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God in the Ordinary Bingo

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God in the Ordinary Bingo Cards

Where have you experienced God in the ordinary moments of life? William A. Barry, SJ, explored that question in his book, Experiencing God in the Ordinary.

To encourage people to think about finding God in all things, some less-than-obvious, Loyola Press created a God in the Ordinary Bingo game inspired by Barry’s book. It’s available for free download by filling out the form within this post.

Play the game with rules similar to Human Bingo. Participants get a card and need to find people willing to share an experience that fits each square, thus fostering faith conversations. There are multiple cards for in-person groups to use. The game can be adapted to online use with the aid of a bingo website or by sharing the cards in any online meeting tool with the share screen feature.


Brother Guy Consolmagno, SJLooking for a different kind of Lent retreat? April 4–6, 2025, Br. Guy Consolmagno, SJ, Director of the Vatican Observatory and the President of the Vatican Observatory Foundation, will lead a retreat titled, “A Jesuit Guide to the Stars.” Explore the connection between spirituality and astronomy with the author of the new book, A Jesuit’s Guide to the Stars: Exploring Wonder, Beauty, and Science.

Learn more at Bellarmine Jesuit Retreat House’s website.

Thoughts on Discernment

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person in yellow jacket sitting at winding road overlook - photo by Justin Luebke on Unsplash

Having attended a Jesuit university, I heard the word discernment many times, and I was taught that it offered a way towards clarity; unity of mind, heart, and soul; spiritual growth; and empowerment. I was told to be still, pray, listen, reflect, and pay attention to consolations and desolations. It all sounded good, until I tried to put it into practice and found myself struggling to listen through the mental noise and struggling to cooperate with the Holy Spirit.

We are invited to discern our paths in life not just by what stirs our hearts, but by taking stock of what enslaves us versus what sets us free to be our true selves. Whether we find ourselves in a vocational discernment, which may happen several times in our lives, or a communal discernment process, we are often of two mindsets. We find ourselves searching for signs that we are on the right path. We might become desperate and stop listening to God. We might try our self-effort ways or try to get our own way, which is usually paved with stumbling blocks like the fear of failure, fear of judgment, fear of the unknown, fear of disappointment, presumptions, and pleasing others. These fears and other stumbling blocks enslave us and back us into a corner. However, God’s way is a way of faith, grace, trust, patience, hope, interior space, and spiritual collaboration without pressure or judgment.

As I reflect on discernment, individual or communal, I realize the possibility of renewal, transformation, understanding, and actionable decision-making. I realize that I do not need proof or a sign to take a particular path in life, if I have faith in God’s timing—even when I do not fully understand the sacred journey. Discernment is not about being comfortable; it is about realizing the truth as revealed by God’s Spirit working within us and around us. It is not about presenting my wants to God and then waiting for God to approve my plans.

We all have a shared vocation of love.

God’s gift of discernment can clear up the fog of agendas, lists, and ultimatums that show up in prayer as we seek proof that we are on the right path in life. Maybe we do not need a sign when we acknowledge that we all have a shared vocation of love; therefore, we are already halfway up the road of discernment. Results might take a long time to come to fruition when we embark on a discernment journey, but believe that God will never stir us the wrong way. That is God’s promise of assurance and hope.

Loving God, your love and promise have set us free, and we are no longer enslaved by our fears. May we commit ourselves to the sacred journey of discernment for your greater glory.

Photo by Justin Luebke on Unsplash.

Removing Obstacles to Grace This Lent: A Webinar with Tim Muldoon

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Removing Obstacles to Grace This Lent: A Webinar with Tim Muldoon (pictured)

For many Catholics, Lent is primarily a time to give up something or to engage in more good works. While not denying that these can be meaningful, author and theologian Tim Muldoon believes that Lent is ultimately about internal change—that is, realigning our wills with God’s will by taking on the heart and mind of Christ. Join Muldoon for a webinar in which he’ll demonstrate how a daily conversation with God, inspired by the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, can remove obstacles to grace and lead us to a deeper love for God and the world.

Removing Obstacles to Grace This Lent
A Webinar with Tim Muldoon
March 3, 2025
2:00–3:00 p.m. central (Check your time.)

All registered participants will receive a link to the recorded webinar.

Tim Muldoon is a theologian, professor, and author of a number of books, including The Ignatian Workout for Lent, Living Against the Grain, and The Ignatian Workout: Daily Spiritual Exercises for a Healthy Faith. He teaches in the Department of Philosophy at Boston College.

Order your copy of The Ignatian Workout for Lent or The Ignatian Workout: Daily Spiritual Exercises for a Healthy Faith, both now 30% off at store.loyolapress.com with code 9462.

