The Incomparable Thérèse

On rare occasions, faith can be ignited by an extraordinary event and lead to unimaginable places. In the beginning of his book, The Waters of Siloe, Thomas Merton relates this story:  

It is late at night. Most of the Paris cafes have closed their doors and pulled down their shutters and locked them to the sidewalk.  Lights are reflected brightly in the wet, empty pavement. A taxi stops to let off a passenger and moves away again, its red tail light disappearing around the corner. 

The man who has just alighted follows a bellboy through the whirling door into the lobby of one of the big Paris hotels. His suitcase is bright with labels that spell out the names of hotels that existed in the big European cities before World War II. But the man is not a tourist. You can see that he is a businessman, and an important one. This is not the kind of hotel that is patronized by mere voyageurs de commerce. He is a Frenchman, and he walks through the lobby like a man who is used to stopping at the best hotels. He pauses for a moment, fumbling for some change, and the bellboy goes ahead of him to the elevator. 

The traveler is suddenly aware that someone is looking at him. He turns around. It is a woman, and to his astonishment she is dressed in the habit of a nun. If he knew anything about the habits worn by the different religious orders, he would recognize the white cloak and brown robe as belonging to the Discalced Carmelites. But what on earth would a man in his position know about Discalced Carmelites? He is far too important and too busy to worry his head about nuns and religious orders—or about churches for that matter, although he occasionally goes to Mass as a matter of form. 

The most surprising thing of all is that the nun is smiling, and she is smiling at him. She is a young sister, with a bright, intelligent French face, full of the candor of a child, full of good sense, and her smile is a smile of frank, undisguised friendship. The traveler instinctively brings his hand to his hat, then turns away and hastens to the desk, assuring himself that he does not know any nuns. As he is signing the register he cannot help glancing back over his shoulder. The nun is gone. Putting down the pen, he asks the clerk, ‘Who was that nun that just passed by?’ ‘I beg your pardon monsieur. What was that you said?’ ‘That nun, who was she anyway? The one that just went by and smiled at me.’ The clerk arches his eyebrows. ‘You are mistaken, monsieur. A nun, in a hotel, at this time of night? Nuns don’t go wandering around town, smiling at men!’ ‘I know they don’t. That is why I would like you to explain the fact that one came up and smiled at me just now, here in this lobby.’ The clerk shrugs: ‘Monsieur, you are the only person that has come in or gone out in the last half hour.’

Not long after, the traveler who saw that nun in the Paris hotel was no longer an important French industrialist, and he did know something about religious habits. In fact, he was wearing one. It was brown: a brown robe, with a brown scapular over it, and a thick leather belt buckled about the waist. His head was shaved and he had grown a beard. And he wore a grimy apron to protect his robe from axle grease. He was lying on his back underneath a partly disemboweled tractor. There was a wrench in his hand and black smudges all around his eyes where he had been wiping the sweat with the back of his greasy hands. He was a lay brother in the most strictly enclosed, the poorest, the most laborious, and one of the most austere orders in the Church. He had become a Trappist in a southern French abbey. 

The mysterious nun in this story was St. Therese of Lisieux. The story is exceptional. Usually her presence is experienced through her pictures and quotes. We do not see her with our physical eyes, we see her with the eyes of our heart. What she reveals may cause a dramatic lifestyle change, but most likely the change will be through little steps forward on the road of faith. Her quotes could be words just for us, since for the majority of us faith is sustained through small graces and tiny steps that lovingly fit into our walk toward God.

The fire of faith is more like ongoing glowing embers rather than a flash blaze inferno. Therese leads us to treasure those embers and go deeper into their spiritual warmth. Straw fires can flash for a short time and burn out quickly. With grace embers can glow for a lifetime. Faith is more than a passing good feeling or momentary high emotion; it is a decision we make, and live by, each day.

