the great yoga text, we are reading the Spiritual Exercises, to see what we learn about each tradition in light of the other. More on this after the semester ends.

Note to readers: If you've read this far, I'd be interested in hearing from you what you'd like to hear about in these occasional blogs. I'm not a political and social commentator, and my reflections will rarely be about current events, but I do try to keep close to what I know as Jesuit, professor, and student of Hinduism. But let me know what you'd like to hear from me, by comments on this column, or by contacting me directly at fclooney@hds.harvard.edu.

Francis X. Clooney, S.J.