The Christmas conversion of St. Thérèsemay surprise us. Certainly, in the lives of the Saints we can find some amazing stories of conversion. The Risen Lord literally knocking his persecutor Saul to ground, for instance, and blinding him. Of course, it was all in order to raise him up as St. Paul. Then there’s the rich and spoiled son of an Italian cloth merchant who needed a year in a dungeon as a POW followed by a near fatal illness before he cast off self-indulgence to become St. Francis of Assisi. The vain (vainglorious, in fact) Spanish nobleman who had his leg nearly shot off with a cannonball, and then went through months of excruciating recovery, before he could begin to see God in All Things as St. Ignatius of Loyola.
How startlingly different, and yet how strikingly the same, is the conversion of the little French girl ThérèseMartin, now St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus. Please excuse the lengthy quote, but she tells the story best. Below is St. Thérèse‘s own account, from her autobiographical Story of A Soul:
A Miracle on Christmas Day
I had a constant and ardent desire to advance in virtue, but often my actions were spoilt by imperfections. My extreme sensitiveness made me almost unbearable. All arguments were useless. I simply could not correct myself of this miserable fault. . . A miracle on a small scale was needed to give me strength of character all at once, and God worked this long-desired miracle on Christmas Day, 1886. . . Now I will tell you, dear Mother, how I received this inestimable grace of complete conversion. I knew that when we reached home after Midnight Mass I should find my shoes in the chimney-corner, filled with presents, just as when I was a little child, which proves that my sisters still treated me as a baby.
Papa, too, liked to watch my enjoyment and hear my cries of delight at each fresh surprise that came from the magic shoes, and his pleasure added to mine. But the time had come when Our Lord wished to free me from childhood’s failings, and even withdraw me from its innocent pleasures. On this occasion, instead of indulging me as he generally did, Papa seemed vexed, and on my way upstairs I heard him say: “Really all this is too babyish for a big girl like Thérèse, and I hope it is the last year it will happen.” His words cut me to the quick. Céline, knowing how sensitive I was, whispered: “Don’t go downstairs just yet—wait a little, you would cry too much if you looked at your presents before Papa.” But Thérèse was no longer the same—Jesus had changed her heart.
The Conversion of St. Therese
Choking back my tears, I ran down to the dining-room, and, though my heart beat fast, I picked up my shoes, and gaily pulled out all the things, looking as happy as a queen. Papa laughed, and did not show any trace of displeasure, and Céline thought she must be dreaming. But happily it was a reality; little Thérèse had regained, once for all, the strength of mind which she had lost at the age of four and a half.
On this night of grace, the third period of my life began—the most beautiful of all, the one most filled with heavenly favours. In an instant Our Lord, satisfied with my good will, accomplished the work I had not been able to do during all these years. Like the Apostle I could say: “Master, we have laboured all night, and have taken nothing.” More merciful to me even than to His beloved disciples, Our Lord Himself took the net, cast it, and drew it out full of fishes. He made me a fisher of men. Love and a spirit of self-forgetfulness took possession of me, and from that time I was perfectly happy.
We All Need a Wake-up
The Conversion of St Paul by Nicolas Bernard Lepicie, 1767
The Lord didn’t need to knock Thérèsedown, beat her up, or have her shot in order to get her full attention. All he needed was to allow her to overhear a couple of stray comments from the father she loved so dearly. That wounded her deeply enough to reveal to her the reality of her own selfishness. It opened her up completely to Christ’s Grace. The meaning of conversion, after all, is to “turn around.” To turn away from a way of life dictated by our own desires to one truly centered on God.
Now, a majority of us probably need a wake-up more like the one which was granted to St. Paul or St. Francis. Not quite as dramatic, perhaps, but most of us, I suspect, are much more wrapped up in our sin than was little Thérèse Martin. But that is precisely why the Little Flower’s conversion stands out. Even someone who seems to be doing just about everything right is still in need of conversion, and not just in one instant, but continuously over a lifetime (and of course she did experience much greater suffering later in her short life). Sin will always be trying to turn us back.
