Tony Lusvardi, S.J.

George Washington and the Jesuits

On Saturday, the United States of America will celebrate 250 years of independence. In a slightly ironic twist, I will be attending an ordination that weekend in… Great Britain. (Scotland, to be precise.) Don’t worry: I’m not going Loyalist, and, if anyone asks, my opposition to taxation without representation remains undimmed. It is, nonetheless, an occasion worth celebrating.

Declaring independence was a bold gamble for the colonists, with no guarantee of success; winning that independence was a work of tenacity and perseverance. Founding institutions that would produce two and a half centuries of stable and broadly just governance in the uncertain years that that followed independence is perhaps an even more remarkable achievement.

We Americans are fortunate to have a Constitution designed to keep the ship of state afloat even when unwholesome individuals wield the levers of power, but that first generation of Americans didn’t have that luxury. In those first years of American independence, without the stability of established republican precedents or even a firm national identity, things could easily have gone wrong. The murderous course of the French Revolution a few years later is a reminder of how badly can one can go even when shouting “Liberty!”

As I’ve argued before, Americans owe a lot to George Washington, who provided leadership that was remarkable, above all, for its integrity. Washington was no military genius but where he stood above the other figures of his age–what made him the greatest man of his century–was his character. As a general, he stayed steady even in defeat. His leadership was marked by patience, courage, and steady resolve. He learned how to hold his emotions–his temper was volcanic–in check. He put his country before personal ambitions, not just in word, but in deed as well. He showed a scrupulous respect for the rule of law; as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, he always deferred to the Continental Congress, even when tactically inconvenient. And, of course, he relinquished power, resigning his command at the end of the War of Independence and retiring to Mount Vernon after two presidential terms.

Homily for the Nativity of John the Baptist: The desert in the temple and the temple in the desert

Homily for the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist

John the Baptist, Filippo Lippi (ca 1455)

The story of Saint John the Baptist begins in the temple, when an angel announces his miraculous conception to the priest Zechariah while he is offering incense at the altar. The account of Gabriel’s announcement is read during the vigil of this feast, and today we read about the fulfillment of that prophecy.

We probably do not associate John with the temple because most of his prophetic mission takes place in the desert—which is exactly where he heads at the end of today’s Gospel. But I would like to pause for a moment in the temple, where the story begins.

As modern Christians living after Luther, Kant, and the Enlightenment, we are unfortunately accustomed to viewing the temple and all Jewish rituals in a somewhat negative light. We tend to see them as superfluous, rigid, and irrational. We think of ourselves as more enlightened, scientific, progressive, and perhaps even more moral, believing we have no need for such complex and useless rituals.

I must admit, I am grateful that I am not required to observe the entirety of the Jewish ritual law. I, too, enjoy eating prosciutto and calamari. But if we view the Jewish religion in a negative light—as if ritual worship were in itself merely a sign of a primitive mindset that we have finally outgrown—we lose something. The Gospel of Luke begins in the temple but, as all our biblical scholars know, it also ends there: after the resurrection, the disciples “were continually in the temple praising God” (Lk 24:53).

Interview on the Sagrada Familia and more

Nativity Facade, Sagrada Familia, Barcelona

Following up on my article in America about the Sagrada Familia and looking forward to Pope Leo XIV’s visit to Spain, I had a chance to sit down at the beginning of the month with Robert Duncan, host of Vatican Access, a new podcast from Catholic News Services.

It was a great conversation, and I was happy to discover this excellent new podcast. You can watch the interview here: “Why Pope Leo Chose Sagrada Família.”

Readers might also be interested to check out the 20th Anniversary Issue of Dappled Things magazine. The fact that this unique contribution to the Catholic literary scene has been going for two decades is indeed worth celebrating, and I was honored that they included one of my stories from 2017 in an anthology of their favorites. The story has dystopian ring, which in retrospect feels almost prophetic….

Here’s a final rundown of recent posts on Gaudí and the Sagrada Familia:

Scholars react to Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation

A number of reviews and reactions to Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation have come out in the past few months from scholars who have recognized the book’s importance not only for the field of sacramental theology, but for other areas such as missiology and moral theology as well.

I was especially delighted to read Dom Hugh Somerville Knapman’s appreciative words in The Downside Review. Some very important — but today largely overlooked — debates over limbo, the eternal destiny of unbaptized infants, and baptism were hashed out in the pages of The Downside Review in the mid-twentieth century, and I cite some of them in Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation. It is gratifying — and humbling — to see my own contribution become a part of this much longer and larger conversation.

Dom Knapman writes

It is to Anthony Lusvardi’s credit that he has revisited such an unfashionable doctrine, and so well… More importantly, even most importantly for this reader, Lusvardi confronts us with the centrality of baptism to the gift of salvation in Christ. Anyone who teaches baptism, especially at secondary and tertiary levels, will benefit enormously from Lusvardi’s work…

Lusvardi explains masterfully and accessibly how authentic doctrinal development plays out, as the Church addressed and overcame these apparent challenges to the fundamental doctrine of the necessity of sacramental baptism. What he reveals is that baptism always remains necessary, but also that in cases of strictly-defined inability, it can be attained by modes other than water, that is by blood or desire. Baptism by water, blood, or desire all achieve the same end: conformity to and participation in the death and resurrection of Christ.

