Just Another Day in Paradise

November 18th, the Memorial of the Dedication of the Basilicas of St. Peter and of St. Paul, is a feast dedication that likely dates all the way back to the 11th century. That means that when St. Therese and her papa, St. Louis, and her sister Celine, "the sweet echo of my soul," were on their pilgrimage to St. Peter's this week in 1887 (a mere 137 years ago), they were smack in the middle of this feast just as we are today!

What was the object of their pilgrimage? In two ways it was a celebration of the papacy, and in particular of the priesthood of Pope Leo XIII who sat in the Chair of St. Peter at the time.

From the amazing archives of the Carmel of LIsieux:

Leo XIII
His Holiness Pope Leo XIII, born Vincenzo Giocchino Pecci.Born March 2, 1810 in Carpineto, died July 20, 1903 in Rome.
On the occasion of the celebration of his 50 years of priesthood, a diocesan pilgrimage to Coutances and Bayeux was organized, in which Mr. Martin, Céline and Thérèse took part.
During the pontifical audience, Thérèse asked the Pope for authorization to enter Carmel at the age of fifteen. “The good Pope is so old that one would say that he is dead,” writes Thérèse irreverently to Pauline. However, he survived her by five years.

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Therese had felt the tug, the pull, the resounding call of Jesus to enter Carmel, and she was determined to enter by the time she was 15 a few months later. Her father had granted his permission; they had together visited the local bishop who put her off; now they took this opportunity to travel (which her dear father loved to do, traveling frequently on pilgrimage, but only this once with Therese) - to Rome, to the Holy Father himself, with a guaranteed audience since the purpose of the pilgrimage was to congratulate and rejoice with Pope Leo XIII. On the way there, the pilgrimage group stopped in Sacre Coeur, still being built at the time but complete already in the crypt and already having begun their ceaseless adoration of Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament that continues to the present.

It was miraculous to visit Sacre Coeur for the first time myself this past December - almost a year ago now - with the joy of rising in the night (if you ever go, stay in the pilgrims' rooms inside the Basilica and have a tryst with sweet Jesus in the romantic Paris night) and the thrill of going to adore the same Lord and Spouse of our souls Whom Therese adored there those few years before. In Sacre Coeur, the Blessed Sacrament is usually exposed over the high altar in the main body of the upper story of the church, but during our brief two day, one night visit, due to some Advent liturgical event, Our Lord was waiting for us in the crypt as He had waited for Therese. 

An aside (haha, which could be the name of this blog, but then where would we be without Marcel?) - I just looked up the date of Therese's visit to Sacre Coeur in the hopes that it was today. Better yet, her visit en route to Rome was on November 6 of that year, which turns out to be the same day (different year!) as my first date with my husband. How time flies!

As I walked through the dark Basilica at 3 a.m. or so 11 months ago this week, making my way to the crypt for some stolen time with our ever waiting Lord and God, I found myself going down stairs and approaching an area of light - it was one of the many crypt side chapels, and there were adorers kneeling and sitting, and there was Jesus, King of the Universe, hidden in the humble disguise of a piece of bread. What love!

I was tired and the thought of sitting in one of those chairs didn't attract me, let alone the prospect of kneeling . . . and so I found a quiet spot against the wall of the few steps leading down to the chapel and just sat in awe. And eventually I looked up at the wall I leaned against and saw a plaque saying that it was here Therese had been! Ah, Love!

This world is so full of wonders - what can the next one be like?
Or better yet, this world within the Real World of Paradise that surrounds us - I know we were kicked out, and yet when the Good Shepherd leaves the Safe, Happy Place to come in search of the lost sheep that we are - oh, how is this world now not Paradise again?

I've been reading a wonderful little book about a woman who got breast cancer in 1994 and had a chance to re-evaluate her life. Mostly she was super scared, already living what looks to me like a generous life, married with children, working hard and loving God, but for whatever reason, He took that moment to shake her up and let her worry that maybe she'd die, maybe her children (still young) would be left without her, maybe her husband would remarry, and so on and so forth. As it turns out, in His kind providence this good woman is still alive and has spent a lot of time helping others with breast cancer to have a sense of humor and see the blessings of God in their lives.

