Katka Lachmanová
Some time ago, we discussed the so-called " grace of Christmas " in the life of Saint Therese of Lisieux,1 i.e. the grace of her second conversion and inner transformation, which allowed her to transcend herself, open to love, and begin to love God and people in an entirely new way. It is no wonder that immediately following this grace in "the story of her soul" was the awakening of the apostolic spirit, a great desire for the salvation of souls, which manifested in intense intercessory prayer for those who do not know God.
Therese is only fourteen years old, and she is not yet at Carmel. However, the Lord sends her several impulses that strongly motivate her to intercessory prayer, which will soon become the main mission of her consecrated life. On a Sunday in July 1887, she gazes at a small picture of the Crucified in church and receives an inner grace, the effects of which far exceed the external trivial cause. Therese recounts:
"I was deeply struck by the sight of the blood that flowed from one of His divine hands. A great pain coursed through me when I thought that this blood falls to the ground and no one hastens to gather it. I resolved that I would remain spiritually at the foot of the cross, capturing the divine dew that flowed from it. I understood that I would then have to pour it out on souls... Jesus' cry on the cross also constantly echoed in my heart: 'I thirst!' These words ignited an unknown and burning fervor within me... I wanted to quench the thirst of my Beloved, and I myself felt consumed by a thirst for souls..."2
Above all, we are surprised by the biblical purity of the symbolism used by Therese, which is worlds away from the common understanding of intercessory prayer in her time as "penance for the salvation of souls." For Therese, the focus of intercessory prayer is not on her ascetic performances, personal sacrifices, or merits; what is essential is to accept in faith the saving work of Christ and—again in faith—to call it upon all people who have not yet opened themselves to Him. It is necessary, in faith, to "capture" the precious blood of Christ and "sprinkle" it on humanity as life-giving dew. In other words, "merits lie not in giving much, but rather in the art of receiving much, loving much," as she once wrote to Céline.3 Both the saving will (the desire to save all people) and the one redeeming remedy flow from the merciful heart of Christ. Therese does not play the savior towards anyone. Her beautifully biblical understanding of grace becomes even stronger when she later adds several scriptural citations to the picture of the Crucified, which spoke to her in this context.
Interpretation of Biblical Citations Around the Crucified
Therese uses the Holy Scriptures with great freedom; at first glance, it seems she selected and interconnected passages from the New Testament that have little in common. However, the choice of quotations must have been guided by the Holy Spirit, as their connection illuminates the words of Scripture in a new light, revealing unsuspected depths.
Above the picture, Therese wrote Christ's cry on the cross: "I thirst" (Jn 19:28) and added Jesus' request to the Samaritan woman at the well: "Give me a drink!" (Jn 4:7). Below the picture is Peter's confession of love for the Lord, which, as we know, occurred in a somewhat dramatic context following his recent denial and abandonment of Christ during His suffering and crucifixion: "Lord, you know that I love you" (Jn 21:15). Thus, this confession of love is smoothly followed by the penitential prayer of the tax collector in the temple: "... but be merciful to me, a sinner!" (Lk 18:13)
Vertically along both edges of the picture, Christ's dialogue with the woman at the well continues, interspersed with omissions. On the left, we read: "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water. (...) Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst." And on the right edge, the text continues: "... and the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (Jn 4:14).
Let us now try to glimpse into the inner logic of these biblical statements and events. The vertical connection (between the upper and lower edge quotations) appears quite clear. Therese always understands Christ's thirst as "thirst for the salvation of souls,"4 in other words, Christ's "thirst for love," or the desire to find souls that will understand His love, allow themselves to be loved by Him, and will return His love.
