R.S.A Kandy

Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Priest.
1491–1556.
July 31—Memorial.

Patron Saint of soldiers, retreats, and the Basque country
A soldier reads his way to holiness and founds a mighty company.
Like so many other male saints, today’s saint began his adult life as a knight and soldier. In the service of a local noble, he learned the male sins that armies and royal courts excel in teaching: gambling, fighting, treachery, and womanizing. When courageously defending a fortress in Pamplona, Spain, Ignatius was hit by a cannonball. One leg was shattered and the other badly damaged. A long and painful recovery ensued. During this convalescence, he consciously decided to exchange his service from an earthly to a divine Lord. Yet Ignatius’ initial conversion developed, over time, into something far more subtle. As he moved toward the Priesthood, Ignatius engaged in profound reflection on the nature of Christian self-awareness, on prayer, and on what it meant to be radically committed to Christ and the Church.
For all of his worldliness and martial experience, Ignatius’ conversion started, ironically, with books. To counter the endless boredom of his recovery, he began to read about Saint Francis of Assisi, Saint Dominic, and other saints. He wondered if he could be like them. And then he wondered, a minute later, if he could court and marry a beautiful woman he desired. And then he was carried away thinking about new military expeditions. And on and on his mind wandered, as most minds do. But then came a spiritual breakthrough. Ignatius reflected on reflection and thought about his thoughts. He plumbed his own depths, in the tradition of Saint Augustine, and analyzed the “shelf life” and quality of his emotions and mental experiences long after they had passed. He observed that reading the lives of the saints and thinking about earthly adventures were both pleasurable. But as time passed, reflection on holy things did not dissipate, while thoughts of earthly pleasures did. Saint Ignatius’ astute spiritual self-reflections spurred him to change the entire trajectory of his life. He wanted permanent happiness. He wanted joy. He repented of his past sins and decided to walk the way of the saints.
Saint Ignatius documented his spiritual progress, eventually publishing his insights in his classic, the Spiritual Exercises. Other saints and mystics had previously written sophisticated reflections on the normal objects of Catholic devotion. But Ignatius focused on the subject of prayer—the human person—as well as on the object of prayer—God. The mystery of God was equaled by the mystery of man. Ignatius was an innovator in describing the psychological process of praying, in advocating for a systematic examination of conscience, and in encouraging a planned method of introducing into the imagination specific biblical scenes or other objects of Christian faith for reflection. The Spiritual Exercises taught the Christian to profit from himself.
Saint Ignatius had an eventful life of wide travel, study, and apostolic activity after his conversion. His high ideals and creative leadership drew throngs of impressive followers. He chose a military name for his new order—the Company of Jesus. By the time of his death, this Company was widespread and continued its meteoric growth long after his passing to become the preeminent Catholic Order of men in the world. It is not too much to say that the Jesuits saved Europe from Protestantism, evangelized entire countries by themselves, educated the higher classes of many nations for centuries, and taught a Catholic humanism of the highest caliber. “One man and God make an army,” a saint once said. Ignatius supplied the soldiers, and God did the rest.
Saint Ignatius, may your method and example of prayer, mortification, and study inspire all modern apostles to make Christ the destination and the path, the end and the means, the way, the truth, and the life.
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Saint Jerome Emiliani, Priest, 1481–1537
February 8—Optional Memorial
Patron Saint of orphans and abandoned children

He was forever grateful after surviving an encounter with death
In the year 1202, a wealthy young Italian man joined the cavalry of his town’s militia. The inexperienced soldiers went into battle against a neighboring town’s larger force and were obliterated. Most of the retreating soldiers were run through with lances and left for dead in the mud. But at least one was spared. He was an aristocrat wearing fine clothes and new, expensive armor. He was worth taking hostage for ransom. The captive suffered in a dark, miserable prison for a full year before his father made the payment for his release. He returned to his hometown a changed man. That town was Assisi. That man was Francis.
Today’s saint, Jerome Emiliani, endured much the same. He was a soldier in the city state of Venice and was appointed the commander of a fortress. In a battle against a league of city states, the fortress fell and Jerome was imprisoned. A heavy chain was wrapped around his neck, hands, and feet, and fastened to a huge chunk of marble in an underground prison. He was forgotten, alone, and treated like an animal in the gloom of a dungeon. This was the pivot point. He repented of his godless life. He prayed. He dedicated himself to the Madonna. And then, somehow, he escaped, chains in hand, and fled to a nearby city. He walked through the doors of the local church and headed to the front to fulfill a fresh vow. He slowly approached a much venerated Virgin and placed his chains on the altar before her. He knelt, bowed his head, and prayed. His life was about to begin again.
Some pivot points can turn a life’s straight line into a right angle. Other lives change slowly, bending like an arc over a long span of years. The deprivations endured by Saint Francis of Assisi and Saint Jerome Emiliani occurred suddenly. These men were comfortable, had money, and were supported by family and friends. Then, shockingly, they were naked, alone, and chained. Saint Jerome could have despaired in his imprisonment. Many people do. He could have rejected God, understood his sufferings as a sign of God’s disfavor, become bitter, and given up. Instead, he persevered. His imprisonment was a purification. He gave his suffering purpose. Once free, he was like a man born anew, grateful that the heavy prison chains no longer weighed down his body to the floor.
Once he started sprinting away from that prison fortress, it was like Saint Jerome never stopped running. He studied, was ordained a priest, and traveled throughout Northern Italy founding orphanages, hospitals, and homes for abandoned children, fallen women, and outcasts of all kinds. Exercising his priestly ministry in a Europe newly split by Protestant heresies, Jerome also wrote perhaps the first question-and-answer catechism in order to inculcate Catholic doctrine in his charges. Like so many saints, he seemed to be everywhere at once, caring for everyone except himself. While tending to the sick, he became infected and died in 1537, a martyr to generosity. He was, naturally, the kind of man who attracted followers. They eventually formed into a religious Congregation and received ecclesiastical approbation in 1540. Saint Jerome was canonized in 1767 and named the Patron Saint of orphans and abandoned children in 1928.
His life hinged on one pivot. It is a lesson. Emotional, physical, or psychological suffering, when conquered or controlled, can be a prelude to intense gratitude and generosity. No one walks down the street more free than a former hostage. No one enjoys a warm, comfortable bed like someone who once slept on asphalt. No one gulps a breath of fresh morning air quite like someone who has just heard from the doctor that the cancer is gone. Saint Jerome never lost the wonder and gratitude that filled his heart at the moment of his liberation. All was new. All was young. The world was his. And he would place all his power and energy in God’s service because he was a survivor.
Saint Jerome Emiliani, you overcame confinement to live a fruitful life dedicated to God and man. Help all who are confined in any way—physically, financially, emotionally, spiritually, or psychologically—to overcome whatever binds them and to live a life without bitterness.
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