Chapter 4
The Act of Offering (II)

How limpid is the act of offering of the little flower. In this act we see what purity of the heart is: purity of heart is the fruit of the gift of understanding. Hence it is truly Thérèse who does this act. She does not say that she received an illumination, that the Holy Spirit spoke to her, that this act of offering was dictated to her by God; she does not say "God said this to me," or "The Holy Spirit inspired me." Such is her realism: it is she with the Holy Spirit. It is the work of the gifts of wisdom and understanding in the depths of her heart.

But, for her, the Holy Spirit wanted the charism called sermo sapientiae, "words of wisdom." This gift enabled her to communicate to others what the Holy Spirit lead her to understand and live in her inmost heart. In the first Epistle to the Corinthians, St. Paul lists the charisms. The first, and the most important of them, is sermo sapientiae, which is transmitting to others with great limpidity, simplicity, and objectivity--without publicizing self--the secrets that the Holy Spirit places in the intimacy of one¹s heart. The act of offering to merciful love that Thérèse left for us is indeed the work of sermo sapientiae. She could have kept silent, but the Holy Spirit wanted her to communicate this act to all those who were to live the struggles and difficulties of the twentieth-century. The twentieth-century is the century where the struggles are the most intense. The Holy Father indicated this clearly in saying that humanity is living the greatest of temptations. Let us be lucid, that is, let us understand that we are living extreme struggles that directly attack the food for our faith. The devil cannot directly attack faith, but he can attack the milieu in which we live and impede us from being blessed in faith: "Blessed are those who believe without seeing" (Jn. 20:29). To be "blessed" we must be bound to Mary. She was "blessed" in her faith; and through her, her children are blessed in faith. The Little Flower was blessed in her faith (for us); and she communicates the secret to us.
Let us consider the act of offering, but it is important to know that one cannot understand anything about St. Thérèse if one does not do this act himself. The same holds true for the gospel of John--if one does not live it or at least have a desire to live it, one cannot understand it. The act of Thérèse is something to be lived, or at least desired deeply, as she herself desired it. And the day, because of the temptations in which we find ourselves, we say "It is not for me," we will recall that we did the act at least onceŠ.

A Dominican confrère once shared with me: "When I was a young novice, I thought St. Thérèse was wonderful. But now, she has no appeal." So I asked him if, in faith, there was still some "appeal." "Yes," he responded, "it still has a certain appeal in faith, but it is meaningless in terms of my sensitivity." I responded, "Wonderful, that proves that you have matured." As St. Paul says, the Holy Spirit first gives milk, maternal milk, because we would not bear anything else. Later, he gives solid food.

In the old days, when children were taught how to write, they were first taught straight lines, then curves, then circles, etc. The Holy Spirit leads us in this fashion. He first has us draw straight lines, and then suddenly has us draw curves. Having learned how to draw straight lines, however, we wish to continue drawing straight lines. But the Holy Spirit never wants us to be able to say, "Now I know how to do it." He always stops before, so that we not become a Pharisee. The Holy Spirit hates Phariseeism. He would rather have us struggle than be a Pharisee. We, however, say "I have been drawing straight lines for five years, ten years. Now I know how to draw them, and am very proud. The Holy Spirit should continue having me do so until I get to heaven. The Holy Spirit wishes for us to progress, and drawing curves is not the same as drawing straight lines. In passing from one to the other, one is disoriented and uprooted. And each time we are uprooted, we can be sure it is the action of the Holy Spirit; whereas when things continue "as they¹ve always been," it is not always the action of the Holy Spirit. It is rather the "old horse" in us accustomed to the same path, and very content in following the same path. One can pull on the reins, but he does not want to change direction as though the rider were the one making a mistake and he "knows" and, therefore, will not change direction. Let us admit that we are sometimes like this. It is not easy to allow ourselves to be led by the Holy Spirit.

"Go towards a foreign land"--such is what God said to Abraham. It is very disorienting and uprooting to go towards the land of Canaan. Leave your home, leave all that is connatural to you. The text of the Vulgate is very beautiful. It shows all that must be left behind: egredere de cognatione tua. One is uprooted a first time, a second time, a third time, and one concludes that it sufficesŠ not so. The Holy Spirit uproots us a fourth time, a fifth time. He uproots us all the time. At 75 years of age, when bishops are asked to retire, Abraham is on the road: "Leave everything behind." Is this not extraordinary? One does not uproot old trees without them bringing a lot of earth with them. Here, God is good. Abraham brings with him Sara, Lot, and all his livestock; but he must, nevertheless, leave everything to go to a foreign land. Total uprooting is what faith brings about.

