~ by Fr. Jack Bentz, SJ

Somewhere in the middle of all the saints I began to cry.

There we were, dozens of Jesuits, many of us robed in albs and stoles and still more in the crowd jammed into our beautiful church of St. Aloysius Gonzaga in Spokane. We were gathered together to celebrate the ordination of six Jesuits to the priesthood. Every year we gather, every year we ordain men and every year I lose it somewhere in the litany of the saints. Let me explain.

First of all, the church is packed will all the friends and family of the men being ordained. These are men and women, children and old folks who come to witness God’s choosing someone they know to serve in God’s own Church. These people come to see their friend, their son, their brother, their uncle, say “Yes” to God, to see him respond in love to Love. The simple reality of the love in the room moves me.

Secondly, I am surrounded by Jesuits I know and love. We are truly a companionship, a company of Jesus. These are superstar Jesuits and very obscure Jesuits. There are Jesuits who radiate holiness and others who radiate brokenness and several who are caught up in both. Young Jesuits in their twenties and a few of our brothers nearing a hundred years old, all my brothers, all my companions. This fills my eyes with tears of gratitude.

Thirdly, the six men themselves are lying face down on the floor of the church while all the saints in heaven are being asked to pray for them and for us. These men are in a posture of complete surrender to the immensity of God’s grace and might. These men are, at this moment, the part of us which is completely bowled over by the enormity of our lives as priests. They are making real in their bodies what is always the case within our spirits. Flat out in awe of our mighty God.

Finally, as I knelt and sang over and over again, “All you holy men and women pray for us,” I looked at the statues in the church. The staid, mediocre, statues of Joseph and the child Jesus, Jesus and his Sacred Heart, and Jesus on the cross. All statues very familiar to me, I have seen them every time I’ve come into St. Al’s. But now they look different. In a church filled with song, filled with love, excitement, filled with the self offering of the six men lying face down on the ground with all of us imploring the prayers of the generations of saintly people – the statues seemed to move.

I swear I saw these plaster figures begin to strain towards the sky. The arms of Jesus offering his heart began to reach for the heavens and Christ on the cross began to strain against the nails as he too was lifted up. All of them and all of us being drawn up and into the glorious and all encompassing reality of God. Is it any wonder I began to weep for the sheer joy of being part of it all?

I realized that this church and all of us wait to be animated by the same Spirit of Love who first breathed life into all of us, into the whole world.

There are those times when I experience an empty worship space as musty, dull, lifeless and stale. This is because at that moment I am not experiencing the space filled with people glorifying God with this overflowing gift of love. At those times, I need to remember this particular weekend, to remember the experience of being part of a liturgy fulfilling its potential. This did happen. This
can happen. And through Christ it will happen again. Give the glory to God!