Thérèse of Lisieux entered the convent at the tender age of fifteen and died at the tender age of twenty-four.  If it hadn’t been for her biological sister, Pauline, who was her mother superior and assigned Thérèse, under the vow of obedience, the task of writing out her spiritual story, her legacy would be relegated to a folder in some dusty corner of the archives.  Canonized in 1925, a mere twenty-eight years after her death, however, Thérèse has not only become one of the most popular saints in the history of the Catholic Church, but has been named a Doctor of the Church, and is considered to be a spiritual master the world over.  Her “little way,” which insists that we only ever encounter the Lord authentically in the ordinary circumstances of our daily lives, inspired a certain missionary sister to choose the religious name Teresa before going halfway around the world to serve the poor, and has awakened countless souls to the utter closeness of our salvation.  Let’s slow things down and keep things simple this week.  Let’s pay attention to the details and smile with each new surprise.  Let’s bask in the mystery of our littleness and, with Thérèse, find our way back to Jesus. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica 🌹

It was my junior year of high school, and I was enjoying my newfound freedom as a licensed driver, sitting by myself, in the family station wagon, waiting for the light to change down the street from the schoolhouse.  The buses and cars stacked up, and a man suddenly emerged in the middle of the intersection, pushing and steering his broken-down vehicle by himself, as scores of bystanders looked on.  No one got out to help him.  It seemed like an eternity.  A paralysis came over me.  What would people think?  It would be awkward.  He’s getting there on his own.  Someone else will do it.  He disappeared, and traffic resumed as normal.  Like a certain priest and Levite (Lk 10:31-32), I got scared, then came the rational-lies-ing, and, in an instant, he was gone.  Let’s have the humility this week to acknowledge that we ourselves are driving around in spiritual jalopies, and that when we reach out to others in need, we are really just affirming our shared goodness and humanity.  Here, as we enter into that mystical intersection where this life and the next become one, Christ will rise and remain with us forever (Mt 28:19).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

There’s nothing quite like a good hiking trail.  The way opens up as the tree limbs and tall grass beckon me on.  Especially at the breezy time of day, with the leaves dangling down and the dust kicking up, the path just seems to care for each person who takes a risk on exploration, exclaiming, “This is the way, walk in it!” (Is 30:21).  You can leave the highways to the CEOs and the expressways to the professionals.  The avenues with their fancy signage and the boulevards with their curated flower beds will not satisfy.  My soul longs instead to go somewhere, to be in process, on a journey with a real destination, but not at the expense of the mosquitoes and ants and violets and dandelions who get me there.  These creature friends are begging us to slow things down, to bypass the bypasses and stay off the interstates.  They invite us to pay attention to the way as much as we do to the destination, and in so doing, enjoy the integrated life where our minds and hearts and bodies are all exactly in the same place at the same time.  Let’s go hiking this week and be at peace.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

Imagine a bride dressed in white, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her groom’s arm in the other.  He is one step ahead of her, leading her through the darkness, down the path of true love, and she is following him, one step at a time, with great trust.  As the image comes into focus, however, we can see, in shocking detail, that the bride’s neck is, in fact, broken — her head quite literally dangling down — yet her face is full of peace, as her beloved, Christ himself, draws her more deeply into the unknown.  Though macabre, this legendary medieval religious icon brilliantly captures the essence of our salvation.  Jesus knows that our egos must be broken open for his grace to enter.  So, he puts out his hand and invites us into the most awful and terrifying circumstances imaginable.  As we walk with him — our hearts open to the risk of it all — the pressure mounts and gradually crushes all of our ideas about and perceptions of life.  We simply learn to move forward in faith and rejoice.  And while this process of personal transformation can be a real “pain in the neck,” it is truly a small price to pay for eternal life.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.