The Wit of Our Generals, February 16, 2008

We are in the midst of slogging through various draft documents, a process that is as entertaining as pulling teeth. We sit for hours in the aula, listening to each other praise or criticize various drafts, from very diverse perspectives, in different languages, in interventions of varying degrees of coherence and intelligence.

You have to find a little humor to survive, and people have taken to placing funny icons and pictures in their power point presentations, just to introduce a bit of laughter into the hall.

I have found, in the midst of this work, a ray of light in the humor of our Generals past and present.

On Valentine's Day, for example, in the midst of our debates, a normally mild mannered delegate (we shall name him Fr. X), made a forceful intervention, asking that we stop what seemed to him pointless discussions, and just allow the drafting committee to continue re-writing. His comment was noted by the moderator, but the discussion went on, till another delegate took up Fr. X's suggestion again and was supported this time by spontaneous and loud applause from the Aula. In what amounted to a minor colpo di stato (coup d'etat), the body was able to vote ourselves into an early dismissal from the session!

During pranzo (lunch), Fr. Kolvenbach, in his distinctive accent, wryly commented: " I never realized Fr. X had such a revolutionary spirit. It must have been the spirit of St. Valentin!"

On that same day, I had made an intervention, asking the drafters whether there was a historical basis in the Ignatian tradition to speak of an "effective and affective" bond, etc. That got a whole discussion started on what an "affective bond" might possibly mean. Anyway, yesterday, after I had chaired the whole day's aula sessions, Fr. Kolvenbach walked past me in the corridor, but paused long enough to say with a smile: "Thank you for your very efficient . . . or should I say, your effective and affective . . . moderating." Obviously, he had been listening!

Finally, this morning, at our early morning Coordinating Committee meeting, our new Fr. General, Fr. Nicolas, asked me how I was. I confessed that I was still coughing badly after three weeks, and that, in fact, last night, I could not sleep well because of my persistent cough. "Maybe this is a sign," I said, trying to sound casual, "that I'm not meant for Rome." He replied very quickly: "Too late!"

I guess it was worth a try.