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SAINT THERESE OF LISIEUX
 SAINT
THERESE OF LISIEUX (1873-1897) was born Thérèse Martin in Normandy,
France. She entered the Carmel of Lisieux at the age of fifteen. At that
time the notion that God's anger on account of sin must be appeased by
voluntary self-offering was prevalent in the Church. Instead within nine
years Thérèse achieved holiness through her grasp of the central Gospel
truth of God's merciful saving love for everyone without exception. Her
short autobiography was written at the request of others and revealed her
strong desire that all should know this truth and respond in trust no matter
what their condition, sinner or saint. Her teaching has rescued convicted
criminals, alcoholics and other addicts from despair as well as pointing
out the simple way of trust to countless Christians. She is the patron
saint of missionaries and in 1997 was declared a Doctor (that is, an official
teacher) of the Church. She is one of the most popular and best loved of
all the saints. Her feast day is 1 October.
More information is available from Therese2002
website
Childhood in Lisieux
Bishop Guy Gaucher OCD
From Saint Therese of Lisieux: Her Life, Times and Teaching, ch2. (Washington: ICS Publications, 1997)
…Here was a beautiful young girl, nearly fourteen years old,
with long hair going down her back to her waist. What a contrast to what
was going on within. She was hypersensitive, weepy, “unbearable because
of my extreme touchiness,” sometimes crying “for having cried” (Story of a Soul, 44v), tortured by her scruples. This was the lowest point of her life. She felt
the solitude of an adolescent who still dreamed of entering Carmel. But
with such emotional problems would this ever be possible? She had no attraction
for practical things. She was unable to make a bed correctly. Everything
became a cause of suffering (Story
of a Soul, 44v).
In the depths of her grieving she
reacted with a cry to heaven. Curiously she did not turn to God, nor to
the Blessed Virgin who had once cured her. The poor abandoned child turned
to her little brothers and sisters who had died very young. Being the
last of the family she implored them “with the simplicity of a child” (Story of a Soul, 44r).
The answer came immediately. This prayer brought peace and she had the
consolation of knowing that in her interior solitude she was loved in heaven.
This sudden cure put an end to her
scruples but did not solve all her problems. Her hypersensitivity remained
unchanged. She always had a tendency “to cry like a Magdalene.” The situation
seemed hopeless. How could this adolescent be definitively cured?
The “Miracle” of Christmas 1886
At this time an interior experience
of capital importance occurred in the life of Therese Martin. It was not
spectacular because, except for her sister Celine, no one knew anything
about it.
The facts are very simple. Returning
from mid-night Mass at the cathedral, Monsieur Martin, who was very tired
after the ceremonies, saw that Therese had placed her shoes as usual at
the chimney‑corner, and regretted that a fourteen‑year‑old
would continue this custom. He declared: “Well, fortunately, this will
be the last year.” Therese heard his words and tears started to flow as
she went upstairs to remove her hat. Celine begged her not to go back to
her father immediately.
But Therese made a great effort
to force back her tears, and went down to open her gifts. Monsieur Martin
had regained his cheerfulness and seemed very happy. Celine did not refer
to the incident.
Grace had touched Therese’s heart.
“In an instant” she had received great interior strength. No more tears.
She was no longer the same; her hypersensitivity had disappeared. She was
transformed, strong, without “the swaddling clothes of a child,” no longer
an adolescent but a woman. She was “armed for war,” ready for every struggle,
especially for all that would enable her to enter Carmel as quickly as
possible.
Nine years later when writing her
first autobiographical manuscript she made a synthesis of the events of
Christmas 1886. It seemed to her to have been a little miracle,” a “conversion,”
an “admirable exchange” between the strength of God who had made himself
little in the crib and the weakness of little Therese who had become strong.
The liturgical and Eucharistic grace—for Therese had received Communion
at the Midnight Mass—had transformed her completely (Story of a Soul, 45-46).
She had “grown.” She had hoped for
this obscurely, while maintained in a certain childish atmosphere by her
family. “Céline wanted to continue treating me as a baby because I was
the youngest of the family” (Story
of a Soul, 45r). But the
father’s words suddenly put an end to the family ritual and had enabled
her to escape from herself.
This was a lasting conversion that
opened “the third period of her life, the most beautiful and the most filled
with graces from heaven” (Story of a Soul, 45v). She could,
as she said, begin “to run as a giant” (Ps 18, 6).
With remarkable clarity she realized
that she had now recovered the character she had when she was four and
a half years old, but which she had lost ten years ago when her mother
died. At last she had done her mourning and was at peace. This was a grace
of interior healing, deep and lasting. But this grace worked on a nature
with its own story. The psychological wound had not been indelible. “God
is the health of the soul” (John of the Cross).
A year after the text of her autobiography,
Therese spoke again about her “conversion” in a letter to Father Roulland
(LT 201) on November 1, 1896. The synthesis is perfect.
The night of Christmas 1886
was, it is true, decisive for my vocation, but to name it more clearly
I must call it: the night of my conversion. On that blessed night about
which it has been written that it sheds light even on the delights of God
Himself, Jesus, who saw fit to make Himself a child out of love for me,
saw fit to have me come forth from the swaddling clothes and imperfections
of childhood. He transformed me in such a way that I no longer recognized
myself. Without this change I would have had to remain for years in the
world. Saint Teresa, who said to her daughters: I want you to be women
in nothing, but that in everything you may equal strong men,” would not
have wanted to acknowledge me as her child if the Lord had not clothed
me in His divine strength, if He had not Himself armed me for war.