Shipping and handling are additional. Cannot be combined with other offers. U.S. domestic orders only. Offer expires March 24, 2025. Your purchase helps support the cost of this webinar. The eBook versions of Tim’s books are available through major eBook retailers.

Mother’s Faith Saved Me

The Chirk Cabinet: Christ and the Canaanite Woman - National Trust, public domain via Wikimedia Commons

This story is inspired by Mark 7:24–30.

I tossed and turned on my mat. I didn’t know how long I could stand this. Why me? People told my mom I was possessed. That made me scared. I felt hopeless.

Then I heard my mom and older sister talking. The neighborhood buzzed with news of a healer named Jesus. “He’s trying to remain unrecognized, but juicy news spreads fast,” my sister said.

If he sought rest from his busy healing ministry, that didn’t matter to my mom. She wrapped herself in her cloak and said she would not be back until she could convince him to help me. She said, “I’ll do whatever it takes to see you healed.”

Living in the land of Canaan with my mom and sister, I’ve seen a mishmash of different religions and devotions. That is, I had seen them back when I had been well. What did I believe? Who was God for me?

I knew my mom meant well by chasing after this Jesus, but I doubted he could help me. I was on the doorstep of despair.

Everyone who knows my mom agrees she is persistent. She would do anything out of love for me. She is determined, resilient, faith-filled, and my role model. And she would never leave me alone in my condition. I thank God for my sister, whose love is unconditional.

When Mama left, my older sister sat with me to protect me from hurting myself. “Let’s pray,” she said. She’s a woman of strong faith too. She tried to get me to hope that Jesus could really do something. Where did she and my mom get their faith?

I wondered if my mother’s foolish errand to Jesus would come to anything. How could I believe in an answer I hadn’t seen yet?

“O God,” I whispered. “My mom and sister believe you can cure me. I am powerless. I doubt things will ever change. I honestly don’t know how to pray.”

The room suddenly filled with light like sunrise. An array of colors rotated before me. Simultaneously my skin warmed all over. I opened my eyes and was surprised by a vision of a man with a beard bending over me. I felt his gentle breath on my face as he said, “Your mother’s faith has healed you.” I opened my eyes and saw no one other than my sister. And I was instantly well. I stood and walked over to the basin to wash my face.

My sister stared at me in amazement. “What just happened?” she asked me.

In awe I returned to my mat to ponder. Just then our mother burst in with a look of joyous anticipation. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, running to me. “You are well!”

I fell into her arms with joyful tears. “Yes!” I said. “I am well!”

My mother cried and hugged me even harder. “It was Jesus,” she said. “I met Jesus.”

“I think I met him too,” I replied slowly, remembering his holy breath. Mama’s amazed look preceded another tight hug. I asked her to tell me what Jesus was like.

“At first he did not respond in the way I expected. Some people took it as downright rude. But I thought, ‘Maybe he’s testing me to find out how much I really want this.’ So I countered with another plea.”

“Your faith caused this healing,” I told her. “Mine was too weak.”

She smiled.

  • Whose faith bolsters yours when you feel low?
  • How do you advocate for others in hopeless situations?
  • If you experienced Jesus’ miraculous healing power, how would it change you?

Image: The Chirk Cabinet: Christ and the Canaanite Woman, National Trust, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Resisting Desolation

winter gray sky in snow-covered forest - photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels

Many people I know here in the Northeast suffer from the winter blues. The sky is grayer than in summer, sunrise comes later, and sunset arrives all too early. Years ago, I had an office that was in the interior of a building. It was windowless, and there were days when I would go in to work when the sun had only been up for a short time only to find that it was already down by the time I drove home. Now my days begin with walking the dog at the nearby park or at least around the neighborhood, and I have found that I do not get the winter blues quite as much. Sure, I long for the extended days of summer, but I also find joy in the sparkle of newly fallen snow, the silhouette of tree limbs reaching their arms into the sky, or the playfulness of my dog as he romps through the grass. I look for the light, and somehow the light finds me.

St. Ignatius offers advice that speaks to movements in the seasons of our lives, when desolation takes over, and we can feel as though we are stuck in that interior office without windows and without light. I’m not talking about clinical depression, which may require a good therapist, but rather the times when we feel resentful, trapped, unfree, selfish, ungrateful, or just plain blue. Whether it is the state of the world around us that leads us to feel desolate or something in our personal lives, desolation is a part of life.

God leads me not simply away from something but toward something, drawing me through consolation.

