Pope Francis's Lenten message offers St. Therese of Lisieux as an example of how the saints are not indifferent to us:

The prayers of the Church on earth establish a communion of mutual service and goodness which reaches up into the sight of God. Together with the saints who have found their fulfilment in God, we form part of that communion in which indifference is conquered by love. The Church in heaven is not triumphant because she has turned her back on the sufferings of the world and rejoices in splendid isolation. Rather, the saints already joyfully contemplate the fact that, through Jesus’ death and resurrection, they have triumphed once and for all over indifference, hardness of heart and hatred. Until this victory of love penetrates the whole world, the saints continue to accompany us on our pilgrim way. Saint Therese of Lisieux, a Doctor of the Church, expressed her conviction that the joy in heaven for the victory of crucified love remains incomplete as long as there is still a single man or woman on earth who suffers and cries out in pain: “I trust fully that I shall not remain idle in heaven; my desire is to continue to work for the Church and for souls” (Letter 254, July 14, 1897).

We share in the merits and joys of the saints, even as they share in our struggles and our longing for peace and reconciliation. Their joy in the victory of the Risen Christ gives us strength as we strive to overcome our indifference and hardness of heart.  

[from the Vatican Web site]

Read Pope Francis's message for Lent 2015 in full.  And read the letter the Pope cited from St. Therese (her last letter to her spiritual brother, Father Adolphe Roulland) at the Web site of the Archives of the Carmel of Lisieux.

When we realize that God is in love with our smallness, that he made himself small in order to better encounter us, we cannot help but open our hearts to him

Please read Pope Francis's Christmas Eve homily, full of themes from St. Therese.

St Therese doing dishes, an icon by Brother Mickey McGrath, OSFS

On December 14, 1927, the Congregation of Rites proclaimed a decree by Pope Pius XI that declared St. Therese of Lisieux, canonized less than three years before, patron of all missionaries, both men and women, the equal of St. Francis Xavier, who had held the title of Patron of Missions alone.  The Congregation of Rites and the Propagation of the Faith opposed making St. Therese patron of missions, but Pope Pius XI insisted on it.  

The letter written in 2007 for the 80th anniversary of the proclamation of St. Therese as patron of missions by Dámaso Zuazua, O.C.D., then General Secretary of the Missions of the Discalced Carmelite Order, has many valuable insights into the history and significance of Pius XI's conferring this title on Therese, who had already, in 1921, been named patron of the Carmelite missions.  I recommend reading it.

Therese really believed that her fidelity to the smallest demands of her everyday life made a difference to the eternal salvation of souls.  In 1910 her young novice, Sister Marie of the Trinity, testified about this attitude:

Her love for God  gave her  a burning zeal for the salvation of souls, especially those of priests; she offered all her sacrifices for their sanctification, and urged me to do likewise.  She called sinners "her children" and took her role as their "mother" very seriously.  She was passionately fond of them, and worked for them with untiring fervor.

One washing-day, I was sauntering along to the laundry, looking at the flowers in the garden as I went, when along came Sister Therese at a brisk pace, and overtook me.  "Is that how one hurries with children to feed and work to do so they can live?" she said, and then, dragging me with her, "Come on, let's hurry; if we amuse ourselves here, our children will die of hunger."  

St. Therese of Lisieux by those who knew her, tr. Christopher O'Mahony, O.C.D.  Dublin: Veritas Press, 1975, p. 237.  (If you want to see what Therese's lived holiness looked like from the outside, this book, consisting of the testimony of witnesses at the first diocesan inquiry 13 years after she died, is invaluable).    

In this encounter Therese showed her solidarity with the poor and with the working mothers of the world (a solidarity prefigured by her parents, Blessed Louis and Zelie Martin, who went daily to the 5:30 a.m. Mass because it was the Mass of the poor and the only one the workers could attend). She truly believed that if she were not generous in carrying out her duties, her "children" would go without.  The other nuns remarked that when she arrived at the laundry (one of the hardest physical tasks the nuns had to do), she chose the least comfortable place: near the hot water in summer, near the cold rinsing tub in winter, and she worked energetically at every moment.  In a small contemplative community,  she avoided the temptation to become closed in on herself.  She modeled what Pope Francis asked for many years later when speaking to women religious from 75 countries:

 Chastity for the Kingdom of Heaven shows how affection has its place in mature freedom and becomes a sign of the future world, to make God’s primacy shine forever. But, please, [make it] a ‘fertile’ chastity, which generates spiritual children in the Church.