Felix Culpa
St. Thérèse’s conversion story reminds us of something else. There will always be opportunities for conversion. We don’t need to go out looking for trouble. Trouble is happy to find us. We will all have ample opportunity to experience The Fall in our lives. The more enmeshed we are in sin, however, and the higher the walls between ourselves and God, the harder our fall must be. Wouldn’t it be better to come to Christ like Thérèse did, without too much collateral damage to ourselves and to others?
Finally, on Christmas Day in 1886 St. Thérèse learned to turn her hurt and disappointment into generosity of spirit, her selfishness to selflessness. What a wonderful reminder to all of us that we need to ask our Lord for the Grace to do the same. O come, O come Emmanuel!
Featured image top of page: photo of St. Thérèse (right) and her sister Céline, 1881
The power of love is one of the most powerful gifts that Christ shares with his followers.
Now, it’s true that it’s hard to live as a Christian publicly these days. And, yes, it’s likely to get worse. The lives of the martyrs remind us that there have been Christians (and still are in many parts of the world) who suffer much, much worse things than we do today in the United States.
Today’s saint, St. Julia of Corsica (also known as St. Julia of Carthage), is a good example. St. Julia was a 5th century martyr who refused to be seduced by personal gain or cowed by the threat of torture and death. I published my first post about St. Julia eight years ago. It became one of the most popular pages on my original blog, a testimony to the timelessness (and the timeliness) of this saint. A testimony, in other words, to the power of love.
St. Julia’s story throws an interesting light on the situation in which we find ourselves today. Her story starts in Carthage in the 5th century, where she was born into a noble family. When the Vandals captured and sacked that ancient city, Julia fell into the hands of slave traders. A Syrian merchant named Eusebius purchased her. Despite the hardships and humiliations of her servile state she remained content. More than that, she was cheerful because of her piety and her deep love of Christ. These same qualities greatly endeared her to her master.
Love for the Lord
On one occasion, when Julia was on a journey with her master, he stopped at the island of Corsica where the locals were celebrating a pagan festival. Eusebius joined in the revelry; Julia, needless to say, stayed away. Her refusal to participate greatly annoyed the local governor, a man called Felix. According to the account in Butler’s Lives of the Saints, Felix
asked who this woman was who dared to insult the gods. Eusebius informed him that she was a Christian, and that all his authority over her was too weak to prevail with her to renounce her religion, but that he found her so diligent and faithful he could not part with her.
This governor, however, was not one to take no for an answer. First, he offered Eusebius four of his own female slaves in exchange for the one Julia. Eusebius, however, emphatically refused to surrender her. Next, after her master had fallen asleep, the governor approached Julia directly, offering to free her if only she would sacrifice to the pagan gods. She answered that she was “as free as she desired to be as long as she was allowed to serve Jesus Christ.” Felix fell into a rage at this answer, and then he tortured and crucified her. Neither the bribes nor the threats of the governor could overcome Julia’s love for her Lord.
“The blood of the Martyrs is the seed of the Church.”
-Tertullian
The Seed of the Church
Needless to say, St. Julia paid a much higher price for her faith than mere cancellation from social media. Let’s look at a few points that stand out from the account of her life. First and foremost, Julia’s devotion to Christ and her courage in the face of unspeakable suffering is an inspiration to us. Maybe I’ll remember that the next time I’m feel the temptation to “go along with the crowd.” Maybe when I’m afraid of the disapproval or verbal abuse of others, I’ll take some strength from Julia’s fortitude in the face of much, much worse persecution.
Julia also shows us the power of example. Clearly, her character and virtue made a large impression on her master Eusebius. It’s true that her diligence and fidelity alone were not enough to win him over to the faith, at least not right away. On the other hand, they did give him the courage to stand up to the governor Felix. In fact, the virtues she gained from her faith convinced him not to give her up for, literally, any price.
