Frances Hogan is a Catholic scripture teacher who is working as a lay missionary in the Church. She has taught science and scripture in West Africa and Ireland for nine years. Since 1975 she has worked full-time as a lay missionary, giving scripture courses, retreats, and working in parishes opening up the scriptures to the people.

Frances Hogan has committed her life to making the Word of God known to lay people in the Church in order to deepen their prayer life and commit-ment to Christ. She has made a series of scripture tapes on books of the Bible and on various spiritual themes.

S U F F E RI N G A N D

P RA Y E R IN THE LIFE

OF ST THERESE

FRANCES HOGAN

Imprimatur: Tadgh Tierney ocd

Printed at Darlington Carmel 1988

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION 1 1. SUFFERING: GOD’S INSTRUMENT OF SANCTIFICATION FOR THERESE 5 2. THERESE'S MARTYRDOM 10

1. The Beginnings . . . 10

2. 4 ½ years to 14 years 15

3. 14 years to entry into Carmel 25

4. Thérèse's Vocation to Carmel 29 5. Carmel: the early years 33

6. The final stage, leading to her death 41

3. THERESE'S PRAYER LIFE 51

CONCLUSION 70

BIBLIOGRAPHY 72

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We are grateful to the following: Darton Longman & Todd Ltd for extracts taken from the Jerusalem Bible, published and copyright 1966, 1967 and 1968 by Darton, Longman and Todd Ltd and Doubleday & Co Inc, used by permission of the publishers. The Jerusalem Bible translation has been used for the following scriptural quotations: Deuteronomy 8:2-5; Psalm 27:6; Proverbs 30:18--19; Ecclesiasticus 2:1-23; Matthew 16:25; Romans 15:4; 1 Corinthians 2:14--16; 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.

Discalced Carmelite Fathers, Washington Province, for permission to use the extracts from St Thérèse of Lisieux Her Last Conversations translated by John Clarke, O.C.D. Copyright 1977 by Washington Province of Discalced Carmelite Friars, Inc. ICS Publications, 2131 Lincoln Road, N.E. Washington D.C. 20002. U.S.A. Sheed and Ward for extracts from F.J. Sheed's translation of Collected Letters of St Thérèse of Lisieux. The Olive Press for permission to use the poems on pages 67 and 69 which are taken from Hinds' Feet on High Places, Hannah Hurnard. William Collins Sons & Co Ltd for permission to use extracts from Ronald Knox's translation of the Autobiography of St Thérèse, Autobiography of a Saint, published by Collins in Fount Paperbacks.

Note: We apologise for any inaccuracies concerning the quoted passages. Every effort has been made to trace owners of copyright material and if acknowledgement of any copyright has been omitted, this is deeply regretted and we offer a sincere apology. Darlington Carmel.

PREFACE

When we study St Thérèse's life or write about her, we shall necessarily and rightly examine incidents in her life which show in a practical way her fidelity to God's will. We have to be careful, however, not to canonise these incidents. A saint is a person born and sanctified in a particular age and according to a particular mentality; she is a child of her own culture and this is part of God's will. We who are living today belong to a different age and have a different mentality, and it is part of God's will that we should respond faithfully to him within our own cultural context. Our response to situations in the light of the teaching of Vatican II will necessarily be different from that of St Thérèse. What is common to her age and mentality and ours is that we aim at a response to situations which is authentically virtuous; we aim to be 'meek and humble' like Christ, according to our own circumstances and situations.

DARL I N GTO N CAR MEL

ABBREVIATIONS

A = St Thérèse of Lisieux - an autobiography, edited Rev. T.N. Taylor, 1926

AS = Autobiography of a Saint — translated Ronald Knox

NV = Novissima Verba quoted from Her Last Conversations — translated John Clarke OCD

L = Letter quoted from Collected Letters of St Thérèse — Sheed and Ward

HH = Hind's feet on high places: Hannah Hurnard

INTRODUCTION

HE author of Proverbs says: 'There are three things beyond my comprehension, four, indeed, that I do not understand:

• the way of an eagle through the skies, • the way of a snake over the rock, • the way of a ship in mid-ocean, • the way of a man with a girl.' (Prov. 30: 18-19).

I join this man in his wonder, but I have something even more wonderful to consider; it is: • the way of God's Little White Flower, • the way a little creature can capture the heart of her

God, • the way a humble, obedient soul reaches the heights

of glory! Thérèse of Lisieux strikes me as one of the most misunder-

stood women of modern times: we hear about the childish, sugary, painted-up Thérèse, and wonder how she ever got canonised! We hear about her 'Little Way' and it seems to be only for those who do not have enough generosity — or intelligence? — to do great things for God. We hear about the pettiness and smallness of everything in her life, and feel claustrophobic; we hear about how sheltered and coddled she was, and ask 'How can this be sanctity?' Finally, we get suspicious and want to go ourselves to see if there is any treasure in this field.

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There seem to be so many contradictions about Thérèse: on the one hand she seems not to have lived in our world, as we know it, at all, being brought up in a hot-house of sanctity, and then burying herse lf in Carmel at the tender age of fifteen, and dying nine years later. Even during these short years of her life, she lived on such a supernatural plane that one wonders if she was with us at all! Yet several popes have given her to us as the model of the layman! Is this not incredible? What, one may ask, has this girl got in common with the modern lay person who has to live in a world of unbelievable immorality, of unfaithfulness to God and man, with rampant unbelief, a world that is getting into both spiritual and temporal chaos?

Yet Pope Pius XI, in 1923, declared that God, the divine Artist, had produced in Thérèse 'a most exquisite miniature of spiritual perfection'. He said she was 'a miracle of virtues, and a prodigy of miracles'. In 1925, the same Pope said in the homily of the Mass of canonisation that

all the faithful should study her in order to copy her. If the way of spiritual childhood became general, who does not see how easily would be realised the reformation of human society

. . . ? That same year the Pope said these fantastic words:

Few saints have been God's privileged ones to the same degree, and few have given him as much.

That is some statement, especially when we consider the long list of great ones in the Church, not the least being the two ‘great ones’ of Carmel — the great Teresa and John of the Cross. The Pope also said that 'her little way is beautiful, fruitful and safe' as a way to God. 'It is a way of peace and holiness . . . a new omen to the world'. How different society and home life would be, if they took to heart the lesson of Thérèse. The Bull of Canonisation, 17 May 1925, says that Thérèse

enthusiastically opened up the way of evangelical simplicity to a world puffed up with pride, 'loving vanity and searching after falsehood'. This virgin, truly wise and prudent, walked in the way of the Lord, in the simplicity of her soul, and being made perfect in a short space, fulfilled a long time . . . may her example strengthen in virtue, and lead to a more perfect life . . . . those living in the world.

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This is truly amazing! But if you went, as I did, to the Story of a Soul to solve this riddle, you came away even more perplexed! What struck you was the sugary language, and the niceness of a close-knit middle-class family, and the exaggerated language in the saint's letters; indeed, I came away needing a drink of lemon juice to counteract all this sweetness! So how are we to solve the mystery of this 'greatest saint of modern times'?

One way towards the solution is to study some of the authentic photographs and see a face full of pain — a face that reminds us of the Face on the Shroud. Here we begin to see the reality of someone who experienced a deep inner martyrdom; and it is this inner martyrdom that I want to study, both to help myself, and to help those whom the Lord has given me to feed. When we look at Thérèse's life in greater depth, and study her writings — the autobiography, the letters, and the Novissima Verba — we begin to realise that while she seemed always to live in the public eye of her family and community, that while she was as open as a child whenever obedience demanded it, still, Therese lived a very private life. Early in life she developed what I shall call her `mask' or 'veil', and it gave her protection from all would-be intruders, and even from the most discerning gaze of her beloved sisters. Her mask or veil consisted in:

• her smile, • her silence.

The motto she passed on to her novices was: 'Smiling in silence, through love'. She wrote in one of her poems:

Because you smile, They will forget, The weariness of soul,

That deadened half your days. But we shall remember that,

Who climb the same steep spiritual stair, And share the same dark mystic night.

As time went on Thérèse perfected her mask to such a degree that no one detected her struggles, and not even her very watchful sisters realised she was ill until it was too late.

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Her community thought she was sailing through life with no difficulties, thought she was just a happy smiling religious. They even criticised her for not doing any extraordinary mortifications — yet, all unknown to them she had 'trodden the winepress alone, with no one to help her' (L 88 to Céline 18.7.1890).

These words of Isaiah: 'Who has believed our report? . . . there is no beauty in him, no comeliness, etc.' have made the whole foundation of my devotion to the Holy Face, or, to express it better, the foundation of all my piety. I, too, have desired to be without beauty, alone, in treading the winepress, unknown to everyone (NV 5 Aug. 1897).

I am interested in the hidden warfare that this 'brave soldier for Christ' fought and won for the glory of God, and to carve out a little way for ordinary people to come to God. I would also like to portray Thérèse as a model for the renewed lay person in the modern Church.

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1

SUFFERING: GOD'S INSTRUMENT OF SANCTIFICATION FOR THERESE

If bitter pain your life invade, Threatening gladness to destroy, Of

anguish may delight be made, Suffer for God! 'Tis purest joy.

Then will His tenderness divine, Each sorrow heal, each memory dim, Tho'

thorns bestrew your steep incline, You will not walk, but fly to Him.

It seems to me that the special factor which more than anything else went into the perfecting of Thérèse’s holiness was suffering. She learned very early in life to relate her own weakness to the providential plan of suffering that her heavenly Father had mapped out for her. Looking at her autobiography, we see that Thérèse passed through several stages in her response to suffering, and I want to deal with them:

• her initial response: she shrank from it; • later she came to desire it, finding great spiritual benefit in it; • then suffering became for her the supreme means to union

with God; • finally, she became indifferent to both suffering and joy. She

was free. 5

My soul has been purified in the crucible of interior and exterior trials. Now, like the flower after the storm, I can raise my head (A p.31). As I became so early in life the spouse of Jesus, it was necessary for me to suffer from my very infancy (A p.41).

Looking at Thérèse's life we see that she had many limi-tations that should have made reaching her goal in life very difficult, if not impossible. These limitations are important, I think, because they are some of the ingredients that made up the path of suffering, but which make her final victory all the more glorious:

a) She had a difficult character to deal with. If left unchecked, she could have been proud, self-willed, indepen-dent, over-sensitive and emotionally dependent on others. `By nature she was proud and self-willed' (Céline: deposition for canonisation process).

b) She was very poorly educated, spending only a few years in school, and finishing off her education herself! So it would seem that intellectually she was hampered.

c) She had very little experience of life as we know it, having been confined to a very close-knit family, so how could one journey 'into the world' complete the picture of life for her before she buried herself in the living death of Carmel at the absurd age of fifteen? Did she know what was going on in the world around her? Did she care? Did her life say anything to that world? I shall try to answer these questions.

d) The influences that affected her life in a conscious way seem to have been very limited, namely, her family and a few books.

e) She had no spiritual director, or special confessor, and no apparent need of one!

f) She had delicate health all her life. So I ask myself: had this child everything going against her or for her? Was her position one of fighting her way through all these obstacles to final victory, or were these very obstacles her protection? It seems to me that her limitations were her protection.

My grace is enough for you: my power is at its best in weakness.

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So I shall be very happy to make my weaknesses my special boast so that the power of Christ may stay over me, and that is why I am quite content with my weaknesses, and with insults, hardships. persecutions, and the agonies I go through for Christ's sake, for it is when I am weak that I am strong (2 Cor. 12:9-10).

These words of Paul were lived out to the letter by Thérèse. So I ask some more questions. Has this child anything to say to modern religious, so many of whom think they cannot serve without degrees, papers, courses, and how-to-do-it programmes, not the least being the latest craze of how-to-live-together-and-relate programmes — through sensitivity courses and group work? They say they cannot manage religious life because of their problems; but young Therese had her problems too! And she knew that the choice before each one of us is to be part of the problem or part of the solution — whether we are speaking of community, family or Church. Thérèse was, and is, part of the solution. She under-stood one of the most fundamental problems in life — that is, the role of suffering. If we do not crack open the mystery of suffering, life will remain for us full of problems and question marks.

Thérèse learned early in life that if we want to follow a crucified Master, — and she was certainly a lover of Jesus crucified — he gives us two companions for our journey to take us to the summit of holiness in such a safe way that we have nothing to fear from either pride or arrogance; these companions are Suffering and Sorrow. But this is not to say that the spiritual life is a sad, drab process. Oh, no! Anyone who has ever had the courage to embrace sorrow and suffer-ing discovers very quickly that the inner reality one exper-iences — when sorrow and suffering are called the outer reality — the silver lining is called Joy and Peace. Suffering embraced is pure joy and the effect in the soul is to experience an indescribable peace: 'The peace that passes all under-standing'. Our Thérèse is a fine example of this: she con-tinually tells us that suffering brought her greater and greater joy and peace. Paul tells us that 'the kingdom of God has nothing to do with eating and drinking; it is righteousness, joy and peace in the Holy Spirit' (Rom. 14:17).

So it seems to me that suffering is a necessary part of our experience of the kingdom of God. Both suffering and death

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have come down to us from our father, Adam. Our reaction to it is of vital importance: if we accept the challenge of Jesus to 'take up our cross and follow him', if we 'die daily', then neither suffering nor death can harm or destroy us. Suffering either makes us or breaks us: it certainly shows of what we are made.

Remember how the Lord your God led you for forty years in the wilderness, to humble you, to test you, and to know your inner-most heart — whether you would keep his commandments or not. He humbled you, he made you feel hunger, he fed you with manna which neither you nor your fathers had known, to make you understand that man does not live on bread alone, but that man lives on everything that comes from the mouth of God. The clothes on your back did not wear out, and your feet were not swollen, all those forty years. Learn from this that the Lord your God was training you as a man trains his child (Deut. 8:2-5).

Thérèse was well aware that suffering shows what is inside in the heart. She says of her futile trip to Rome:

In Rome Jesus pierced his little plaything, anxious no doubt to see what it contained. Then, satisfied with what he found (namely, humble submission to the Church, combined with an unshakeable confidence in God), he let the ball drop and went to sleep (A p.115).

Thérèse learned early in life, as I shall try to show, that when we shrink from suffering or reject it, it can have destructive effects on us. She did not reject it, but we often do, and we are destroyed. The child in its mother's womb has to choose between being born, (which involves 'dying' to its life in the womb and leaving behind all the known familiar things), or dying, namely losing its l ife , because the womb is only intended to support it temporari ly. Our daily choice is between dying to ourselves and living, — or on the other hand disintegrating. ‘For, anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake will find it' (Mt. 16:25). Thérèse not only accepted suffering, but made it her greatest joy and the means of attaining union with God. It is incredible, but true, that she loved suffering, not in itself, but for what could be done with it. By embracing suffering we can take our place at the foot of the cross and become miniature co-redeemers 'to make up for what is wanting in the suffer ings of Chr is t ' (Col. 1:24 ) for the

brethren. We can make of suffering a powerful instrument of apostolate (L 61, 12.3.1889). We can win souls for Jesus. Petitot describes Thérèse as 'smiling in suffering, through love'.

Suffering does not seem to have been part of God's original plan for man; it came as a result of man's revolt. But Jesus transformed suffering for us by taking it upon himself, so that now as we l ive in the era of grace, it can become a means of sanctification for us, and an instrument for saving souls. So what was once an evil, has now become a provision of God's merciful love. Because of Jesus' sacrifice on Calvary, both suffering and the cross have acquired a new dignity.

Far from complaining to Jesus because he sends us crosses, I cannot fathom the infinite love that prompted him to deal with us in this way. Suffering is, of all the things that God can give us, the BEST GIFT. He gives it only to his closest friends (L 59, 28.2.1889). The song of suffering in union with his sufferings is what most delights his heart . . . (L 63, to Céline, 4.4.1889).

