The richness of conversation - Chris Gleeson SJ

On a delightfully brisk Melbourne May day this year, I was involved in several very interesting conversations. I had been invited to talk about Ignatian spirituality to the wonderful staff of Trinity Catholic School in Richmond, and I was pleased to hear of their enthusiastic initiatives to incorporate the story of Ignatius in their school community.

In conversation at morning tea one of the staff told me about a former student of mine at Xavier College, now a doctor ministering to needy indigenous people in Tennant Creek and Alice Springs for the past 26 years, and I was much inspired. This was Ignatian spirituality in practice. Conversation had unearthed some hidden treasures.

Ten minutes into my return flight from Melbourne that same evening, the long, lanky young man sitting next to me uncoiled himself in the exit row seat and asked me: ‘Returning home, mate?’ Not wanting to be disturbed from my book review reading, I answered politely in the affirmative. Undeterred by my monosyllabic response, indeed energised that I had broken the silence, he launched into a colourful description of his previous few days in Melbourne. ‘Crazy place, that, eh?’ he proffered. I thought his over-used ‘eh?’ gave him away. He is a north Queenslander, I am sure. I was wrong. He was returning to his property about ninety minutes from Darwin. Maybe there was more to this chap than I originally thought?

There was. He told me about his work on the land, his six working dogs, the two new, actually secondhand, tractors he had just bought through this trusted intermediary in Melbourne, his long hours of work from first light to dark, his physical exhaustion preventing him from being anything of a reader. There was more to this chap than I first imagined. Indeed, I remembered Father Norbert’s provocative line from the previous week’s Jesuit community bonding exercise in Sunshine Beach: ‘God speaks to us through those people we think are inferior to us.’ What a line!

Anyway, when I told him what I did, I thought I would have trouble explaining that I had spent the day teaching the Trinity Catholic School staff about Ignatian spirituality. I did. He asked me what theology was and my teaching skills must have abandoned me at that point, because his response was: ‘Crazy place that Melbourne, eh?’

Trent told me that he had spent the previous Saturday having a few quiet ales with his cousin in a pub in St Kilda. ‘Watched the world go by. Crazy place that, Melbourne, mate, eh?’ He spoke about one young man dancing past the door of the hotel, very pale and emaciated and acting very strangely, obviously high on drugs. Trent’s reflection on the incident has stayed with me: ‘That’s someone’s kid, eh?’

What a splendid thought! Everyone is known and loved by someone. It took me back to the gospel of the Good Shepherd from the previous Sunday. The Good Shepherd knows each of us by name. We are personally known to Jesus. That is the mystery of God’s unbounded love. ‘I know mine and mine know me.’ Conversation reveals hidden treasures.

When celebrating the Feast of St Ignatius Loyola on 31 July each year, we try to capture something of his rich legacy to the church. Ignatius certainly understood the richness of conversation. From time to time it got him into trouble, even into prison, as religious authorities were suspicious of his motives for talking to people, all sorts of people, about the things of God. There was no doubting, however, the powerful influence of his conversations on those young companions of his like Francis Xavier and Peter Faber who banded together with him as ‘friends in the Lord’. Those friendships and conversations issued forth in the birth of the Society of Jesus in 1540, a body of priests and brothers which has outlasted its enemies and remains strong across the globe today.

There are all sorts of conversations, of course. There is that ongoing inner conversation with ourselves which requires careful listening and for which Ignatius has left us some excellent guidelines for sharpening our antennae. Secondly, our conversations with God are an important part of our prayer and are beautifully elaborated and illustrated in the Spiritual Exercises. Finally, we have group conversations, peer conversations, where we need to listen carefully to a variety of voices and often the words behind the voices. Good conversation is a ministry of listening, and good listening is an act of healing.

When that excellent monthly, The Mix, closed down in 2007, I, like many others, was saddened. It had been an outstanding example of the sort of conversation we need in the Church. In part I wrote to the editor, Father Michael Whelan sm, thanking him for his leadership: ‘There is a time for everything under heaven, of course. However, I want to thank you for everything you have contributed as Editor over the years. Your thoughtful writing, modelling the conversation you have been promoting in the Australian church, has always given me hope and encouragement.’

Good conversation, the sort that Ignatius Loyola excelled in, engages others on an equal footing and with mutual respect. It involves careful listening for the hidden treasures to be revealed. May we continue to learn this great art of conversation and invite the help of that artful conversationalist, Ignatius Loyola, when 31 July rolls around this year.