In the poem "Angels at Jesus' Crib," Therese places this confession into the mouth of the Divine Child: "I thirst to give myself to souls, but there are so many languid hearts; grant them your fire, seraph, and draw them in with your songs." In the introductory part of a letter to her biological sister Marie of the Sacred Heart,5 Therese explains: "He does not need our deeds, but only our love. The same God who proclaims that He does not need to tell us if He is hungry,6 was not afraid to beg the Samaritan for a little water. He was thirsty... But when He said, 'Give me a drink,' the Creator of the universe was demanding the love of His poor creature. He thirsted for love!... I feel this more than ever; Jesus thirsts, He meets only the ungrateful and the indifferent. Unfortunately,... He finds very few hearts that surrender to Him unreservedly, which comprehend the tenderness of His infinite love!"7
The thirst for love and thirst for souls are the same for Therese, even when she speaks of her own thirst. Her thirst comes from Christ, is His gift; one might say that it is a deep resonance with His heart full of mercy. Soon, Therese will experience the powerful fulfillment of her prayers in the conversion of the murderer Pranzini, who at the last moment on the scaffold grasps the cross and kisses Christ's holy wounds. For Therese, this gesture is a great sign that the recent spiritual intuition before the picture of the Crucified was correct and that the thirst she feels in her heart is truly partaking in the thirst of Jesus' heart:
"Did not the thirst for souls arise in my heart precisely when I looked at Jesus' wounds, when I saw His divine blood flowing? I wanted to give souls to drink this immaculate blood, which was to cleanse them from all stains, and the lips of my 'first child' pressed against the holy wounds!!!... From this unique grace, my desire to save souls grew every day; it seemed to me that I heard Jesus saying to me like to the Samaritan: 'Give me a drink!' It was a true exchange of love; I gave souls the blood of Jesus, and to Jesus I offered these souls, refreshed by His divine dew."8
Thus, there is only one answer to Jesus' thirst, the confession of love: "Lord, you know that I love you...!" However, not by accident does Therese remind us with this statement of the episode of the revelation of the risen Jesus on the shore of the Lake of Tiberias, when He revealed Himself again as the Almighty Lord through the miraculous catch of fish. The miraculous catch, in fact, contains a double symbol:
1) It reminds Therese of the grace of Christmas 1886, when after ten years of effort and simultaneous recognition of her own powerlessness, she experienced a divine intervention that profoundly changed her: "Jesus accomplished in one moment the work I was unable to do for ten years, and was satisfied only with my goodwill," wrote Therese.
2) Her personal experience, confirmed by God's word about the miraculous catch, gives her the courage to hope not only for herself but also for others who need to experience the intervention of God's power. Thus, she becomes a "fisher of men," even though she is aware that, in essence, that Fisher remains Jesus. He guarantees the abundance of fishing: "To me, Jesus was even more merciful than to the disciples; He Himself took the net, cast it, and pulled out a full catch..."9
Finally, it is not by accident that the confession of love with which Therese responds to Jesus' thirst is precisely Peter's confession, which followed the triple question of Jesus and Peter's triple denial! Therefore, Therese quickly adds the tax collector's "Have mercy on me, a sinner." Clearly, she wants to emphasize the enormous disproportion between Jesus' demand and the possibilities of a weak and sinful person (who, after all, does not lack goodwill). This certainly reminds us of a similar "disproportion" which arose during Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman: "How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan, for a drink?" If we set aside the parable’s language, we might express Therese's thought this way: "How is it possible that you, Almighty God, want to drink from me, who am just a poor sinner, like all others, completely dependent on your mercy; who am unable to love like you love?"
Therese sees the solution to the riddle in that "gift of God" promised by Jesus, or in the light of Jesus' words to the Samaritan woman. That forms a kind of bridge over the chasm between the statements at the upper and lower edges: "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him ... " (Jn 4:10). Not long before her death, Therese expresses this very clearly:
"You know, my God, that I have never desired anything but to love you... Your love has preceded me since my childhood, has grown with me, and now it is a chasm whose depth I cannot fathom... My Jesus, my love rushes to you, it would like to fill the chasm that beckons it, but alas! It is not even a drop of dew, lost in the ocean!... In order to love you as you love me, I must take possession of your own love; only then will I find rest."10
From the meditation on the picture of the Crucified (with Mary Magdalene at the foot of the cross), it is clear that Therese does not conceive of an intercessor before God as someone "just," who pays off the debts of sinners around. Therefore, Therese does not at all concern herself with examining whether her prayer is worthy or unworthy, powerful or weak. She relies entirely on God's infinite mercy and on the merits of the One who laid down His life for us all: "... for we do not offer to the Father in heaven our merits, but the merits of our Bridegroom, which are also our merits..." she writes to Céline.11
Ultimately, this is a purely biblical attitude, as in this spirit the Old Testament prophets already called upon the Lord: "For we do not present our supplications before you because of our righteous acts, but because of your great mercies" (Dn 9:18).
