One book I was reading, "Acts of Faith," is a collection of short stories and chapters from longer works. It includes an excerpt from Francine Prose's "Household Saints" in which a young woman, Theresa, has been institutionalized by her parents because of her religious delusions. On their last visit, Theresa feverishly describes playing pinochle with Ste. Thérèse (also known as "The Little Flower"), Jesus and God.
Following Theresa's death, her father and eventually her neighborhood begin to speculate whether she was, herself, a saint. It was a sad and lovely story. However, as an Episcopalian, I had no frame of reference for Ste. Thérèse, and could only glimpse her through references to roses and her autobiography, "Story of a Soul."
Setting aside "Acts of Faith," I picked up the complimentary copy of "The Word Among Us," a monthly digest of articles and daily office readings that the Sisters of Bon Secours provide for their guests. On the cover, I saw the words, "My Friendship with the Little Flower." Recognizing Providence when it blooms before me, I said a silent thank you to God for the opportunity to learn more and turned to the article by Brenda Kindelan, which opens with, "I didn't choose Ste. Thérèse of Lisieux. She chose me" (57). It continues with the author's experience of encountering the saint during a retreat and how that experience helped move her into deeper relationship with God and her father.
"Lovely," I thought to myself, and turned to the daily readings, bound in the center of the digest. I settled back to appreciate the Catholic office for the day, somewhat unfamiliar to me, and was greeted with the entrance antiphon:
The Lord nurtured and taught her; he guarded her as the apple of his eye. As the eagle spreads its wings to carry its young, he bore her on his sholders. The Lord alone was her leader. (M1)
Weird, I thought. Are we talking about Mary, here? My eyes darted over the page, looking for an explanation. And there it was, at the top of the page: October 1, Feast Day of Ste. Thérèse of the Child Jesus. Surely, not the same Thérèse! Really? I almost laughed out loud at God's sense of humor. I was seized by the desire to share my delight. But who would appreciate this story?
I thought of my boss, who is a Jesuit priest. I got up and headed for my room to email him, knowing I would be breaking silence by doing so, but feeling so energized by God's obvious presence that I had to share it. As I pushed open the door from the stairwell to the floor where my room was, I was overwhelmed by the scent of flowers. I knew from the Kindelan article that it was a sign of the presence of Ste Thérèse, who scattered acts of devotion and self-sacrifice as "Little Flowers." Looking down the hallway for a more reasonable explanation, I saw the yellow cart of the cleaning crew sitting outside a nearby room. But what I smelled was not cleanser. It was floral, but not artificial. More excited than ever, I emailed my boss.
Afterward, still feeling particularly loved by God, I finished reading "Acts of Faith," and headed to my car to exchange it for my other book, James Martin's "The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything." The day was grey; the first real cold of autumn had arrived. As I walked back toward the retreat house I realized that I could not remember the ending of a particular reading in "Acts of Faith" that I had especially liked: an excerpt from Ron Hansen's, "Mariette in Ecstasy."
Like Theresa in Francine Prose's piece, Hansen's Mariette is a young woman whose intimacy with God is misunderstood and viewed with suspicion (and envy) by those around her. Although Mariette is not institutionalized like Theresa, she is thrown out of her convent. I vividly remembered enjoying Hansen's writing, but could not for the life of me remember the ending! Frustrated, I almost turned around to retrieve the book, but the cold, clammy weather made me think better of it. "I can always get to it later," I thought to myself.
Grabbing a cup of cocoa and settling into a comfy chair, I opened the Martin book to where I'd left off on page 48. Within minutes, I was reading:
That image [of a God of Surprises] was amplified when I read the conclusion of one of the great modern spiritual novels, "Mariette in Ecstasy." Ron Hansen, an award-winning writer who is also an ordained Catholic deacon, penned the story of the religious experiences of a young nun in the early 1900s, loosely based on the life of St. Therese of Lisieux, the French Carmelite. At the end of the story, Mariette, who had left the monastery many years before, writes to her former novice director and assures her that God still communicates with her. (49-50)
And then - Providence upon Providence! - Martin quotes verbatim the conclusion of the story I had been unable to recall:
We try to be formed and held and kept by him, but instead he offers us freedom. And now when I try to know his will, his kindness floods me, his great love overwhelms me, and I hear him whisper, Surprise me. (50)
I was overwhelmed: by the warmth of God's love, by the particularity of God's attention to me, by the care that had been taken in arranging the day's bouquet of little flowers. I had needed consolation and a sense that all of my pain was not caused by random cruelty in a meaningless world. What I got was the message, loud and clear: I see you. I know you. I adore you. Not one tear misses my attention, not one cry of anguish goes unheard. You are Mine, and I adore you.
Later, I would challenge the experience, testing its boundaries, and I invite you to do so, too:
Certainly, the editors of "Acts of Faith," Jane Mead and Reid Sherline, may have a fondness for Ste. Thérèse, themselves, which prompted them to include both the Prose and Hansen pieces. Nothing supernatural there. And, certainly, the inclusion of both the article and daily readings about Ste. Thérèse were appropriate for the October issue of "The Word Among Us." It isn't even much of a stretch to say I may have been psychologically primed to smell flowers when I emerged from the stairwell!
What I find challenging is the fact that I just happened to be reading both "Acts of Faith" and "The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything" on the feast day of Ste Thérèse. What I find remarkable is that I happened to read the perfect section of the latter shortly after lamenting that I couldn't remember the conclusion of "Mariette in Ecstasy," as published in the former. What I find miraculous is that all of these events -- the readings, the scent of flowers, the forgetting and the being reminded, all of them -- occurred in the space of about two hours on that specific feast day.
In the end, faith is a choice we make, over and over, to view the world and the events of our lives through the eyes of our hearts. But, at its root, faith is a grace, a gift given by a loving God. Accepting the gift is our decision. But even when faith and prayer seem too hard, when grief and loss are so deep that there are no words, those who love us can carry our faith and prayer until we are ready to pick them up again.
I did not choose Ste Thérèse of Lisieux. I did not even know her and, indeed, may have never heard of her. But God, who knows her and knows me, knew that what I needed most on a grey and chilly first day of October was a lovely bouquet of little flowers grown, selected and arranged especially for me.
