Discipline, or the Lack Thereof

“He who goes about to reform the world must begin with himself, or he loses his labor.”

― St. Ignatius of Loyola

This week I had planned to re-introduce the Examen to my daily routine, in an effort to reconnect with something lost over these last few years.

Not familiar?

The Examen is the cornerstone of Jesuit spirituality, an exercise introducd by the order's founder, Ignatius of Loyola.

The process is deceptively simple--basically, a daily five-step meditation and prayer reviewing one's day and finding God's presence in life by our response to thinking of our experiences and encountering either consolation, signaling divine presence, or desolation when we ponder on the opposite. Practiced regularly, as I once did, the Examen brings all sorts of positive things into one's life--gratitude, the ability to sense a higher power (or God or the divine or the Force, whatever one chooses to call it) in the quotidian details of our lives, a sense of peace with things through developing that relationship.

If that sounds all new age gooey, it's really not. One of the great things about the Jesuit way, or maybe more accurately the reason it resonates with me, is that it involves thinking and discipline, making one adhere to a process the same way one might improve physical health with regular trips to the gym.

Except I'm not the guy I was when St. Ignatius and I first found each other over a decade ago. I'm lazy. A fifteen-minute meditation presents a real challenge for me now, with wandering thought processes shaped by ten years of doom-scrolling in the age of Trump. In the evenings, the most frequent time folks engage in an Examen, I'd rather have that third glass of wine and sprawl on the couch with P and an old Judy Collins record playing in the background. And although the Examen is an individual process, it doesn't seem as effective in this season of life spent with no faith community. John Prine's lyrics aside, maybe you really can't find Jesus on your own.

A day of drafting documents and assembling virtual exhibit folders here in the home office, waiting for the call from Peg to meet her over at the hospital and then continue the drive down to the City for a long weekend. Next week is going to be grueling, with a solo trip to Florida and lots of legal work packed into a couple days. We've committed to doing absolutely nothing tomorrow and Sunday, which is probably the right plan given that the New York Marathon is on Sunday and the town is going to be awash in runners and their families.

I ran that race in 2005, which feels like a century ago. My poor throbbing knee, and aforementioned collapse of self-discipline, prevent that experience from ever repeating itself.