There is a curious thing to note: just the opposite occurs with Moses. This is often how the Holy Spirit works in our regard. He gives two analogies. We often think in a univocal fashion, that is, like a donkey who prefers the same path day in and day out. Hence the Holy Spirit gives us two examples which are totally different: the vocation of Abraham and the vocation of Moses. Moses is certainly uprooted with respect to his mother. But his mother is nevertheless present. Then he is raised in the household of the Pharaoh, the highest school that existed at the time. It is there that Moses is prepared for his mission (perfect inculturation). In his heart, however, grace and faith remain; such that, although he was well raised, the day he finds himself before an Egyptian insulting a Hebrew he is unable to retain himself. Instantaneously, in order to defend the Hebrew, he kills the Egyptian and buries him in the sand, hoping that no one will see him. The inculturation of Moses is, therefore, rather curious. There is something in him that does not stem from the mores of Pharaoh but from the mores of the Holy Spirit. And, as he was perfectly adapted to the Egyptian culture and knew its workings, the Holy Spirit uproots him all the more. How curious are the mores of the Holy Spirit. We see this very often regarding vocations. In the same family, the Holy Spirit chooses one child and leads him to the religious life, whereas the child next to him, who received the same education, no longer believes.

Let us now consider how the Holy Spirit led Thérèse in the act of offering. First, it is indeed an act of offering. One offers everything to God, that is, nothing belongs to us. It passes from our hands and from our heart to the heart of Christ and to the almighty hands of God. This is an act of offering. We often more readily speak of acts of consecration. What is the difference between consecration and an act of offering? Why does Thérèse not speak of "an act of consecration to merciful Love," but rather an act of offering. We speak of consecration to the Virgin Mary, but do not speak of an act of offering. Who is wrong? Thérèse or us? None of us would dare say it is her. Why then does she speak of "offering"? An act of offering expresses what consecration is. Consecration requires of us a gift: one offers everything. Are we aware enough of the fact that every act of consecration must be an offering? "Consecration" can imply greater passivity. In consecrating myself to God, I await the fire of heaven to descend upon me; whereas with an act of offering, I go towards God. "But now I am coming to you" (Jn. 17:13). And I go towards God in calling upon him. "The Spirit and the bride say, ŒCome.¹ Amen! Come, Lord Jesus"! (Rev. 22:17,20). This is indeed an offering--one goes towards the fire that burns us, one goes towards the Holy Spirit who takes hold of us.

Offering is born of the desire to love. It is a desire to love. Nothing is more active than desire. When we no longer desire, we sit, and we await the storm to pass. When we have a desire, we give ourselves totally. This is indeed the deep intention of Thérèse, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit:

"A desire to love you and have you be loved."

How great it is to unite immediately contemplation and fraternal charity in this offering. It is indeed through fraternal charity that we have God be loved. Our apostolic life rests upon fraternal charity. Both are intimately connected. And Thérèse knows that desire, if it is true, is incarnated in work: "Working for the glorification of the Church."

But what is the glorification of the Church? To glorify the Church is to allow her to live always the victory of love. It would be helpful here to seek the meaning of glory through the Scriptures. It is important, especially as regards unity with our Christian brethren of the Eastern Church who are very much turned towards glory. We do not speak a lot of "glorifying the Church," and yet it is a deep reality. It is not a question of advertising in newspapers, of mobilizing the media to speak of the Church. The glorification of the Church is not a question of exterior glory. It is interior glory. It stems from the Holy Spirit; and it is so that the Church might live fully the victory of love. Now, the Church is us, each one of us, no matter what our place may be in the Church. The Church is our lives offered to Jesus and lived with Jesus. The Church is the mystical body of Christ; and the glorification of the mystical body is the glorification of Jesus himself through his members--hence the desire of Thérèse to "save souls."

Let us consider the great realism of Thérèse's intention: desire linked to work. Desire alone does not suffice; one must get to work. The theological virtues must be incarnated in our whole life and, no matter what we do, we must have the "mores of workers." We must be workers. The gospel shows us what these mores are, and it is important to understand, for we are called to work in the vineyard of the Lord. Some of us are workers of the "eleventh hour." We were converted at 70 years of age or converted at the last minute on our death bed. All the better, it is a grace. There are also those who have been workers since their youth; this also is a grace. What is important is not to "peek," that is, to be curious regarding others. Those who are older must not peek at those who are younger, and vice versa.

