Everyday Ignatian is a series written by guest contributors, chronicling their daily lives and experiences through the lens of Ignatian spirituality.聽
Picture this: You are living in a land occupied by agents of a violent government. Your local leader, who is meant to protect you, is only concerned with appeasing the newest tyrant. Criminals are cleared of charges and allowed to roam free while the innocent are led away to prison. Large gatherings are dangerous, religious authorities twist their words and fear reigns supreme.
Sound familiar?
Oftentimes around liturgical seasons I can grow numb to the stories I have heard yearly since birth. As the Lenten readings leading up to Easter progress, I nod along in Mass and pass crayons to my little daughter in the pew while my mind wanders to whether I remembered to switch on the crockpot. The Scripture readings are sorrowful, but I know Christ is risen; the ending is happy, and all is well. Yet, I know that this attitude of calloused familiarity keeps me from experiencing the wonder of the resurrection and the mystery of how it relates to our lives today.
In an effort to revitalize my understanding of the stories in Scripture, I have been practicing contemplative or imaginative prayer. Imaginative prayer engages the heart and mind in envisioning a scriptural narrative using sensory details, historical insight and our own imaginations. Imaginative prayer is a powerful way to connect with Scripture and a keystone of Ignatian spirituality, employing the Holy Spirit to reveal a mystery of Christ鈥檚 life that holds meaning for your own.
When practicing imaginative prayer, one enters into the narratives with curiosity. I am finding that one of my favorite aspects of the story to consider is the environmental considerations of historical and physical setting. For instance, the scene at the top of this page could describe our present day or countless moments in history; however, this snapshot outlines the setting of Christ鈥檚 crucifixion for the Israelite people held under Roman rule.
I came to a better understanding of the charged political setting of this time by reading portions of Elizabeth Johnson鈥檚 work 鈥淭ruly Our Sister鈥� and discovered that the Israelites had labored under Roman occupation for over 50 years at this point in history. Guards roamed the streets on the lookout for signs of Jewish sedition and uprising. Around Jewish holidays, like Passover, Roman soldiers would have been especially on guard given the large groups who flocked to Jerusalem for religious observances at the temple. Justice and the question of who held authority in religious and civic matters was a murky business; these historical facts added not only to my understanding but also to my ability to imagine the scenes of Christ鈥檚 trials and crucifixion.
As I considered the weight carried by the Jewish people at the time of Christ鈥檚 crucifixion, images of Minnesota and stories of families too frightened to attend church or school flooded my mind. A community鈥檚 fear and anger felt at the presence of a militant force encroaching on sacred ground stretched across centuries to comingle in my mind鈥檚 eye. Contemplating the social environment of Judea in the first century AD inspired in my heart a new fire to pray for and aid individuals and families around the United States who are experiencing these same circumstances. And conversely, engaging with my own emotions around what is happening in our present day allowed me to enter more fully into the story of my Savior鈥檚 death and resurrection.
These moments of connection, of seeing our own stories and feelings mirrored in the narratives of Scripture through imaginative prayer, occur not only with examination of historical setting but also with the contemplation of the sensory details and emotional experience of a figure within the narrative.
One Lenten scene that I have always been rather confused about is the release of Barabbas by Pontius Pilate. The historical significance of a Roman governor offering the release of a prisoner to celebrate the Passover makes an odd sort of sense, but I am left wondering 鈥� likely the same thing as Pilate 鈥� why would the crowd choose Barabbas over Jesus?
So, I entered the story: I pictured a college football game mob. I imagine myself as a bystander in the crowd which stands before Pontius Pilate. People are pressing in on me; I smell the sweat and drinks of those nearby. I start to feel slightly claustrophobic and quell my rising panic by watching the spectacle in front of me. Pilate asks the people who they want him to release: Barabbas, a murderer and insurrectionist, or Jesus, a man whom we welcomed into the city mere days before with palm branches. I had noticed how the Jewish religious leaders reacted to that welcome, how they chaffed at another spiritual leader being hailed with such fanfare. Is that why all these people are shouting for Jesus to be crucified, the displeasure of the religious leaders? Is that why the leaders of the Sanhedrin wear expressions like they鈥檝e won a twisted game? I am so confused, so disappointed in our leaders and the way they are swaying this crowd. I grieve the loss of a teacher like Jesus; he led with love and humility rather than force and pride.
When I conclude this contemplative prayer, I notice how my mind put certain pieces together such as the religious leader鈥檚 influence and the connection to Jesus鈥� welcome on Palm Sunday as well as the force of a crowd swayed by those in power. I felt the dangerous undercurrent of group mentality and better understood how frightening it would have been to speak up for Jesus in an environment shaped by militant occupation. However, what surprised me the most is that the connecting emotions felt most keenly were confusion, disappointment and bewilderment at the political choices of others: choosing violence over love. Feelings all too familiar for many of us here in the States.
The experience of entering the story through imaginative prayer, of feeling the fear and confusion of the people living in this time, offered me a greater knowledge of and connection to narratives in Scripture, especially the familiar ones. The power of the Spirit working through the process of understanding Jesus鈥� time opened my eyes to the powerful ways these stories speak to and inform our day-to-day life.
Familiarity is a sword that cuts both ways. It can create a numbness to a narrative, but it can also inspire curiosity about the historical setting and emotional experiences which illuminate the echoes of the story in our lives today. As we meditate on the readings of Lent, let us proceed with a curiosity that enables the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts and see the impact of Jesus鈥� death and resurrection not only in the past but in our lives each day.