Therese guides us in the direction of holiness. A choice for sanctity has higher and better rewards than any earthly endeavor. She encourages us to be unafraid to move ahead in this quest and gives us a push. “Let us go forward in peace,” she says, and reminds us that each saint is different. “In the world of souls, the living garden of the Lord, it pleases him to create great saints, who may be compared with the lilies or the rose; but he has also created little ones, who must be content to be daises or violets.” Persons who strive toward sanctity are uniquely different, each being one of a kind. They should avoid comparing themselves to saintly people on earth or in heaven. There are holy people who are popular and stunning like roses on the Rose Parade floats, and holy people who are nondescript and unknown but just as significant, perhaps even more so, in God’s eyes. The violets blooming in mountain meadows are hidden from the crowds and the turbulence of society, and usually do not receive praise or recognition from others but are just as precious to God as the admired and respected rose.

Her Stronghold of Faith

Therese’s faith was based on her great confidence in God and his mercy, even in dark times during her life and especially in her suffering before she died. She believed in trusting God completely rather than relying on her own merits. We know that God’s justice is tempered by his mercy. All we have to do is think about how many times the Lord has shown us his mercy through the forgiveness of our sins. Therese wrote, “We have only to beg pardon and all is repaired by that act of love. Jesus opens his heart to us. He forgets our infidelities and does not want to recall them. He will do even more: he will love us even better than before we committed that fault.” 

This is reassuring. Therese knew that mercy was a key component within her Carmelite community. Today, we are the channels of God’s mercy. He depends on us to be examples of his mercy to others by channeling our goodness and gifts in life enriching directions. Mercy blossoms in many ways. We forgive God when we think he has given us a bad deal. We forgive ourselves when we make mistakes or are displeased about what we did. We forgive others when they have offended or hurt us. We respect ourselves and the rights of all people. We change, not for change itself, but because change brings us closer to Jesus. Therese notes that the identity of the Church depends on our personal conduct. Our behavior and actions should reflect Christian authenticity.   

Therese knew that it is not easy to be merciful. It challenges us to leave our comfort zones and go deeper into the unknown God and the mysterious aspects of ourselves. In ordinary moments, mercy often unfolds in least expected ways. We go that extra mile by giving a gentle smile or taking time to listen. Merciful acts are not listed on our daily schedule because they are spontaneous. Therese reminds us, “Often a single word, a friendly smile, is enough to give a depressed or lonely soul fresh life.” It is true that we experience much sadness in life and solutions to heart wrenching problems may be beyond our reach. However, we believe God is in control and Jesus is with us for he said, “Behold, I am with you always.”

Therese had a precious love for our Lady as a queen, but more so as a mother. Her love for Mary helped her understand how to practice the virtue of mercy. Mary is our mother of mercy who directs us to the heights of forgiveness. She completely forgave all the people who were involved in the passion and death of her son. This was an incredible choice. Mercy, for us, is usually through simple acts. An old Catholic custom is to say a Hail Mary when we hear a siren. The Hail Mary is to ask Mary to intercede for whomever the siren is wailing. Therese would smile at this simple act of mercy. Who knows, that Hail Mary may be the only prayer offered for the person in distress. 

Mercy is like a quiet flame that burns away unconstructive thoughts. Our flame remains lit when we maintain a sense of wonder and awe about life and its possibilities. This sense helps us to let go of what encumbers us and to let God’s love work in and through us. The path of love was sweet for Therese. “How sweet is the way of love!” she wrote. “We can fall, of course, we can commit many infidelities. . . . Love knows how to draw profit from everything and it quickly consumes whatever might have displeased Jesus.” She reminds us that nothing is small in the eyes of God if we do all that we do with love, of which she was consumed. This is confirmed by her well known statement, “O Jesus, I have finally discovered my vocation. My vocation is love . . .  In the heart of my mother, the Church, I shall be love.”   

Following Therese’s example, we can strive to be love in the heart of our families and in the gatherings we have with others. She counsels us, “When we love God our hearts expand, and we can give incomparably more tender love to those who are dear to us than when our love is selfish and barren.” True love aims for what is good for the other without selfish motives. Love helps us see others as brothers and sisters even when they disagree or hurt us. Therese guides us: “When we have to deal with a disagreeable character, let us not lose heart and let us never give up. . . . Perfect love means putting up with other people’s shortcomings, feeling no surprise at their weaknesses, finding encouragement even in the slightest evidence of good qualities in them.” She believed that love could accomplish all things. Even when something seems to be impossible, love makes it possible. We know people who can drive us nuts. There was a sister who rubbed Therese the wrong way, so much so, that Therese thought of ways to avoid meeting her. However, instead of avoiding her, when Therese saw her, she gave her a lovely smile. This caused the sister to ask, “Sister Therese of the Child Jesus, would you tell me what attracts you so much towards me? Every time you look at me I see you smile.” Therese responded that she smiled because she was happy to see her.  She did not tell her that she was smiling at Jesus within her. 