"Do not judge based upon appearances" (Jn. 7:24), Jesus says. Judging based upon appearances is judging based upon results, and we have no right to judge based upon results. Jesus forbids it. When the evil one sows weeds or bad grain, we must not, Jesus again says, wish to uproot the weeds immediately. He does not say this so as to favor laziness but so that we might understand that it is not up to us to discern in others good from evil. Judging based upon appearances is taking the place of Jesus, the High Priest. He never judges based upon appearances. It can happen that we see someone who is fragile and weak, who seems to be sinning. Indeed he seems to be sinning; but we cannot know if this person is sinning. God alone knows, he who searches minds and hearts; we cannot know and it is not for us to know. When we see someone who seems to be "misbehaving," a fragile person who finds him or herself in difficult conditions, let us not judge. Let us do as Thérèse and help bear the cross with this person. This is what it sometimes is to work for the glorification of the Church. When we belong to a community also, we must work to glorify the Church in this small church, i.e., the community. If we work thus to bring about the victory of love within a community, we cannot judge it, we cannot criticize it. The moment we see its fragilities, we must hurry to help. In a family it works like this (a Christian family is indeed part of the glory of the Church). If we do not work for the glory of a community, for the glory of the Church, we judge it. Murmuring arises and destroys everything. Thérèse is fierce as regards this. She cannot bear that we judge one another. We always judge in reference to ourselves, she notes. She also pays no attention to judgments regarding her.

This intention of the Little Flower is very demanding. It truly stems from the beatitude of the pure in heart. She summarizes quite simply in saying that she desires to be a saint in accomplishing fully and "perfectly" the will of the Father. It is always a question of seeking the will of the Father and accomplishing it in our lives. The will of the Father is what is most concrete for us. Let us not first seek effects or doings, or deeds--this is true Christian poverty and holiness. If Thérèse does this act of offering it is so to go towards holiness, and for nothing else. But she does not bring about this holiness. She receives the very holiness of Christ.

We see the first demand for living this holiness and the first way to receive it: Thérèse begs the Father to always gaze upon her through the face of Christ, the face of Jesus. This is also a lesson for us. It is only in this light that we ought to consider the Church, the community in which we live, the family to which we belong, and ourselves. All unhealthy curiosity must disappear. Our way of seeing things, which imposes itself so easily, will disappear if we look at one another "through the Face of Jesus and in his Heart burning with Love." This is tremendous, for it entails placing our intellect at the service of divine wisdom. Christian wisdom consists in considering everything "through the Face of Jesus." We are also "of the Holy Face" if we consider everything in Christ's gaze, and not with our own way of seeing and understanding things. This is what allows Thérèse to offer to God the holiness of Christ, to offer the "infinite treasures of his merits," in other words, the sacrifice of the Cross. And let us ask ourselves here: When we attend Mass, do we offer to the Father the sacrifice of Christ in order to offer ourselves to him? Our prayer is indeed fragile and weak, but we are united to Jesus. We can then (and this is what is greatest in our prayer), offer the prayer of Jesus, the merits of Jesus crucified and of his life. This is what Thérèse does in her act of offering. She also offers the love of the Virgin Mary, for Mary is part of the mystical body and she is our mother. Mary is given to us and we must offer her. Our offering thereby acquires a "weight" that completely surpasses us; and it becomes "Catholic." Jesus, Mary, all the saints, all the angels, everything is offered in order to glorify the Father through Jesus, with Jesus, and in Jesus.

We previously underscored two very particular aspects of the desires of the Little Flower: one concerning the Eucharist, and the other concerning her freedom. She knows that her desire concerning the Eucharist is "insane." She says it is "infinite": that Jesus always be present in her as he is present in the Tabernacle. If one were to consider this desire "literally," one would say it is excessive and false. If, however, we consider it deeply, then it is true. The Sacrament of the Eucharist is a sign, a symbol of the love of God for us, but a divine sign, that is, which realizes what it signifies. Jesus gives himself to us in the form of bread and he remains in our midst. We must, therefore, understand the meaning of this sign, that for the sake of which it is given. Jesus wishes to be always present in us "as" he is present in the Tabernacle. He wishes, each time we are able, for us to communicate sacramentally, and really receive his body and his blood so as to live increasingly the mystery of his presence in us through grace. The Eucharist is given to us for this: so that all of our activities might become communion, so that even our work become communion: "WorkŠ for the food that remains unto life everlasting" (cf. Jn. 6:27). The Eucharist leads us to understand that Jesus unceasingly gives himself to us and is present to us through this gift, and that he wishes for us to live in oneness with him, and in oneness with all those whom he places close to us. In the great prayer of Chapter 17 of John¹s Gospel, which can be called the prayer of the Beloved Son, Jesus requests this oneness from his Father: "May they be one as we are one" (Jn. 17:11,21,22). The offering that Thérèse requests is, therefore, an offering of the entire mystical body. It is very audaciousŠ.