I love this book because it's so very readable (it's called The Hat that Saved My Life, written by Becky Olson) and the author is delightful. Still, we have a lot of differences. She was 43 when she was diagnosed and had five kids. I am 59 and have two grown sons (and the erstwhile home poodle has found another loving home, praise God!) . . . and I suppose at her age and in her situation, although she had lost some grandparents and perhaps others close to her, it wasn't anything like the parade of loved ones we see marching ahead of us to the pearly gates as the years go on and on.

Her reaction at her diagnosis was fear.
Mine was joy, curiosity, intrigue . . .
It looked like the window was opening! I could see some familiar faces smiling and their hands beckoning me, but Marcel must have been in charge because it was one big prank. As I reached my hands to the high window sill - and who knows what I was thinking because I have no upper body strength to pull myself up - Jesus appeared, smiled gently and mischievously (I see where His little brother learned his tricks!), simply shut the window on my fingers. Thanks, Jesus!

I'm glad because His ideas are ALWAYS so much better than mine.
Don't get me wrong. I am not always glad THAT His ideas are so much better than mine, but given that they ALWAYS are, I'm glad He continues to unfold them in real time despite my occasionally diverging preferences for where our Little Way will lead.

This time, though, we've got a daughter to welcome into our family (-in-law, to be exact, the famous FDIL; the ultrasound at the surgical oncologist's just showed some boring under arm lymph nodes; no baby girl in me!), not to mention the joy of two sons, a beautiful community of the City of God spread from my own street to the far corners of the earth (hey Nigeria! Cheers today on this common feast of our closeness in Christ's Church!), and Porto's (though perhaps that's a store-story for another time. Just think Cuban savory and sweet bakery, with an emphasis on the dulce de leche besitos, and the guava-cheese strudels called "refugiados". . .) And so, I'm happy to stick around and deal with my first round of chemo which has been, awesomely, so far so good. No Porto's in Santa Clarita City of Hope, but fun snacks nonetheless, lots of cold bottled water (or tea and coffee if you prefer), comfy recliners, warm blankets, amazing nurses, and a wonderful doctor who kept checking in with those of us being dripped into under the loving care of the angels.

So as for me, I'm well . . . Last week I got a fun new short haircut and a fun new (wear-as-needed and who knows if it will be needed) wig that looks just like my real hair but better and makes me look a little like some rendition of my mom in days past (really fun though a little strange to see that) . . . Then I had a dear friend drive me to chemo infusion round one last Friday and found out on Saturday that my dearest sister in the world wants to take me to round two on December 6th . . . and oh how I love medicine! I'm surrounded by lots of pills that make me feel better when I have the slightest feeling I might feel worse . . . and how I love friendship and charity. Three months of a meal train? I think I've died and gone to Heaven already! May God reward the kindness of so many kind friends!

But let's get back to this week in the life of little Therese. She had it far rougher than I do, for she was going all that way to St. Peter's to plead with the Pope for her early entrance to Carmel. He was her last hope, and it was a longshot.

Thanks again to the Carmel of Lisieux, here's her letter to Pauline, written the very night that came at the end of the big day (November 20) that itself came and went without a clear answer for her. Isn't that just His way? But as you'll see, she keeps her spunk. I find her honesty adorable.

