By Revd Phil Wales
Jesus’ instruction to his apostles as they set off on their first mission was to take only those things that were absolutely necessary for their journey. Though I try to follow this example, I still have a tendency to over pack and accumulate stuff along the way ‘just on the off chance’. But, over the last few months some of my attention has been given to looking back over my modest collection of books and films. Decisions have been made as to whether this or that item should be kept. A few have been let go to find new homes and in the process I’ve reclaimed some physical, mental, and emotional space. My decluttering is very light touch when put alongside those folk who are brave enough to open their homes to Stacey Solomon and her team of declutterers on the BBC One show Sort Your Life Out.
Overall, jettisoning things seems a little easier than it once was. The flow hasn’t been all one way however, as a gentle tug of emotions has pulled me this way and that. My, by now, emptier shelves occasionally beckon to be restocked. And during the course of my clear-out, somewhat ironically perhaps, a few books which I had convinced myself were still in my keeping have been reordered. Though not entirely defeating the purpose, this reflects, in a minor way, how decisions are made by both head and heart; thinking and emotions. Finding inner peace, even in this small task, hasn’t been straightforward. Many of these belongings are symbolic way markers along life’s journey. This is true whether they’ve come into my keeping as a result of a casual wish (such as the simple pleasure of enjoying a good read on holiday) or whether they hint at a more deeply rooted desire.
Like so many of our English words, “desire” has its roots in the Greco-Roman world: desiderare – to wish for earnestly. It evolved from the combination of de (expressing intensity) and sideris (star): the act of gazing longingly upwards to the stars. So, ‘wishing on a star’ has more ancient roots than might be first thought. This looking, in both a literal and metaphorical sense, outside ourselves for inspiration, hope, and dream fulfilment exists across all societies and cultures.
But rather than projecting our desire for the satisfaction of our dreams onto far distant lights in the sky – parts of the created order – the Christian faith invites us to look inside, not to ourselves alone, but for a living relationship with the one who is the originator of all our hopes and dreams. Occasionally, though not always, a crisis or interruption may lead to a longer period of searching for, and coming to be in, relationship with the source of our desires. It was such a crisis that gave birth to Ignatian spirituality.
St. Ignatius of Loyola was a 16th-century Spanish soldier who, after being severely wounded in battle, experienced a life-changing conversion during his long convalescence from surgery. Ignatius would later go on to form the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) and his work has had a profound influence on the ways in which we might learn to find inner peace. The methods of contemplative reflection, forms of prayer and spiritual direction which bear his name help us to connect and reconnect with the eternal light of Christ dwelling within. This form of spirituality is one I’ve found myself becoming increasingly drawn to recently. Though I expect it won’t be an instant fix to the shouty behaviour of my bookshelves, the noisy distractions coming from that particular corner of my room are far less intrusive than they used to be.