While Dom Knapman appreciated the sacramental dimensions of the work, Dr. Gavin D’Costa, one of the world’s top scholars in the theology of world religions and missiology, notes its importance for those fields. In his review in Angelicum, D’Costa picked up on the parallels between my book’s historical analysis and Servais Pinckaers’s seminal The Sources of Christian Ethics, “where Pinckaers argued a similar thesis about Christian ethics — from Christologically centered praxis and the pursuit of virtue, to emphasizing duty, obligation and juridical categories.” Thinking about baptism or salvation primarily in terms of such categories, I argue, led to a distorted picture which began to come apart in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Pope Benedict XVI at the Sagrada Familia sixteen years ago

Next week Pope Leo XIV will visit the Basilica of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. I have been reflecting on this unique gem of modern architecture a lot since my trip to Barcelona this spring, especially in this essay in America magazine. Pope Leo will dedicate the basilica’s newly completed central tower; his visit got me thinking about the last time a pope visited the Sagrada Familia.

Sixteen years ago, Pope Benedict XVI dedicated the basilica’s central altar and gave a characteristically profound reflection to mark the occasion. I was studying philosophy at Loyola University Chicago at the time, and from the shores of Lake Michigan, I wrote a short reflection on the event, which I thought I’d reproduce here.

Beauty, Basilicas, and Barcelona

Beauty is one of mankind’s greatest needs.

—Benedict XVI

November 9, 2010.

On Sunday Pope Benedict consecrated the Basilica of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain, a truly awesome rite. Construction of the basilica, Antoni Gaudí’s masterpiece, began in 1882 and is not expected to be complete for another decade and a half. In that respect, the Sagrada Familia is like many of the other great churches of Europe which took centuries to complete.

Today, the Church celebrates the dedication of another great basilica, St. John Lateran, Rome’s cathedral. To some, this might seem a rather strange feast on the liturgical calendar, commemorating as it does a building rather than an event in the life of Jesus or a saint. Some might even disapprove of lavishing such attention on a structure, a sentiment that finds expression in a line from my least favorite liturgical song, “Gather Us In.” “Gather us in,” the ditty goes, but “[n]ot in the dark of buildings confining.”

The idea of church buildings as “confining,” however, does not do justice to artistic marvels such as the Sagrada Familia or St. John Lateran, wonders as much spiritual as they are architectural. These buildings are, in fact, a true and profound expression of faith.

It takes an act of faith just to start a project such as the Sagrada Familia, especially knowing that one is unlikely to live to see it through. In Pope Benedict’s homily on Sunday he noted the deep faith of the architect Gaudí, who when confronted by setbacks and obstacles would exclaim, “St. Joseph will finish this church.” I’m reminded of Florence’s cathedral, Santa Maria del Fiore, which was designed to be topped by a massive dome—before anyone had developed the technology to make building such a dome possible. Buildings such as the Sagrada Familia and Santa Maria del Fiore represent man’s stretch beyond the limits of his abilities, beyond what seems possible; to start building such a project is always an act of hope.

Sant’ Andrea al Quirinale — Bernini’s favorite church

A few weeks ago I shared some reflections on taking my final vows as a Jesuit, a tremendously blessed moment for me. Today I thought I might add a few words and pictures about the place where I took those vows: the Church of Sant’Andrea al Quirinale.

Since Rome is packed with stunningly beautiful churches, sometimes those that would be at the top of the visitor’s itinerary anywhere else in the world end up being overlooked. Sant’Andrea al Quirinale is one of those. It should be numbered among the most important Jesuit churches in the world, but in Rome it has to compete with the Gesù–site of the body of St. Ignatius and the arm of St. Francis Xavier–and Sant’Ignazio–the onetime chapel of the Roman College, as the Gregorian University was first known. Both churches are enormous, paradigmatic examples of the baroque at its most overwhelming.

Sant’Andrea is tiny by comparison, but don’t let size mislead you. It was the chapel of the first Jesuit novitiate; in an adjoining room, one can visit the relics of St. Stanislaus Kostka, patron of Jesuit novices and of students, who died there in 1568 at the age of 17.

While it stood on the site of an early church dedicated to Andrew the Apostle, the present Sant’Andrea (built in 1658) was designed by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Bernini, who was busy at the time decorating the interior of St. Peter’s Basilica and building the colonnade for St. Peter’s Square, refused to take a commission for Sant’Andrea. It was said to be his favorite work, and, as he aged, the great artist was sometimes seen sitting alone inside the church, enjoying its peaceful atmosphere.

