A Reflection for the Memorial of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, virgin and doctor of the Church
Find today’s readings here.
We have those days, don’t we—days like Job’s in today’s first reading, when we too ask, “Why did I not perish at birth, come forth from the womb and expire?” I know I have. We have those days when everything has gone wrong since the moment we woke up, and by night we are out of energy. We are bereft of hope or motivation, all out of dangs to give. We can relate to Job.
Jesus is having a bad day in today’s Gospel from Luke, too. He knows he is traveling to his eventual execution. He could use a rest stop on this terrible journey to Jerusalem. But when the Samaritan villagers turn him and his party away, because of course they do, his disciples want to “call down fire from heaven” and burn the place down. Weary Jesus must have thought, “Do these guys still not get it?” Did he despair that all his discoursing, all the “love your neighbor as yourself” talks, had fallen on deaf ears? We can relate to Jesus.
But take heart, friends, because today is the feast day of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, aka St. Thérèse of Lisieux, aka The Little Flower. A simple young nun who died from tuberculosis at 24, Thérèse is known for the personal spirituality that she called her “Little Way.” Thérèse took to heart her childlike intimacy with God, her “Abba.” She wrote of love in the form of ordinary tasks, uncomplicated prayers, and everyday unremarked sacrifices on behalf of others. Thérèse felt most at home in nature and compared herself to a wildflower. She also promised to send showers of mystical roses from heaven after her death, leading to her nickname.
Although she had her share of bad days, dark times of doubt and illness, Thérèse was the opposite of the folks whom Job calls “bitter in spirit.” Her life reminds us to look for sweet grace in the little things, just around the corner of a bad day, because grace is there. The God of small things awaits us, the God who is always in the details, the God who notices everything about us. Maybe today we can relate to Thérèse.
