Revisiting St. Thérèse

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I’ve changed my mind about Thérèse of Lisieux, the saint known as the Little Flower whose “little way” has captivated millions of people – Catholics and non-Catholics alike – since her autobiography was first printed in 1898, shortly after her death at the age of 24.

I bristle at the idea of being considered child-like, so it’s difficult for me not to dismiss outright St. Thérèse’s emphasis on remaining a child in the eyes of God. It doesn’t help that my original perception of her was that of a goody two-shoes who refused to defend herself when someone spoke wrongly of her, and who meekly accepted another nun splashing water in her face as they did laundry. Both of these instances are described in her book, which I skimmed through a couple of years ago for a class.

Last week, though, I took the time to actually read Story of a Soul, and found that rather than being a spoiled child – words that Thérèse herself uses as a self-description – the saint did in fact have an “ardent spiritual journey” that “shows such maturity, and the insights of faith expressed in her writings are so vast and profound that they deserve a place among the great spiritual masters,” as Pope John Paul II said in a homily.

The humility that St. Thérèse is known for, and that I sneered at for so long, was a deliberate choice on her part, one that she fought hard to develop. “The Divine Heart’s Goodness and Merciful Love are little known! It is true that to enjoy these treasures we must humble ourselves, must confess our nothingness – and here is where many a soul draws back,” she writes, and she documents times when she did indeed fail in this regard.

At the same time, she was aware of false humility. In one of her best-known analogies, she begins by wondering why all souls don’t receive an equal amount of graces – why some saints were great and others were not. But then, she writes, “I understood how all the flowers God created are beautiful – how the splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not take away from the perfume of the violet or the simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty, and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wildflowers.”

It is similar with souls, she writes. “[Jesus] willed to create great souls comparable to lilies and roses, but he created small ones as well … and these must be content to be daisies or violets destined to give joy to God’s glances when he looks down at his feet. Perfection consists in doing God’s will … in being what he would have us be.”

Having determined to spend her life doing God’s will, Thérèse realized that she herself was not a rose but rather a “little flower.” Nonetheless, “I can, then, in spite of my littleness, aspire to holiness,” she wrote. “It is impossible for me to grow up, and so I must bear with myself such as I am, with all my imperfections. But I want to seek out a means of going to heaven by a little way, a way that is very straight, very short, and totally new.”

The merits of her “little way” led her to be named a Doctor of the Church. “The specific contribution that Therese offers us as a saint and a Doctor of the Church is not analytical, along the lines, for example, of Saint Thomas Aquinas. Her contribution is more synthetic, for her genius consists in leading us to what is central, essential and indispensable. By her words and her personal experience she shows that, while it is true that all the Church’s teachings and rules have their importance, their value, their clarity, some are more urgent and more foundational for the Christian life. That is where Therese directed her eyes and her heart,” Pope Francis wrote in his apostolic exhortation for the 150th anniversary of St. Thérèse’s birth.

I’ve long admired Aquinas’ theology even as I often struggle to understand it. The charm of Thérèse’s “little way” is that it is easy to understand; the difficulty is putting it into action. Therefore I’ve added to my prayers this one, which Pope Francis wrote at the end of his exhortation:

Dear Saint Therese,

The Church needs to radiate the brightness,

the fragrance and the joy of the Gospel.

Send us your roses!

Help us to be, like yourself,

ever confident in God’s immense love for us,

so that we may imitate each day

your “little way” of holiness.

Amen.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.