Reflections on Antoni Gaudí and the meaning of the Sagrada Familia

A few weeks ago I alluded to a somewhat unexpected trip I made to Barcelona before Easter and put up a few pictures of the Sagrada Familia (here and here) and Casa Batlló, two of the most iconic works of the architect Antoni Gaudí. This year happens to be the 100th anniversary of Gaudí’s death, which will coincide with the visit of Pope Leo XIV to Spain. The aim of the trip was to write a reflection on the meaning of Gaudí’s great work for America magazine. The article is now out here, and I have to say it is one of my favorite pieces — no doubt because the subject is so beautiful and fascinating.

For good measure, I thought I’d share a few more photos for your reflection and enjoyment:

Final Jesuit Vows

On April 27, the feast of St. Peter Canisius on the Jesuit liturgical calendar, I professed my final vows as a Jesuit. I had taken my first vows 18 years before at the end of my novitiate in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Jesuit vows are unique in several ways.

For Jesuit priests, final vows come after ordination and after we have had an opportunity to do “tertianship,” which is a bit like an abbreviated second novitiate. We take a period of time away to review the fundamentals of what it means to be a Jesuit and to do the 30-day Spiritual Exercises a second time. (I did mine in 2023 in Australia.)

The first Jesuit vows that we take at the end of novitiate are simple but perpetual. In fact, they are really a promise to enter fully into the Society of Jesus (to take final vows) when the Society decides it is ready. Some have described the process as you vowing to enter the Society at first vows, and the Society accepting your offer at final vows. In addition to the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, the Jesuit vow formula contains a promise to show “special care for the instruction of children.” (If my students are reading, that’s you!) For many Jesuits, a vow of “special obedience to the sovereign pontiff in regard to the missions” is added. This implies an availability to carry out any mission that might be needed for the good of the Church. Pope Leo could order me to cheer for the White Sox if he wanted.

Jesus, Christians, and the law of Moses

Homily for Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Easter.

Moses, Basilica of St. James, Levoča, Slovakia

Today, in the Acts of the Apostles, we read about one of the first developments in the most significant controversy in the life of the early Church: the question of whether Christians of non-Jewish origin should be required to observe the Mosaic Law, particularly circumcision.

We know that, in the end, the Church recognized that all Christians are bound to observe the moral law, but not the ritual precepts that were intended to preserve the distinct identity of the Jewish people. Through his perfect and definitive sacrifice on Calvary, Jesus inaugurated a new worship, in which we participate today, and to which all peoples are called to join.

This controversy, resolved centuries ago, might seem of little relevance to us today, but it is not. It is important to remember this historical event because it teaches us at least two fundamental things. First of all, the Christian mission is universal, directed toward every human being. As St. Peter says after Pentecost: “There is no salvation in anyone else; for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we are to be saved.”

Jesuits and Liturgical Formation

I am pleased to have a talk I gave a couple of years ago at the Jungmann Society Congress in the Philippines included in a new volume, JESUITS AND LITURGY: COMMUNITY AND FORMATION published by the Faculty of Theology at Trnava University. A pdf version of the book is available here on the Jungmann Society website.

From Fr. Vlastimil Dufka’s introduction, here is a description of my own modest contribution:

In his presentation “Daily Mass in Jesuit Communities” Anthony R. Lusvardi SJ reflects on the role of daily Mass in Jesuit communities, framing his insights through both historical and contemporary perspectives. Drawing on early 20th-century debates between Jesuits and Benedictines, he identifies a persistent tendency among Jesuits to undervalue the formative nature of the liturgy—a tendency rooted in neo-scholastic minimalism and an overly intellectualized approach to worship. Lusvardi argues that the liturgy is not merely ceremonial but participatory and transformative, shaping those who engage in it through embodied symbolic action.

This conviction is grounded in his pastoral and pedagogical experience, particularly in his work with Jesuit scholastics preparing for ordination. While many Jesuit communities strive to celebrate daily Mass with reverence and fidelity, Lusvardi observes that implicit liturgical formation remains inconsistent and, at times, insufficient. Many young Jesuits express uncertainty about basic liturgical practices and a lack of theological grounding, revealing gaps in formation that risk weakening both priestly identity and the communal expression of the Church’s worship.

Lusvardi calls for a renewed appreciation of the daily Eucharist as central to Jesuit life and apostolate, in alignment with the Complementary Norms and the vision of Sacrosanctum Concilium. He advocates for more robust practical and theological formation in the ars celebrandi, deeper engagement with the practice of concelebration, and greater fidelity to liturgical norms—not as rigid formalism, but as a path to spiritual depth and ecclesial communion. Guided by the insights of Romano Guardini and Desiderio Desideravi, the talk concludes with a vision of the liturgy as a place of humility, formation, and peace—offering Jesuits the possibility of becoming men shaped by their encounter with the sacred, and capable of serving the Church with integrity and courage.

Readers might also enjoy the other articles in the volume; I found the opening remarks of the Jungmann Society President Jérôme Guignand, SJ, as well as his exceptionally well-researched article “Celebrating and the Prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours” particularly worthwhile.

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