Ignatian Perspective

12 September 2025

Yesterday, far-right Republican Charlie Kirk was brutally shot and killed whilst visiting a college campus in Utah. Despite what political views you may hold you cannot deny that this was a terrible act of political violence, a form of violence that has become far too common across the world. Charlie once stated that "empathy is a made-up New Age term that has done a lot of damage". However, I do have empathy. It would be incredibly contradictory of me if I condoned the death of that man, yet had empathy for the victims of school’s shootings, the people in Gaza and Ukraine and all the innocent victims across the world who have died because of political violence.

I have been taught, as a follower of Jesus, to be compassionate, kind, and just. My heart doesn’t break for Charlies family alone, but for the thousands of children and young people whose lives have been stolen by gun violence in America. Extremism of both sides of the political spectrum is costing the lives of hundreds and thousands of innocent people. Certain people have weaponised faith, twisting the words of God to build fear, control, and hate. Something I am sure we can all agree Jesus wouldn’t stand for.

And while it’s tempting to say, how lucky we are that these things don’t happen in Australia, unfortunately that is no longer the case. We’ve seen the rise of political violent movements here in Australia: neo-Nazis marching our streets, hate-filled protests, violence disguised as patriotism. It’s frightening, and as a young Catholic, I won’t lie there are moments when I wonder where God is in all of this.

But my hope can be found in knowing that God is in the people who refuse to give up on love. God is in the students who march for peace, in the teachers who stand for justice and in the neighbours who choose kindness over fear. God is in the quiet but relentless courage of those who won’t let hate to have the final word. So, even though the world feels dark and hope seems far away, our call is not to surrender to despair but to be light bearers in the darkness. Every act of compassion, every voice raised for justice, every hand extended in love is proof that hope is still alive, and God is still at work.

The passing of Pope Francis is a deeply meaningful moment for us at a Jesuit school. As a fellow Jesuit who became the head of the Catholic Church, his life and legacy are especially close to us. He embodied the very qualities we strive for: welcome, discernment, and courage.

From the beginning of his papacy, Pope Francis put these values into action. His first trip was to a remote island where he mourned refugees lost at sea and embraced those who survived. He urged us to “smell like the sheep,” reminding us to walk alongside the poor and excluded. He challenged clericalism and called the Church a “field hospital,” where healing, not judgment, is central.

Pope Francis never turned away from the world’s pain. He wrote boldly on climate change, advocated for refugees, called for peace, and urged nations to care for creation and one another. He visited prisons, welcomed migrants, prayed with leaders of other faiths, and repeatedly sought forgiveness on behalf of a wounded Church.

What stood out most was his deep attention to people—especially the marginalized. For Pope Francis, faith meant loving action. He washed the feet of a Muslim woman on Holy Thursday. He hugged a man with a severe skin condition. He comforted a grieving child worried about his father being in Heaven. These gestures were not symbolic—they were the Gospel in action.

Despite his global role, he remained deeply human. He visited a local barber, chatted with Jesuit communities as one of us, and stepped from the security of the popemobile to meet strangers. He was relatable and spoke simply, yet his words carried great power because they were lived truths.

His faith was the foundation of everything he did. He believed that God’s mercy embraces us in our brokenness and calls us to grow in love. He lived this mercy with courage and joy, always pointing us toward those on the margins as beloved by God.

For Pope Francis, being Christian wasn’t about status—it was about service. He reminded us that to follow Jesus is to care for the overlooked: the elderly, prisoners, refugees, and those cast aside. He blurred the lines between leader and servant, priest and people. His was a life of humble, radical service.

Even in his final days, celebrating the resurrection of Christ at Easter, he bore witness to the hope and new life at the heart of our faith. His legacy is one of simplicity, courage, and love.

Pope Francis showed us that faith is not merely believed, but lived—through welcome, mercy, humility, and action. His example challenges and inspires us. He made the Gospel visible and calls us still to do the same. In his life and leadership, we see a path forward: to walk with others, to listen deeply, and to serve with love.

May his memory continue to guide us.

This week, we step into Holy Week—an important time in the Church where we journey with Jesus from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday. It begins with the crowds cheering for him as he enters Jerusalem, and ends with the joy of the Resurrection. Along the way, we pause on Holy Thursday and Good Friday—days full of meaning, challenge, and love.

As we follow this journey, we see Jesus calm and steady, even though everything around him is changing. For three years, he shared a message of love, hope, and healing. Some welcomed it. Others resisted. Now, he knows what’s coming—betrayal, suffering, death.

His closest friends, the Apostles, can feel something is happening, even if they don’t fully understand it. Peter says he’d never walk away from Jesus—but by the next day, he will. Judas knows exactly what he’s about to do. And through it all, Jesus doesn't panic. Instead, he kneels and washes their feet. A job normally left to servants, but Jesus, the Son of God, chooses to serve. Through this simple, powerful act, he shows us that love means serving others with humility and kindness.