In Carmel, Therese found multi worded documents a hindrance more than a help. She said, “Jesus does not need books or doctors to teach souls. . . . I have never heard him speak and yet I know he is in me. At every moment, he guides me and inspires me.” If we want to read the authentic Therese, it would be best to read her Story of a Soul rather than the multitude of books written about her. 

Therese died at the age of twenty-four. Although young, she was spiritually mature far beyond her years. That maturity was maintained within the school of childlike wisdom. Therese lived the words of Matthew 18:3, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” Her trusting self surrender was the way that led her to turn to God in every situation. Her childlike wisdom blossomed as she imagined herself as a child sleeping quietly and unafraid in its father’s arms. With a childlike outlook she gave us the precious gift of her ‘Little Way.’ This blessed gift is not fashioned for those who desire high profiles or who want to accomplish grand deeds. Rather, it is for those who want to love God without pretense, and to serve others in unobtrusive ways. Therese knew she was not capable of great deeds or huge sacrifices. She lived her daily life with a transparent beauty and quiet loyalty, lovingly tending to her duties no matter how insignificant they were.  

No matter how old we are, we can still maintain a trusting child’s orientation by practicing Therese’s “Little Way.” It is not related to years, but to a disposition of the heart. No matter what our age, God still loves us as a good father loves his children, and so we must respond in kind to his love. If we look with the eyes of a good child, we can release our selfish ego and relish the wonder, beauty, and mystery of God with a childlike transparency.  Jesus, the compassionate presence of God the Father, often said, “Fear not for I am with you.” When that is engraved on our hearts, we can maintain a childlike spiritual orientation that sustains a twinkle in our eye, a lightness in our step, wonder in our heart, and resilience in times of trial.  

Yes, at times we have doubts, but when the faith of an innocent child takes over, we can rise above those doubts as we fly to the heart of Jesus. Therese gives us courage to take the next little step toward his love. She reminds us not to be troubled by anything and not to try to make a fortune. Today, making money can be an obsession. Therese’s “little way” helps us to avoid this fixation. It is refreshingly simple, especially in today’s complex world. “How happy I am to realize that I am little and weak, how happy I am to see myself so imperfect. . . . It is needful to remain little before God and to remain little is to recognize one’s nothingness.” Severe penances or enormous signs of love were not her style. She had no grand works, only the routine household chores of the monastery. Therese tells us, “Merit is not to be found in doing much or in giving much, but rather in receiving and in loving much.” Therese reassures us that the mundane tasks that mark our days, if done with a God centered contentment, are pleasing to God.  

At the time of her death, she was known to be a good nun but there was nothing outwardly remarkable about her. She tells us kindly that Jesus does not ask for great actions but only for our love that can be as simple as a pat on the shoulder, a few words of encouragement or a momentary look of tenderness. Therese’s life is a canticle of love that leads us on a sweet and simple way to Jesus. With Therese as our companion, we learn how simplicity takes us along her little way to God. In poetry penned by the Carmelite nuns in Terre Haute, Indiana Therese tells us,  

I come before you with empty hands. . . .  All the secret store of grace I fling into needy hearts,  crying in the bitter night of fear and loneliness. . . .  Spendthrift of your Love I keep before me your empty hands. . .empty and riven with the great nails hollowing out rivers of mercy. . .until all your substance was poured out. . . .  So, I, my Jesus, with hands emptied for your love stand confident before your Cross, love’s crimson emblem. It is the empty who are filled; those who have made themselves spendthrifts for you alone, fill the least of your brethren while they themselves are nourished by your Love. . .more and more emptied that they may be filled with you.