First, Ignatius reminds us never to make a major life change in a time of desolation. For example, if in a time of consolation we decided on taking a job, undertaking a project, or committing ourselves to a relationship, we ought to be suspicious if in desolation we just want to quit. Ignatius’s reason is that desolation can easily mislead us; we can be deceived by what he names as the “bad spirit.” This can feel counterintuitive. After all, if I don’t leave a difficult project or end a relationship that no longer functions when I feel bad, then when? However, I have indeed found over time that it is better to wait and to see how God wants to lead me. Then God leads me not simply away from something but toward something, drawing me through consolation.

A friend of mine was angry that the business at which she worked suddenly abandoned a project into which she had poured a good deal of time and energy. She was tempted in her anger to quit but decided to pray over it a while. She did eventually leave her job, but it was not because she felt angry at management. Rather, after a good deal of prayer and conversation with others, she found another opportunity that allowed her to use more of her gifts and talents well. It was attraction to the new place, along with slow and reflective discernment, that allowed her to act from consolation, not desolation.

Second, Ignatius advises that we can choose to believe that consolation will come soon, even though that also seems counterintuitive. He counsels that we try to remember other times when we were desolate and then God came through with consolation. On days when I do not want to get out into the winter cold, I often try to recall how much better I feel when I do take that walk! Likewise, remembering times when God consoled us in grief, led us to forgive when we felt hurt, or gave us insight about how to respond to a difficult situation can give us courage now.

Third, Ignatius tells us to resist actively. That’s right, we don’t just get to wait it out and sulk. We must do our part to say no to the bad spirit. Ignatius suggests prayer and penance. I can share what’s going on in my heart with the Lord or take time to breathe, just knowing that God is with me. Or I might pray a psalm that reflects something of my experience.

Resisting through turning outward rather than inward goes a long way too. Just as we sometimes have to put on those winter boots and trudge out to make the dog happy, it also helps to turn our attention toward loving others. In my friend’s case, she found that babysitting her teething nephew went a long way toward getting her out of the headspace in which she was stuck. We find that there are others more in need than we are—there always are—and by caring for those folks, we resist the bad spirit, who keeps telling us, well, just how bad it is.

Eventually, desolation will give way to consolation; we must trust that it will. Eventually, the sunrise starts earlier, and the days warm again. So, too, does God’s love warm us, and those empty tree limbs are filled with green leaves and life. In the meantime, we can stay the course, remember, and resist.

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.

Everyday Moments or AI?

making homemade pie crust - photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

We’ve all come across AI artwork by now. It usually depicts a person in an odd situation, like a politician licking an ice-cream cone or running with puppies. Or maybe the image seems more ordinary, showing someone with a cup of coffee in an office filled with books. For a moment we think it might be a real picture, but then we see the tell-tale signs: the rounded edges or the coloring that’s off. But more than that, there is nothing that tugs at our hearts. These pictures are soulless.

Even Pope Francis has taken notice of the trend in AI art or writing. He writes in his latest encyclical, Dilexit Nos, or He Loved Us:

In this age of artificial intelligence, we cannot forget that poetry and love are necessary to save our humanity. No algorithm will ever be able to capture, for example, the nostalgia that all of us feel, whatever our age, and wherever we live, when we recall how we first used a fork to seal the edges of the pies that we helped our mothers or grandmothers to make at home. It was a moment of culinary apprenticeship, somewhere between child-play and adulthood, when we first felt responsible for working and helping one another. Along with the fork, I could also mention thousands of other little things that are a precious part of everyone’s life: a smile we elicited by telling a joke, a picture we sketched in the light of a window, the first game of soccer we played with a rag ball, the worms we collected in a shoebox, a flower we pressed in the pages of a book, our concern for a fledgling bird fallen from its nest, a wish we made in plucking a daisy. All these little things, ordinary in themselves yet extraordinary for us, can never be captured by algorithms. The fork, the joke, the window, the ball, the shoebox, the book, the bird, the flower: all of these live on as precious memories “kept” deep in our heart. (20)

Our ability to create—even our small efforts—connects us to our Creator. The small moments our Pope speaks of add up, minute by minute, day by day, to make a rich, full life. As we create and participate in making this world beautiful, we find God in these tender moments.

A friend of mine is doing research on AI. She is a proponent of AI. She is happy finding ways it can help her field be more efficient. One day she confessed to me that in using AI tools to complete some of the work, she was losing her own senses and her ability to complete the work, to add depth and insight to it. She was losing her creativity.

She knows I am not a proponent of her work. I think this is why she confided in me, to keep her work balanced. I argued that she isn’t simply losing her creativity by depending on AI to do the work for her; she is losing her humanity. She is losing the spark within her, the image of God imprinted upon her soul.

