A St. Ignatius Story

From the archives, kinda

“Mount of Olives.” Photo by Adam Kring on Unsplash

One of the things that attracted me to St. Ignatius is that he has a cool story. I somehow learned very little of it at my Jesuit high school, but had all of the main details — Spanish, knight, cannonball, saint — by the time I graduated from my Jesuit college. The following year, doing a yearlong program at my previously-mentioned Jesuit high school, I actually read Ignatius’ autobiography: specifically, A Pilgrim’s Journey, Joseph Tylenda, SJ’s translation. The story itself is fascinating — Ignatius’ wayward youth and chivalric daydreams, his violent conversion, his years of pilgrim wandering and trial and error before creating an order that would spread across the world — but, because I’m a huge dork, I was especially taken by Tylenda’s contextual notes that run along with the narrative, fleshing out passing references Ignatius makes and referencing contemporary events and sources that interact with his story.

Ignatius lived at a fascinating and tumultuous time. He was born as the medieval world gave way to the Renaissance. A few months after his birth, Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile conquered Granada, the final Moorish stronghold in Spain, cinching the Reconquista. Mere days before his first birthday, Columbus’ ships landed in the West Indies and radically expanded the European conception of the world. His lifetime saw the birth of the Reformation, England’s split from Rome, the genesis of the transatlantic slave trade.

Ignatius, despite his periods of travel, spent long stretches of his life in the same places: Spain at the beginning, Rome at the end. But he still had an impact on the people and events that shaped that time, although I doubt he realized how much. None of us get that sort of perspective. Like Ignatius, we focus on the work that’s before us, hoping we’re doing the right thing but knowing that the fruits may grow far beyond us.

I’ve always found his story inspiring, hopeful, and a little sad. He spent several decades chasing a dream, only to realize that it was an empty fantasy. The life God was calling him to, it turned out, was much less glamorous, much more frustrating, much more difficult. But it was also much truer and, based on his writings, made him happier even as it also made him want to bang his head against his desk. His last words, reportedly, were asking one of the Jesuits at his bedside about some minor work matter. Up to the end of his life he was still grinding away at the great work God had called him to. That strikes me as sad and beautiful and human.

For that reason, and with my brain being the way it is, I’ve always wanted to write Ignatius’ story as historical fiction. I have a sprawling novel in mind that alternates between his perspective and that of one of his contemporaries, a Hapsburg queen whose life intersected with Ignatius’ in several surprising ways. It would be all about discernment and dreams and disappointment. It would be meditative, sprawling, funny, and sad. I hope I write it someday, but I know it would be the work of years and I don’t know if literally anyone wants to read that but me.

But I did write one Ignatius story and that’s what I want to share with you today, on his feast. Back in 2021, on the 500th anniversary of St. Ignatius’ conversion, Jesuits.org had a short story contest. Inspired by the Star Wars: From A Certain Point of View books (yes, Eric A. Clayton was involved), the prompt was to write a story about St. Ignatius from the perspective of another character who appears in the autobiography. Despite briefly considering the other protagonist in my maybe-someday novel, I eventually ended up writing about the Franciscan provincial whose job it is to kick Ignatius out of the Holy Land.

I’m still really proud of it, not least of all because it’s one of the few pieces of fiction I’ve had published. Like any time I write historical fiction I did a ton of research for it, and still wish I’d done more. I made up the character of the provincial — Father Pietro from Montella, Italy — because I couldn’t find the real guy’s name anywhere. Montella is where my maternal grandfather’s family is from; I don’t know anything about it in the late 1400s, but felt it was safe to assume they had a well. Just recently, however, I did find the name of the actual provincial (I think in James Brodrick’s St. Ignatius of Loyola: The Pilgrim Years, but don’t quote me on that). It’s probably better that I didn’t at the time because it freed me up to make Pietro his own character. Still.

While writing it, I imagined that this was taking place in the same “universe” as my maybe-someday Ignatius novel (if that means anything with historical fiction). I almost dropped in some sly references, then said “That’s stupid, no one will get them, and you’re already way over word count,” which was the right decision. Still, this maybe gives you a sense of what the tone and language would be like.

You can read the story here. I hope you enjoy it, and that it gives you a fresh perspective on a familiar saint.

And if you’re totally unfamiliar with St. Ignatius’ life story, let me recommend the just-launched The Autobiography of St. Ignatius of Loyola Podcast, read by the great George Drance, SJ, and featuring commentary from Cameron Bellm and Jack Bentz, SJ. It’s a great way to engage with it!

Last but not least, if you’re craving more Ignatius fiction (and I know you are), DominarianPlowshare also had a story published in the Pilgrim Stories series in 2021, from a very unique perspective. Read that here!

Happy Feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, everyone! Watch out for cannonballs.