God in all things?

Loyola University is a Jesuit institution, which means that its mission and values relate to the Jesuit ideals of education set out by Saint Ignatius of Loyola (here on campus, he goes by Iggy, for short). Twenty-eight colleges and universities in the United States ascribe to these values, and I have come to feel a great affinity toward Jesuit educational institutions because of them. For example, the Jesuit identity of our institution indicates a special focus on the practice of discernment, or separating our thought and decision-making process from worldly wants, desires, and fears, and instead focusing on the deepest needs of our hearts and minds. Jesuit education promotes the idea of a unity between heart and head, as well as using our talents for the betterment of the world. There is also special attention placed on freedom for oppressed populations, holistic development, and working toward an end to poverty. These values are etched on the walkway in front of the Loyola library, and I enjoy reading them as I navigate my way around campus. But one always gives me pause: commitment to seeing God in all things. 

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have undergone what Sharon Daloz Parks calls "spiritual shipwreck" over the past ten years. I arrived at college with a seemingly deep and solid Catholic faith that was brought into question by the many challenges of identity and the nature of knowledge while I was an undergraduate. I vacillated between different denominations, teachings, and beliefs for much of college, during which I experienced some painful losses of both family members and friends. As cliche as it may be, I experienced a crisis of faith in college from which I have yet to recover. 

Over the past year or so, I have re-opened and begun the process of cautiously exploring the vault of my spirituality. I have attended different types of masses and spiritual gatherings, embraced the mind-body experience of yoga, read numerous books, articles and psychological theories about faith development, and even wrote papers about the spiritual struggle in college. While all of these things have helped me soothe the pain of losing something that was such an integral part of my childhood and young adult life, I still have not figured things out and the sense of emptiness created by my lack of faithful assurance has left a void inside me. 

This summer, as I found comfort and conviction in the Jesuit ideals of education, I also have felt uncertainty about the idea that God is in all things. In the past few years, I have read, seen and experienced a lot of things that seem to contradict this concept in the form of war, greed, hatred and the wretched existence brought on humanity by the scourge of poverty and oppression.

 I have felt disheartened and discouraged by these things, and have found it difficult to believe that there is a God out there who would allow such evils to exist in the world. 

Last night, as I was muddling through my thoughts on a lot of these issues and feeling down about the lack of answers I was coming up with, I scoured my bookshelf for something to read that would distract me and my over-analytical brain. I picked up Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty,

a nonfiction narrative of the author's friendship with a fellow writer, Lucy Gealy, a victim of cancer that left her with extreme facial disfigurement. No sooner did I begin reading the book did I start coming across random lines and passages that seemed to be speaking directly to me and my anxieties about faith, life, and my future. 

p. 15"True spiritualism, more often then not, shows you just how hard things are, not how easy." For someone who is struggling with her faith, these words immediately popped out and soothed me. 

p. 39 on writing "It's got to be every day. If you don't turn out pages every day, you're not really a writer. You're just playing at it... you won't be for real if you don't write the pages. Then you're just like everyone else. A lot of talk and nothing gets done. All promise, no delivery." This section too struck me, as I have spent most of this summer contemplating whether I have a future as an academic, and whether my desire to write and be read is enough to carry me to the next phase of my academic life. 

and finally, p. 42-43 "I came to understand that night that I could not worry about [death] anymore. I knew then that it was just too enormous for me to manage, and that worrying about [it] would swamp me. If I was swamped by worry, I would be useless... I decided that night I would take all the hours of my life that could easily be spent worrying and instead I would try to [do something.].The world is saved through deeds, not prayer, because what is prayer but a kind of worry? I decided that my love [and passion] would have to manifest itself in deeds. 

I read and re-read this passage maybe five times and thought to myself, how ironic it was that I had pulled a truly random book off of my shelf and found so many insights into what I was feeling anxious and stressed about? I thought about something Judy Deshotels, a resident chaplain on campus, had said me a few weeks earlier; "Prayer and spirituality take different forms for different people. Your work and devotion to others can also be a form of faith and prayer." Patchett's passage seemed to reinforce that message. 

Although I still don't feel as though I am capable of seeing God in all things, despite my alignment and respect for many of the other Jesuit values, last night I began to think that maybe I do "see" God in books, and more generally, in the written word. And although I know I still have a long way to go in my own faith development, I like to think that that is a start.