The word ‘hagiography’ comes from two Greek words meaning "holy" and "writing." A hagiography is the life of a saint. The problem is that sometimes we read the lives of saints as though they were born perfect. But if we read Ignatius carefully, we discover something very different. Before he became St. Ignatius, he was Íñigo López de Oñaz y Loyola. And who was this Íñigo?

Yes, he came from a noble family. But his family history also carried shame. His paternal grandfather had once been expelled from the kingdom for treason, and rebuilding the family castle was part of restoring the family's honour.

Yes, his family was reasonably wealthy. But being the youngest of thirteen children, the family inheritance went to his eldest brother. Íñigo had to make a name for himself.

Was he deeply religious? His family certainly was. But not Íñigo. Some historical records even suggest that he may have been involved in a criminal case in his youth.

And was he a great knight? Not initially. He was first trained at court as a diplomat and secretary. Only later did he become a soldier.

What, then, drove him?

He lived for himself—for honour, prestige, recognition, and the glory of the Loyola name. His life revolved around one person: himself. Then came the cannonball at the Battle of Pamplona. In one moment, all his dreams collapsed. He became a broken man. Perhaps that is why we can relate to Ignatius. Maybe not because we've been struck by a cannonball, but because all of us know what it means to be broken—through failure, disappointment, illness, rejection, or sin. But brokenness became the doorway to grace. Ignatius' conversion was not like St. Paul's dramatic encounter on the road to Damascus. His conversion lasted a lifetime. It was not simply a journey from bad to good. It was a journey from self-centredness to God-centredness. Even during his convalescence, the old Íñigo was still present. He wanted to outdo the saints. If St. Francis fasted, then he would fast more. If another saint kept long hours of prayer, then he would pray even longer.

Notice the subtle difference. The word "I" was still at the centre. "I will do this." "I will become holy." "I will achieve greatness." Even his desire to go to Jerusalem was, in many ways, his own plan. But God had other plans. Step by step, through Jerusalem, Alcalá, Salamanca, Paris, and finally Rome, Ignatius learned the greatest lesson of his life. His question slowly changed. Not, "What do I want to do?" But, "Lord, what do You want me to do?" That is the heart of Ignatian spirituality. The goal is not simply to become a better person. The goal is to seek and find God's will in everything and to follow it generously. Perhaps that is the question we should carry into our prayer - What is at the centre of my life? Is it my success? My comfort? My plans? My fears? Or is it Christ?

Every day, God invites us, as He invited Ignatius, to move a little further away from ourselves and a little closer to Him. Let us make Ignatius' final prayer in the Spiritual Exercises our own:

"Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will—all that I have and possess. You have given all to me. To You, Lord, I return it. Everything is Yours; dispose of it according to Your holy will. Give me only Your love and Your grace. That is enough for me. Amen."

-   Fr. Sumit Dsouza SJ