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2

THERESE'S MARTYRDOM

I SHALL consider this topic under the following headings:

• martyrdom of the heart, • martyrdom of the will, • martyrdom of the spirit;

and as I deal with them, I shall comment on Thérèse's break-through to personal freedom in the following areas:

• her prayer life, • her asceticism, • a life of simplicity, based on Holy Scripture.

I shall do this because these make her the forerunner of the modern lay person in renewal. I think she fulfilled in a special way the words of Isaiah:

Prepare the way of the Lord; make his path straight; let every valley be filled in, and every mountain and hill laid low . . . then the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all mankind shall see it; for the mouth of the Lord has spoken (Is. 40:3-5).

1. THE BEGINNINGS

`In the history of my soul up to my entry into Carmel, I can distinguish three clearly marked periods' (A p.33).

Thérèse realised that Jesus, the Beloved, has to prepare his earthly spouses with suffering, so that they can enter into 10

spiritual espousals with him. Suffering is the training-ground that is needed from beginning to end of the spiritual journey. I call it 'The Holy Spirit School'. The divine Lover has to penetrate body, soul and spirit with his divine fire in order to make a way for the Lord, so that he can change 'our desert into a fertile land'. Thérèse's training began as an infant. Since she was destined to be a 'spring flower', there was no time to be lost. 'I had the feeling from my tender youth that the little flower would be plucked and carried away in its springtime' (A p.146).

Thérèse was born a healthy baby on 2 January 1873, but her mother was secretly carrying deadly breast cancer which was later to kill her. She was unable to breast-feed her child, and so, within two weeks, we find the baby very ill, and she had to be sent away from home to be weaned by a wet-nurse. In March 1873 Mme Martin wrote to her sister-in-law claiming that baby Thérèse had at last been healed through prayer (Gorres: The Hidden Face). During the next twelve months the mother had reason to fear for the survival of her Benja-min, who did not return home until she was fifteen months old.

Thérèse was a happy child because she was surrounded by a loving, accepting and caring family; but to have been born of a cancerous mother must mean, surely, that she was carrying the physical weaknesses which later led to her early death. In the volume of letters written by Mme Martin there are copious references to the fact that little Thérèse is sick again, and invariably the symptoms are a troublesome cough, chest colds, fevers and congestion. Letters 108 (9.8.1874), 127 (19.5.1875), 138 (10.10.1875), 139 (14.10.1875), 170 (12.11.1875), 179 (8.1.1876) all refer to the fact that Therese has chest colds and fevers, and troublesome coughs. These are the child's first four years; but we find the same symp-toms cropping up in the convent where Thérèse was under the doctor's care much more often than one realises. So the physical weaknesses were there all the time. The little lamb was earmarked for slaughter from the beginning, but it had to become a lamb without blemish if it was to be 'love for Love' and life for Life — Thérèse for Jesus. "Love is paid by love alone", and love's wounds are healed by love alone' (L 61, to Céline, 12.3.1889).

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The little lamb was reared in a truly religious atmosphere:

one might even say it was reared in the temple so that it would be ready for sacrifice. The family lived by a strict code that burned its way into the soul of their youngest one:

• God was seen as a loving Father, and Jesus as the Spouse of souls;

• obedience to, and acceptance of God's will was central to their lives;

• obedience to Church teaching and practice; • but an obedience of loving devotion; • acceptance of suffering as a normal part of God's plan

for sinful men; • acts of self-denial done 'to please Jesus'.

This family lived out the saying of Jesus, 'where two or three are gathered together in my name, I am there in the midst of them' (Mt. 18:20). Later on Thérèse was to say:

I loved from dawn of infant days, Mary and Joseph oft to praise,

E'en then my soul upsoared in raptured gaze, To mirror deep within mine eyes, the skies!

Thérèse's sensitivity, which was one of the chief ingred-ients of her inner martyrdom, was seen even in babyhood: she was utterly alert to what was going on all around her, and was deeply affected by it. 'Without seeming to do so, I paid attention to everything that was said and done around me; it seems to me that I judged of things then as I do now' (A p.36). She was very sensitive to acts of kindness done to her: 'No one could imagine how much I loved Father and Mother; and, being very expansive, I showed my love in a thousand ways' (A p.34). 'She is a child very easily moved', says her mother, 'her eyes quickly fill with tears; a mere nothing suffices . . .' But 'she was always smiling'.

She was utterly honest and confessed the smallest faults, and learned — at the age of three years! — to check her impatience! She also learned at this stage to check vanity in dress (L of Mme Martin to Pauline 14.5.1876). It is the tender age at which such virtue was practised that is wonder-ful. This very strong-willed child needed the careful training of her saintly parents and sisters: 'With such a disposition I felt sure that, had I been brought up by careless parents, I

should have become very wicked, and, perhaps, have lost my soul' (A p.38). Her over-sensitivity is described in a letter from Marie to Pauline (14.5.1876):

When she has said a word too much, or done anything foolish, she notices it at once, and has recourse to tears of penitence. She then asks forgiveness endlessly. It is in vain that one tells her she is forgiven; she cries all the same.

Thérèse could not bear to hurt anyone. Her mother wisely used this sensitivity to get her to do everything to please the Infant Jesus — something that affected Thérèse for life. Cline became her rival in generosity, and they made endless sacrifices for Jesus. As was the custom at the time, she was given a chaplet to count her sacrifices, but later on in life she rejected all 'nicely calculated less and more' from her spiritu-ality. But she was already on the 'Little Way' of constant, small, daily, unremitting sacrifices for love of Jesus. But she is only three years of age! That is the marvel.

Thus I formed the habit of never protesting when anyone took away my things; or if I were accused unjustly, I would prefer to keep silent rather than excuse myself (A p.41).

Already the iron mask of a smiling silence is beginning to form — but at such a tender age. Nowadays this would be considered solid virtue in an adult religious! Truly God is at work in this tiny soul. 'Jesus has alway s treated me as a spoiled child. It is true that his cross has accompanied me from the cradle but he has made me love that cross passionately' (A). Already, under the spiritual guidance of her saintly mother, she was learning not to complain of discomfort, or even physical suffering — as if God were teaching her already that patience is the soul of strength, and the beginning of fortitude, and self-surrender is the pinnacle of love. As far as I can see, the ingredients for her heroic surrender to God later on are already being formed in her. The self- mastery that this child was acquiring is truly marvellous: it was gained by very gentle handling on the part of a loving family, and it led to a high degree of balance in this soul. Mme Martin wrote to Pauline, 'You will have no trouble in bringing up Thérèse. She is so highly gifted, hers is a choice nature' (L 4.3.1877). The opinion of her aunt, a Visitandine nun at this time (Easter 1875) was as follows:

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towards this little girl; but the Potter knows exactly what to do with the clay in order to mould and shape it; and this piece of clay was to become ‘a vessel of election’ in the hands of her God (Rom. 9:21). The mystery is that the Hound of heaven apparently destroys that which he wants to use. Let us look at the effects of these death-blows on this little girl, now four-and-a-half years old. ‘My soul has experienced many kinds of trials: I have suffered much here below’ (A p.154).

2. 4½ YEARS TO 14 YEARS ‘This was the most painful stage’ (A p.44) of Thérèse’s life, and it dates from the death of her mother to her fourteenth year. Her mother’s death was a terrible shock to her, and, as she kissed her dead mother goodbye, she bade farewell also to the joy, the vivacity and the expansiveness of her babyhood. It was the beginning of sorrows; the sword had gone right into her sensitive heart bringing out the weaknesses in her make-up, and setting her feet on her via dolorosa. Suffering is God’s great instrument for producing self-knowledge in the soul; it must be extraordinarily difficult to acquire true self-knowledge without it. Suffering also makes us completely vulnerable, so that God can work on us. The divine Artist went to work early on this little soul. As soon as my mother died, my character completely changed. I had been so vivacious, so expansive, but now I became quiet and timid, excessively sensitive. A single look was enough to make me burst into tears. I wanted to pass unnoticed; I could not endure to meet strangers, and I could be gay only in the family circle (A p.44). Moreover, I felt like an exile; I used to weep and think how I had lost my mother (A p.45). I was so timid and sensitive that I did not try to defend myself, but merely shed tears in silence (A p.56). My extreme sensitiveness made me a most tiresome child. All remonstrations were in vain; I could not correct myself of this ugly defect (A p.86). The psychologists would have had a field-day working on Thérèse at this point trying to find a long-lasting depression, or some psychological imbalance or disorder, but then, they are more concerned with the completely balanced human being

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Zélie brought little Thérèse to see me. The little girl is very sweet and exceptionally obedient. She did all she was asked, without having to be pressed, and was so quiet that she could have been made to stay without moving all day long. Thérèse herself says of these early days: Jesus watched over his little bride, and turned even her faults to advantage for, being checked in early life, they became a means of leading her towards perfection . . . Goodness had charms for me. A single word, said gently, was enough, and would have been enough all my life to make me understand, and be sorry for my faults (A). Finally, the last word on these early years is the incredible declaration of the saint before her death: ‘Since the age of three I have never refused God anything.’ The question to be asked now is this: if she had already gained self-mastery, was she a saint already? Many people confuse holiness with the mastery of one’s defects; but God is going to show us in Thérèse that He goes to the heart of the matter: the inner purification of the self; of the heart, the will and the spirit. Thérèse, like every other soul that aims at perfection in God, must go through the dark mystic night if she is to become one with ‘Him whom her soul loveth’. It takes more than just self-mastery for the will of man to surrender totally to the divine will. But the stage is now set for the awful drama of this child’s life. Just when it seems that all is well, and the spiritual training of this child is ideal, would it not seem right that things should go on without interruption? But no! The Lord says: ‘My ways are not your ways, and my thoughts are not your thoughts.’ One of the clearest signs of election in a soul is suffering; so just when all was rosy for this little girl, God himself, literally took the bottom out of her world by taking her mother from her in death! What a shattering blow for any child; but for this over-sensitive child it was almost a death-blow. It would take Thérèse almost ten years to get over the effects of it; and then, the divine Master – who acts only out of pure love – will remove Pauline to Carmel, and then Marie; each person whom Thérèse leans on for support is taken away, until she learns the meaning of those precious words of the great Teresa: ‘God alone suffices.’ A soul that lacks understanding of God’s ways might think He was being sadistic 14

than with seeing a soul with the hand of God upon it. They so continually make the mistake of invading the supernatural order with a science of the flesh, and, using the wrong instruments, they can make no progress nor reach any worthwhile conclusions, nor can they discern what is going on. Only the Potter knows his clay, and understands his clay fully.

An unspiritual man [for my purpose, the psychologists when they deal with natural phenomena only] is one who does not accept anything of the Spirit of God: he sees it all as nonsense; it is beyond his understanding because it can only be understood by means of the Spirit. A spiritual man, on the other hand, is able to judge the value of everything, and his own value is not to be judged by any other man. As Scripture says: 'Who can know the mind of the Lord, so who can teach him?' But we are those who have the mind of Christ (1 Cor. 2:14 -16).

Thérèse was not just an ordinary little girl weeping and wailing over the death of her mother. No! she was a child, called by God to a great destiny; a child who up to this point had developed remarkable self-mastery; and now the Potter wants to show his clay its weakness and nothingness. 'With-out me, you can do nothing' (Jn. 15:5). This is basic revela-tion to the soul if it is to do anything for God. And God has revealed to all his great ones that he is sovereign Lord, and only that soul who totally surrenders can know heaven on earth. 'I am He-who-is: you are she-who-is-not'. If Thérèse was to pave a way for ordinary people who are subject to so many weaknesses, then she needed the experience of not being able to overcome herself, so that she would cry out for divine help and show us the way through. During her short lifetime, she was to prove the point made by St Paul in Romans 15:4:

And, indeed, everything that is written long ago in the Scriptures was meant to teach us something about hope, from the examples Scriptu re gives us of how people who did not give up were helped by God.

God deals with us according to our destiny in his provi-dence, and fits our training to suit that end. For example, if a boy is destined to be king, all his training will be geared to that end. This is the phenomenon we are dealing with in

Thérèse, and the terrible suffering she was experiencing in her mind and her emotions had to be faced, coped with and handled if she was to become a victim to God's love later on. But here we see her first reaction to suffering: she shrank from it. Let us remember here that Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, also shrank from suffering: 'Father, if it be possible, let this chalice pass from me'. And here that same Lover puts the chalice to Thérèse's tiny lips — he does the same for all his friends! It seems to be a sign of election, and a call to intimacy. Love and suffering are two sides of the one coin: what a marvellous mystery.

Thérèse now became a deep thinker, and began to learn how to wear the mask of silence. As an infant she had worn it in her daily sacrifices, but now she begins to wear it in her first great trial. 'I cannot remember that I shed many tears. I spoke to no one of the deep emotions that filled my heart: I looked on and listened in silence' (A p.43). This was her immediate response to her mother's death, but she was soon to discover that silence is a great protection to have, and will never remove it from her face again. Suffering is already carving her mask. She became very serious and thoughtful. Later when I speak of her prayer life, I will refer to the hours she spent in prayer meditating on the shortness of life, and the reality and nearness of heaven. She speaks of her needs at this time:

Ah! if God had not lavished so much love and sunshine upon his Little Flower, she could never have become acclimatized to this earth. She was still too weak to endure the rains and the storms; she needed warmth, the gentle dews and soft breezes of the spring. These gifts were not lacking to her, even under the snows of her trials (A p.44).

The warmth and tenderness which Thérèse needed were given to her by her family (A p.44). She wanted to go to heaven to be with her mother, but the love and affection of her family helped to settle her again. The family changed their address and went to live at Lisieux, and this gave little Thérèse a chance to begin again with Pauline as her 'little mother'. From this time Pauline was to have the greatest influence on her life.

The distress and unrest that Thérèse suffered at this time came to her from God, and her celebrated 'weakness' was her

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inability to wear her double mask of smiling through suffer-ing for love of Jesus. In fact, this child had very deep thoughts of life, death and eternity burning their way into her soul. The more she prayed and 'thought' in her room, and on the banks of the Torques beside her father, and later in the Abbey, the more she compared heaven and earth, with the balance weighing heavily on the side of heaven. She saw the vanity of earthly things and this led her to a deep detachment from earth — which is one of the precious fruits of suffering. She was becoming a truly spiritual person — but at six years of age! At home she was surrounded by love and affection, with care and attention. The tempest she was experiencing was in her own soul. There was a growing discord between the sunny, lovely, external conditions of her life, and the deep stirrings within her soul, and this produced tension and more suffering for her. At this time she was taken to see the sea for the first time, and this incident shows her very pro-found thoughts. She saw it as an image of the omnipotence of God, and she made the incredible resolution 'never to allow her heart to wander away from Jesus' sight, so that it may sail peacefully and without delay to the shores of heaven' (A p.55). She was able to raise her mind and heart to God by contemplating nature. She did not allow her aesthetic reaction to dominate: she did not romanticize about the sea. She went at once to her centre — God — and made the occasion an opportunity for a heroic decision.

The next recognizable step forward for Thérèse was the occasion of Céline's First Holy Communion, 13 May 1880. Thérèse sat in on the classes and heard Céline being exhorted to begin a new life, and Thérèse decided to do the same. She was now seven years old, and was very upset when she was not allowed to make her First Holy Communion also. She knew she was ready, and from this time the Eucharist began to take a prominent place in her life. Thérèse later confessed that Céline's First Communion Day was one of the happiest days in her own life (Piat).