None of the accounts I have seen, unfortunately, tell us anything about what eventually happened to Eusebius. One wonders whether the example of her heroic martyrdom was finally enough to make him a Christian. We do know that the witness of the martyrs was crucial to the conversion of very many people. The fruitfulness of that witness inspired Tertullian to say: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.”
A Saint for Our Time
Julia’s story also tells us something about the nature of sin. It brings to mind Father Richard John Neuhaus’ aphorism: “When orthodoxy becomes optional, sooner or later it will become proscribed”. Simply doing the right thing, in other words, looks like a rebuke to those who are doing the wrong thing. Look at Julia: she wasn’t interfering with the pagan festival, she was simply staying away. The governor, however, couldn’t tolerate anyone who was not actively endorsing his activities.
How often have we seen this same attitude today. We can see that the advocates of a “New Orthodoxy” will certainly try to destroy the reputation and livelihood of anyone who does not publicly cheer for their moral and societal innovations. Of course, at least in the United States, nobody is literally suffering crucifixion.
Nevertheless, the consequences of trying to live a Gospel life are real. The list of people runs from celebrities on down to ordinary people including school counselors and college professors and students. They have been “cancelled” merely for stating their adherence to things that were considered to be common sense up until the day before yesterday. We all know about the weak-kneed corporations giving into leftist bullying. Within the last couple of years we have seen communications monopolies such as Twitter, Facebook, and the rest become bolder than ever in their attempts to shut down speech that doesn’t adhere to the politically correct point of view.
Newspeak vs. The Eternal Word
Regarding which situation, look at the stances that draw the most fire from the Woke Cancellation Mob. They are not only things that virtually everyone has traditionally taken for granted. They are also matters of clear Catholic teaching. Consider the following questions from then Senator, now Vice President (!) Kamala Harris directed toward judicial nominee Brian C. Buescher. Mr. Buescher, it seems, belonged to what Senator Harris and Senator Mazie Hirono characterized as an “extremist” organization:
“Were you aware that the Knights of Columbus opposed a woman’s right to choose when you joined the organization? . . . Were you aware that the Knights of Columbus opposed marriage equality when you joined the organization?”
Of course, in the Orwellian language of the left, “a woman’s right to choose” means unfettered legal abortion. Likewise , “marriage equality” is newspeak for redefining marriage to include same sex couples. The senators, therefore, were berating Buescher for the simple fact of adhering to Catholic doctrine.
The Dogma Lives Loudly
Justice Amy Coney Barrett is sworn in at her nomination hearing.
This was not an isolated incident. A year earlier, Senator Dianne Feinstein in a similar way confronted judicial nominee (and eventual Supreme Court Justice) Amy Coney Bryant. Bryant is also a Catholic. Feinstein disapprovingly pronounced, “the dogma lives loudly within you.” In other words, if you’re a believing Catholic, you’re not fit to be a federal judge. The year after Harris’s grilling of Buescher, Senator Cory Booker followed the same script. He demanded of Neomi Rao, another nominee for a federal judgeship (and in her case a convert to Judaism) “whether you believe it is sinful for two men to be married?”
The Constitution’s explicit ban on “religious tests” for office did nothing to deter these prominent politicians. Likewise, no fear of electoral backlash restrained their overt shows of anti-religious bigotry. Tellingly, at the time two of them were actively seeking the presidency.
Wrong at the Roots
Given that, it should come as no surprise that the administration in which former Senator Harris now serves has promulgated a rule denying conscience protection to Catholic and other doctors morally opposed to “gender reassignment” surgery. Likewise, it is promoting the so-called “Equality Act,” which would force pro-life doctors to perform abortions.
We should not conclude from the examples above that this is primarily a political problem: as we have seen before (hereand here, for instance), politics is an outgrowth of things going on at deeper levels in society, in the culture and, more fundamentally still, on the religious level. Politics reflects changes that have already taken place on those deeper levels, and if major national politicians believe that they can get away with such overtly anti-Christian behavior (and why shouldn’t they? It’s worked so far), something has already gone very wrong at the roots.
