The feast of St. Ignatius was back in July, of course, but I thought the reflections on discernment in my homily might be helpful in any season. Last year, I was asked for some thoughts on the process of communal discernment used by the Synod on Synodality. These reflections build on those observations.
You might have had the experience of the warning light on your dashboard coming on while you’re driving, signaling that you are low on gas, near the minimum. Here in South Dakota especially–where outside of the city gas stations can be few and far between–you don’t want to fall below that minimum. You might end up out in the cold or in this merciless heat—both dangerous circumstances—and in need of a good Samaritan to rescue you.
If you keep your tank filled, however, and don’t fall below the minimum, you can drive wherever you like. You just plug the destination into the GPS and go.
The warning light and the GPS are both helpful, but they serve different functions—the warning light tells us not to drop below the minimum and the GPS gives us directions. The readings for today’s feast of St. Ignatius, I think, point to a way of living the Christian faith that goes beyond the minimum.
If we think about the commandments, they are very useful for giving us the minimal rules of the road necessary to avoid an accident or a breakdown by the roadside. Because of this function, most of the commandments are written in a negative form—“Thou shall not…” Even those that aren’t prohibitions—“Keep holy the Sabbath” and “Honor thy father and mother”—set a minimum of necessary behaviors. Sunday Mass is the minimum necessary worship if we are to do justice to God, and fulfilling our family duties is the minimum necessary social obligation if we’re to maintain a functional social harmony.
But just doing the minimum isn’t enough to live a fulfilling life or to live a life of discipleship. If I put on my to-do list for tomorrow, “Don’t kill anyone, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal,” I’ll end up rather bored. The minimum tells us what to avoid, but not much of what to do.
Today’s readings push us beyond this minimum of staying within the law. “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God,” St. Paul tells the Corinthians. And Jesus, in terrifyingly challenging words, says, “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”
When the rich young man approaches Jesus and asks what he must do to inherit eternal life, the Lord tells him, first, to keep the commandments. And he’s done that. He’s fulfilled the minimum. But that’s not enough. He must give up everything and follow Jesus.
And where I think Ignatius of Loyola, the great saint that we celebrate today and the founder of the Society of Jesus, really makes his contribution to Christian life is in showing us how to live beyond the minimum. In the Gospel, Jesus also speaks about planning. He uses the metaphor of construction plans for a building and of directing a military campaign—both complex endeavors that can’t be adequately planned for with a generic set of rules. These require discernment. And Ignatius is the master of discernment.
Discernment means choosing between two goods. It means we’ve already achieved the minimum. It’s not meant to substitute for the commandments. If something is a sin, it’s not a proper object for Ignatian discernment. In the Ignatian sense, you can’t discern whether to rob a bank or get a job; to shack up with your boyfriend or to get married; whether to reconcile with your wife or to hire a hitman. Following the commandments comes first, and discernment does not eliminate the reality of right and wrong, the possibility of sin, or the necessity of obedience. If there’s not gas in your tank, it doesn’t matter what the GPS says.
But once we’ve decided to pursue the good, there are all sorts of little decisions to make which aren’t a question of choosing between virtue and sin. And that’s where discernment comes in—weighing the options, testing which option leaves you with an enduring sense of peace, seeking the advice and help of others, listening and making a decision when in the right frame of mind instead of when frazzled or harried.
And the ultimate criteria for discerning between goods is doing what is for the greater glory of God. This is the destination, the ultimate goal we want to plug into our GPS and arrive at.
When we think about what Paul says, “whether you eat or drink, do everything for the glory of God,” he’s talking about living a God-saturated life, a life that is permeated by God in every moment and directed toward the glory of God in every particular. Occasionally, we have to do a little recalculating when we make a wrong turn, but we must have a destination, and our direction matters. Just doing the minimum without a destination—without the desire for God and for an existence filled with his glory—means a life ultimately without direction. If we follow the rules of the road but drive around without direction, eventually we’ll run out of gas.
St. Ignatius—in his Spiritual Exercises, in his rules for discernment, in the motto of the Society of Jesus—gives us the light to live a life of discipleship that goes beyond the minimum, to live with direction and purpose, a God-saturated life—to seek and to strive, to do everything for the greater glory of God.
Readings: 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Luke 14:25-33
St. Isaac Jogues Catholic Church
Rapid City, South Dakota
2024
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Tony Lusvardi, S.J. 