Pope Francis points out small, everyday moments made holy as we connect with God’s creation. AI attempts to take these moments away from us.

The good news is that the solution is simple. Go out and do all those things Pope Francis suggests; laugh, create, interact with nature, play with our children, or make a pie, and seal the edges with a fork. Do all of these as an act of defiance in the face of AI. These moments reflect our connection with our Creator. These moments can be holy.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash.

My Usual Way of Examen

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man sitting cross-legged while meditating - photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels

I recently prayed through Fr. Mark Thibodeaux’s Reimagining the Ignatian Examen, an innovative and challenging collection of Examen prayers. I did this with a handful of friends, some of whom were new to Ignatian spirituality. Approaching this foundational Ignatian prayer in the company of fresh eyes deepened my own experience of the Examen, highlighting words and phrases that I often brush past too quickly.

One such example, raised by one of the Ignatian newcomers, was, What does it mean to begin an Examen “in my usual way”? Fr. Thibodeaux begins each of his Examens with this point to begin in the so-called “usual way.”

This instruction is grounded in the Ignatian tradition, drawn from the Spiritual Exercises. St. Ignatius begins most of his meditations by telling the exercitant to engage in “the usual preparatory prayer.” What does he mean?

It’s a good question. “Catholics might bless themselves,” I said. “It’s an invitation to a fully embodied prayer. How you sit or stand while at prayer and where your prayer takes place—these kinds of things account for your ‘usual way’ of doing the Examen.”

“Well,” my friend replied, “what’s your usual way?”

Another good question—and one that demanded some thought. I have some books I read before and after my Examen, with a quote from the mystics and the day’s Gospel passage. I try to journal after my Examen, which, while not a preparatory prayer, is still key to my experience.

I do all this in the morning, preferably after I’ve gotten some exercise in and before my girls come clamoring down the steps. The lights are soft, the house is quiet, and I sit in our cozy living room, usually cross-legged on the floor.

That provided a satisfactory answer for my friend, but I’ve come back to the question again and again, in part because I love this Ignatian instruction. I love the invitation to shape my own prayer experience and the reminder that I bring something unique—of body, mind, and spirit—to the daily practice. It’s ritual, pure and simple. The act of prayer is an outward sign of its inner purpose; we are uniquely and “wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14) and placed in a specific time and setting.

But what this question from my friend and my consequent response have helped me see is an obstacle in my prayer. I love “my usual way” of entering into prayer. But I don’t always get the chance to begin my day in such a state of peace.

I oversleep or purposefully ignore the call of those dumbbells and my stationary bike. My girls come downstairs too early or have a bad dream and wind up asleep on my face. The cats get into a fight or throw up on the floor, or I just waste too much time scrolling through my phone or making the coffee. All of this amounts to “my usual way” being thrown into chaos. And my usual response becomes, I guess I’m not praying today.

The real challenge, then, that my friends offered me and that I now offer to you is: Discover your usual way of prayer, the unique ritual through which you enter into God’s presence. But don’t let that become an excuse for ignoring prayer when your days inevitably fall short of those perfect conditions.

“My usual way” is simply the one that brings me to God by way of the people, places, and things God has already placed in my path: those early-rising daughters, the rambunctious duo of cats, and my own reluctance to drag myself out of bed and work up a sweat.

Those things, too, are pathways to God—and they’re uniquely mine. What are your pathways?

Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.

What Are You Doing for Lent?

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On Hope Lenten Read-Along - book by Pope Francis, pictured

Ash Wednesday is March 5, 2025, so today we’re highlighting just a few of the many Ignatian-inspired features designed to help you observe Lent.

On Hope Lenten Read-Along

Plan now to join a special Lenten read-along with Loyola Press. In honor of the Jubilee Year theme of “Pilgrims of Hope,” we’ll be reading On Hope by Pope Francis at a relaxed pace that will give us time to savor what we read during the weeks of Lent.

How to Participate

  1. Purchase your copy of On Hopeonly $9 with promo code 9399.*
  2. Download the read-along schedule.
  3. Post your thoughts, favorite quotes, or reactions with #lentreadalong and #jubilee2025 on social media.

The Loyola Press read-along begins on Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025, and runs through Holy Week, April 13 through April 19, 2025.

On Fridays during Lent, visit IgnatianSpirituality.com for special content related to our read-along, including opportunities to discuss sections of the book with other readers.

An Ignatian Prayer Adventure

Join in an adapted version of the Spiritual Exercises, perfectly timed as a Lent and Easter retreat. This year, Lisa Kelly, author of The Spiritual Path, will share her experiences with the retreat through posts on Wednesdays. The retreat begins on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday (March 2) and concludes the week after Easter.

