Realism, Mercy, and the Peace of Christ

In a moment of social tension, a Jesuit reflection on prayer, realism, and the peace of Christ.

Here in L.A., we do not seem to be experiencing the same level of dramatic scenes, deaths, and violent protests that have taken place in other parts of the country. It would not be honest to pretend that we are. Yet we do live and work in a city shaped, from its very beginnings, by immigrants - of whom I am grateful to be one - and by many different stories of arrival and belonging.

It is important not to forget that what happens beyond our green and pleasant campus does not stay far away. It touches our neighborhoods, families, and parishes. Some members of our LMU community - students, staff, or faculty - may in fact be affected quite directly, even if others are not aware of it. Many may feel concern because of relationships or personal history. Others may experience uncertainty or caution, even disagreement, about how best to respond.

A Jesuit and Marymount university such as LMU must be able to hold all of this honestly, even when it is complicated. Offering care and support does not require everyone to think exactly the same way, nor does it depend on political agreement. Yet we are who we are: a Catholic institution. That gives us a responsibility that is both simple and demanding. Our identity carries with it a long tradition of realism about human life, disciplined reflection, and care for the whole person.

We are called to be attentive to those who are anxious or vulnerable. At the same time, we must remain thoughtful, lawful, and realistic about the limits and responsibilities that come with being an institution. Universities have always brought together people with different experiences and a wide range of convictions. We often hold our opinions passionately. Some voices are easy to hear; others are quieter. Being faithful to who we are called to be does not mean erasing those differences. It means building and maintaining a climate in which respect, honesty, and care for everyone truly matter.

At times of crisis or confusion, the Christian tradition has always pointed people back to prayer. Prayer is sometimes misunderstood as standing back and doing nothing. When individuals and communities are unsettled, prayer may well be the only place where we can begin truthfully - and it is far from nothing. When feelings are strong but the way forward is unclear, praying is often the most grounded and responsible thing we can do. It helps us slow down, regain perspective, and remember that before we speak or remain silent, act or refrain from acting, all of us stand before God.

Without prayer, even good intentions can become shallow or unbalanced. St. Ignatius of Loyola begins the Spiritual Exercises - written for people facing real choices in the midst of real pressures - with a simple and characteristically bracing reminder: "Human beings are created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord." Prayer restores that sense of proportion, not by minimizing the world's suffering, but by placing our human responses within the greater horizon of God. Prayer can never be a substitute for action; rather, it shapes how we act, moving us toward greater authenticity, realism, mercy, and peace.

Individuals and communities respond to moments of tension in different ways. Some feel drawn to speak out publicly, moved by compassion or outrage. Others move more cautiously or remain quiet. The Gospels show us this same range among the people who encountered Jesus. Some followed him immediately. Others questioned him, or inquired indirectly about him. Many stayed at a distance. Jesus did not demand a single emotional response. He met people where they were and invited them, patiently, into deeper truth and love. From an Ignatian perspective, these different responses are not problems to be fixed; they are places where God is already present and at work.

As a Catholic university, we draw from a faith that is both rooted and wide. The word Catholic means "according to the whole" - what we often describe as being inclusive and holistic. It names a way of seeing that resists easy labels, simplistic answers, and polarization. The Catholic way of thinking brings together reason and faith, justice and mercy, personal conscience and responsibility to others. It asks us to take human complexity seriously without losing our moral center.

This way of seeing is expressed in Catholic social teaching, which Pope Leo XIV and the bishops of the Church continue to draw upon today. These teachings are not new, and they are not partisan or political creeds. They are grounded in Scripture and centuries of Christian experience, and they are addressed to everyone, without exception.

At the heart of Catholic social teaching is the insistence that each human life is created by God and worthy of respect, regardless of status or circumstance. This concern is inseparable from the common good - the understanding that human flourishing is always shared. Our preferred pronouns can never be I-me-mine, but always we-us-ours. The principle of solidarity reminds us that we are responsible for one another, while subsidiarity encourages us to act as locally and concretely as possible - to live not only in our heads, but on the ground.

Together, these principles help us keep a healthy balance. We remain aware of global suffering while committing ourselves to real, local acts of care - loving the people we happen to be with, whoever they are.

Scripture gives special attention to one such act: welcoming the stranger. This command appears again and again in the Bible, grounded in memory - "you were strangers once." Hospitality is not sentiment or ideology, but gratitude in action, an act of loyalty. It is something communities do together, patiently and practically, over the long term - a way of being rather than a one-off gesture.

When Christians speak of peace, we mean something very specific. Not simply calm or agreement, or the absence of tension or conflict, but the peace of Christ. Jesus says, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you - not as the world gives." This peace does not ignore difficulty or disagreement. It tells the truth in love, carries wounds, and keeps moving in hope toward reconciliation.

Whatever our convictions, Pope Leo XIV and the bishops are calling the whole world, without exception, to live from this deeper place. They invite us to be steady rather than reactive, humble rather than noisy, and committed to forms of care that will last. They also call Catholic institutions to draw on their deepest spiritual resources: prayer and concrete acts of mercy shaped by who we are and what we stand for.

So, what might this practically look like for us at LMU, as an academic community deeply rooted in the soil of the Catholic intellectual tradition? It means grounding our shared life in prayer, allowing the social teaching of the Church to guide how we think and act, and choosing local, lasting ways to care for those entrusted to us - doing something good for the people and situations we can actually reach.

Prayer is not nothing.
It is how faith becomes steady,
how mercy takes shape,
and how the peace of Christ takes flesh among us.

Our classrooms, offices, and daily work are sacred places: this is where faith quietly becomes real.