Thérèse of Lisieux

SAINTS: Thérèse Of The Child Jesus — Service In Humility, by Greg Friedman

March 14, 2017

From: Lent With The Saints Isaiah 1:10, 16-20;  Psalm 50:8-9, 16bc-17, 21, 23; Matthew 23:1-12 Priests get asked occasionally – usually by folks of a fundamentalist Christian bent – about today’s gospel text, in which Jesus tells us we should not use the title father for anyone on Earth – only for our Father in Heaven.  Leaving aside the question of what they might call their own dads, they are missing the point of Jesus’s words, which come at the end of the passage: The greatest among you must be your servant.  All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted. We are not to use titles but rather serve in humility.  A saint who embodied that ideal bore the religious name [...]

SATURDAY READING: Hope — The Art Of Patient Waiting by Paula Huston

March 8, 2014

From By Way of Grace When I want to rest my heart, wearied by the darkness which surrounds it, by the memory of the luminous country to which I aspire, my torment redoubles; it seems to me that the darkness, borrowing the voice of sinners, says mockingly to me, “You are dreaming about the light.” Saint Thérèse of Lisieux (1973-1897) A long-ago wish had come true: I was finally in England, a place I’d wanted to visit since I was a fairy-tale-reading child.  It was as lovely as I’d always imagined it would be, with its meandering hedges, its yellow fields of rape, its Jersey cows and bunchy sheep, its great silent stone cathedrals.  Britain, with all its historical riches – how easily I could settle down for the rest of my life [...]

POETRY: The Shepherdess Of Domremy (Joan of Arc) Hearkening To Her Voices by Thérèse of Lisieux

July 10, 2013

Happy, happy am I, Jeanne the shepherdess! How swift my lambkins fly To meet my kind caress. How light my little crook; How cool this verdant grove, Beside whose babbling brook In solitude I rove. A lovely crown I weave Of field-flowers, fair and sweet; What joy is mine to leave That crown at Mary’s feet! Oh, how I love the flowers, The birds, the rippling stream The skies above these bowers As fair as angel’s dream. The valleys and the rills Rejoice my longing eyes; The summits of the hills, They seem to touch the skies! But hark! What voices come Upon the evening breeze? Do angels seek my home With melodies like these? I question air and space, I gaze into the skies; And yet no slightest trace Of angels greets my eyes. Ah, [...]