Living Lent Daily

Explore how we can be Pilgrims Through Lent in our daily e-mail series for the Jubilee Year 2025. We’ll meet saints of pilgrimage as examples of faith and be heartened in our ongoing pilgrimage through reflections by Loyola Press authors and bloggers. Subscribe to receive these messages.


Subscribe to dotMagis to receive Lisa Kelly’s Ignatian Prayer Adventure reflections and the On Hope read-along extras each week. You’ll also get notice of a Lenten webinar coming in March.


* Use promo code 9399 when ordering at store.loyolapress.com or by phone at 800-621-1008. Shipping and handling are additional. Cannot be combined with other offers. U.S. domestic orders only. Promo code can be applied to both English and Spanish editions of On Hope. Offer expires April 19, 2025. The eBook versions of On Hope and Sobre la esperanza are available through major eBook retailers.

A Lesson in Hope Before a Football Game

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image of football and field by Tomislav Jakupec from Pixabay - text added: A Lesson in Hope Before a Football Game

What is the reason for our hope? Is hope linked to a solitary outcome, or is it based on something deeper?

Last year was one of ups and downs for me. Some great things I didn’t anticipate happened, and some things I hoped for with every fiber of my being…well, didn’t turn out like I hoped. In fact, as the calendar turned to 2025 and the Jubilee Year of Hope geared up, I admit I had a precarious relationship with hope. Then, the Notre Dame Fighting Irish won on January 1, and a run for the college football national championship seemed like a real possibility. Suddenly, I was putting around my office old banners listing prior championship wins and texting pictures of them to my fellow alumni, asking, “Tell me the truth, is this too hopeful?”

After the first playoff win, I dove into articles about the last few years of Notre Dame football, reminding myself of what strides the team had made, not only in football but in faith as well. For example, Coach Marcus Freeman brought back a tradition of the team going to Mass on game days, and while coaching the Irish, he converted to Catholicism. After the second playoff win, it seemed to me as though the whole nation was talking about the team’s incredible renewal of faith and community. Perhaps I had found a new reason for my hope.

Now, I wrote this post the day before the game. I intentionally wrote these words before knowing the outcome.

As I contemplated this renewed hope dwelling in me, I started to wonder what might happen to this hope once the play clock ticked down to zero. If my team won, would I feel like this was a fulfillment of my hope? Would I even credit the team’s renewed dedication to their faith as the ultimate reason for the win?

If the team lost instead, would I feel like this was punishment for being a bit too hopeful? Would it cause me to consider being more sparing with my hopefulness in the future? Would I sigh and declare, “I guess faith doesn’t win championships after all,” and take down my banner?

Both of these were real possibilities. But what does it mean for my life if I choose to pin the reason for my hope on one solitary outcome?

In 1 Peter 3:15, we read, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” Perhaps this verse should add a footnote that reads, “Note well: the reason can’t be tied to a solitary outcome.” If it is, hope will remain something precarious and fleeting. If it is, hope will get harder to acquire or hold onto persistently. Instead, the reason for hope must be something bigger and long-lasting. In his papal bull for the Jubilee, Pope Francis speaks specifically about the true, lasting reasons for our hope:

  • First, our faith in eternal life: “We, however, by virtue of the hope in which we were saved, can view the passage of time with the certainty that [we] are not doomed to a dead end or a dark abyss, but directed to an encounter with the Lord of glory.” (19)
  • Next, the gift of new life in Baptism: “Buried with Christ in Baptism, we receive in his resurrection the gift of a new life that breaks down the walls of death, making it a passage to eternity.” (20)
  • Finally, our human vocation to happiness: “Not some fleeting pleasure, a momentary satisfaction that, once experienced, keeps us longing for more…[w]e aspire to a happiness that is definitively found in the one thing that can bring us fulfillment, which is love.” (21)

In this moment of anticipation, I am pausing to reflect on these true and lasting sources of hope while I am not yet distracted by victory or defeat. That way, when the final seconds have expired, my hope will persist.

Image by Tomislav Jakupec from Pixabay.

Living AMDG

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Fr. Michael Rossmann, SJ, offers a brief reflection on the unofficial Jesuit motto, “Ad majorem Dei gloriam.” In part, he says, “Seeking our own glory is like running on a treadmill that never stops, but when our work is an offering to God, every task, whether it’s praised by others or not, carries its own satisfaction.”

Fr. Rossmann is the author of The Freedom of Missing Out: Letting Go of Fear and Saying Yes to Life.

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