Thus “in an instant” she was freed
from a powerlessness that had lasted for ten years. She now knew from experience
what the divine mercy was that had rescued her from an abyss. She would
never forget this, and on every Christmas that followed she celebrated
her “conversion.”
During the last days of her life
she would return to this decisive Christmas of 1886 to make very clear
that divine grace never acts without human freedom.
Today, I was thinking of
my past life, about the courageous act I performed formerly at Christmas,
and the praise directed to Judith came into my mind: “You have acted with
manly courage, and your heart has been strengthened.” Many souls say: I
don’t have the strength to accomplish this sacrifice. Let them do, then,
what I did: exert a great effort. God never refuses that first grace that
gives one the courage to act; afterwards, the heart is strengthened and
one advances from victory to victory. (DE 11, 8.8.3; HLC 142)
In this way the second part of the
life of Therese Martin came to an end, according to the divisions that
she herself made: ten years of sufferings and struggles’ but also of very
special graces. As a child and adolescent she experienced purifications
that matured and deepened her. This long period of powerlessness lasting
for ten years was followed by three supernatural healings that, one after
the other, finally led to a permanent liberation. She had made this personal
discovery: that she had been saved. She knew that she had come a long way
and that her life would have turned out badly had it not been for these
many graces, of which the most efficacious was that of Christmas 1886.
It is easy to understand why 1887
was a very beautiful year for her. It was a year of human, intellectual,
artistic, and above all spiritual development. This was the year of her
great struggle to enter Carmel as soon as possible. Therese herself had
decided the date of her entrance: it would be Christmas 1887, the anniversary
of her conversion.
Therese Speaks...
Family Life
I experienced no regret whatsoever
at leaving Alencon; children are fond of change, and it was with pleasure
that I came to Lisieux. I recall the trip, our arrival at Aunt’s home;
and I can still picture Jeanne and Marie [Guerin] waiting for us at the
door. I was very fortunate in having such nice little cousins. I loved
them very much, as also Aunt and especially Uncle [Isidore]; however, he
frightened me, and I wasn’t as much at ease in his home as I was at Les
Buissonnets, for there my life was truly happy.
In the morning you [i.e., Pauline]
used to come to me and ask me if I had raised my heart to God, and then
you dressed me. While dressing me you spoke about Him and afterward we
knelt down and said our prayers together. The reading lesson came later
and the first word I was able to read without help was “heaven.” My dear
godmother [Marie] took charge of the writing lessons and you’ Mother, all
the rest. I enjoyed no great facility in learning’ but I did have a very
good memory. Catechism and sacred history were my favourite subjects and
these I studied with joy. Grammar frequently caused me to shed many tears.
You no doubt recall the trouble I had with the masculine and feminine genders!
... Each afternoon I took a walk
with Papa. We made our visit to the Blessed Sacrament together, going to
a different church each day, and it was in this way we entered the Carmelite
chapel for the first time. Papa showed me the choir grille and told me
there were nuns behind it. I was far from thinking at that time that nine
years later I would be in their midst! (Story
of a Soul, 13v-14r)
What shall I say of the winter evenings
at home’ especially the Sunday evenings? Ah! how I loved, after the game
of checkers was over, to sit with Celine on Papas knees. He used to sing,
in his beautiful voice, airs that filled the soul with profound thoughts,
or else, rocking us gently, he recited poems that taught the eternal truths.
Then we all went upstairs to say our night prayers together and the little
Queen was alone near her King, having only to look at him to see how the
saints pray. When prayer was ended we came according to age to bid Papa
good night and receive his kiss; the Queen naturally came last and the
King took her by the two elbows to kiss her and she would cry out in a
high‑pitched tone: “Good night, Papa, good night and sleep well!”
(Story of a Soul, 18r-v)
I Choose All
One day, Leonie, thinking she was
too big to be playing any longer with dolls, came to us with a basket filled
with dresses and pretty pieces for making others; her doll was resting
on top. “Here, my little sisters, choose; I’m giving you all this.”
Celine stretched out her hand and took a little ball of wool that pleased
her. After a moment’s reflection’ I stretched out mine saying: I choose
all!” and I took the basket without further ceremony. Those who witnessed
the scene saw nothing wrong and even Celine herself didn’t dream of complaining
(besides, she had all sorts of toys, her godfather gave her lots of presents,
and Louise found ways of getting her everything she desired).
This little incident of my childhood
is a summary of my whole life; later on when perfection was set before
me, I understood that to become a saint one had to suffer much,
seek out always the most perfect thing to do, and forget self. I understood,
too, there were many degrees of perfection and each soul was free to respond
to the advances of Our Lord, to do little or much for Him, in a word, to
choose among the sacrifices He was asking. Then, as in the days
of my childhood, I cried out: “My God I choose all!’ I don’t want
to be a saint by halves, I’m not afraid to suffer for You, I fear
only one thing: to keep my own will; so take it, for ‘I choose
all ‘that You will!” (Story
of a Soul, 10r-v)
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