But now the second death-blow came for Thérèse. Pauline left the nest for Carmel. Thérèse was now nine years old, and felt her world crumble under her feet again. Thérèse was so attached to Pauline that she felt that she could not live without her, because Pauline was both mother and spiritual

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guide. This, on top of her mother's death, was the greatest sorrow that ever befell Thérèse and led to her resolution never again to lean on creatures, but to live for God alone. The sword now went 'into the place that divides soul from spirit, and joints from marrow' (Heb. 4:12). Thérèse was blasted open and all the defences of a lifetime came down: she could not cope. She became totally vulnerable again:

How can I express the anguish of my heart? In an instant life appeared to me in all its reality — filled with continual sufferings and partings, and I shed bitter tears. At that time I did not yet know the joy o f suffer ing. I was weak, so weak indeed, that I look on it as a great grace to have been able to endure, without dying, a trial that seemed to be so far above my strength (A pp. 59, 61).

The marvel was that Thérèse was completely vulnerable. She did not protect herself with any of the psychological defences that ordinary people use. She did not 'switch off', or cut herself off from either God or men; she did not get discouraged or try to compensate. She just suffered until her little body acted like an overcharged plug — it fused! The only solution to the problem for Thérèse, as well as for us, is to react to the suffering in a different way: that is, to use it positively, even make it her joy — but that is not yet! Now she just suffers and weeps. She discovered again her power-lessness in the face of pain; the weakness of nature before this, one of life's greatest mysteries. But she did not rebel — either against God or her circumstances. She just suffered `as a lamb before its shearers, not opening its mouth'. She went to Pauline for help, and as Pauline explained the life in Carmel to her, Thérèse began to reflect, and realised that God was calling her also! She was nine years old, in crisis, and yet she heard the 'still small voice' calling her to 'Come away, my Beloved . . .' She responded wholeheartedly, as was her way, and so she gave her fiat at nine, and was so convincing that even the nuns at Carmel discussed it seriously. So, with the crisis, God came with an invitation that detached Therese even more from earthly things.

It was about this time that Thérèse was sent to school at the Abbey, and her inner state of mind and soul was such that she" was ill-fitted for the rough-and-tumble of school life. The Abbey only increased the growing crisis within her. She

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could not cope with the childish ways of her schoolmates. Her own soul was so mature that she could not find anyone whom she could befriend. It is understandable that the other children had no time for someone who prayed a lot, and dreamed of heavenly things only; someone who wanted to play 'holy games'! But it added immeasurably to Thérèse's suffering at this time (A p.57). This situation continued until Pentecost 1883 when Thérèse began to get frequent head-aches, until her little frame shook with illness. Just how much pain and suffering, loneliness and struggle can a child take without breaking? Abbe Combes says of her at this stage, that the weakness that Thérèse suffered from 'seems to have been an inability to make an instantaneous, completely satisfactory response to the shocks of adversity on the one hand, and the invitation of God's grace on the other' (St T. and Suffering — Combes p.39). It is a consolation for us poor folk to see that she was not superhuman; that there was a limit to what she could take and cope with. She, like the rest of us, needed that smile from heaven, that reassurance from above (A p.66). The amazing thing in her strange illness was that she retained the use of her reason, even though she appeared so ill. 'I am quite certain that I was never for one moment deprived of my reason' (A p.63). But once our Lady smiled on her she knew that 'the dark winter was over, and the rains were gone' (A p.67). She was suddenly and com-pletely cured — except for the scruple about having told her secret (A p.68).

She was also scrupulous about what she may have said or done during her illness. It is obvious from examining her own statements that she had struggled for self-mastery during her illness, but this is the only time I can see her mask off; the only time in her life when she was totally unable to hide what she was going through. As soon as she was cured, she con-tinued, unabated, her life of self-sacrifice and self-mastery (A p.71). At this stage she lived on The Imitation of Christ, and knew it off by heart.

Then she began her three-month preparation for her own First Holy Communion, which turned out to be a deep mystical experience for her. She says that on that day Jesus and Thérèse 'fused', which implies full union with her eucha-ristic Lord. For a first official meeting this is wonderful indeed.

It was a milestone in her spiritual history. How sweet was that first embrace of Jesus. It was, indeed, an embrace of Love. I felt that I was loved, and I said: 'I love Thee, and give myself to Thee for ever'. Jesus asked nothing of me and claimed no sacrifice; for a long time he and little Thérèse had known and understood one another. That day our meeting was more than simple recognition, it was perfect union. We were no longer two. Thérèse had disappeared like a drop of water lost in the immensity of the ocean; Jesus alone remained. He was the Master and King. Had not Thérèse asked him to take away the liberty which frightened her? She felt herself so weak and frail that she wished to be un i ted fo r ever to the d iv ine s t reng th (A p.76).

The maturity of soul expressed by her is wonderful. This is no neophyte starting out on the spiritual way, but someone very far advanced along the road; someone who has been through the dark, gloomy valley with the Shepherd, and pulled through (cf. Ps. 23). Thérèse's total surrender to Jesus at her First Communion is very remarkable. There is no question of going any other way: no, her heart is set on the Lord, and she never deviated from this total surrender. It is almost frightening to see the progress she has made at such a tender age. From then on each Holy Communion was a precious step along the way for her. Her second Communion was very significant also:

My tears flowed with inexpressible sweetness while I recalled and repeated the words of St Paul ' I live now, not I, but Christ lives in me' . After this second visit of our Lord my one desire was for Holy Communion . . . (A p.76).

She was allowed to receive Communion on all feast-days, and Marie, who now became spiritual guide, prepared her.

On one of these occasions something significant happened for Thérèse: 'Marie spoke to me of suffering, and said that instead of making me walk that path, the Good God would, no doubt, always carry me as a little child' (A p.76). Marie knew her better than anyone else at this stage, and yet she seems to think that Thérèse has no suffering, and that God will spoil her by making the way ahead easy for her. Thérèse must have been very successful at wearing her mask of smiling silence to have so avoided the watchful eye of Marie. But secretly Thérèse longed for suffering, and received this grace the following day:

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The following day, at Communion, these words came back to me, bringing with them an ardent desire for suffering, as well as a conviction that I would have many a cross to bear. Since my First Holy Communion, since the time I asked Jesus to change all the consolations of this earth into bitterness for me, I had a perpetual desire to suffer. I wasn't thinking, however, of making suffering my joy; this is a grace that was given me later on. Up until then it was like a spark hidden in the ashes and like blossoms on a tree that must become fruit in time. But seeing my blossoms always falling .. . I said to myself with astonishment and sadness: 'But I will never go beyond the stage of desires!' (NV No.13, 31 July).

Some biographers have made Thérèse out at this stage to be a habitual cry-baby, extremely sensitive and self-pitying; if this were so, would Marie say Thérèse had no suffering, and was having it easy? Would she not have asked her to pray for healing, as she did before, in her illness? But no. Marie sees Thérèse now as smiling serenely, with everything going well for her. That smiling silence was a very effective mask indeed: it enabled her to fulfil these words of our Lord that 'the left hand should not know what the right hand is doing'.

The whole direction of Thérèse's life at this stage was Godwards, away from both self and creatures. Thérèse's reaction to Marie's words was very unusual, and brings me to my second point with regard to her reaction to suffering: she no longer shrank from it, even though it hurt her so much. She now came to desire it, and began to find untold spiritual treasures in it. 'Suffering became attractive to me, and I began to find in it entrancing joys, though I did not then appreciate them to the full' (A p.'76). A new fiat began to resound in her soul, as she learned to embrace the one thing she feared most. The response that Jesus gave to her fiat was lovely: 'My soul was flooded with consolation so great, that all through my life, I have never experienced any-thing to equal it' (A p.76). He was saying to her: 'Yes, this is the only way; the way of peace; the safe way to holiness; Come, step further along the Via Dolorosa; it does not end with Calvary: No! It ends at the right hand of the Father'. She had asked our Lord for his divine strength at her First Holy Communion; she was going to need it more and more along the way, this little way of great suffering. From then

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on the cross loomed large over this little lamb, but the cross was embraced with love. It was not just accepted with resig-nation, as up to now. `Up to that time, I had suffered without loving suffering. Since then I have felt a real love for it' (unpublished documents at Carmel: Combes).

At this time Thérèse prayed another prayer which our Lord heard to the letter: 'Oh, my God, who art unspeakable sweetness; turn for me into bitterness all the consolations of earth' (A p.'76). The grace of God was working in a profound way here. Obviously Thérèse had lost all fear of suffering and was willing to embrace it. She felt that our Lord himself had inspired her to pray this prayer over and over (A p.76). So Jesus was drawing her like a magnet, and she was giving God permission to remove the rest of the supports that enabled her to survive! These consolations and supports were her family, her home life and family relationships. God was preparing her to 'leave all and follow him' into the austere life of Carmel, and the stripping process was to begin now. Her only aim in life was the summit of perfection, and she had made considerable progress. The world had no hold on her at all — it did not even seem to constitute a temptation.

But Thérèse was stretching herself way beyond her powers and her tender age, and a new conflict arose within her to threaten her mask. The conflict was between her heroic aspirations and her humiliating failures in trying to live up to the standard she had set for herself. She finally got through this crisis in her 'Christmas conversion' experience, and then we find that the smiling, silent mask is firmly fixed for life — she even dies with the smile on! Some time later she was confirmed, and the special coming of the Holy Spirit brought her the gift of fortitude which she sorely needed. 'On that day I received the gift of Fortitude in suffering, a gift I sorely needed, for the martyrdom of my soul was soon to begin' (A p.72).

But Thérèse, now twelve years old, was afflicted by scruples, and this trial lasted eighteen months until she was cured by the intercession of her little brothers and sisters in heaven, and she was finally freed at her Christmas conversion. It was her obedience to Marie that kept her right during this time, and also her humility in confessing her faults. Many people who suffer from scruples are very self-willed and will

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not follow the help that is given them. Not so Thérèse; she promptly obeyed whatever she was told to do, and fought bravely on for self-mastery. In all her photographs there are black rings under her eyes — those tale-bearers of inner con-flict — but the smiling silence speaks of victory gained at the foot of the cross. This is the story of her life, as I see it.

I am amazed at the number of people who refer to Thérèse and her little way as small, childish, puerile, when already at twelve years of age she had become a strong warrior for God. It also amazes me to see the apparent ease with which she always finds the truth, and takes each step forward with ease and conf idence. She shows us that we do not need intellectualism to grow in holiness: No! all one needs is an intellect open and docile to the Master Teacher — the Holy Spirit — and Thérèse was well and truly established in the Holy Spirit School. She heard the voice of her Beloved clearly in the depths of her soul, and responded with wonder-ful generosity. Later, in Carmel, she would listen to him also in her daily reading and meditating of the Holy Scriptures.

Marie was Thérèse's 'oracle' during the whole crisis and Thérèse leaned on her quite heavily. But before she had worked her way through the crisis, Marie left home for the Carmel. This was October 1886, and while it was a great blow to Thérèse, we find her attitude to suffering has changed; and that made all the difference. 'I no sooner heard of her deter-mination than I resolved to take no further interest in any-thing here below, and I shed abundant tears' (A p.83). Thérèse was learning the hard way not to rely on creatures: if she is to live for God, then she must discover that 'God alone suffices'. In her desperation she turned to her dead brothers and sisters and asked for their intercession to be set free from the scruples, and her prayer was heard.

During the crisis Thérèse struggled hard to overcome herse lf, so that her reaction would be 'al l of grace' . Her desire for suffering was liberally granted , but could she respond as she felt God wanted her to? Was she reaching too high? She fe lt lonely here on earth. Indeed, she always referred to herself as an exile, and longed to go home to heaven. But throughout her trial she was outwardly strong and serene, affectionate, docile and dutiful. So this infirmity of Thérèse — in the Pauline sense of the word — was for her 24

rather an occasion of showing her strength of character. No one ever saw her disagreeable, sullen, morose, or selfishly hugging her grief. Trials of all sorts fell upon her, including moral perplexities, illness and scruples, but she did not give way, be it ever so little, either to discouragement or negligence (Piat p.282). Céline spoke on this point at the Process for Canonisation:

It is important to note that even in her early girlhood's years, she was really strong despite her apparent weakness. This remark-able strength was evident from the fact that her sadness never hindered her from fulfilling her duty in the smallest matters. For my own part, at this period, I never surprised her in an uncon-trolled outburst, a sharp word, or any failing in right behaviour. She mortified herself all the time, and in the smallest matters. She seemed never to lose an opportunity of offering God sacrifices.

It seems from all the evidence available that Thérèse pitilessly suppressed every movement of self-love. Pauline stated: 'She watched carefully in order to obtain control over her actions, and from early childhood had accustomed herself never to grumble or make excuses'. And Céline and Pauline were among those who knew her best! But Thérèse herself has something to say of this time: 'The practice of virtue seemed to me sweet and natural. At first my expression betrayed the struggle, but little by little, renunciation seemed to me easy, even at the first moment'.

3. 14 YEARS TO ENTRY INTO CARMEL

What happened, then, on that famous Christmas night? Thérèse illustrated her conversion with an incident so trivial as to be misleading. It was not just the grace of dried-up tears that the Infant Jesus gave to her on that famous night of 1886 when Thérèse was almost fourteen years old. It was a spiritual victory that stayed with her for the rest of her life, and enabled her to go on to heroic sanctity.

On this radiant night began the third period of my life, the most beautiful of all, and the most filled with heavenly favours. Satis-fied with my good will, our Lord accomplished in an instant the work I had not been able to do in years. Like the apostles, I might have said: 'Master, we have laboured all night and have

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taken nothing'. More merciful to me than to his beloved disciples, Jesus himself took the net, and casting it, drew it out full of fishes: he made me a fisher of men. Love, and a spirit of self- forgetfulness took complete possession of my heart, and hence-forward I was perfectly happy . . . Thérèse was no longer the same — Jesus had transformed her (A p.8'7).

>F rom no w on nobo dy wou ld wi tn e s s the s trugg le Thérè se had interiorly. Jesus came with supernatural help, and he would be always at her side now to give her victory after victory. It was this Christmas grace that finally prepared her for all the suffering of life in Carmel. She was clothed with the gift of fortitude in suffering.

God wrought the desired miracle on December 25th 1886. On that blessed Christmas night, the sweet Infant Jesus, scarce an hour old, flooded with his glorious sunshine, the darkness into which my soul was plunged. In becoming weak and little for love of me, he made me strong and brave. He placed his own weapons in my hands, and I went from victory to victory, beginning, so to speak, 'to run as a giant'. The fountain of my tears was dried up, and from that time they flowed neither easily nor often (A p.86).

She was now healed of her over-sensitivity, but she suffered from her delicate sensitivity all her life. It was fortitude in suffering that was given to her. It was not until close to her death that she revealed the price she had paid to love and serve God and her brethren. But God's sovereign action in this Christmas grace is clearly seen in Thérèse's own words. But fortitude was not the only grace given to her that night. Love took hold of her, and also a desire for the Apostolate. Love is the greatest gift of the Spirit, and the greatest fruit of grace in the soul, but the spirit of self-forgetfulness is essen-tial to love. So it was a conversion indeed. Love took possess-ion of her and moved her towards service of her fellow- humans. Up to now there had been very little service of her fellow-men and women in Thérèse: it had all been God and me, but the 'me' was largely set aside now, and God was reaching through her to others, and reaching to her inspiring her to bring souls to him. Now she became preoccupied with the conversion of sinners with great zeal.

We are now entering into the third phase of Thérèse's reaction to suffering: she began now to use it as her chief means to union with God. A whole new outlook on life had

been given to her: no longer was it just Thérèse's small world of home and school, and generous self-sacrifice: she was brought swiftly by the divine Lover to the cross of Jesus, where for the rest of her life she would stay in spirit, con-soling her crucified Lord in his terrible agony, and trying to win souls for him to assuage his thirst. This grace came her way some months after the Christmas conversion and seemed to happen `by chance'. A picture of the Crucifixion slipped out of her prayer-book after Mass, and suddenly her soul was plunged into a new era (A p.87). She heard the cry of Jesus, `I thirst', resounding in her soul.

