Nay rather, I have stilled and quieted
my soul like a weaned child.
Like a weaned child on its mother's lap,
so is my soul within me.
I read the expurgated version of Saint Thérèse's autobiography not long after I was ordained. I understand an unexpurgated version was found and published since then. The original, I am told, sounds more authentic as a more recognizably young and idealistic child-woman reflects on the challenge of practicing patience with cantankerous spinsters. Her image is less like a space cadet saint with a halo, and more like the chubby-cheeked girl in an outsize habit. It's on my bucket list of books to read.
The Mass readings today as we honor the virgin saint celebrate her childlike simplicity. The eventual pope and now pope emeritus, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, reflecting on the trials of the twentieth century church, pointed to the millions of devout souls who recite their rosaries, reread daily their tattered collections of holy cards, and attend daily Mass when it's available. They don't do theology. Their religious expressions are not new, fresh, or original. They don't worry about theodicy. They are the mass of the Church that perdures from century to century, carrying the faith in their hearts and bequeathing it not to their children but to their grandchildren.
They might not want to be described as simple souls but they do Keep It Simple. They recognize their own among the many denominations of Christianity, never quibbling about contrary doctrines of opposing churches. God is good, they agree, and Jesus is Lord. The great problems of the world are not in their hands although they often suffer its neglect.
Saint Thérèse attained in her few years that purity of heart. If she started out too eager, willing, and demanding she suffered the humiliation of the quotidian in the convent. Her ambitions were never stifled but she did learn to direct them inward toward the heart of Christ. As the solid cloister walls contained and frustrated her youthful energy, she directed her prayer toward the foreign missions she could only read about.
Twenty-four years old when she died, she attained the Christ-like simplicity of our aspirations.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.