20th November 1887
            My dear little Pauline,
            The good Lord made me go through many trials before making me enter Carmel. I'll tell you how the Pope's visit went. Oh! Pauline, if you had been able to read my heart you would have seen great confidence there; I think I did what the Good Lord wanted of me, now all I have to do is pray.
            Monseigneur was not there, M. Révérony replaced him; to get an idea of ​​the audience you would have had to be there. The Pope was seated on a large, very high chair. M. Révérony was close to him, he watched the pilgrims passing in front of the Pope after having kissed his foot, then he said a few words. You can imagine how my heart was pounding when I saw my turn coming, but I didn't want to go back without having spoken to the Pope. I said what you told me in your letter, but not everything because M. Révérony did not give me the time, he said immediately: Most Holy Father, she is a child who wants to enter Carmel at fifteen, but her superiors are dealing with her at the moment. (The good Pope is so old that it looks like he is dead, I would never have imagined him like that, he can hardly say anything, it is M. Révérony who is speaking). I would have liked to be able to explain my case but there was no way. The Holy Father told me simply: God willing, you will enter. Then I was taken to another room. Oh! Pauline, I can't tell you what I felt, I was like devastated, I felt abandoned, and then I'm so far, so far... I could cry writing this letter, I have the heart quite big. However, the Good Lord cannot give me trials that are beyond my strength. He gave me the courage to endure this ordeal, oh! he is very tall... But Pauline, I am the little Ball of the Child Jesus; if He wants to smash His toy He's free, yes I'm willing whatever He wants.
            I haven't written what I would have liked at all, I can't write these things, I'd have to talk, and then you won't read my letter for three days, oh! Pauline, I have only the good God all alone, all alone...
            Goodbye Pauline darling, I can't tell you any more, I'm afraid Papa will come and ask me to read my letter, and it's impossible.
            Pray for your little girl.
            Theresita
            I would like to write to my darling Mother (Marie de Gonzague) but I cannot this evening. Ask her to please pray for his poor Theresita.
            Kiss my dear Marie for me, I wrote this letter also for her but I prefer to speak only to one person, I hope that she will understand her little Thérésita. I don't have time to re-read my letter, it is certainly full of mistakes, excuse me.

+  +  +

The story as told by Celine is even better, with more details and the whispering back and forth between Therese at his feet and the Holy Father hunched over, so old and frail and hard of hearing, asking her to repeat the words she was trying to choke out as the Swiss Guards and the pilgrimage chaplain (who was also one who had a say in when she could enter Carmel) told her, "Don't speak to him!" But Celine behind her commanded, "SPEAK!" and Therese spoke!

I love these two women! What a brave duo, what pluck!
And it worked, though it sure didn't look like it that day.
Therese, weeping, had to be carried away by the guards, if I remember rightly!
And yet when the New Year came, it turned out she had been given permission to enter!

Can you imagine if your daughter, your sister, your friend (anyone!?) was entering Carmel at 15?
And yet in this case it made sense because God had only 9 more years left for Therese in this exile (haha, I call it Paradise but that's my gift: a personality designed to annoy the glass-is-half-empty types) - and she had a lot of Good News to impart to us before she left. So obviously He had to stick her in a tiny convent in a tiny town at a period in history when no one cared about Catholics and her hidden sacrifices would be destined to die with her.

Except that they didn't. They reached their object - which was Love - and they shared that Love, that Person of Love, that Trinity of Love with the whole world! And like a boomerang, that Love returned to her so that, as she prophesied toward the end of her earthly life, the whole world would come to love her. 

Yes, little Therese, we do love you! Thank you for teaching us your Little Way (or rather His Little Way) of the complete abandonment of a child in his Father's arms. Keep teaching us please, because some of us have had pre-chemo brain for a long time, and who knows how much more dense and slow we'll become when chemo brain sets in? (On the other hand, incurable optimist and would-be-comic that I am, I can't help hoping that the reversal of one's intelligence as a side effect of chemo could mean I become suddenly brilliant!)

I hope your day today in Paradise is spectacular. Have a latte or some gelato for the Holy Father - whichever Holy Father you'd like to especially thank and toast! We're so lucky to belong to a community that knows how to celebrate for a thousand years - even longer! We'll be celebrating forever before we know it, but meanwhile, add the whipped cream. Low in calories and sprinkled with a touch of cocoa or cinnamon, it's the perfect prelude to the Light that is coming!

Draw me; we will run!