>From that day, the cry of my dying Saviour, 'I thirst', resounded incessantly in my heart, kindling within it new fires of zeal. To give my Beloved to drink was my constant desire; I was consumed with an insatiable thirst for souls, and I longed at any cost to snatch them from the everlasting flames of hell. In order to enkindle my ardour still further, our divine Master showed me how pleasing to him was my zeal (A p.88).

Her first experiment in winning souls for Jesus was the famous Pranzini case and we know from Céline that Thérèse prayed for Pranzini all her life. Once she got the affirmative answer to this one, there was no stopping her! She was now completely at the disposal of her Master and Lover. 'Oh! I will not allow this Precious Blood to be wasted! I will pass my life in gathering it up for the good of souls' (NV 1 Aug. 1897). Now that she was walking the way of the cross with a surer step, she learnt to use all the opportunities it affords to become a little 'co-redeemer', using the merits of Jesus, the saints, the Mass and the Church.

At home Thérèse was coping with life in the absence of Pauline and Marie. But Céline was the one she turned to now in a special way, although she had always been close to Céline. But Céline, while being her confidante, never assumed the role of director or guide: she was more the twin, the one who shared Thérèse's ideals and aspirations, and also the one to follow her into Carmel after she had cared for her father. It was a more adult relationship. Thérèse was no longer the baby, the child, and home life went on as normal. About this time Thérèse borrowed a book from her father that profoundly affected her for the rest of her life. It was a series of talks by Abbé Arminjon, On the end of this World and the

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Mysteries of the World to come. This book 'filled her soul with a happiness that was not of earth' (A p.90). And she began to share her deepest thoughts and desires and aspira-tions with Céline during the nightly visits to the attic room, called the Belvedere, where they looked out to the starry skies and their souls penetrated the heavens and heaven responded with wonderful graces to these two teenagers (A p.91). 'Every evening, from our wide attic window, we gazed at the azure vault studded with golden stars, and it seems to me that in those moments many precious graces were bestowed upon us'.

Thérèse was beginning to grasp, with the help of the Abbé Arminjon's lectures and the wonderful trysts with the Lord in the Belvedere, that there really was something the creature can give to her Creator that pleases him. It is to offer him suffering borne in love. She learned from Jesus, that when he chose the path of lowly suffering, borne in love for us, that this was the most perfect way for us to walk also. She was beginning to see that it was a very straight road to God. She saw very clearly that there are two phases to life: the earthly phase and the heavenly one. On earth it is our turn to give God love and fidelity, and offer him sacrifices and suffering, all as signs and tokens of our love. But when the heavenly phase begins, God says: 'Now it is my turn'! Thérèse repeated these words over and over until they motivated her to get moving on the Via Dolorosa. It is not that heaven is the reward for merits or justice or anything else like that; it is just that we have our chance here below to show our love for God in so many ways and he so often leaves us without the joys and consolations that we long for, so that we will grow faster; but, he who is Love, eagerly waits for 'his turn' to show his love for us in the stage of 'eye-hath-not-seen, nor-ear-heard, nor-hath-it-entered-into-the-heart-of-man-to-con-ceive-what-God-has-prepared-for-those-who-love-him'. Heaven is the home-coming after the hard Holy Spirit School down here. The joy of the pilgrim safely home again, or of the school-child home from boarding-school and the bliss of the family meal . . . makes it all worthwhile. If you can see the home-coming, you can brace yourself more easily for the fight . . . and this fourteen-year-old girl was steeling herself for the long fight in Carmel, 'her desert'. Soon after she

entered, she wrote to Céline: Céline, fear nothing: He is not far away, He is very close to us. He looks towards us; He begs from us our sorrow, our anguish .. . He needs it for souls, for our souls. He wants to give us so wonder-ful a reward : His designs for us are so magnificent! But how can He say: 'It is my turn', if our turn has not come first; if we have given nothing to Him? Ah! it costs Him much to give us the bread of affliction, but He knows that it is the only means of preparing us to know him as he knows himself, and to become ourselves as Gods. Our soul is, indeed, great and our destiny glorious.

So from now on, Thérèse's programme was not only to keep up a rigorous asceticism by denying her own will and self- love, but to welcome all the trials and afflictions the Good God sent her way so that she could win souls for him and assuage his thirst. Suffering was conquered now, because it was no longer an evil, but a means of redemption.

4. THERESE'S VOCATION TO CARMEL

I want to consider this another stage even though Thérèse said at two years of age that she would become a nun! And she spoke to the Prioress of the Carmel at nine years of age about becoming a postulant! Therese knew all along that God was calling her to a `far-off desert' to live for him and with him. But as her life unfolds for us, especial ly since her Christmas grace, we see that God has been preparing her step by step for a vocation of suffering — but redemptive suffering. She would later declare to her Superiors before taking her vows: 'I have come to save souls and especially to pray for priests' (A p.123). And she could have added: 'the means I will use is to suffer with smiling silence for love of Jesus!' These were her wedding vows to the One she loved so dearly and how magnificent it is too! And in one so young! No wonder the popes have declared that God endowed this child with supernatural wisdom. 29 May 1887 Thérèse got permission from her father to enter Carmel. This began another series of trials that brought deep suffering to her. Every time she turned to legitimate authority she was refused! Her uncle, the Father Superior of Carmel, the Bishop, and

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even her appeal to the Pope seemed to bring no relief. Could she be hearing her divine Master rightly, if all those repre-senting him here on earth refused? This was a deep suffering, but Therese never doubted what her Lord wanted, and took example from our Blessed Mother who, in her distress, did not inform St Joseph of the wonderful miracle of the Incar-nation that had taken place within her. She kept silence and let God do the revealing! From this time onwards, we find Thérèse imitating the Holy Family and here she just kept silence, obeyed whatever she was told to do, and waited for God to move on her behalf! This is wonderful surrender on the part of a fifteen-year-old, and wonderful understanding of the ways of God: 'They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like the eagle: they shall run and not be weary; shall walk and not faint' (Isaiah 40:31). Thérèse later in life spoke of herself as a tiny eaglet looking into the Sun, who is Christ. This proved to be a great victory for her, and, against all the odds, she actually entered Carmel just a few months later than she had hoped.

It was during these months of bitter pain and waiting in hope that Thérèse began to speak about 'Jesus sleeping in the boat', and began to look on herself as a play-ball for the Infant Jesus. Behind this apparently childish language is an awesome reality — that of a young teenager totally at the disposal of God! Total abandonment to the will of God, and again, we see her just suffer — she never defends herself from suffering, never protects herself. She lets the suffering come and it tempers her soul. The steel was well and truly estab-lished now in the soul of this brave young girl.

The journey to Rome and Italy was a crash course in meeting the world that Thérèse had had so little contact with. The so-called pilgrimage seems to have been little more than a sightseeing tour, if we follow Thérèse's account of it (A pp. 103-120). She speaks mostly of the grandeur of the things they saw and how she could contemplate the works of God through them. But it was on this pilgrimage that she got her eyes opened to the needs of priests and the spiritual con-dition of so many people she met.

The second piece of knowledge I acquired concerned God's priests. Up to th is t ime I could no t understand the ch ief aim

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of the Carmelite Reform. The thought of praying for sinners afforded me the utmost delight, but I was surprised at the idea of praying for priests, whose souls I deemed purer than crystal. In Italy I understood my vocation, and the long journey was well worth undertaking to gain such useful knowledge .. . Dear Mother, how beautiful is our vocation! We Carmelites are called upon to preserve 'the salt of the earth', to offer our prayers and sacrifices for the apostles of the Lord, to be their apostles while they, by word and example are preaching the Gospel to their brethren ... (A p.104).

How delicately she deals with the worldliness and selfishness she saw on that pilgrimage! We can see here that Thérèse understood her vocation very well before she entered. In her own ingenious fashion, she allowed everything she exper-ienced to help her on her way to the Lord, but she let nothing and nobody deter her on this road. She never relaxed on her spiritual journey and never slackened her asceticism. It is almost frightening to see the lengths to which she was to take this heroism in Carmel.

The high point of the pilgrimage for Thérèse was the visit to the Holy Father, Leo XIII, but 'it was turned to bitter-ness' for her when he did not give the permission she so ardently desired. She heard remarks afterwards that she had made a show of herself and let the pilgrimage down, and so on, and this added to her own sense of humiliation. After this futile interview she had no further interest in the sight-seeing. She speaks of her pain thus:

For some time past I had offered myself to the Child Jesus as his plaything: I told him not to treat me like one of those precious toys which children only look at and dare not touch, but rather as a little ball of no value that could be thrown on the ground, tossed about, pierced, left in a corner, or pressed to his heart, just as it might please him . . . My prayer has been heard. In Rome Jesus pierced his little plaything, anxious, no doubt, to see what it contained (cf. Deut. 8:2). You can imagine the desolation of the little ball on the ground! Yet it continued to hope against hope.

This is a foreshadowing of Thérèse in her final trials and ill-ness up to her death.

Her ability to relate the source of her suffering to God and not get stuck on secondary causes — as is the way of so

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many — is truly wonderful. Many another person, receiving lesser rebuffs than Thérèse received from all in authority, has walked away — even from the Church! Complete con-formity to God's will in whatever way it shows itself, is the way for Thérèse, and for us also. It is no wonder that she says later on:

At the beginning of my spiritual life, when I was thirteen or fourteen years old, I used to ask myself what was there that I could learn later on, for I used then to think that it would be impossible to get a fuller understanding of perfection (A p.132).

It is true here that 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast fashioned praise, 0 Lord!' Deep in her soul was `that peace that passes all understanding', because she was wise enough not to let 'any root of bitterness' (Heb. 12:15) take hold of her soul. She was experiencing 'true righteous-ness'. And yet, sometime before her death Thérèse was able to say: 'But I very soon realised that the further we advance along this path, the further away we find ourselves from its end. Now I am resigned to seeing myself always imperfect, and even find my joy therein' (A p.132).

Thérèse reminds me so much of the climbers of Mount Everest, who make great progress at terrific cost to them-selves. But as they near its summit, they move very slowly and painfully, falling often, even injuring themselves, and yet they are only yards from one of the greatest achieve-ments that men can accomplish. Only with Thérèse, it was Mount Carmel, which is even more steep and rough and dangerous; and history does not boast of too many who have scaled its heights. But this girl was already learning one of the greatest secrets of growing in holiness quickly — the Little Way: 'a straight way, a quick way' (A p.152). She was dis-covering that the wings of the great eagle — who soars above the earth with such ease, and flies with such speed on the air currents, yes, even the storm currents!, flies far above the twittering and noise of earthbound birds right into the face of the sun, who keeps his home high up in the craggy heights of the mountains, 'far from the madding crowd' — these wings are: Surrender and Trust! The easiest way to scale Mount Carmel is to fly! Thérèse knew that the surrendered spirit had found paradise on earth! One of the amazing things about her is how sure-footed she was on this spiritual

way. She wrote to Pauline of her heart-break in Rome and said: `. . . Oh! it is a heavy trial indeed, but, Pauline, I am the little ball of the Holy Child. If he wants to break his toy, he may do so. Yes, whatever he wills, I will also' (L 18, 20.11. 1887). Job would have said, 'If I have taken happiness from God, should I not take sorrow too? Even though he slay me, yet will I serve him' (Job 2:10; 13:15).

I think it is obvious so far that while Thérèse accepted suffering from God, she did not understand why, or what God was doing to her or through her. She just suffered. The little ball is pierced but offers no resistance. This is the stage she was at prior to her entrance into Carmel and she could have had no idea of what was waiting for her within! The crucified Jesus waited for her, and dealt with her from the first day as if she were a strong man.

5. CARMEL: THE EARLY YEARS

Thérèse says of her entrance day: 'My desire was now accomplished, and my soul was filled with so deep a peace that it baffles all attempt at description' (A p.121). Thérèse had her eyes open to what religious life entails and embraced it fully from the start.

>From illusions, God in his mercy has ever preserved me. I found the religious life just what I had expected; sacrifice was never a matter of surprise. Yet .. . from the very outset my path was strewn with thorns, not roses (A p.122).

Up to the time of her entrance Jesus had treated Thérèse to many spiritual consolations and wonderful favours, but he met her at the door of Carmel with one of the greatest spiritual trials — aridity. From day one it was as if she could not pray! She was to lose the sweetness of his presence which had been so dear to her all her life; and very soon he would take her father 'whom she adored' from her. It was as if her whole world crumbled the day she offered herself to Jesus as his bride. Many a bride would have turned away, for who wants to spend her life in a dark tunnel attacked by doubts and weariness of soul?

Thérèse was well along her Via Dolorosa now: in fact she had arrived at the stripping of the garments and the nailing

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to the cross. All that she knew and loved was being stripped away now, and she would spend all her religious life nailed to her cross. Thérèse was a deeply affectionate girl, but she discovered 'loneliness of heart' in Carmel: she would have turned to the Prioress as to another mother, but God's providence saw to it that she found only severity there — something entirely new to this teenager who had been treated with kindness and love by her family and relations all her life (A p.122). It must have been a bitter trial not to be able to share her deepest feelings with anyone. One of Thérèse's sufferings in Carmel came from her sisters who wanted to continue to shower affection and love on their youngest. But Thérèse would have none of it. She avoided all unnecessary contact with them, and observed the strict rule of silence, even though the rest of the community seem to have been fairly lax on this. Even when Pauline was made Prioress, she still did not yield to unnecessary contact. We see her fight to keep her distance from her sisters with great gentleness, but unflinching determination. During the Process for Canonisation, Marie said:

Sometimes I used the pretext that I wanted to teach her the Office of the Day, but after three weeks she sent me away saying: `It would be very nice to stay with you, but we are no longer at home'.

The silence was very precious to her all her life. She wrote: `We must be very careful not to indulge in needless talk'. She did not seek her sisters out even during recreation, but sat beside anyone, or if she made a choice, beside whatever Sister was upset.

Towards the end of her life she revealed how she felt about living in community with her own family:

You know, too, that Jesus has offered me more than one bitter chalice through my sisters. David had good reason to sing: 'Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity', but this unity is impossible on earth without sacrifice. I did not come to Carmel to be with my sisters; on the contrary, I saw clearly that their presence would cost me dear, for I was determined not to give way to nature. How can anyone say that it is more perfect to cut oneself off from one's family? Has any-one ever blamed brothers for fighting side by side in battle? or for winning the palm of martyrdom together? There is no doubt

that they encourage one another, but the martyrdom of one affects them all. It is the same with the religious life which the theologians call a martyrdom. A heart given to God loses none of its natural tenderness; on the contrary, the more such tenderness increases, the more pure and divine it becomes. Such is the affection with which I love you, Mother, and my sisters (A p.158).

She expressed her love and appreciation of silence in this little verse to our Lady:

Mother, your silence speaks; I love its every tone, And hear it as sweet music, sonorous harmony, Only a soul that builds on Heaven's help above, Can show its grandeurs thus, and say it silently.

Soon after her entry to Carmel her father became ill and was lost to her more cruelly than if he had died. But Thérèse was growing fast and she was learning how to embrace suffering with joy: 'Suffering opened wide her arms to me from the first and I took her fondly to my heart' (A p.123).

The more crosses I encountered, the stronger became my attrac-tion to suffering. Unknown to anyone, this was the path I trod for fully five years: it was precisely the flower I wished to offer to Jesus, a hidden flower, which keeps its perfume only for Heaven.

Thérèse was not able to open her heart to her novice mistress, and the Prioress only scolded her, so her martyrdom of the heart was well under way:

. . . it was then that the Little Flower .. . turned quickly to the Director of directors and gradually unfolded itself under the shadow of his cross, having for its refreshing dew his tears and his blood, and for its radiant sun his adorable face (A p.125).

