A White Rose from Saint Therese 

 Mary and Joseph, but also the Carmelite of Lisieux: the Pope is very tied to the master/teacher of child-like spirituality:  “Whenever I have a problem—he explained—I put confide it to her. I don’t ask that she solve it for me, only that she take it into her hands and help me.”

The devotion and spiritual bond of Bergoglio for the “Little Flower of Jesus.”  “This is what I call her when I ask for her help.”

By Stefania Falasca

Whoever has had the opportunity to get to know and be friends with Cardinal Jorge Maria Bergoglio knows that it was his custom to include, even in a short note, an ancient image of Mary venerated in Bavaria, at Augsburg, in the Church of St. Peter, called “She who unties knots.”  To this he always added a little holy card of Saint Joseph and another of the Carmelite saint and Doctor of the Church, Therese of Lisieux—almost to emphasize, by his deeply meaningful personal choice, the spiritual bond that unites him to them.

Christina Kirchner, president of Argentina, with Pope Francis and St. Therese's white roses

In recent days we have seen Pope Francis refer, by his gestures and teaching, to Mary and Saint Joseph, in profound and discreet ways. Neither has the gift to Argentine President Christine Kirchner of the Aparecida Statement (the concluding text of the fifth conference of all the Bishops of Latin America), along with a white rose, gone without notice. A sensitive gesture—the gift of a rose—that the President herself did not fail to call “intimate,” like “a greeting from Saint Therese, to whom Pope Francis directs his prayers.”

But why and from where does this preference of Pope Francis for Therese come? I asked myself this even at Aparecida in 2007. I had briefly met Cardinal Bergoglio in the portico of the Brazilian Marian shrine between one meeting or another of the preparatory commission for the final statement.

He had told me that wherever the bishops gathered to work together, they were so aware of the prayers and singing of the faithful and that this gave them a lively sense of belonging and closeness to the people, to a Church that walks with its people . . . I have to admit that what came across to me in that moment in his “spiritual” tone was patronizing and vague, rather than a strong and challenging statement to be noticed.

But the Cardinal had continued: “We shouldn’t be afraid to rely solely on the tenderness of God, as Therese of Lisieux did, who is precisely for this a favored daughter of Our Lady and a great missionary saint.”

It was an understanding of the Church and her mission along the lines of the “little way” opened by the teacher of spiritual child-like spirituality, which we see today woven all through the first acts of the pontificate of Pope Francis.

I later learned that when he came to Rome to deal with this or that ministerial obligation, the cardinal always went to pray at a statue of Therese of the Child Jesus in a little Franciscan church in the Borgo near the Tiber. And also how much his devotion to the Patron of the Missions was known by his priests in Buenos Aires, especially in the poor areas of the Argentine capital. Cardinal Bergoglio

But let’s now get back to the roses. Cardinal Bergoglio had returned to Rome at the end of 2007 for the Consistory. And with him he brought back St. Theresa: “When I have a problem—he told us—I confide it to her. I don’t ask that she solve it for me, only that she take it in her hands and help me; as a sign, I almost always receive a rose.” He then related how one time, when he had to make an important decision about a complex matter, he left it in her hands. Sometime later, an unknown woman placed three white roses at the doorstep of the sacristy.

“It was a Jesuit—he explained—Fr. Putigan, who in 1925 began to spread this personal prayer of intercession,” and he repeated a section of the “Prayer to ask for a rose”: “Little Flower of Jesus, ask God today that he will grant the petition that I now place with confidence into your hands.”

One perceives in his way of speaking a shyness combined with simplicity, a sincere confidence, so much so that I was moved to imitate him. In a particular situation, taking him as an example, I prayed like him to St. Therese, but to my great regret I received no rose. At my first opportunity I briefly told him about it over the telephone. I told him, “Father, remember that prayer about roses . . . look, nothing…no roses for me.  But listen, I’m not surprised; I can understand it; these things work with holy people like you, who have their lives in order, and I am certainly not what one might call a virtuous flower.”

First silence on the other end, then his calm voice replied, blowing me away another time: “This means that she will answer you with a greater grace than the one you asked for.”  It really turned out that way.

translated from "Una rosa bianca da Santa Teresa" by Stefania Falasca in the March 24, 2013 issue of l'Avvenire.  English translation copyright Maureen O'Riordan 2013.