An Alternate Religion
In fact, aggressive secularism has not only taken over the culture, but has also taken on the the role of an alternate religion. It is now fighting traditional Christian belief for possession of the deepest foundations of our society. The secularists can draw on their cultural influence to acquire political power, and then in turn use their political gains to protect what they have won on the other levels. As Austin Ruse said in an essay published on the Crisis website last year:
Catholics and other Christians must understand that we are not merely up against a new faith but a new faith that is an established Church backed by the power of the federal, state, and local governments.
Like St. Julia, simply by believing in orthodox Christianity and following its precepts, we are seen as a threat by that rival faith.
More Precious Than Gold Tested By Fire
But, of course, that’s not the end of the story. Christ sent the Holy Spirit down on his Church at Pentecost, the Church against which, he had promised Peter, the “Gates of Hell” would not prevail (Matthew 16:17) . . . but he had also promised persecution (Matthew 5:11). The Persecution was not long in coming. The same Peter who boldly addresses the wondering crowds on Pentecost will soon be writing to the early Christians:
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.(1 Peter 1:6-7)
Granted, the sort of harassment Christians face in the secular West does not come close to that faced by the Early Church or by martyrs like St. Julia . . . yet. We can’t say the same for much of the Islamic world, where Christians face tremendous violence or, increasingly, in communist China. We are kidding ourselves if we think it can’t happen here. At the same time, throughout the history of the Church we have seen that even the most zealous persecutors can sometimes experience conversion. From St. Paul himself through the Nazi death-camp guards who were awed by the martyrdom of St. Maximilian Kolbe, the faith and Christ-like serenity of their victims can win apparent enemies for Christ.
Sharing in Christ’s Sufferings
The ancient accounts don’t tell us, but St. Julia’s master Eusebius, or even the governor Felix, might well have been among these converts. Whether or not St. Julia’s martyrdom moved them in this way, we can be sure that she did move many of the other pagan witnesses.
Finally, the times are dark, but be of good cheer. The example of St. Julia of Corsica is a reminder that, although there will always be defeats along the way, Christ wins in the end. If we can put our Hope in His promise and rely on the support of the Holy Spirit, as Julia did, we can persevere. As St. Peter said: “Rejoice in so far as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed” (1 Peter 13).
Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
As Timely As Ever:
Pious Tradition v. The “Experts”
Pious tradition attributes authorship of the prayer above, known as “The Lorica (or “Breastplate”) of St. Patrick”, to the Apostle of Ireland himself. As is the case with the beloved “Prayer of St. Francis”, experts tell us the eponymous Saint is most likely not the real author. I myself trust Pious Tradition more than The Experts any day, but for our purposes here we’ll just say that it could have been written by St. Patrick. In any case, while the prayer as you see it above is the most well-known version, it is really only a part of a much longer composition (I’ve put the full text at the bottom of this post). At one time this magnificent prayer, in its complete form, was a part of my morning devotions every day. “The Breastplate of St. Patrick” is, in fact, written as a morning prayer, and more: it is a statement of faith, a brief but comprehensive catechesis, and a call for Divine help against the dangers that beset us from both earthly and spiritual sources. Those things are as necessary today as they were in 5th century Ireland, and St. Patrick’s prayer is a powerful and inspiring way to start our daily journey.
“I Arise Today . . .”
The complete “Breastplate” opens with “I arise today/Through a mighty strength, the invocation of Trinity . . .” St. Patrick is famous for his emphasis on the Trinity, reportedly using the tree-leafed shamrock to illustrate the doctrine (as memorialized in the present-day stained glass window from the cathedral in Armagh, his primatial see). Here, he also emphasizes “the Oneness of the Creator of creation.” In converting a pagan people, Patrick needed to impress upon them that there was indeed only one God, as distinct from their pagan pantheon, although expressed in three Persons. The Triune God is also unlike their familiar gods in that He alone is the universal Creator, as opposed to pagan deities who were more powerful than mortal men, but still finite and fallible beings. In our own day we also need to be reminded that God is Love (1John 4:8), and Love reaches its perfection in a union of persons, but also that God the Creator is master of all the blind forces of nature with which we wrestle.
