eople often assume that after many years in religious life, prayer becomes easy. They imagine that after decades of praying, silence comes naturally and being with God is effortless.
I must confess that this has not been my experience.
Even after all these years as a Jesuit, prayer can still be a struggle. There are days when my mind wanders. There are times when I have to keep bringing myself back to God's presence. I have also heard the same struggle from many retreatants: "Father, I cannot concentrate." "My mind keeps wandering." "Prayer is so difficult."
Perhaps that is why today's Gospel speaks to me so deeply.
The disciples are with Jesus in the boat when a violent storm suddenly breaks out. The waves crash over them while Jesus sleeps. They cry out, "Lord, save us! We are perishing!" Before calming the storm, Jesus asks, "Why are you afraid, you of little faith?"
The first lesson is simple: the storm on the lake is not so different from the storms we experience in prayer. We come seeking God, yet we encounter distraction, fear, worries, memories, and endless thoughts. We expect prayer to calm the storm. Instead, we discover the storm within ourselves.
Perhaps that is where true prayer begins—not when the storm ends, but when we remain with Jesus in the midst of it. Being close to Jesus does not mean we will never experience storms. Mary and Joseph, the two people closest to Him, faced many storms. The question, then, is not, "Why is there a storm?" but, "Can I trust that Jesus is with me in the storm?" Faith is not believing there will be no storms. Faith is believing that no storm is greater than the One who is in the boat with us.
Our second lesson comes from St Ignatius of Loyola. Luís Gonçalves da Câmara recounts that Ignatius' doctor once advised him to avoid melancholy because it was harmful to his health. Ignatius replied:
"I have considered what might cause me melancholy, and I have not found anything, except if the Pope were completely to undo the Society: and even this, I think, if I were to recollect myself in prayer for a quarter of an hour, I would be as happy as before, and even more so."
I find this deeply consoling because it shows us a very human Ignatius. He did not pretend that nothing could disturb him. When he searched his heart, he found one possible storm: the thought that the Society of Jesus might one day be dissolved.
Even the saints have fears. Even the saints experience storms. Holiness does not mean being free from them.
What is remarkable is what Ignatius says next. He believed that fifteen minutes of recollected prayer would restore his peace. Why? Because his deepest trust was never in the Society but in God. He knew that the future of the Society was safer in God's hands than in his own.
That is what prayer does. It may not remove the storm, but it gently returns us to the One who is greater than every storm.
Finally, both today's Gospel and Ignatius' story lead us to one prayer: the Examen of Consciousness, perhaps the greatest legacy of St Ignatius.
The Examen is a prayer of finding God in the eye of the storm. Once we find Him, we remain with Jesus in the storm. At this stage of my life, I have come to accept that storms will never stop coming. They may even grow stronger.
The Examen does not awaken Jesus; it awakens us. Once awake, stay awake. Charlie Wardle said, "A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because its trust is not on the branch but on its own wings." With regular Examen, we notice the movements of our hearts, discover what robs us of peace, and recognize what leads us to fly back to God. Ignatius knew that the possible dissolution of the Society was the one storm that could disturb him. Yet he also knew that fifteen minutes of recollected prayer could transform that melancholy into a deeper joy.
Ironically, the storm he feared did not come during his lifetime. It came more than two centuries later when the Society was suppressed. By then, his sons responded as Ignatius himself had taught them—by the example of his own life. Pedro de Ribadeneira tells us that he examined himself every hour, and if he missed it because of work, he made it up as soon as he could. Ignatius later prescribed the Examen among the daily prayers of Jesuits, and the Directory of 1599 reminds us: "After the Exercises are over, the practice ought to be for life."
Perhaps this is the hidden secret of the Examen. It is not primarily about finding our faults but about becoming aware of the storms within us. Like Ignatius, we bring them before the Lord and allow Him to restore our inner freedom. Amen. Fr JM Manzano SJ
Guau!✨ I will never tire of admiring the perfectly harmonious way you connect the day's Gospel with the life of St. Ignatius and Jesuit spirituality. Father, I loved the title of your reflection, "Finding God in the Eye of the Storm"; that short phrase alone speaks volumes to me. I was also captivated by the remark you made near the end: "Once the Exercises are over, the practice must be for a lifetime." It was the same invitation I felt at the end of the 30-day retreat: "The practice is for a lifetime." And it was precisely this Gospel passage that left the deepest mark on me during that time. Maraming Salamat po, dear Father JM, for sharing such wisdom with us. May God always bless you! Have a wonderful Feast of St. Ignatius with your community.😇😇
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