to set the right tone and spirit for a deeper relationship with God. It’s about engaging the world in a positive way, but with our eyes wide open to painful realities. St. Ignatius wanted Christians to be immersed in the world, leading our lives boldly and getting our hands dirty. Like Pope Francis telling pastors to “smell like the sheep,” embracing the model of a “field hospital” church in which we all find solace, faith, and healing, St. Ignatius didn’t want fearful followers praying behind closed doors, safely isolated by creature comforts and clerical privileges from the struggles of ordinary people.
This missionary image of the Catholic Church is not unique to Pope Francis, but distinctive of the Society of Jesus in which he, many others, and I have vowed our lives to God. The message of St. Ignatius is that any person of good will, without reading long theological tomes or taking classes, can hear and speak to God. And the Jesuit saints can show us how to do it.
St. Ignatius of Loyola started his own life as a two-bit “man on the make,” seeing very little beyond the end of his nose. By his own telling, he should have died young in a gutter or a brawl, forgotten to history. But he changed the world and became a saint in the process because he woke up to God’s love in the nick of time. His story reminds us that Jesus Christ remains active in our world, waiting for us to let him draw us closer into his friendship. We need only to put him in the center, surrender to his invitation, and embrace our reality as loved sinners.
If St. Ignatius could do it, why can’t we?
Chapter Two
Trust
The only really effective apologia for Christianity comes down to two arguments, namely, the saints the Church has produced and the art which has grown in her womb.
— Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (later Pope Benedict XVI)
Sometimes I don’t feel very close to God, but I feel close to the saints who are close to him.
For many dedicated Christians, even Jesuits like me, God can feel abstract and distant at times. Whether we’re talking about the Father, Son, or Holy Spirit, it doesn’t matter. Because I can’t see or touch the Triune God directly, it can be hard for me to sense his presence at certain moments in my life even if I know on an intellectual level that he’s there.
All sorts of things can block my relationship with God and keep me from bringing my messy life to him. At times, I may keep God at arm’s length simply because I don’t want him to see the ugly or broken parts of my soul. Or I may shut him out because I’ve suffered something awful, preventable or not, that makes me doubt the reality of his goodness.
But even when I don’t find it easy to talk with God, I often find it easy to talk with one of his saints, whose deeds and words invariably steer my heart gently back to him. By the example of their trust in God, the saints strengthen my ability to open up to him in trust when nothing else seems to be working.
As high school theology students know, the English word “saint” comes from the Latin sanctus for “holy,” which in turn comes from the Greek hagios for “holy ones.” It occurs in Scripture several times, including the opening address of Paul to the “holy ones” (saints) in Corinth. In this sense, saints include not only all those who are in heaven — whether recognized by the Catholic Church officially or not — but also those on earth who are already leading holy lives.
To become an official saint through the canonization process of the Roman Catholic Church, you have to be dead first. You must die with a reputation for holiness, having lived a life that brought many people around you closer to God. People might then begin praying to you, saving parts of your clothing or body as relics, and telling others about you. Eventually, some people might make formal petition to the local bishop, who would then decide whether to begin the lengthy investigation that could eventually result in you being proclaimed a saint.
The Roman Catholic Church has designated certain canonized saints as “patron saints” with a special connection to various professions, illnesses, nations, and so forth. We pray to these patron saints for certain things in those contexts. For example, St. Joseph was a carpenter, so carpenters and others might pray to him before working with wood. St. Patrick brought the faith to Ireland, so the Irish might invoke him on behalf of their nation.
We also have our individual patron saints. If a boy was baptized Timothy after St. Timothy, then he might pray in a special way to this first-century evangelist and bishop of Ephesus who traveled with St. Paul of Tarsus. The same would be true of a girl baptized Mary, who might pray to the Mother of God for help in doing God’s will in a difficult situation.
Patron Saints
You can learn a lot about Catholics by the patron saints each one of us adopts.
Upon being elected Vicar of Christ in 2013, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, S.J., chose St. Francis of Assisi as his papal namesake after a fellow cardinal asked him to “remember the poor.” Deeply moved by this request, the future Pope Francis recalled the image of the holy beggar who founded the Franciscans and felt drawn to choose him as the patron saint of his papacy. Like St. Ignatius on his sickbed, the world’s first Jesuit pope felt especially close to this saint of the poor.
Many of us have more than one saint in our names. My own name is Sean Michael Joseph Ignatius Salai, S.J. Not to the U.S. government, of course, for whom I am merely Sean Michael Salai. But within the Catholic Church, in which I’ve chosen two of these names for myself, that’s my full name.
Sean, my first name, is an Irish form of John. I received it as a baby without any religious significance or Irish ancestry, but I’ve since adopted St. John the Evangelist as my name saint and December 27 — his feast day — as my onomastico or “name day” to celebrate in a special way. In this case, I might have picked another St. John, but I really like John’s gospel!
I also received my middle name, Michael, without any particular religious significance. But I associate it with St. Michael the Archangel, the warrior spirit who leads God’s army of good angels against Satan’s army of rebellious angels (demons) in the Book of Revelation. When I struggle with the demons of my life, I recite the Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel:
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of
the Devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts,
by the divine power of God,
cast into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits,
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
This is a prayer of minor exorcism, offering protection (not deliverance from demonic possession) against the influence of evil spirits in our lives, whether they are spirits of temptation and addiction or of compulsion and oppression. At times of internal struggle, no matter how agonizing, I find comfort in reciting these words. As an angel, St. Michael is a pure spirit (he never had a physical body) rather than a human being, so he’s not exactly cut from the same cloth as me, but I pray to him when I need courage and help in difficult battles. The image of Michael’s winged figure clad in armor and stabbing a demon in the head with his sword, seen in many Catholic statues and paintings, can feel mighty comforting when I want God to stab my selfishness and hardness of heart in the head.
St. Michael casts out