Further on, Thérèse thanks Jesus for having united her to his suffering. Here we have a great mystery, characteristic of the Christian mystery which she lived with extraordinary lucidity. Christian love, this love which comes from the wounded heart of Jesus, is always linked to suffering. "Do not think that you can love without suffering," Thérèse wrote to Celine. And to Sister Mary of the Trinity she says, "offering oneself as a victim of love is offering oneself to suffering." The love we have for Christ crucified is necessarily linked to suffering and, through suffering, to glory. Thérèse does not want to suffer for suffering's sake, nor suffer in order to "expiate," as was common at the time. She wishes to work to glorify the Father in glorifying the Church. And, in order to be glorified, the Church must pass through the cross as did Christ whose mission she continues. There are always these two sides to Thérèse: glorification and suffering, which we must never separate. We must reflect upon these things for it is surely one of the more characteristic aspects of Thérèse--as of Martha Robin. We know how much the heart of each of them was labored--the difference being that Thérèse lived a short life, and Martha remained on earth a long time. The suffering of the Little Flower was very interior; whereas Martha's suffering had a visible, charismatic aspect: her stigmata and the fact that she lived without ever eating.

I can recall a student in medicine from Paris who had heard about Martha and had wished to see her. The only way to see Martha was to attend a retreat at Chateauneuf; and so I convinced her to attend the retreat that I was going to preach. She, therefore, came with a goal that perhaps did not stem from the purity of the Holy Spirit, but which was legitimate. As she was afraid, she asked me to accompany her, which I accepted, happy to be able to see Martha once more. On the way, she collected flowers from the meadow and thus arrived with a big bouquet of flowers to offer to Martha. She would thus have something to do. It was easier to arrive and say. "Martha, here is a bouquet for you," than to say from the outset "Martha, what must I do." And so Martha said to her, "Place them on the bed." Then this young girl, a student in medicine, asked Martha about what most struck her: "Martha, is it true that you eat nothing?" Martha responded, "It is God's will for me." The student then exclaimed, "It must be marvelous not to have to eat--you save time." To which Martha responded, "Oh, do you really believe so?" Here we encounter Martha's realism. Indeed, it is relaxing to eat--even in religious life where we listen to a reading or eat in silence. Because we are so accustomed to eating, we no longer realize the relaxation that it brings. Never to eat, to be always before Christ crucifiedŠ one cannot imagine what Martha lived. Her remark was very beautiful in its simplicity: "Oh, do you really believe so?" Martha did not give a lesson to this young woman. She did not say, "My child, you do not know what you are talking about." She simply said, "Do you believe so?"

Beyond this basic realism, there was with Martha, as with Thérèse, the realism of divine love which has us recognize that beyond suffering, there is joy. Why? Because beyond suffering and through suffering, there is love. Suffering can be a purification which allows love to be more perfect and, therefore, to fill with joy. This is what the act of offering of Thérèse gives to us.

Might we not say that Martha brings Thérèse to completion? Martha is indeed an act of offering lived in the very suffering of the cross. In the perspective of God's wisdom, we cannot separate Thérèse from Martha. They are both given to us in a very special way. Martha lived the act of offering--it was Thérèse who gave it to her. The little child Thérèse, dead at such a young age, was to give it to one who was to live it a long time and with such intensity. Martha used to say to Fr. Finet that each week she needed a new act of fortitude (the divine fortitude of martyrdom) to enter into the passion of Christ. She used to say that one never grows accustomed to suffering; that it is always violent. Thérèse says things regarding suffering that are very powerful, for she also suffered with great acuteness. "It is necessary," she says in August of 1897, "that the good Lord be good in order for me to be able to bear all that I am suffering. I never thought that I would be able to suffer so much." But she does not wish to suffer less nor less long--she says this once again a few moments before dying. In her realism she never wished to ask God to suffer more, nor does she ask to suffer less. The only thing she desires is to love more, and if suffering is a divine means, then it is fine; may God give it to her and grant her to live it in order to be consummated in Love. One sees how much this act of offering is linked to the wisdom of the Cross (we will come back to this). Thérèse says it herself in thanksgiving:

"I thank you, O my God, for all the graces you have granted me, in particular, for having had me pass through the crucible of suffering."
Thérèse knows that the Holy Spirit purifies our heart and our intellect only through the crucible of suffering; that is why we should not suppress it or try to avoid it.