The three years of her father's illness were a time of very deep suffering. At first Thérèse felt she could take it:

June 1888, when we were afraid Papa might be stricken with cerebral paralysis, I surprised our Novice Mistress by saying: 'I am suffering a great deal, Mother, yet I feel I can suffer still more'. I did not suspect the cross that awaited us. Neither could I know that on February 12th, one month after my clothing day, our beloved father would drink so deeply of such a bitter chalice. I no longer protested that I could suffer more . . . In Heaven we shall delight to dwell on those dark days and even here the three years of our father's martyrdom seem to me the sweetest and

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most fruitful of our lives. I would not exchange them for the most sublime ecstasies, and in gratitude my heart cries out: `Blessed be Thou for the days wherein Thou hast afflicted me' . . . how sweet and gracious was this bitter chalice, since from each stricken heart there came only sighs of grateful love. We no longer walked — we ran, we flew along the road to perfection.

Thérèse was now well launched on the mystical path of suffering. She knew that it is God's greatest instrument in purifying us and making us ready for his presence and his love and his home. Her eyes were fully open to its value now, and she moved into stage three of her reaction to suffering: she made it the supreme means of union with God. 'And now my head is held high over the enemies who surround me, and in his tent I will offer exultant sacrifice' (Ps. 27:6). This exul-tant sacrifice can be seen in her letters to Céline at this time. Letter 20.10.1888, p.58: 'When one remembers that if the

Good God gave us the entire universe, with all its treasures, it would not be comparable to the slightest suffering'!

January 1889. p .77: ' to those He loves more, He give s m o r e su f f e r i n g , t o t h o se w h o l o v e l e s s , l e s s . . February 1889 (L 58): 'Now we have nothing lef t to hope

for on earth, nothing but suffering and more suffering. When we have finished, suffering will still be there holding wide its arms to us. Oh! how enviable is our lot . . . In Heaven the cherubim envy us our good fortune'.

February 1889 (L 59): . . . your novitiate is a novitiate of sorrow, a privilege so far beyond understanding . . . fa r from complaining to Jesus for the cross he sends us, I cannot fathom the infinite love which has brought him to treat us so . . . What a happiness it is to be humbled! It is the one way that makes saints! . . . the greater our suffer-ings the more limitless our glory. Oh! don't let us waste the trial Jesus sends us, it is a gold-mine we must exploit . . . The grain of sand (Thérèse) would set herself to the task without joy, without courage, without strength, and all these conditions would make the enterprise easier, it wants to work for love. What is beginning is martyrdom; let us enter the arena together . .

March 1889 (L 61): `. . . here below everything wearies me, everything is an effort. I find only one joy, to suffer for Jesus . . . But this unfelt joy is above every joy . . . Having drunk deep at the source of bitterness, we shall be deified in the very source of all joys . . . Let us offer our sufferings to Jesus to save souls; poor souls!'

Other r e feren ces : L 63, 4.4.1889; L 65, 26.4.1889; L 73, 14.7.1889; L 74, 15.10.1889:

`I feel that Jesus is asking me to slake his thirst by giving him souls, souls of priests above all, I feel that Jesus wants me to tell you this, for our mission is to forget ourselves, to a nn ih i la te ourselves . . . we are so small a matter .. . yet Jesus wills that the salvation of souls should depend on our sacrifices, our love. He is begging us for souls . . . ah! let us understand the look on his face! . . . let us make our life a continual sacrifice, a martyrdom of love to console Jesus'.

L 88, 18.7.1890: 'Since Jesus "has trodden the winepress alone", and gives us to drink of it, let us on our part not refuse to wear garments of blood, let us tread for Jesus a new wine to slake his thirst and give him love for love. Ah! let us not lose a single drop of this wine we can give him . .. then, "looking about him", he wil l see that we come to give him aid. . . . Jesus has sent us the best chosen cross he could devise in his immense love . . . how can we com-plain when he himself was considered "as one struck by God and afflicted"?'

It was not just the trial of her father's illness that brought Thérèse to speak so much about suffering. She was also carrying out a most rigorous and pure asceticism on herself. She did not practise external auster it ies, but allowed the daily providence to dish things out to her through circum-stances. For example, being continually served left-overs, which caused daily abdominal pain, and the sand-papering of different characters living at close quarters; the constant and complete denial of self-love; the daily showing of patience and kindness in the face of the faults and selfishness of others; and, finally, the constant denial of her own will in order to do God's will. And all this with untiring generosity. I think this asceticism is of the purest and greatest kind. I think

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it is also safe, because there is so little room here for pride or boasting: no way in which you can look great or good before others: there is nothing to show, in the short term, for your efforts. It is entirely interior, and known only to God and yourself: it follows the principle of let-not-your-left-hand-know-what-your-right-hand-is-doing'. I would call it interior fasting. This is the real crucifying of the flesh that St Paul talks about: 'Those who belong to Christ have cruci-fied the flesh . .'. This is not an asceticism of littleness in the sense of smallness and childishness, as the impression is so often given by people who talk about 'The Little Way': to me, this is asceticism on the highest level, bound up with a deep understanding of the mystery of redemption. It is not just 'a mortification' or 'a sacrifice' for Thérèse — it is the means to deep union with God. The only mortification I was permitted was the overcoming of my self-love, which did me far more good than any bodily penance could have done (A p.133).

True love feeds on sacrifice, and in proportion as our souls renounce natural satisfact ion our affections become stronger and more unselfish (A p.175).

Thérèse's asceticism went on relentlessly — unlike bodily mortifications which are necessarily limited in their practice. `Let us make our life a continual sacrifice, a martyrdom of love, in order to console Jesus' (L 74, to Céline, 15.10.1889). But Thérèse's asceticism did not make her morbid, dull or depressed. It is obvious from her letters that her heart was full of hope and joy and peace, and full of the expectation of eternal happiness. In fact, there is great balance here between the cross and joy. She had a deep, practical understanding of God's love for mankind and his wonderful mercy.

Another noticeable development in Thérèse is her shift from devotion to the Holy Child to the Holy Face. This is seen for the first time on her clothing day, 10 January 1889; and it seems that the devotion to the Holy Face took on a greater and greater importance in her life until she, too, began to show a crucified face in identification with her crucified Lord. Since July 1887 she had 'stood in spirit on Calvary' to distribute the precious blood of Jesus to souls; but now she contemplates the adorable face of Jesus and comes much closer to the divine Victim.

Let us sing in our heart the Cant icle of the Beloved . . the music of our suffering, united to his Passion, ravishes his heart. Jesus burns with love for us ... see his adorable face; notice how the eyes are veiled and lowered; study his wounds. Fix your eyes upon his countenance . .. there you wil l see how he loves u s (L 63, to Celine, 4.4.1889).

Her father's illness drove her to contemplate the Passion even more and she saw in the humiliated face of Christ, the answer to her father's illness. Chapters 52 and 53 of Isaiah nourished her contemplation, as she admitted in her last days.

My devotion to the Holy Face, or, more truly, all my piety, was based on these words of Isaiah: . . . 'as for myself, I too wanted to be without comeliness or beauty, alone to tread the winepress, unknown to all creatures' (NV p.112).

Oh, to console you, I would be alone, Live forgotten, unknown by all, For the wholly veiled glow of your beauty, Has blazed mysteriously and brilliantly for me, And draws me there, to you, to you alone. Your Face is now my sole possession; I shall ask nothing but this treasure, Hiding myself in you, from all fame, I will be l ike you, my Jesus .. . Imprint on me the Divine Image, The gentle features, so that I may be holy; Soon their imprint will make me so, I will draw all hearts to you.

This is the stage Thérèse reached in the first five years of her religious life, when she walked a path of great loneliness of heart, of deep suffering due to her family trials and her constant, unremitting asceticism, her keeping all the auster-ities of the rule and her coping with herself as a teenager growing up. Now Thérèse finds herself made assistant to the novice mistress when Pauline is elected Prioress. She is suddenly shot from obscurity to a public position, which could be a danger to anyone less mature than Thérèse was spiritually; but if there is one thing that is fascinating in this marvellous girl, it is her clear-sightedness. She sees truth and reality wherever it is and does not get tracked down avenues of self in any shape or form. And she never slackened her pace. The summit of Carmel continually beckoned to her,

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and so she d id not succumb to the temptation to go to Pauline for help now that she was Prioress. She showed a steady resolve to be alone with God. She knew that her vocation was to suffer with and for Jesus and she would persevere to the end. In fact, the more she suffered, the more she desired to suffer (A p.123).

In her poems Thérèse begins to sing about suffering:

All pain, 0 Lord, becomes delight, When loving heart to thee takes flight.

In the crucible of pain, My love to thee I long to prove,

All other joys will I disdain Save immolation for thy love.

Suffering had now become a proof of love, and would lead Thérèse to offer herself as a victim of love to the divine mercy. She wanted to give love for Love and to embrace death, not only as the lot of mankind, but to die of love for him who is Love.

For thee, 0 Love divine, I am to die; My Jesus, scarce can I contain my joy.

I'll breathe to thee my love with every sigh, Though bitter anguish may my life destroy.

I wished, 0 Holy Child, to tread with thee The humble steps of thy simplicity.

To share thy dol'rous way to death, I'd fain Walk in thy steps and sweeten all thy pain.

(May 1897)

6. THE FINAL STAGE, LEADING TO HER DEATH

Divine Belovèd, Jesus, bend down to hear, Whom thou hast hid within thy sacred face. I come to sing the ineffable grace Of having suffered, Taken the cross to bear.

For long my lips Drank from the cup of grief. And I have shared the chalice of thy tears .. . And understood that suffering's charm endears, That by the Cross Sinners may find relief.

For by the Cross It is, my soul, matured, Now to descry, has glimpsed horizons new; Beneath the rays thy sacred face imbue My heart now soars Towards most fair inured.

Thérèse was nearing the end of her life now, and could say: 'My soul has known tr ials of many kinds and I have suffered much here below. In my childhood, I did so with sadness, while now I find sweetness in all things — even the most bitter' (A p.154). She was also reaching the final stage of her reaction to suffering when she broke through to no longer desiring suffering, even though it was the great means of union with God. She now desired only love and the perfect accomplishment of God's will. She was now utterly free and abandoned to God's will.

Now I have no longer any desire, save to love Jesus even unto folly. Yes, love alone attracts me. I no longer desire pain or death and yet I love them both. Long did I call upon them as messengers of joy. Suffering came to me, and I thought I was nearing the shore of heaven. From my earliest years I thought that the 'little flower' would be culled in its springtime; today I leave myself entirely in God's hands. He is my God, and I need no other compass. Now the only petition I can make with any fervour is the perfect accomplishment of the will of God in my soul (A p.146).

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Thérèse did not desire suffering: she desired the will of

God, and when God sent her suffering, she now loved it, because she could give proofs of her love for God; but she did not desire to have it when it was absent, nor increase it when it was present. She had broken through to a greater abandonment. 'By l'abandon I throw myself into thine arms, my loving Lord.' It was in this state of soul that Thérèse made her act of oblation, 9 June 1895, the culmination of her desire to live and die a martyr for Jesus. Here she yields her soul up to be consumed by God on the altar of his infinite love and mercy. This was Therese's final solution to the problems of suffering and love: now, whatever happened was up to God. Here Thérèse reached the summit, for the most perfect thing we can do in life is the will of God, and it becomes perfection for us when we do it with love, obedience and humility. Hence, Thérèse was all set for the holocaust. All that was needed was the fire from heaven to consume the victim, and this came to Thérèse with awful suddenness. The self was completely laid on the altar of sacrifice, and Thérèse had, with her usual genius, avoided all the pitfalls on the craggy heights of perfection. As she herself said, she was too little to get side-tracked by vanity or pride.

I've never acted like Pilate, who refused to listen to the truth. I've always said to God: '0 my God, I really want to listen to you; I beg you to answer me when I say humbly: What is truth? Make me see things as they really are. Let nothing cause me to be deceived' (NV No.4, 31 July). It is to God alone that all value is attributed; there's nothing of value in my little nothingness (NV 8 August).

Up to this time Thérèse's faith had been so clear that the things of heaven were much more real than the things of earth, and she had lived all her life in the anticipation of heaven. She had gone through her life in a calm, untroubled peace, knowing that Jesus was just hidden from the eyes of the flesh; but her faith could penetrate the darkness. But a terrible blow came in April 1896, about eighteen months before her death: Jesus removed all consolation from her and all props to her faith, and she was plunged into an impenetrable darkness; and this trial lasted up to the mom-ent of her death. This, on top of her inner martyrdom of heart and body was a sore trial indeed. It was also in this

same month that her illness began to show itself. My faith at this time was so clear and so lively that the thought of heaven was my greatest delight; I could not believe it possible that there could be wicked men without faith . . . But . . . our Lord made me understand that there are souls bereft of faith and hope . . . He allowed my soul to be plunged into thickest gloom, and the thought of heaven, so sweet from my earliest years, to become for me a subject of torture (A pp.155-6).

Now, instead of her radiant faith, she heard the mocking voice of the unbeliever:

You dream of a land of light and fragrance, you believe that the Creator of these wonders will for ever be yours ... Hope on! ... Hope! . . . Look forward to death! It will give you, not what you hope for, but a night darker still, the night of utter nothingness (A p.156). . . . I am a child for whom the veil of faith is almost rent asunder . . . But it is not a veil . . . it is a wall which reaches to the very heavens, shutting out the starry sky (A p.157).

During the trial of faith, while the skies looked bleak for Thérèse, and her health was ebbing away from her, another very terrible trial was inflicted upon her. There was question of Pauline and Céline being sent away to the Carmel in Saigon (A p.159). Considering how close Thérèse was to both these sisters, it must have been a bitter cup for her indeed . . . but the smiling silence covers it all, and the relentless asceticism continues. Yet, as her trial proceeded into deeper and deeper realms of darkness, her faith and hope shone out through her poems:

If you would part from me, Treasure divine,

And if your love for me, Give me no sign,

Still I shall smile, and still, Sing as before,

Knowing that soon you will, All joy restore.

For Him I love, I wish to smile, to shine, Though he to try me hides his face from me, For Him I wait, though night and pain be mine; This is my heaven, my felicity.

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She speaks too of how she uses her smile deliberately to stay close to God and to avoid the 'public' gaze of her community:

When I have great pain, or disagreeable things happen to me, I answer by smiling. At first I did not always succeed, but now it has become a habit which I am glad to have acquired.

The face is the mirror of the soul, and should always be calm and serene. Even when alone, be cheerful, remembering always that you are in the sight of the angels.

When her illness began, she responded with 'her heart bursting with joy' at the thought of going to heaven. But now, as the weary months dragged on, and she was tortured in body and soul, she confided to Pauline:

Oh! if you knew what horrible thoughts constantly oppress me! The reasoning of the worst materialists forces itself upon my mind. Oh! little mother, must one think of such things when one loves God so dearly!

She added that she never debated with these thoughts, but I must necessarily endure them, but while they are imposed on me, I make acts of faith constantly. [Again she says:] It seems to me as if I no longer believe in eternal life. [Pauline asked: ] And what about the Blessed Virgin? Is she veiled too? No, [Thérèse answered] our Lady is never, never veiled from me, and when I can no longer see God, she takes care of everything for me with him. I send her specially to tell him to try me without hesitation (Beatification documents, and NV No.11, 7 July).

In this great trial Thérèse was reduced to the lot of the common man, and for the first time in her life, realised why some do not believe, and why others take their own lives. She understood what it was to be caught up in doubt and despair, and learned what sickness can do to the human soul. She cried out to God day and night now, not only for herself, but even more for them, for she knew that they did not have the helps she had.

But the darkness did not understand that He was the light of the world. But your child, 0 Lord, has understood. She asks pardon for her brothers who do not believe. She is quite content to eat the bread of sorrow as long as you will. For love of you she will sit at the table of sinners laden with bitter food, and will not rise until you give the sign. Yet, in their names, and in her own, may she not say: '0 God, be merciful to us, sinners!' Send us away

justified. May all in whom the light of faith shines dimly, see at last. If the table they have defiled must be purified by one who loves you, I am willing to sit there alone, eating nothing but the bread of tears, until you choose to take me into your kingdom of light. I ask only one grace — may I never offend you! (A p.155).

