This is a guest post by Michelle Francl-Donnay for An Ignatian Prayer Adventure.
I have a favorite mirror, which thankfully is not in my house. In it, I see myself as I do in my mind’s eye: five inches taller, and maybe even 10 pounds lighter. Alas, the mirror is slightly warped, stretching reflections like taffy. The reality is that I’m five foot tall and my bad knee would be happier if I, and not just my reflection, lost those 10 pounds.
The work of this last week was to seek out mirrors that didn’t skew my image, that let me see myself as I truly am—a loved sinner—and then look into them. And look again, more deeply.
There are many mirrors to choose from, and Ignatius suggests holding them up one at a time. What does sin look like in history, in the larger world? How am I entangled in it? Can I see how my sin spirals out, injuring my students and colleagues, my family and friends?
And hardest of all, how can I look into a mirror that shows every flaw with clarity and manage to see how beautifully I am created, how wonderfully loved? Ignatius asks us to imagine looking into Jesus’ eyes as he dies on the cross and talking to him. The conversation Ignatius suggests we have is not one in which Jesus takes us to task for every sin we have ever committed in some sort of divine scolding. Instead, the emphasis is on seeing the immensity of the love with which I am created, and by which I am redeemed—a love that will give everything away, even while it sees every chip in my soul, every hard spot in my heart.
Ignatius keeps the focus turned away from ourselves—what have I done wrong?—and firmly on God: What have I done for Christ? What am I doing for Christ? What ought I to do for Christ? Lutheran pastor Walter Wangerin calls this contemplation a “mirror of dangerous grace.” It is a mirror that does not just reflect back what is, or even what has been, but like my favorite mirror, invites me to see my best self. This mirror of grace is not passive, but active. It challenges me to become my best self.
What I found most difficult about these contemplations was not so much the looking into the mirrors, but the looking again. I want to say, yes, yes, I see it; I’m changed. I finally realized that I was still wincing at my flaws, still not quite ready to risk facing a love so deep that even as Jesus hangs on the cross for what I have done, I am drenched in grace.
What I see, with grace I could yet be.