"It is with joy that I will contemplate you at the last day bearing the scepter of the Cross because you have deigned to give me a share in this precious cross. I hope to resemble you in heaven and see shining on my glorified body the sacred stigmata of your Passion."
Martha, who was so close to Thérèse, bore this external stigmata for years, united to the cross of Christ in order to live all of Jesus, to become entirely Jesus. Notice how much Thérèse, in her act of offering, connects the "crucible of suffering" with the joy of contemplating Christ crucified and glorified, contemplating him face to face in the glory of heaven, for she will have been intimately united (contemplation is not a spectacle) to his glorification upon the Cross. "Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son that the Son might glorify thee."

"I thank you for having had me pass through the crucible of suffering. It is with joy that I will contemplate you."
The soul of Thérèse purified as gold in the crucible, ripened in the crucible of interior and exterior trialsŠraises her head. Like St. Polycarp, at the moment of his martyrdom, she gives thanks for having been found worthy to pass through the crucible of suffering, worthy to partake of the cup of Christ. Quite early on, she understood that in order to offer oneself, one must surpass oneself. We do not offer ourselves in the imminence of our vecu, that is, from within the interior of our psyche. One must go beyond this in order to be entirely grasped by love, otherwise there is no offering of suffering, and then suffering eats away at us and renders us bitter and has us turn in on ourselves. Divine love must be present and must burn everything, so that there be this surpassing, so that there be the interior freedom of the children of God. In saying that Jesus gave her a share in his cross, Thérèse shows us that the Church maintains, in act, the mission of Christ, and continues to live it. Now, the Church, the mystical body, is each member united to the Head and all the members in oneness. If, therefore, we are called (out of pure gratuitousness) to continue the mission of Jesus, we must maintain in our hearts, in the midst of difficulty, struggle, and anxiety, the joy that Jesus wishes to place in us, that is, his joy. Such joy is not necessarily felt or immediately experienced, but it must always be present. The victory of love is source of all joy. This victory gives joy. Joy has a more essential, more direct connection with love, with agape, than does suffering. Love is directly and essentially source of joy (we must never forget this). The Little Flower connects, in a very powerful fashion, love and suffering, but without confusing suffering (a means). Did not Christ have to suffer so as to enter into his glory with love (the end)? It is because suffering allows her to love more, to love "as God loves", that is, in surpassing herself entirely, that she can say, "Here on earth, everything tires me, everything is heavy. There is only one joy that I have, that is, to suffer for Jesus, but this unfelt joy is beyond all joys."

If Thérèse asks to suffer, if she asks for suffering, it is because she bears it in love and uses it to love more. Her vocation "is love." And because God is greater than our hearts, Thérèse wishes to "enlarge the space of her tent." Thérèse reminds us that love is the vocation of every Christian and that this love is source of joy. A Christian must bear all suffering in love and, therefore, in joy. We must discover and live this--not only intellectually, but in a practical fashion. It is vital to do so. The old saying "A saint who is sad is a sad saint," expresses something very proper to the Christian life. Christian life implies joy. Jesus said to his disciples: "It is good for you that I go." If it is good then it is source of joy for us, because it is source of love. "After this exile on earth, I hope to enjoy you in the homeland (she does not hesitate to say "enjoy you"; she aspires to this joy), but I do not wish to accumulate merits for heaven. I wish to work only for your love...."

This is also the fruit of the gift of wisdom and of the gift of understanding. At the human level, if we worked "only for love," we would lose the realism of work, one of the great aspects of human life. We can work, however, "only for love of Christ" with the realism of our body which bears what Jesus bore in his Passion and at the Cross. In the realism of divine love--which takes hold of our bodies--we can offer everything, we can give everything as the Lamb who bears the iniquity of the world--this is the realism of divine love. Divine love alone is perfectly concrete; all the rest is a bit abstract. Why? Because, as St. Augustine said, "God is the Reality, he is; and God is love." And the Holy Spirit, who binds us to this Trinitarian Love (charity is in us a participation in the Holy Spirit), wishes that we go as far as possible in divine love.

"I wish to work for your love alone, with the unique goal of pleasing you."
This demand of working only for love of God reiterates the constant concern Thérèse had to "please" the Father, to "please" Jesus. Do we think enough about pleasing Christ? about pleasing the Father? We "please" the Father when we have a single desire: to love and to work only for his love.

"In the evening of this life I will appear before you with my hands empty."
How limpid is Thérèse's intention in this offering: it is only Jesus in a complete surpassing of herself. We see how ecstatic love is, how much it places us in the other and has us live what is greatest and deepest and most loving in him.