St. Patrick Lighting the Paschal Fire on the Hill of Slane, 433,by Vincenzo Waldre, 1792
The next “I arise today . . .” is followed by a brief Christology: incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection and descent to the Dead. We, no less than our newly-christened forefathers did, need to understand exactly Who and What is the God that we follow. A third “I arise today . . . .” is followed by a litany of various Angels, Patriarchs, Prophets, and Saints, which re-establishes for us that our devotion to the Person of Jesus Christ also connects us to all the lesser persons, living and dead, in the Communion of Saints. Next, “I arise today/Through strength of heaven,/the light of the sun . . .” and so on, through a list of natural forces which, St. Patrick here reminds us, come below us in the order of creation, and are so much the more under God’s power (how often we moderns forget both of these truths!).
God’s Providential Care
After a fifth “I arise today . . .” we see a litany of the various manifestations of God’s Providential care:
God’s strength to pilot me, God’s might to uphold me, God’s wisdom to guide me . . .
And so on. At the end of this section we shift our focus to the various evils that beset us:
God’s host to save me From snares of devils, From temptation of vices, From everyone who shall wish me ill, Afar and near.
In the next section we call for God’s help against these evils, which are laid out in more detail:
I summon today All these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel and merciless power That may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul. Christ shield me today Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.
Notice the priority given to spiritual evils, which Christians have traditionally understood to be far more serious dangers than the physical hazards at the end of the passage. Today we often ignore or even deride these deadly perils (as I discuss in my post “For Such a Time as This: Powers, Principalities & The Culture Wars“).
The Lorica
At this point we come to the famous passage quoted at the top of this post (Christ with me,Christ before me, Christ behind me . . .), from which the prayer takes its name. Here we call upon Christ to surround us, to “armor” us, with his protection. Finally, the prayer ends by repeating the invocation with which it starts:
I arise today, Through a mighty strength, The invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness Of the Creator of creation.
As I read through this prayer, which was composed for ancient pagans who knew nothing of Christianity, I am struck by how well it is suited to our current post-Christian, neo-pagan culture. We shouldn’t kid ourselves. Even with all the amazing gadgetry that we’ve concocted for ourselves over the centuries, we’re still subject to the same basic temptations and hazards that have always haunted humanity. We still could use the breastplate of Christ.
Here’s a beautiful setting for St. Patrick’s prayer by contemporary composer Ola Gjeilo:
The Breastplate of St. Patrick:
I arise today
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.
I arise today
Through the strength of Christ’s birth with His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In the obedience of angels, In the service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In the predictions of prophets,
In the preaching of apostles, In the faith of confessors,
In the innocence of holy virgins,
In the deeds of righteous men.
I arise today through
The strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
The splendor of fire,
The speed of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of the earth,
The firmness of rock.
I arise today through
God’s strength to pilot me,
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s shield to protect me,
God’s host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptation of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
afar and near.
God’s Providence
I summon today
All these powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel and merciless power
that may oppose my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul.
The Lorica
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me
an abundance of reward.
Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.
