St. Thérèse of Lisieux: The Little Giant

St. Thérèse of Lisieux, whose feast day we celebrated last week, has rightly captured the hearts and minds of so many with her simple but oh-so-challenging approach to life in Christ: “the little way,” as it is truthfully and affectionately called. This humble, down-to-earth work of doing little things with great love proved a great force for good in the life of Thérèse herself and it continues to bear much fruit in the lives of those who have a devotion to her.

The idea of littleness is present from the very beginning of her spiritual autobiography, Story of a Soul, where Thérèse speaks of her life as the “springtime story of a little white flower” and the “story of the little flower gathered by Jesus.” The theme of littleness looms so large throughout that it can sometimes overshadow another image that Thérèse uses, one of my favorites: after receiving a special grace on Christmas Day that helped her overcome her extreme childhood sensitivity, she writes that, since that decisive moment, she has “walked from victory to victory, beginning, so to speak, ‘to run as a giant’.”

So, wait—is St. Thérèse the little flower or the big giant?

Clearly, she is both and, as with all the saints, it’s important to hold together these two descriptions, these two dimensions: littleness and greatness. Because littleness seems to manifest humility, we have an easier time, I think, appreciating it. But when it comes to greatness and striving for great things, here we sometimes start to feel just a little uncomfortable. But even the little Thérèse, long before she is running like a giant, shows forth glimpses of that greatness of soul in ordinary situations, which she sees as indicating something much greater. She says, “I choose all,” first to her sister in regard to a basket of playthings, but later, when she applies the same phrase to the pursuit of holiness. “My God, ‘I choose all!’ I don’t want to be a saint by halves, I’m not afraid to suffer for You, I fear only one thing: to keep my own will; so take it, for ‘I choose all’ that You will.”

The ancient Greeks identified this striving after great things as the classical virtue of magnanimity, which means, literally, “greatness of soul” or “great-heartedness.” But magnanimity is not just for the Greeks; it is, in fact, an essential mark of the Christian and finds in him or her its highest expression. We know it’s essential because the theological virtues are constitutive of the Christian life and, among the three, it is the virtue of hope that directs us to strive for the greatest possible good: eternal life. Could there be a greater, higher goal to pursue? Yet this is precisely the goal that the saints, St. Thérèse among them, strive mightily to attain. We, too, are called to seek after this goal, with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength (see Mk 12:30). In this way, magnanimity finds its fulfillment in the great-heartedness of the saints.

Now, with all this talk of great hearts and striving after divine things, it’s important to recognize a small but important detail: this goal is impossible for us to attain on our own. Of this, too, we must be cognizant; and it is precisely this knowledge that gives rise to humility. Humility and magnanimity go hand in hand. Which is to say, the little flower and the big giant go hand in hand. We see this if we call to mind once again the usual description of Thérèse’s little way: doing little things with great love. Although a task might be ordinary, a job, menial, or a person, unremarkable, the love with which each of these is approached must be great. In fact, it must be the greatest of loves—charity, God’s own love living and working within us.

God’s heart, which we could link with the Holy Spirit, living and beating within us—it is this heart, this divine love, that proves the ultimate reason for speaking of the great-heartedness of the Christian. We strive, like Thérèse, to love with God’s love and we do so, firstly, by acknowledging our littleness and our need for his help, and secondly, by striving mightily to tend to the fire of love within us so that it might radiate to those around us. If we can do this, then like the beautiful St. Thérèse, we also will be little according to humility and great according to magnanimity, manifesting the paradoxical principle of the Lord’s work in us: that he exalts the lowly (see Lk 1:52).