It was an odd choice for a circle of ancient Calvinist cronies, although the book came highly recommended by some younger cohorts, none of whom were Roman Catholic. Then again, let it be said that The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything is can't be read on a single Sabbath afternoon. It's not particularly tough sledding, but it's a brick of a book, and none of us--seniors all--is considering joining the Jesuits anytime soon.
So yesterday, when we got together to talk about it, we asked ourselves just exactly what major differences existed between Roman Catholicism and our own particular pitch of old-time Calvinism. "Hierarchy," I said, "the whole pope thing, lord of all."
Someone else mentioned Mary, the rosary business, the immaculate conception, and all of that.
Others agreed, but none of us could remember reading much about the Holy Mother in The Jesuit Guide, so one of us flipped open the book to the index and announced that "Mary" wasn't even listed.
If she was not part of a 400-page book--complete with questions for discussions and a handy dandy guide to what's inside--her absence might help explain how it might be that a gaggle of guys who've been Christian Reformed for all or most of our lives could have enjoyed the book as much as we did.
More to the point, perhaps, is the character of spirituality Father Martin creates to define the Ignatian way, "a spirituality for real life," he calls it.
It's not at all rare for him to venture into memoir when referencing his own life by way of experiences he judges to be helpful. At one point, he talks about the fact that his writing has given him some standing, some prominence in the community, which could translate into some arrogance. Hasn't, he says.
Overall, I'm happy that others find my writing helpful, especially since the work of a Jesuit is supposed to "help souls." The more people who read books about the spiritual life the more chance that at least a few more souls will be helped.
Read closely, Martin's use of the word help is as interesting as it is peculiar because, read by a Protestant like me, help is, at least, somewhat unexpected. Most of our evangelical friends wouldn't use the word he does. This is the way that last sentence would be rendered in evangelicaldom: "The more people who read books about the spiritual life the more chance that at least a few more souls will be saved."
I don't know enough about the Jesuits to assert that Martin's choice of words is characteristic, but I do know that the spirituality he tries to document and to praise in this forthright guide is in no way over the top. "Being saved" is a big deal, but the phrase isn't in his lexicon. Help is. His is a spirituality I can live with. For me at least, that usage may well be a key to understanding why I found the book a good fit.
Asides are almost always rich. He puts some material into shaded boxes throughout, often signaling something light-hearted. One of those shadow boxes featured a long quote from a Jean-Pierre de Caussade, SJ (of course!), who at some moment in his era (1675-1751) penned this preciousness.
Those who have abandoned themselves to God always lead mysterious lives and receive from God exceptional and miraculous gifts by means of the most ordinary, natural and chance experiences in which thee appears to be nothing unusual. The simplest sermons, the most banal conversations, the least erudite books become the source of knowledge and wisdom to these souls by virtue of go0d's purpose. This is why they carefully pick up the crumbs which clever minds tread underfoot, for to them everything is precious and a source of enrichment.
That's rich, isn't it? That's the kind of spirituality Father James Martin, SJ, is peddling in the The Jesuit Guide to Almost Everything. That's why we liked it, I think.
At least that's why I did.
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