Her identification here with all humanity is truly wonderful, and it answers one of my original questions concerning her. I asked if she was aware of what was going on in the world; and if she cared; I also asked if she had anything to say to that world. The answers to these questions are seen here as Thérèse suffers as a victim of merciful love, praying and atoning for her fellow men and women, and feeling their pain. In the last year of her life God began to reveal to her the secret of the second commandment, and she realised that it is mainly through the neighbour that we prove our love for God. So before she became bedridden, she tr ied to show the delicacy of her love for her neighbour in every small way she could. Now she solves the problem completely by offering her suffering to set mankind free. She learned the meaning of the words: 'Greater love than this no man has, than to lay down his life for his friends' (Jn. 15:13). She knew that love is not meant to be shut up in the heart, but poured out in a life-giving flood on the neighbour.

Beside myself with joy, I cried out, '0 Jesus, my Love, my vocation is found at last — my vocation is love! I have found my place in the bosom of the Church, and this place, 0 my God, thou hast thyself given to me: in the heart of the Church, my Mother, I will be love! (A p.203).

To live by love is not on earth to rest, E'en though on Thabor might our dwelling be;

But 'tis to climb to Calvary's rugged crest, Holding the Cross ... our heart's sole treasury.

In realms celestial, joy hath endless sway, There trial shall no more the spirit prove;

But here below, in anguish deep, I pray, To live by love.

Therese had reached the stage now where it was no longer suffering that dominated her life — although she was in great pain, and her body quickly breaking down in mortal sickness.

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No! she had broken through to Love. Love dominated and the only desire she had left was to die of love. What glory! Now, when all else fails, and the night of faith is as dark as death, only love can penetrate the darkness within and without, and love takes hold of Thérèse in a wonderful way, enabling her to solve the problems of suffering and death, which are insoluble problems for such a large section of humanity. She accepted and embraced them, and made then into proofs of her love for, and trust in God.

It's not death that will come in search of me, it's God. Death is not some phantom, some horrible spectre, as it is represented in pictures. It is said in the catechism that 'death is the separa-tion of the soul from the body' and that's all it is (NV No.1, May).

She both suffered and died to prove her love for God and to win souls for him.

But Thérèse had one more step to take to reach the goal of her long climb to the summit of perfection. She finally broke through her desire to suffer and die to show her love. She now desired only to love, and let the perfect will of God hold sway in her. She says so herself: 'Now I have no longer any desire, save to love Jesus even unto folly. Yes, love alone attracts me' (A p.146).

Thérèse was now attached to nothing but Love, and 'God is Love'. She had reached the summit. She clung to nothing on earth, and leaned on no one but God himself. She loved both her family and communi ty now with God's love, because anything of just natural affection had been uprooted. She had reached 'the place of rest' (Heb. 4:5-6; 10-11). She has reached total abandonment, and it is wonderful to see! She had made her act of oblation to the merciful love of God on 9 June 1895, and within eighteen months the victim was entirely consumed, and Thérèse's desire for martyrdom was fulfilled. She thought of this martyrdom as the yielding up of everything in herself to God, so as to receive from him the streams of living water — of his infinite love. It was the divine will that she should suffer for mankind and be another co- redeemer, and so she let it happen. This complete yielding of herself to God was the final solution to the problems of both suffering and love. Whether suffering or joy came her way now, or even death, Therese loved it, not for itself, but because it was God's will for her. Nothing of self was left

now, but true detachment of body and soul (NV No.50, 26 July).

In the final months of Thérèse's life there is a staggering paradox: she knew the mystical teaching of John of the Cross, so she knew what was expected of a soul in the final stages, when it should experience heavenly bliss even here on earth. John asserts in The Spir i tual Cantic le, Stanza 23 (Explanation):

Since the soul lives in this state a life as happy and as glorious as is God's, let each one consider here, if he can, how pleasant her life is; just as God is incapable of feeling any distaste, neither does she feel any, for the delight of God's glory is experienced and enjoyed in the substance of the soul now transformed in him.

In The Living Flame o f Love John also says, in Stanza 1 (Commentary):

The soul now feels that it is all infused in the divine union, and that its palate is all bathed in glory and love; that in the most intimate part of its substance it is flooded with no less than rivers of glory, abounding in delights, and that 'from its bosom flow rivers of living water' (Jn. 7:38) which the Son of God declared will rise up in such souls. Accordingly it seems, because it is so vigorously transformed in God, so sublimely possessed by him, and arrayed with such rich gifts and virtues, that it is singularly close to beatitude — so close that only a thin veil separates it.

Thérèse was not experiencing this heavenly bliss, but was facing a barrage of temptations against faith and hope during which she doubted the very existence of heaven.

It is obvious also from some of their comments that her community did not suspect there was anything unusual afoot. At recreation one day, during Thérèse's last illness, they said that she was just

a good little nun, very nice and friendly, very well-meaning and conscientious, but certainly nothing special. She did not suffer from anything, and was rather insignificant. What will our Mother be able to write about her in her obituary letter? She entered here, lived, and died. Virtuous she certainly is, but that is no feat when one is so happy and uncomplicated a nature, no diffi-culties of character, and has not had to win virtue, like us, with struggles and suffering (Gorres, The Hidden Face).

This is a marvellous statement because it shows just how complete Thérèse's mask was. One sister was annoyed because

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some — probably the family — thought that Thérèse was special, and she said: 'I cannot understand why so much fuss is made of Sister Thérèse. She has done nothing remarkable; we do not see her practising virtue . . .' (NV No.2, 29 July). From what they knew of the teaching of St John of the Cross, they would have expected Thérèse to experience raptures and ecstasies on this last lap of her journey, and all they saw was suffering and a little person trying to remain cheerful and pleasant and making acts of faith: it was all so ordinary, so commonplace. Could this be perfection? Could this be the summit of Mount Carmel? If so, it looks awfully unattractive! — that is, if one only observed the externals. Inside we see the soul of Thérèse triumphing over all her difficulties. Long before these weary days of struggle she had sung these words:

Sweet martyrdom! to die of love's keen fire: The martyrdom of which my heart is fain! Hasten, ye cherubim, to tune your lyre; I shall not linger long in exile's pain. (A p.228).

Fulfil my dream, 0 Jesus, since I sigh of love to die (A p.228).

Thérèse won a great victory for all ordinary people in these last months, showing that one can 'resist even unto blood', and win final victory over temptation. Seeing her heroic struggle other 'little souls' would take courage and fight on, whereas if they only had the teaching of St John of the Cross, they would give up in despair, never having exper-ienced any of the delights and glory that he speaks of for special souls. Thérèse was, indeed, opening up a new way for ordinary lay people to experience real holiness. She found no consolation, and no apparent help, from her prayers, and yet she thanked God. Céline said at the Apostolic Process:

She admitted that when she prayed heaven to come to her help, it was then that she felt least help of all. When we expressed our surprise, she replied: ‘But I am not in the least discouraged. I turn to God and to all the saints, and I thank them all the same. It seems to me that they want to see to what lengths I shall carry my trust. No! it is not for nothing that I have taken to heart the words of Job: Even though God should ki ll me, yet would I trust him.' (Jb. 13:15; A p.222).

The Holy Spirit has since taught us in renewal to praise God in all circumstances, no matter how awful. Thérèse under-stood this principle of total victory very well.

From August 1896 Thérèse could no longer receive Holy Communion, and this added to her already great suffering, but she accepted the ordinariness of her death: 'I will die of death' (NV No.9, 3 August). She thought of her dying as entirely without consolation in imitation of her crucified Lord who was Love itself, and who died a death of love for all mankind. So Thérèse expected sorrow and suffering up to her last breath:

Our Lord died on the cross in bitter anguish, and yet his death was the most beautiful death through love that the world has ever seen. To die of love is not to die in ecstasy . . . I will tell you frankly; it seems to me that that is what I am experiencing (NV No.2, 27 May; No.2, 4 July).

Visions and extraordinary consolations are not part of the way for 'little' people. For them, all is ordinary, with nothing of the unusual about it.

If you find me dead one morning, don't be troubled; it is because Papa, God, will have come to get me. Without a doubt it's a great grace to receive the sacraments; but when God does not allow it, it's good just the same; everything is a grace (NV 5 June).

The only 'unusual' thing was that Thérèse was quite certain of going to heaven and began to prophesy that she would 'let fall a shower of roses', that she would 'spend her heaven in doing good upon earth', and she promised answers to prayers (A pp.230-232).

The final suffering for Thérèse that is not obvious at first sight is the fact that she died a 'public' death. Once her beloved sisters realised that the end was near, Thérèse was never alone, day or night. They took it in turns to be with her. They were convinced of her holiness, and so they began what I call a process of interrogation to find out the interior state of her soul, and to get Therese's comments on just about everything. The Novissima Verba is the result of this process, and must have caused Thérèse no end of pain and tension, and put her under extreme pressure. The dying girl who was normally so silent and reticent must now pronounce on every subject, knowing it was being written down for

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posterity. She actually told them how she felt about it, but they continued on regardless!

I feel like the Maid of Orleans before her judges: I hope I am answering with equal sincerity (NV 20 July 1897). How they came to disturb me after Communion. They stared me in the face . . . but in order not to be provoked, I thought of our Lord, who retreated and was unable to prevent the people from following him there. And he didn't want to send them away. I wanted to imitate him by receiving the Sisters kindly (NV 30 July).

This problem continued r ight up to the moment of her death. It is truly astounding to see her patient endurance under such circumstances.

Finally, after twelve hours of terrible agony of body and soul, Thérèse told God she loved him for the last time on earth and — surprising for herself — died in an ecstasy. Only when the Sun appeared to her, could the little eagle take flight!

Remember the words of the priest: 'The martyrs suffered with joy, and the King of martyrs suffered with sorrow!' Yes, Jesus said: 'My Father, let this chalice pass from me.' It is a great consolation to us to think that Jesus, the strong Son of God, experienced all our weaknesses, that he trembled at the sight of the bitter chalice which in earlier days he had so ardently desired to drink (L 176, 17.9.1896; and L 184, 26.12.1896). The day will come when sadness will disappear; then nothing will remain save joy and delight (L 116, 26.4.1889).

3

THERESE'S PRAYER

OR Thérèse and for all of us, prayer and life are inter- woven and form one piece, so I do not intend to make a long c ommentary on this section; yet the

subject would be incomplete if we did not discuss her prayer life.

Thérèse was essentially a contemplative. She was endowed with a keen intelligence, good judgment, and a very generous heart. She was never a person to go half measures in anything. She did not want to be 'a saint by halves' (AS p.39). She was the 'all or nothing' type of person who would become great at anything she set her heart on. Her whole approach to life was very deliberate and she never deviated from her chosen path. She had, even in childhood, an extraordinary ability to notice what went on in her inner life, and an equally extra-ordinary delicacy in her response to it. The atmosphere of her home heightened her generosity, and the teaching and example she received in the ways of perfection from her extreme youth, sharpened her wonderful gift of sensitivity to the operation of the Holy Spirit in her soul. She lived a spiritual life from her babyhood, and walked the way of the cross all her life. Her prayer goes hand in hand with her gradual purification through life.

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From the time when Thérèse used to sit quietly beside her

father on the banks of the Torques, we find her praying. She found herself taken up in the beauty of nature, and then lifted above it to contemplate heaven, and she would find herself eventually thinking about the shortness of life and the reality of heaven. The Psalmist does the same:

I lift up my eyes to the mountains: from where comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and ear th (Ps. 121:1).

When I see the heavens, the work of your hands, the moon and the stars which you put in place; What is man that you keep him in mind, Morta l m an , that you ca re fo r h im? (Ps . 8 :3 -4 ) .

My thoughts were very deep (A p.46). Without knowing what meditation was, my soul was deeply engaged in true prayer. I used to listen to distant sounds and to the murmur of the wind. Sometimes a few broken notes of the town's military band could be heard, and they would fill my head with sweet melancholy. Earth seemed to be a place of exile, and I dreamed of heaven (AS p.46).

Here already we can see her deep silence of heart and her evaluating of earthly things while her soul aspired towards heaven. She had already, since she was two years old, set her heart on the heavenly Bridegroom (AS p.32). 'God seemed so near' to her that even a thunderstorm and flashes of lightning did not frighten her, but only reminded her of God's nearness (AS p.46). 'I had learned already to love God, love him deeply; and I constantly made him the gift of my heart .. . (AS p.48). Already she managed to remain in the presence of God during the day by her constant turning to him, and by referring every situation to him. And her faith was very strong: `. . . I made my confession full of the spirit of faith ... ' (AS p.50).

Later on, when she went to school at the Abbey, she discovered that religious 'meditate' and she wanted to be given a method of meditation, so that, she too, could enter into prayer this way:

Up to this time nobody taught me the art of mental prayer; I should have liked to know about it, but Marie was satisfied with

my spiritual progress as it was, and kept me to vocal prayer instead. One day, one of my mistresses at the Abbey asked me what I did with myself on holidays, when I was left to my own devices. I told her that I got behind my bed, where there was an empty space in which you could shut yourself away with the curtains, and there . . . well, I used to th ink. 'Think about what?' she asked. 'Oh,' I said, 'about God, and about life, and eternity; you know, I just think' ... I see now that I was practising mental prayer without knowing what I was doing; God was teaching me the art in some secret way of his own (AS p.79).

The desire to be alone with God and build a poustinia in the heart for communication with God is very clearly here: she also instinctively sees that all distracting elements must be removed to enable the heart to rest in God. I do not think that one can be a true contemplative unless the cell in the heart is kept for Jesus alone. Contemplation is of the heart, where we truly 'see' God.

Nature always helped Thérèse in her contemplation. When she saw the sea for the first time, she did not react with the responses of a child, but with the maturity of one who has a deep prayer life. She immediately began to con-template the greatness and goodness of God, and as the evening wore on and the sun began to set, she watched the effect of its light on the water and began to meditate on life, and resolved never to let Jesus out of her sight, so that she would come peacefully to the heavenly shore (AS p.58). Here is the true contemplative who has time for God, and gives time to God, and places God in the centre of every-thing. We shall see the same reaction as she travels through Switzerland on her way to Rome. Again her mind was uplifted to God and she resolved to remember these wonder-ful sights when she was buried in Carmel (AS pp.125-6). She was also very much affected by books and pictures, and her family carefully fed her needs in this area, so that she had almost no distraction in her prayer at this time (AS pp.74-5).

The only true glory, I soon learned to realise, is the glory that lasts for ever; and to win that you don't need to perform any dazzling exploits — you want to live a hidden life, doing good in such an unobtrusive way that you don't even let your left hand know what your right hand is doing' (AS p.75).

This was Thérèse's reaction to the few romantic tales she was 52 53

given to read. The action of the Holy Spirit was very strong in her soul, so that the world did not have the power to draw her away from her centre.

Her First Holy Communion was a significant step forward for her. She had taken part in Céline's preparation for First Communion and resolved to start anew then. And for her own preparation she multiplied acts of love and sacrifices to welcome Jesus to her heart (AS p.78). She herself says that this meeting with Jesus was a 'fusion', and Thérèse gave herse lf to him for ever. She fe lt loved by Jesus, and he flooded her soul with consolation, and her eyes with 'most sweet tears' (AS p.83). From now on, devotion to the Eucha-rist was central in her prayer life, and the silent visits to the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament were her only consolation at the Abbey (AS p.94).

I associate my First Communion with a period in my life when the sun shone unclouded. I don't think I could have been in better dispositions, and meanwhile all disquietude of soul had left me — for nearly a year, our Lord wanted me to experience the greatest happiness that's possible to us in this vale of tears (AS p.78).

Her second Communion was also very significant for her and she

was shedding tears still, but with an indescribable sense of con-solation, and I kept on repeating to myself . . . 'I am alive, or rather, not I; it is Christ who lives in me'. From then on my longing for the Lord's presence continued to increase . . . (AS p.84).