In the lives of the Saints we can find some amazing stories of conversion: the Risen Lord literally knocking his persecutor Saul to ground and blinding him, in order to raise him up as St. Paul; the rich and spoiled son of an Italian cloth merchant who needed a year in a dungeon as a POW followed by a near fatal illness before he cast off self-indulgence to become St. Francis of Assissi; the vain (vainglorious, in fact) Spanish nobleman who had his leg nearly shot off with a cannonball, and then went through months of excruciating recovery, before he could begin to see God in All Things as St. Ignatius of Loyola. How startlingly different, and yet how strikingly the same, is the conversion of the little French girl ThérèseMartin, now St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, as she tells it her autobiographical Story of A Soul:
I had a constant and ardent desire to advance in virtue, but often my actions were spoilt by imperfections. My extreme sensitiveness made me almost unbearable. All arguments were useless. I simply could not correct myself of this miserable fault. . . A miracle on a small scale was needed to give me strength of character all at once, and God worked this long-desired miracle on Christmas Day, 1886. . . Now I will tell you, dear Mother, how I received this inestimable grace of complete conversion. I knew that when we reached home after Midnight Mass I should find my shoes in the chimney-corner, filled with presents, just as when I was a little child, which proves that my sisters still treated me as a baby. Papa, too, liked to watch my enjoyment and hear my cries of delight at each fresh surprise that came from the magic shoes, and his pleasure added to mine. But the time had come when Our Lord wished to free me from childhood’s failings, and even withdraw me from its innocent pleasures. On this occasion, instead of indulging me as he generally did, Papa seemed vexed, and on my way upstairs I heard him say: “Really all this is too babyish for a big girl like Thérèse, and I hope it is the last year it will happen.” His words cut me to the quick. Céline, knowing how sensitive I was, whispered: “Don’t go downstairs just yet—wait a little, you would cry too much if you looked at your presents before Papa.” But Thérèse was no longer the same—Jesus had changed her heart.
Choking back my tears, I ran down to the dining-room, and, though my heart beat fast, I picked up my shoes, and gaily pulled out all the things, looking as happy as a queen. Papa laughed, and did not show any trace of displeasure, and Céline thought she must be dreaming. But happily it was a reality; little Thérèse had regained, once for all, the strength of mind which she had lost at the age of four and a half.
On this night of grace, the third period of my life began—the most beautiful of all, the one most filled with heavenly favours. In an instant Our Lord, satisfied with my good will, accomplished the work I had not been able to do during all these years. Like the Apostle I could say: “Master, we have laboured all night, and have taken nothing.” More merciful to me even than to His beloved disciples, Our Lord Himself took the net, cast it, and drew it out full of fishes. He made me a fisher of men. Love and a spirit of self-forgetfulness took possession of me, and from that time I was perfectly happy.
The Lord didn’t need to knock Thérèsedown, beat her up, or have her shot in order to get her full attention; all he needed was to allow her to overhear a couple of stray comments from the father she loved so dearly. That wounded her deeply enough to reveal to her the reality of her own selfishness, and to open her up completely to Christ’s Grace. The meaning of conversion, after all, is to “turn around”, away from a way of life dictated by our own desires to one truly centered on God.
Now, a majority of us probably need a wake-up more like the one which was granted to St. Paul or St. Francis; perhaps not quite as dramatic, but most of us, I suspect, are much more wrapped up in our sin than was little Thérèse Martin. But that is precisely why the Little Flower’s conversion stands out: even someone who seems to be doing just about everything right is still in need of conversion, and not just in one instant, but continuously over a lifetime (and of course she did experience much greater suffering later in her short life). Sin will always be trying to turn us back.
St. Thérèse’s conversion story reminds us of something else. There will always be opportunities for conversion. We don’t need to go out looking for trouble, because we will all have ample opportunity to experience The Fall in our lives. The more enmeshed we are in sin, however, and the higher the walls between ourselves and God, the harder our fall must be. Wouldn’t it be better to come to Christ like Thérèse did, without too much collateral damage to ourselves and to others?
Finally, on Christmas Day in 1886 St. Thérèse learned to turn her hurt and disappointment into generosity of spirit, her selfishness to selflessness. What a wonderful reminder to all of us that we need to ask our Lord for the Grace to do the same. O come, O come Emmanuel!
Featured image top of page: St. Thérèse (right) and her sister Céline, 1881
We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)
Not all falls are the same.
