Photo Courtesy of Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ
Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ
Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ

This Summer, nine members of our faculty and staff are walking a route in Spain with sites related to the life of St. Ignatius. The following post by Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ is the first in a series of their reflections.

This morning as I was sitting in Mass in French at the seminary where Max and I are staying, I read a bit from the one book I have on me: what we can do when we begin the Spiritual Exercises is to listen and welcome in the best way possible everything God wants to teach us of him and ourselves.

I am a special case: it is not enough for me to travel internationally, but since that is too familiar, God let American Airlines lose my luggage, so I am stranded in Paris with 100 euros, a book of Spanish poetry, and the clothes on my back.

It started in another attempt to be open: at DFW airport, Max and I offered our seats for a voucher to take another flight. It seems, according to the people at the Paris airport, that when we did this, our bags were removed from the plane and never put back on, in a room that reminds me of when I was a novice.

We hope that they will be delivered to the seminary today, and I have the community bank card, to get more money.

Photo courtesy of Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ
Photo courtesy of Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ

Otherwise, we had a wonderful day. The weather is quite mild, and we walked from our amazing digs in the center of Paris to Notre Dame, the Luxembourg Gardens, and San Sulpice church. We finished up with dinner with my OU roommate, who has lived here for several years, his wife, and young child. It stays light quite late, so as we walked to the subway at 1030 from his house we could easily find our way. Today we plan to see the Musee d’Orsy and the non-Catholic cemetery where all of the heretics (interesting people) are buried.

Photo courtesy of Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ
Photo courtesy of Mr. Stephen Pitts, SJ

As I sat after communion at Mass, however, my thoughts turned to something simpler, the end of another poem, which states: my grateful silence is the last word, the best way to find you. Not a bad way to begin a pilgrimage.