Each meeting with our Lord in Holy Communion held special graces for her, and she seemed to be tripping along her spiritual path very light-footedly indeed. 'Because I was litt le and weak, Jesus bowed down low towards me, and taught me in silence the secrets of his love' (A p.92). One of the secrets Jesus taught her was to use suffering and sorrow as the one great means of being purified and of coming quickly to union with God. She prayed very often at her Communions: 'Jesus, sweet to the taste beyond all our telling, turn all earthly consolations into bitterness for me' (AS p.85). This prayer was to affect her whole life profoundly.

One month after her First Communion Thérèse was con-firmed, and again, she prepared for this sacrament with great

fervour. It was then that she received the gift of fortitude in suffering (AS p.86). Back at school, Thérèse was often discovered leaning up against a tree, lost in deep 'thought'. Prayer seems to have got a hold of her, and she found refuge in it as often as she could; and yet, the more she indulged in prayer the greater the gap between herself and her school-mates and, indeed, the world became, until a great distress built up in her. One year after her Communion she fell into scruples, and it was only her humility in confessing her faults to Marie, and her extraordinary obedience to her, that won the day. Thérèse says that even her confessor was not aware of her scruples, because she only confessed what Marie told her to confess (AS p.95). 'Marie, in fact, knew every thought that passed through my mind' (ibid). Because of this Thérèse fought and won the battle over her scruples, but she also needed the intercession of her little brothers and sisters in heaven. Her final release came with her Christmas conversion, 1886, which was her growing-up grace (AS p.101).

Love took possession of her heart now, and also a desire for the Apostolate. Her over-sensitivity was healed, and she was able to expand and grow again. A desire to save souls came to her (AS p.103); she began to realise that she could use the merits of the passion of Jesus to save them, and she was set on her feet by her first success in the Pranzini case (AS p.103). Now she began to meditate deeply and assimilate those words of Jesus: 'Give me to drink' (Jn. 4:7). Closely following on this, Arminjon's book came into Thérèse's hands, and it was the occasion of much interior progress at this stage.

Throughout her life we see a close connection between Thérèse 's reading matter and her spir itual progress: her reading matter fed her prayer, which fed her life. She illus-trates, therefore, the vital role of our own reading matter in our own interior lives (AS p.106). I will discuss this later when speaking of her prayer in Carmel. Céline joined Thérèse each evening in the attic to talk and meditate on what they had read in this book:

Those were wonderful conversations we had, every evening, .. . our eyes were lost in the distance . . . how everything conspired to turn our thoughts towards heaven! . . . how could there be room for doubt? How could there be need for faith or hope? It

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was love that taught us to find, here on earth, the Bridegroom we searched for. He came upon us alone, and greeted us with a kiss . . . Graces like this bore abundant fruit in our lives, so that the path to holiness became easy and natural to us ... (AS p.108).

Thérèse was now fourteen years old, and was on fire with love for God. 'At the age of fourteen, I also experienced transports of love. Ah!, how I loved God!' (NV 7 July 1897).

Nine years later, in 1895, Thérèse remembered the glory of these youthful days and said:

If learned men, who have spent their lives in study, had come to me, they would, no doubt, have been astonished to find that a fourteen-year-old girl understood the secrets of perfection, secrets hidden from their vast science, a knowledge which requires poverty of spirit (AS p.149).

Now, if we consider prayer, in its essence, as union with God, then Thérèse lived a deep prayer life since prayer was a way of life for her, and also a weapon of Apostolate: 'What would I do without prayer and sacrifice? They are all the strength I've got; they are invisible weapons God has given me' (AS p.227). With these weapons in her possession, Thérèse was ready to go into Carmel to fulfil her life's work. She had already been purified to some degree by her suffer-ings; from now on, the trials would increase both in quantity and intensity.

The purification that Thérèse underwent in Carmel seems to have been twofold: • She was tried as to her love for God; • she was later tested in faith and hope.

She had no sooner entered Carmel than she was plunged into spiritual aridity, dryness and darkness, and this was her daily bread throughout the rest of her life. But she speaks about it in such a simple way that one would almost miss what she is saying; for example: 'Jesus hid himself' (L to Céline 2.8.1893). She wrote to Sister Agnes when she was just seventeen years:

Ask Jesus that I may be very generous during the retreat; he riddles me with pin pricks, the poor little ball can take no more; all over it are tiny holes which cause it more suffering than if it had one great gash! . . . nothing from Jesus! Dryness! ... sleep! . . . but at least there is silence! Silence does good to the soul .. . Jesus chose to sleep, why should I keep him from sleep? I am

so happy that he does not put himself to any trouble about me; he shows me that I am not a stranger by treating me like this; for I assure you, he simply doesn't bother to make conversation with me! . . . (L 51).

This is a far cry from the transports of love she had exper-ienced before her entry into Carmel. She did, however, have one dose of aridity before going to Carmel, and she found it so awful that she called it martyrdom:

It was not until then I understood what our Lady and St Joseph suffered as they searched the streets of Jerusalem for the Child Jesus. I seemed to be lost in some frightful desert, or like a little boat without a pilot, at the mercy of the storm-tossed waves. I knew that Jesus was asleep in the barque, but the night was so dark that I could not see him. If only the storm had broken, a flash of lightning might have pierced the clouds; it would not have been much, but at least for a moment I should have seen my Beloved. But there was only night, dark night, utter desolation like death itself. Like our Lord in the Agony in the Garden I felt forsaken and could find no consolation, either on earth or in heaven. Nature seemed to share my bitter sadness; the sun did not shine during those days and it rained hard all the time (AS p.113).

This was only the beginning for her, but her love and her radiant faith always managed to pierce the gloom when the gloom did not l ift in Carmel, and she faced making her profession in this state.

She had to come to some solution, and her reflection on the problem brought her to the realisation that Jesus was leading her on a new path which demanded tremendous spir itual maturity. She wrote to S ister Agnes during her retreat for profession:

. . . before they started, it seemed that her Spouse asked her in what country she wished to travel, what road she wished to follow, . . . the little bride answered that she had only one desire, to come to the summit of the Mountain of Love. To reach it there were many roads . . . then Jesus took me by the hand and brought me into a subterranean way, where it is neither hot nor cold, where the sun does not shine, and rain and wind do not come; a tunnel where I see nothing but a brightness half-veiled, the glow from the downcast eyes in the face of my Spouse. My Spouse says nothing to me, and I say nothing to him either, save that I love him more than myself, and in the depths of my heart

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I feel that this is true, for I am more his than my own! ... I do not feel that we are advancing towards the Mountain that is our goal, because our journey is under the earth, yet I have a feeling that we are approaching it without knowing why. The road I follow has no consolations for me . . . but Jesus has chosen it, and I desire to console him only (L 91).

The extraordinary thing is that as soon as Thérèse followed the will of her Lord to join the Carmel to suffer and pray, prayer became almost impossible. As far as her feelings were concerned she had fallen back into the religious condition of an average person, and this happened in her teenage years when people live most intensely by feelings. She began to experience the martyrdom of the heart, and being a deeply affectionate person, she would have found this loneliness of the heart truly crucifying. But through this trial she moved into a purer faith, that is, a faith without sense-evidence. No matter how sh e felt, Jesus was still there, still her Spouse, still wonderful, so she would still love him and serve him. This is beautiful. We see her soul mature under trial, and we see her triumph over her own needs. At an age when the call of the flesh is imperious, we see this wonderful girl make a gift of all her needs and emotions to God, and she became a radiant virginal bride — another Mary. She spoke her heart to Céline:

But you do not feel your love for your Spouse. You would like your heart to be a flame mounting upwards without a trace of smoke . . . do grasp this, that the smoke that wraps you round is simply for your own good to hide from you wholly the sight of your love for Jesus. The flame is seen by him alone, in that way, at least, he has it all; for when he lets us see a little of it, self-love comes rushing in like a deadly wind extinguishing it wholly! .. . (L 57).

Her whole prayer life shows the action of God on Thérèse, rather than any planned programme on her part. When dry-ness came to her, she had to find out what God was saying to her in it, and learn to co-operate fully. And as it continued unabated, she discovered her 'subterranean' way as an expla-nation. But it is amazing how she avoids one of the biggest pitfalls of aridity and dryness — namely, discouragement. She never seems to have allowed herself to fall into this. Even when the good Lord seemed to be thwarting her every effort

to serve him, her genius would f ind a way of explaining what he was up to, and she remained at peace. There are references to this all through her autobiography, letters and Novissima Verba. I think it was one of the great triumphs of her life, and I find her a great encouragement to ordinary people to persevere in prayer without wanting to f eel good about it. She says again to Sister Agnes in 1890:

I thank Jesus because he considers this good for my soul. Perhaps if he were to console me I would cling to such sweetness; but he wants everything for himself alone. Well! I will give him every-thing, everything! Even when I feel I have nothing to offer, I will give him that nothing.

When we consider that she had two hours of formal mental prayer each day, and days full of silence and aloneness to reflect, then we can begin to appreciate the night of the senses that she endured. Moreover, there is no evidence that she took up some method of prayer to fill the gap and make the prayer time pass more easily. No, there is only evidence of her daily struggle to persevere, and to stay awake, and to keep to the full time set for prayer. She did not slacken in her efforts no matter how she fe lt, even when she later became ill. In her autobiography she spoke of prayer as

an aspiration of the heart, a humble glance towards heaven, a cry of gratitude and of love, whether it be in a time of trial or of joy. It is, in a word, something elevated and supernatural which fills the soul and unites it with God (AS p.228).

This is the only time she gives us her definition of prayer and — typical of Thérèse — how simple it is! Any one of us could manage the 'humble glance towards heaven' or the 'cry of gratitude'. It is no wonder that she is given as the model for the lay person who, not learned in the extraordinary ways of prayer, will pray like this naturally. I remember a wonderful story about an old man who used to sit at the back of the church for a long time each day until one of the priests began to notice him. The priest asked him: 'What do you do, sitting here every day?' The old man replied: 'I look at Him, and he looks at me'. This prayer of utter simplicity must thrill the heart of God.

It seems from Thérèse's letters that utter dryness accom-panied her off icial prayer time, and the aspiration of the

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heart took over during the rest of the day! Even Holy Com-munion brought her no consolation now (A p.142), and she felt she could not even understand spiritual things. She wrote to Sister Agnes: 'I do not understand the retreat I am making; I think of nothing: in a word, I am, as it were, in a dark dun-geon' (L 90). Finally, after a long time of prayer and reflec-tion, it dawned on Therese that this trial could go on . . . and on! 'Doubtless he will not awake before my long retreat in eternity (A p.134).

One of the effects of dryness was drowsiness, and often, in spite of all her efforts, she fell asleep; and it was just physical sleep — nothing mystical about it! Here again she comes to help us with this ordinary problem which so often is the lot of the average person.

I ought to be most unhappy at my constantly fal ling asleep during the time of meditation and thanksgiving . . . (A p.134). In spite of all efforts the little eyes close, and the poor child falls asleep, believing that she still sees the Beloved . . . (L 175 14.9. 1896). All this does not hinder my being worried with distractions and sleepiness (A p.142).

Jesus sleeps in the boat, and Thérèse cannot stay awake! What is she to do? Get discouraged? No! never! Her genius will find some way around the problem, both for herself and for us, and this will help us. She was reading and meditating the Scriptures daily and so would know what the Psalmist said: 'He gives to his beloved in sleep' (Ps. 124). Thérèse esteemed prayer highly, so in this trial she was back to a problem she had experienced since childhood, namely, the gap between her ideals and her experience. Her solution, as always, was a combination of her intelligence, her practical good sense, her confidence in God — which was truly pheno-menal — her humility and her inter ior detachment. Her answer was simple, like her own soul: a) Fight off the sleep by reading. She seems to have done a lot of meditative reading, and it was not always the Scriptures. It seems that it was at this time that she read St John of the Cross, and Pere Surin's Fundamentals of the Spiritual Life. But eventually, when the dryness got even worse she could 60

only get help from the Gospels or The Imitation of Christ (A pp.131, 147). From 1892 she says:

If I open a book, even the most beautiful or touching, my heart closes at once, and I read without being able to understand; or if I understand, my mind is inactive, and unable to meditate (A p. 147). Whilst I am thus powerless the Holy Scriptures and the Imitation come to my aid. In them I find a secret manna, rich and undefiled. But above all it is the Gospel which supports me during my medi-tations; I find there all that my poor little soul needs. I am always discovering in it new lights, hidden and mysterious. I understand and indeed know by experience, that the kingdom of God is within us (A p.14'7).

It is very wonderful for an ordinary person to find God leading one of his saints by such an ordinary road — but then her 'way' would never be 'a little way' if it were not ordinary, and suitable for us, ordinary people. It is something we can all do: take the word of God into the presence of God and let the Spirit of God enlighten us as we expose ourselves to him in his word! This is beautiful, and safe. Chapters nine and ten of Thérèse's autobiography are some of the fruits of these dry meditations. The Holy Spirit enlightened her soul in a very wonderful way, and her prayer became an ascetic struggle to penetrate the Gospels and get deeply into the mind of Christ. I think that this is a masterful answer to the problem given by this very practical woman, who obviously did not believe in either wasting time or the opportunities given to her.

Let the sword of the Spirit which is the word of God remain in our mouth and heart . . . (NV 6 April 1897). As for me, with the exception of the Gospels, I no longer find anything in books. The Gospels are enough. I listen with delight to these words of Jesus which tell me all that I must do; 'Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart' ; then I'm at peace, according to his sweet promise: 'and you will find rest for your souls (NV 15 May 1897).

b) But what was she to do if she did not succeed in fighting off sleep? It was here that her humility and childlikeness came to the rescue. She accepted her weakness, and gave that to God, since she had nothing else. She reflects on it, and know-ing the heart of God very well, comes to this conclusion:

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I think how little children are just as pleasing to their parents when they are asleep as when they are awake; I think how sur-geons, before operating on their patients, send them to sleep; then I think how our Lord sees our frailty and remembers that we are but dust (A p.134).

When she has done all she can — and failed — she throws herself with the confidence of a child into the arms of her heavenly Father; and yet reminds him that he knows she is only dust! A soul of lesser genius and originality would fall into discouragement or think that it was not praying. In one of her letters she clearly shows how much thought she gave to the problem and how confident she was of her answer. She says that when the bird wishes

to contemplate the Divine Sun, and when the clouds hinder it from seeing even one single ray, its little eyes cannot help closing, its little head hides under its wing, and the poor little creature falls asleep, always dreaming that it is gazing at the Being it so much loves; when it awakes it is not distressed; its little heart remains at peace; it begins once more its loving task (L 175, 14.9.1896).

Thérèse was well aware that she was sleeping in the presence of God, and she trusts God totally to understand her willing-ness to pray, and the reason why she keeps her soul in peace when she fails in her attempt! She knew from experience the meaning of St Teresa's words:

Let nothing disturb thee, let nothing dismay, All things here are passing; God never changes. Patient endurance obtains all things; He who has God finds he lacks nothing: God alone suffices.

As Thérèse slept for very weakness, she allowed God to be active and to show her how 'My power is at best in weakness' (2 Cor. 12: 9). We see from her life that God did work power-fully in her soul, as she just offered what she could of her weakness to him. She faithfully followed his grace and guidance and won through to a great victory. She said:

Jesus has no need of books or of teachers to instruct our souls. He is the Doctor of doctors and teaches without sound of words. I have never heard his voice, yet I know that he is within me. He shows me, ju st when I need them, t ru th s that befo re were unknown to me. Generally it is not during the hours of meditation

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that I become aware of them, but in the midst of my daily occupations (A p.147).