The boxer Robert Fitzsimmons was about to fight the much bigger James J. Jeffries in a heavyweight title match in 1902. Fitzsimmons supposedly said of the larger man: “The bigger they come, the harder they fall.” Unfortunately, Fitzsimmons failed to demonstrate the truth of his quip (he lost the bout to Jeffries in the 8th round). Nevertheless, his remark has become something of a proverb. How many times have we seen that the more formidable the opponent, the more dramatic the impact when he comes crashing down?
. . . The Harder They Fall
Robert Fitzsimmons in 1891 (Wikimedia)
The nascent Church faced just such an opponent in the days after the ascension of Jesus. Indeed, an opponent much more formidable than James Jeffries and Robert Fitzsimmons put together. This man “was ravaging the church, and entering house after house, he dragged off men and women and committed them to prison” (Acts 8:3)
Not satisfied with terrorizing the followers of Christ in Jerusalem, “still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, [he] went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any belonging to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem” (Acts 9:1-2).
“Who Are You, Lord?”
And yet this man, Saul of Tarsus, reached Damascus a very different man. He was different because on the way he met the Risen Christ:
Now as he journeyed he approached Damascus, and suddenly a light from heaven flashed about him. And he fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” And he said, “Who are you, Lord?” And he said, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting; but rise and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.”
The men who were traveling with him stood speechless, hearing the voice but seeing no one. Saul arose from the ground; and when his eyes were opened, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. (Acts 9:3-8)
Oh, What A Fall
“Oh what a fall was there!”, as Shakespeare’s Mark Antony says of the death of Caesar. And when Saul fell to the ground it was indeed a great fall. A fall which the Church commemorates today, as it does every January 25th, as the Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul. Saul, of course, later calls himself Paul, and goes on to become Saint Paul. While both might have been great falls, each in its own way, Saul’s was a very different fall than Caesar’s. Caesar pursued greatness to satisfy his own ambitions. Any lasting good that came of it was simply a happy consequence God’s working everything for good (see the quote from the same St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans at the top of this post).
The Assassination of Julius Caesar, by Vincenzo Cammucini, 1806
This working-for-good took a very different form in the case of St. Paul himself. When Paul arrives in Damascus the Lord tells a man named Ananias to “come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight” (Acts 9:12). Ananias has heard about Paul, and is afraid of him. The Lord , however, assures him that “he is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the sons of Israel” (Acts 9:15). Unlike Caesar, who lived only for his own glory, Paul now lives for the Glory of God. As Paul himself puts it: “it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal 2:20). While Caesar’s fall was the end of his life (“Now die, Caesar!”), Saul’s was the beginning of new, more glorious life.
A Conduit for the Power of Christ
The laying on of hands: Joseph Ratzinger (later Pope Benedict XVI) is made a cardinal.
Likewise, any power that St. Paul and the other Apostles wielded was very different from the sort of power that Caesar fought for. Caesar’s power died with him under the jealous daggers of conspiratorial senators. It would take almost two decades of ongoing civil war before another man, his great-nephew Octavian, seized supreme command in the Roman Empire and had himself proclaimed Augustus, the first emperor. It generally happened that emperors after Augustus gained power through violence and bloodshed, and lost it in the same way. St. Paul, on the other hand, simply served as a conduit for the power of Christ, who tells him “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9). It is a power that comes from outside of him, which was before him, and which continues after him. We can see by the memorials that follow the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. The next day is the memorial of Saints Timothy and Titus. Their feast day follows his, just as Timothy and Titus themselves followed Paul.
St. Paul made both of those men bishops by the laying on of hands, just as Ananias had laid hands on him. Afterwards, he wrote letters addressed to both that are now included in the canon of Sacred Scripture. Timothy and Titus likewise passed on the power of Christ to other bishops. This power is still working through our bishops today, centuries after the bodies and the power of the Roman Emperors have crumbled into nothing.
We All Fall
The bigger they come, the harder they fall. We all fall at some point in our lives. Let us pray that we fall not like Caesar, in a futile pursuit of worldly ambitions, but like St. Paul, born to a new life in Christ.
Featured image top of page: The Conversion of St. Paul by Caravaggio, 1600.
