I am writing this letter to reflect on my first experience of the Spiritual Exercises. I am not actually in the movement, and ordinarily, it would be my habit to feel out of place or “on the outside”. However, my not being within the movement doesn’t seem to stop those who are from welcoming me with open arms. In fact, arriving at SPEC (the centre where the Exercises were held), the gift of welcome was so freely given, that it was impossible not to be filled by it. Impossible not to let it affect me.

“We have come to know love”. The people around me seemed to understand so clearly that they were loved that they were incapable of doing anything other than sharing that love. And, because I felt welcomed – loved – I felt able to receive what the Exercises offered. This, for me, was the lesson to precede all lessons – a refreshing approach to the act of being that receives everything as gift, and therefore, whilst living this love with profound sincerity, doesn’t hold on to anything too tightly.

The elements discussed in the lessons were not foreign to me, but the way that they were discussed, and the courageous openness to question and challenge from people trying to live this love in “the real world” was different from my previous experiences. I’d been told before that the kernel of the faith was to believe that one was loved by God, but the exercises helped me to see how inextricable this belief is from charity, sacrifice, and virginal love. I think, now, that these are impossible to live completely, sincerely, unless one accepts that they are loved first. That existence is gift. That as a “personal friend of the Infinite, you are dust, but you are seen”. Any other order, and charity is merely philanthropy; sacrifice merely vacuous self-denial, or even narcissism; and love, merely fearful grasping.

I could never do the lessons justice, but this is a synopsis of what I took from them. Firstly, if I allow myself to receive the incomprehensible gift of God’s love, seeing my very existence as part of a mystery that He desires, then I am filled with this love. Subsequently, even in my sorrowful sinfulness, I am able to respond, like Peter did, to His question: Do you love Me? From wherever I am starting, I can reply, “I do. I do love You”. And this back and forth of love makes Him the object of every action I undertake. As was discussed by Fr. Giovanni, if charity is reduced to mere good action, its immense truth is denied. In the face of my very existence reminding me that I am loved, there is nothing that I can do in response to this, except to love. Therefore, charity can’t be a single action, but rather a way of being, that hopefully, after time, becomes an automatic reply to God’s love for me, that fills me, and overflows in action. It isn’t my love that drives charity, it is His. As a result, it teaches me more about His love. Perhaps this is why the movement calls charity “educational”? I am not sure, I am still learning.

The lessons talked about this same Love transforming sacrifice. I’ve often tried to “offer up” trials or prayed that God would “use” them. But I think, deep down, my prayer was that He’d take away the trial or curtail it somehow. Now, I imagine Him asking me that question from the cross. Do you love Me? What I took from Fr Giovanni’s discussion on sacrifice, in particular, was its value as a response to reality. A generous consent to my reality, even when it’s not the one I’d have chosen, is a way of trusting God’s love for me; trusting that the end will be what He wants for me. Though it’s hard to write this just now, since it is a time of trial of sorts, even suffering could be received as a gift, if I let Him love me there, if I allow it to help me to identify even more with Him on the cross. If I climb on to the cross, and say “I do. I do love You”, trusting that His love, my love, even in that place might do some good, to someone, somehow.

The final element I confess to be my favourite part, and this is virginal loving. I had previously understood this as a kind of detachment – sort of loving from a distance, perhaps without the object of your love really being aware. I was happy enough with that, but an excerpt from Miguel Mañara mentioned in the lessons helped me to understand more fully. The heroine of the play is asked why she doesn’t adorn herself with flowers, given that she loves flowers so much. She answers that it is because she loves flowers so much, that she would rather love them where they are, where they grow, than destroy them by pulling them to her, and enjoying their temporary blooming whilst condemning them to die.

If I believe that I am truly loved by God, and that this love is infinite, increasing when shared, unlike any other temporal good, I don’t need to be afraid of loving without having. Even if this kind of love means a personal sacrifice of my immediate reaction, my eagerness to grasp, such intentional sacrifice doesn’t reduce love, but rather makes it more profound. The analogy of the flowers expresses how such love just continues to grow, as flowers do when left where they are. Truly loving in this way, for the sake of the other, without desiring to possess, then, is boundless. I don’t think one could love this way unless one believes that they are loved infinitely by God. Then, whatever the object of said virginal love is, it is Christ’s infinite love that fills the space between. And so, even if seemingly self-less, this is place where one experiences endless, almost overpowering love.

I’m so grateful for the experience of the exercises, for the welcome I received, and for God’s providence. More than being told how important it is to understand, I think perhaps I have come to know and to believe that I am loved.

And from that point, nothing can stay the same.

Kathy, London