At another stage she wrote to Céline: 'My Beloved teaches my soul; he speaks to it in silence and in darkness' (L 15, August 1892). She humbly accepted her weakness and her limitations, and did not ask to be delivered from them. In other words, she made her weakness the principle of her strength, so that she gave unresisting acceptance to the work of God in her soul. Like St Paul, she boasted of her weak-nesses: 'I shall be happy to make my weaknesses my special boast so that the power of Christ may stay over me, and that is why I am quite content with my weaknesses . . . For it is when I am weak, that I am strong' (2 Cor. 12:9-10). And so she wrote:

The songs of love ascended to the Father, While far below the world was hushed in sleep; Thy prayer, 0 God, I offer with delight, One with my prayer and office day and night. There near thy loving heart, I sing with joy my part,

Remember now!

Even when prayer became impossible, she still found a way out:

I have not the cou rage to look through books fo r beauti ful prayers. I only get a headache: there are so many of them, and besides, they are all more lovely one than another. Since I cannot say all of them, I do not know which to choose; I do as children do who have not learned to read — I simply tell our Lord what I want to say, and he always understands me (AS p.128).

`I leave the fine books I cannot understand, still less put into practice, to great and lofty minds, and rejoice in my little-ness, because only little children and those who are like them will be admitted to the heavenly banquet' (L to a missionary ) .

Finally, in a letter to Céline she sums up her solution to the problem of prayer when the heart is dry and the mind is fallow:

`The "fresh mornings" are for us a thing of the past! There are no more flowers to pick. Jesus has taken them all for himself. Maybe some day he will make new ones to spring

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up, but in the meantime what should we do? Well, I think I received some light on this matter. St Teresa of Avila says that 'we must keep the fire of our love going'. We have no wood when we are in the state of aridity and darkness, but must we not at least cast in a few small

straws? Surely Jesus can keep the fire going all by himself! Nevertheless, he likes to see us feeding it a little. Such a gesture gives him pleasure. He then throws in much wood. We don't see it, but we feel the vehement heat of love. This I have personally experienced; when I am, as it were, without feeling, seem unable to pray or practise virtue, this is the time when I must look around for little oppor-tunities, for 'nothings' which please Jesus more than if I gave him complete dominion over the world or suffered martyrdom; for example, a smile, a kind word, when I would prefer saying nothing or might wish to show a sad countenance . . . and when I see no opportunities for such things, I at least wish to tell him repeatedly that I love him. Even if it seemed to me that the fire of love had gone out, I would still want to cast something in it, and I know for sure that Jesus would revive it' (L 122, to Céline, 18 July 1893).

All the time we see that she does her part to keep faith and hope and love alive, and then she trusts God to do the rest. This way of humility and truth avoids the dangerous tempta-tion of pride and arrogance. Thérèse is so clear about walking the path of humility that she is sure to win in the end, for 'he who humbles himself will be exalted' (Lk. 18:14). Before she entered, her Communions were her joy: now she accepted the 'no consolations' (AS p.168) that go .with it for the average person, as her daily bread, and she did not resent the change or cry over the graces of the past. No, she lived in the present moment with whatever the loving Father sent to his child, and she remained content and at peace — 'like a weaned child on its mother's lap; even so is my soul' (Ps. 131:2). Her peace and contentment throughout the whole crisis were truly remarkable. She soon learned that God wants to be loved for himself alone, and not just for his gifts. So many souls become attached to God's gifts and never go further to love God in himself, and so he may remove his

gifts so that the soul may seek him more purely. He does not want us to love him for his gifts ... but for himself alone . . . He is so beautiful, so ravishing, even when he remains silent, even when he hides himself . . . Moreover, he is never far from us. He is even so much closer when he hides himself (L to Wine, 2.8.1892).

When God removed his gifts and help from Thérèse, it only showed up her real love and attachment to him. She did not love herself: she loved God. And she was not seeking God's gifts, but God himself. In the same letter to Céline she says that God hides from us in order to

beg our love . . . if he hides and clothes himself in darkness, if he keeps silence, it is that we may love him . . . Jesus gives con-solations to souls who are still weak in virtue and particularly in love, but for those who have made progress he silently waits for their gifts of love and sacrifice.

Thérèse answered this challenge magnificently. Thérèse's second great trial — the trial of faith — burst

upon her with awful suddenness at Easter 1896. Up to this time her faith had been so strong that it seemed that she 'saw' heaven, and spiritual things were for her more real than temporal things. Now her greatest trial began, when heaven closed its doors and she could no longer see. Now, doubts about the very existence of heaven and eternal life began to assail her. Now she began to understand something of our Lord's agony in the garden, and while she battled on with doubts and difficulties, she wrote poems that sang the praises of heaven and life with God. She did this to show how deliberate her faith was. She made acts of faith incessantly. `I must tell you the sentiments of my soul; . . . if the martyr-dom I have suffered in the past year were revealed to others, they would be filled with astonishment' (AS p.198). As I have dealt with this trial under the section on Martyrdom, I shall just make some general comments here. It seems that this trial was the greatest purification of this wonderful soul, and through it, God led her to the summit of perfection. It was God's action on her drawing her into complete union with him. But Thérèse — with her usual genius — did not just accept it as a purification for herself, but also used it as an instrument of apostolate. 'Carmelites are meant to save souls by prayer . . .' (AS p.228); 'what an extraordinary thing it is,

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the efficacy of prayer . . (ibid). Further, she was not con-tent with just being resigned to her lot and accepting God's will; no, she actually rejoiced in his will for her, thus triumph-ing over her temptations magnificently. She prayed:

Lord, you overwhelm me with joy by everything you do to me; for is there a greater joy than to suffer for love of you? The more intimate that suffering is, and the less it appears to the eyes of men, the more joy it gives you, 0 my God! And if you were unaware of that suffering — which of course is impossible — I would still rejoice in bearing it, if by it I were able to prevent, or make reparation for, a single fault committed against faith (AS p.201).

During these long years of difficulty in prayer Thérèse remained faithful to God; and the Lord will not be outdone in generosity. Every now and then he surprised her with wonderful graces that she did not expect, but which must have sustained her through the long winter of her soul. In the Novissima Verba, 11 July 1897, she spoke to Sister Agnes of some of these graces. She told Sister Agnes that she under-stood by experience what the 'flight of the spirit' was, and she talked about a special grace she received in July 1889, when she was only sixteen years old, which left her in a supernatural state for a whole week:

. .. it was as though a veil had been cast over all the things of this earth for me . .. I was entirely hidden under the Blessed Virgin's veil. At this time I was placed in charge of the refectory, and I recall doing things as though not doing them; it was as if somebody had lent me a body. I remained that way for a whole week.

The next really outstanding grace came after her act of oblation to merciful love. She describes it thus:

. . . I was beginning the Way of the Cross. Suddenly I was seized with such a violent love of God that I can't explain it, except by saying that it felt as though I were totally plunged into fire. Oh, what fire and what sweetness at one and the same time! I was on fire with love and I felt that one minute more, one second more, and I would not be able to sustain this ardour without dying. I understood then what the saints were saying about these states which they experienced so often. As for me, I experienced it only once and for a single instant, falling back immediately into my habitual dryness. At the age of fourteen I also experienced

transports of love. Ah! How I loved God! But it was not at all as it was after my oblation to Love; it was not a real flame that was burning me (NV 7 July 1897).

St John of the Cross speaks of this fiery dart or wound of love in his Living Flame of Love and says that God gives it principally to souls who must transmit their spirit to their followers. Thérèse was so faithful to grace and to the inspira-tions of the Holy Spirit that the Lord was able to reveal the hidden depths of his word to her, so that she could carve out her daring little way to God, both for herself and others. I think these words based on the Song of Songs could apply to her:

How lovely and how nimble are thy feet, O Prince's daughter!

They flash and sparkle and can run more fleet Than running water.

On all the mountains there is no gazelle, No roe or hind,

Can overtake thee, nor can leap as well, But lag behind.

Thy joints and thighs are like a supple band On which are met

Fair jewels which a cunning master hand Hath fitly set.

In all the palace, search where'er you please, In every place

There's none that walks with such a queenly ease, Nor with such grace.

(Cant. 7:1; H.H.)

This young woman moves with such ease and grace in the rarefied atmosphere of spiritual perfection that it is impossible for me not to become lyrical about it. She is a source of great encouragement for us, poor average mortals, so that we may get the courage to 'strengthen the weak knees' (Heb. 12:12) and go on to greater spiritual progress ourselves without worrying about the dark nights ahead!

The last point I would like to discuss is the problem of spiritual direction in Thérèse's life. I ask this question: Is spiritual direction necessary in order to achieve perfection? It seems from Thérèse's experience that the answer is both 'yes' and `no'! During her last illness she spoke about this to Sister Agnes:

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I think we have to be very careful not to seek ourselves, for we can get a broken heart that way and afterwards, it can be said of us in all truth: 'The keepers . . . wounded me; they took away my veil from me . . . when I had passed by them a little, I found him whom my soul loves.' I think that if this soul had humbly asked the keepers where her Beloved was, they would have shown her where he was to be found; however, because she wanted to be admired, she got into trouble, and she lost simplicity of heart. (NV 25 July 1897).

Thérèse knew from observing her community that not every soul is helped by spiritual direction. If the encounter causes the soul to lose its simplicity, it is positively damaging, for the soul must become more and more simple as it pro-gresses towards God. In Thérèse's own case the Lord himself took the responsibility of guiding her soul, and this seems to be the lot of the average person. She said concerning the time when she was fourteen years old,

I never said a word to anyone about my interior sentiments. The road I travelled was so straight and bright that I had no need of anyone but Jesus to guide me. Spiritual directors looked to me like faithful mirrors which reflect Jesus, but as for myself, the Good Lord used no intermediary, but acted directly in me .. . (AS p.109).

She was not against spiritual direction. No. She sought the help of Father Pichon SJ, who was spiritual director to the nuns, but in a very short time the Lord removed him to Canada.He said to her in May 1888: 'My child, may our Lord be always your superior and your novice master', and Thérèse added 'and my director' (AS pp.149 and 169). During a retreat she opened her heart to Father Alexis Prou OFM, and God used him to launch her 'with full sails on the ocean of confidence and love', for which she felt a great attraction; but she would not embark on it without first seeking counsel (AS p.169). But she says herself that 'it was Jesus the Director of directors, who instructed me in the science which is hidden from scholars and the wise, but which he deigns to reveal to little ones' (AS p.149). Thérèse soon realised that there was no point in talking to every priest that came to the convent for confession or to give retreats: this can be a dangerous form of distraction and self-seeking, and so again we see her avoiding dangerous pitfalls, and observe her single-mindedness

in seeking God for himself alone. But she was always com-pletely open to her superiors.

Having studied Thérèse's life, I can see why the popes have given her to us as an example for the lay person. She lived such an ordinary life, but with extraordinary love, and so she shows us the way: 'But I will show you a more excellent way . . (1 Cor. 12:31) . She did not use any extraordinary methods — either of prayer or asceticism — but persevered through her life speaking her heart simply to God, or being silent in his presence, or falling asleep through exhaustion. Her asceticism was of the purest kind: the denial of self-love and self-will, which leaves no room for illusion. This is cer-tainly a way that we can follow without fear of going astray.

Finally, I think I could call her a rebel because she daringly persevered in her own way through life. She broke away from the accepted standards of spirituality, and from its many customs, to forge her own way to God, and she was consis-tently true to herself in it all, and true to God's grace in her. Her little way of confidence and love was in marked contrast to the rigid systems of her day. Her little way has a ring of boldness about it — yes, even daring — which sprang from her own complete and absolute trust in God. It is the way of love. And so, to sum it all up, I again apply to her the words of a poem based on the Song of Songs:

Set me as a seal upon Thine Heart Thou Love more strong than death

That I may feel through every part Thy burning fiery breath.

And then like wax held in the flame May take the imprint of Thy Name.

Set me as a seal upon Thine arm, Thou Love that bursts the grave,

Thy coals of fire can never harm, But only purge and save.

Thou jealous Love, Thou burning flame, Oh burn out all unlike Thy Name.

The floods can never drown Thy Love, Nor weaken Thy desire,

The rains may deluge from above But never quench Thy fire,

Make soft my heart in Thy strong flame, To take the imprint of Thy Name. (Cant. 8:6; H.H.)

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You who fear the Lord, hope for good things, for everlasting happiness and mercy.

Look at the generations of old and see: who ever trusted in the Lord and was put to shame?

Or who ever feared him steadfastly and was left forsaken? Or who ever called out to him and was ignored?

For the Lord is compassionate and merciful, he forgives sins, and saves in days of distress.

Woe to the faint hearts and listless hands, and to the sinner who treads two paths.

Woe to the listless heart that has no faith, for such will have no protection.

Woe to you who have lost the will to endure; what will you do at the Lord's visitation?

Those who fear the Lord do not disdain his words, and those who love him keep his ways.

Those who fear the Lord do their best to please him, and those who love him find satisfaction in his Law.

Those who fear the Lord keep their hearts prepared and humble themselves in his presence.

Let us fall into the hands of the Lord, not into the hands of men; for as his majesty is, so too is his mercy.'

CONCLUSION

IT is difficult to sum up a life as simple and profound as that of Thérèse, but for me, she exemplifies the teaching of Scripture on both suffering and love, and total aban-donment to God in peace. And so, I feel that Ben Sira says it beautifully for us in Ecclesiasticus, Chapter 2:

`My son, if you aspire to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for an ordeal.

Be sincere of heart, be steadfast, and do not be alarmed when disaster comes.

Cling to him and do not leave him, so that you may be honoured at the end of your days.

Whatever happens to you, accept it, and in the uncertainties of your humble state, be

patient, since gold is tested in the fire,

and chosen men in the furnace of humiliation. Trust him and he will uphold you,

follow a straight path and hope in him. You who fear the Lord, wait for his mercy;

do not turn aside in case you fall. You who fear the Lord, trust him,

and you will not be baulked of your reward.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

St Thérèse of Lisieux — an autobiography — edited Rev. Thomas N. Taylor, 1926

Autobiography of a Saint — translated Ronald Knox

Collected Letters of St Thérèse — Sheed and Ward, 1949

Her Last Conversations (referred to in the text as Novissima Verba) — translated John Clarke OCD, 1977

St Thérèse by those who knew her — 1975

The Story of a Family — Rev. Stephane-Joseph Piat OFM, 1947

The Spirituality of St Thérèse — L'Abbé Andre Combes, 1950

St Thérèse and Suffering — L'Abbé Andre Combes, 1952

The Heart of St Thérèse — L'Abbé Andre Combes, 1952

St Thérèse and her Mission — L'Abbé Andre Combes, 1956

The Hidden Face — Ida Gorres, 1959

Complete Spiritual Doctrine of St Thérèse — Rev. Francois Jamet OCD, 1961

The Little Way — Bernard Bro OP, 1979

St Thérèse of the Infant Jesus — Mgr Laveille, 1928

Spiritual Exodus of John H. Newman and St Thérèse of Lisieux — Philip Boyce OCD

The Mind of St Thérèse of Lisieux — Thomas Curran OCD

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ABOUT THIS BOOK

St Thérèse has been recommended to us by the popes as a model for the lay person. Here Frances Hogan examines the life of the saint to discover why. Thérèse lived a hidden ordinary life, first in her family circle and then in the convent. There was nothing extraordinary about her life except for her phenomenal trust in God and her fidelity to grace. It was suffering, Frances Hogan says, that more than anything else, contributed to making Thérèse a saint, and she traces Thérèse's changing attitude to suffering through four different stages. Thérèse saw that to offer suffering borne in love is the one thing that the creature can give to her Creator, and her own offering became more and more divested of self-interest. Throughout her life in Carmel, Thérèse suffered darkness and aridity in her prayer. But far from being discouraged, she used this trial (which is the lot of the average person) to progress to a purer faith and love. Her little way of love and confidence in God is one which anyone living the most ordinary life can follow and so reach the heights of sanctity.