Maybe this week we can think about the people in our lives who show love not just in words, but through what they do—a friend who checks in, a teacher who listens, an older student who shares advice, a younger one who makes us laugh, or a parent who’s always there. These moments reflect the kind of love Jesus lived.

Holy Week invites us to remember these acts of love and to be grateful. It also challenges us to live like Jesus—by loving, serving, and giving to others.

On Holy Thursday, we remember the Last Supper—Jesus’ final meal with his disciples. At Mass, there's a special moment when the priest washes the feet of others, just like Jesus did. It reminds us that we’re called to serve with love and humility.

On Good Friday, we pause to remember Jesus’ suffering and death. Many people fast, pray, and reflect. The Stations of the Cross help us walk with Jesus in his final moments. Then, at 3:00pm—the hour of his death—people gather to venerate the cross and receive Communion.

Holy Saturday begins quietly, but as night falls, the Church celebrates the Easter Vigil. A fire is lit, and a candle is carried in to symbolize Christ’s light breaking into the darkness. We hear stories from Scripture about God’s saving love. Some people are welcomed into the Church through Baptism, and we all share in the joy of the Eucharist.

And then—Easter Sunday. The tomb is empty. Jesus is alive! This is the heart of our faith. Light and life have the final word. We celebrate with joy, renew our baptismal promises, and gather with loved ones to rejoice in the hope that Easter brings.

Let us pray: God of life and light, in this Easter season, we thank you for the hope that rises with each new day. You rolled away the stone and broke through fear, reminding us that love is stronger than death. When the world feels heavy, lift our hearts with your promise of new life. Help us to carry your light into dark places, to be signs of peace, joy, and second chances. May the risen Christ walk beside us, filling us with courage and purpose. Alleluia! Hope is alive—help us to live as we believe, though Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Fr Peter Hosking SJ
Rector

Click here to see an Easter Message from Archbishop Patrick O'Regan DD

Is language an aggregated set of text data used to generate statistically probable outputs or is it our primary tool to communicate the thoughts in our head? To strengthen connections between human souls? To pray passionately from the heart to God?

What is the point of words?

AI is here and I am no luddite … but if I said this morning’s prayer was generated by ChatGPT, as the Leader of Learning for English, you would all think a little less of me (it’s not, by the way). Why is that? Why would you think less of me? Why is my mastery of words critical and important? What is the point of my role and of my department in a world where we can easily delegate routine communication to a Large Language Model?

When ChatGPT burst onto the scene in November 2022, I felt crushed. My job was over: I had lost my purpose in life. I watched with horror as the first semester of 2023 unfolded and teacher after teacher in the English department (and I’m sure many other departments) spent hour upon hour trying to detect the use of Generative AI in student work. I truly felt a deep sense of despair. The path of least resistance is a natural human inclination and if ChatGPT can generate your essay in under a minute so you can go back to scrolling TikTok, why would you not do that? Sure, there had been other platforms used to scramble plagiarised texts and, sure, way back when, plenty of people copied text out of the Encyclopaedia Britannica word for word, but this was different. More beguiling, more widespread and accessible. More sinister.

So I have really had to come face to face in the past few years with my purpose and mission, as an educator and as a human being. I have had to think really deeply about how to bring students on the journey with me and how to deepen and strengthen their own sense of intellectual pride and integrity. How to persuade them of the importance of language and stories.

Since the dawn of time, humans have used stories to make sense of their world, to share companionship, to remind themselves of past battles and victories, to give themselves hope through difficult times.

Stories unlock the thoughts and hopes and fears that lie deep within all of us and allow us to examine what it means to be human and help us to process our understanding of ourselves and others.

There are many stories in the Bible that help us to understand the context of early Christianity and our understanding of God in the Christian tradition: in fact, the Bible is the best-selling book of all time – it is the ultimate source of literature and storytelling and much of our literary tradition grew from there.

Can ChatGPT rewrite the Bible or reinterpret those seminal stories? Maybe …

But I also know there has been a quiet groundswell of revolution away from the world the tech bros have envisaged for us. A return to nature, or creation, a return to authentic, real-time interactions and communication, a return to granny hobbies like knitting and gardening, a huge resurgence of interest in thrifting, and – a return to increased sales of print books and the opening of more bricks and mortar bookstores.

And who has led this revolution? The younger generations, our so-called digital natives. We all know that history is not linear; that it is in fact, circular. And, so, while we may harness the best bits of technology to improve aspects of our lives, and – in fact – I may come to incorporate some elements of Generative AI in my teaching, I’m also pretty confident that there is a fairly strong will in the human population not to outsource culture to statistical probability. And I think it’s because that very creativity arises deep in our soul, from that part of us most connected to the divine.

Vania Thurston
Leader of Learning – English