Anthony Mangar '22, serves as the Assistant Director of Admissions and Recruitment, School of Education
I often tell people that Ignatian spirituality has shaped my life for as long as I can remember, but the truth is, it began before I was even born. My father was once a Jesuit in formation. Though he discerned out before ordination, the Jesuit way of seeing, thinking, and praying never left him. It became the quiet rhythm of our home life, the lens through which I first learned to encounter the world.
As a child, I didn’t know that my dad’s early morning ritual of prayer, journaling, and silence was rooted in the Ignatian Examen—or that his way of asking reflective questions about my day, “Where did you notice joy? What moment challenged you? What did you learn about yourself?”—was forming in me a habit of reflection that would one day become second nature. What I did know was that my dad’s way of being in the world felt grounded, curious, and deeply compassionate. His Jesuit formation was complete in spirit, and it became the model for how I wanted to live.
When it came time for me to choose a college, it was no surprise that I felt called to Jesuit education. My decision to attend Jesuit colleges and universities for all my degrees wasn’t accidental; it was a continuation of formation. Each institution deepened the values I inherited at home, such as intellectual curiosity, discernment, gratitude, and a profound sense of finding God in all things. In every classroom, every club and organization or campus ministry gathering, and every late-night conversation with friends, I encountered a spirituality that invites us to hold the sacred and the ordinary together.
One of the greatest gifts of Jesuit education is the way it shapes the inner compass of those who experience it. Being #JesuitEducated means carrying within you a way of proceeding, a reflex to pause, reflect, and discern before reacting. It means asking not only “What am I called to do?” but “Who am I called to become?” That compass has guided me through countless decisions, both personal and professional, reminding me that discernment is not a one-time event, but a lifelong practice.
I remember one pivotal moment in my undergraduate career when I faced a difficult choice about my future. I had entered college with plans to study engineering, a field that promised stability, job security, and a clear professional trajectory. On paper, it made perfect sense. But as I immersed myself in the coursework, I felt an undercurrent of restlessness that I couldn’t ignore. Something within me longed for a path where I could connect more deeply with people, accompany them in their growth, and serve in ways that went beyond numbers and formulas.
Leaning into the Ignatian tradition I had inherited, I took a step back to reflect and discern. I paid attention to what stirred consolation and what felt like desolation, to where I felt energy and purpose rather than obligation. In that space of quiet prayer and honest listening, clarity emerged—not as a sudden revelation, but as a gentle conviction that my vocation was not in engineering, but in serving others.
That discernment led me to human resource management, a field that allowed me to walk with people, support their development, and pursue meaningful extracurricular experiences that nurtured my whole-person growth. Ultimately, that same call to serve guided me toward a career in education—work that is deeply human, mission-driven, and grounded in the Jesuit values that have shaped my life since childhood.
Looking back, I see how each step of discernment led me exactly where I was meant to be: in Jesuit higher education, living out a vocation of service, reflection, and accompaniment. Today, as I continue in my work, rooted in mission, education, and service, with commitment to the magis, I see how deeply Ignatian spirituality continues to shape the way I lead and the way I relate to others.
The principles of cura personalis and magis are not abstract ideals; they are daily invitations to care for the whole person, to listen with empathy, and to seek the greater good with humility and hope. Whether I’m speaking to a prospective student, collaborating with colleagues, engaging with Jesuit higher education leaders, or navigating complex decisions, I find myself returning to that inherited compass—to pause, to pray, to discern, to act with purpose.
Looking back, I realize that my father’s Jesuit formation never really ended with him; it simply changed form. It became a living tradition passed down not by formal vows, but by example: the example of a man who found God in all things and taught his children to do the same.
That legacy continues to guide me today, reminding me that the heart of Ignatian spirituality is not about perfection, but presence—not about grand gestures, but faithful attentiveness to the grace of each moment. Every day, I strive to live out the same question my dad modeled in the quiet of our kitchen table: Where did I find God today—and how will I respond tomorrow?