The consecrated are mothers: they must be mothers and not ‘spinsters’!

Forgive me if I talk like this but this maternity of consecrated life, this fruitfulness is important! May this joy of spiritual fruitfulness animate your existence. Be mothers, like the images of the Mother Mary and the Mother Church. You cannot understand Mary without her motherhood; you cannot understand the Church without her motherhood, and you are icons of Mary and of the Church.”

 "Pope Francis to nuns:  Don't be old maids," by Melnda Henneberger, May 8, 2013. 

Celine tells us that Therese had observed in Carmel some nuns who had yielded to the temptation to be spinsters:

. . . . in a letter dated 15 September 1972, Fr. Louis Augros, the first superior of the famous “Mission of  France," recalls that Celine, the sister of Therese, confided in him that when she entered the Carmel and realized all the faults of the community, she reproved Therese for not telling her about them before, and that, smiling, Therese answered her like this:

“I hadn’t wanted to tell you anything ahead of time, but now you see for yourself that you’ve landed in the middle of quite a crew of old maids, and you can see what you shouldn’t become!”

 What would our lives be like if we lived them every day in full solidarity with the poor and with the gospel mission of Jesus?  This is why I chose the icon of "Therese doing dishes" to illustrate this article.  I believe that those who say Therese's way of confidence and love, often called the "little way," is nothing more than offering every little thing to God have not yet seen the whole picture.  That is, in her poem, "Why I Love You, O Mary," Therese wrote "To love is to give everything," but followed that line immediately with this explanation: "It's to give oneself." Therese's God is not an insatiable idol greedy for more sacrifices; instead, her Creator thirsts to be loved by the creature.  Offering what I'm doing at the moment is only the expression of the prior gift of myself.  To give the whole person to God, as Therese did, transcends offering all one's tasks.  Yet the energy and eagerness Therese put into all her occupations illuminates for us how she consecrated her whole self to the mission of the Church.  It is also interesting that, even with her "passionate fondness for souls," she was considered of little practical use by some of  her community; she wasn't good at manual work and was an assistant in all her jobs.  Her failures in this regard did not disturb her or prevent her mission from being fulfilled.

Two more points:

• A close reading of Therese's writings will show that, as she grew in solidarity with "sinners," she moved from the role of their mother to that of their sister.  See Jones, M. (2006).  From mother to sister: The development in the understanding of mission in the life and writings of St Thérèse of Lisieux and its contemporary relevance (Master's thesis).  University of Notre Dame Australia.
• For a unique contemporary interpretation of Therese's mission, please see "The Mission of Therese of Lisieux: Saigon and Beyond," by Constance FitzGerald, O.C.D.  This article appeared in the Summer 1997 Article of The Way Supplement, pp. 28-37, and is copyright The Way, Heythrop College, Kensington Square, London, W85HQ England.  

More on the Web about Therese's mission:

• The "mission" page of the site of the Shrine at Lisieux
• The "Therese's mission today" page of "Saint Therese of Lisieux: A Gateway"

 St. Therese's laundry mark, the reed, on her Carmelite work apron

On Saturday, December 6, 2014, Pope Francis sent a special video message to the Christian refugees of Mosul, in Erbil.  Tens of thousands of Christians driven from their homes in Mosul have taken refuge in Erbil.  They are among almost two million people displaced by the offensive of the Islamic State in northern Iraq.  The Pope compared these suffering refugees to the image St. Therese used of herself, the reed that is not broken by the storm. 

Today I would like to draw near to you who are enduring this suffering, to be close to you …. And I think of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, who said that she and the Church felt like a reed: when the wind and the storm comes, the reed bends, but it does not break! You are now this reed, you bend in suffering, but you have the strength to carry on your faith, which for us is a witness. You are the reeds of God today. The reeds that are bowed down by this fierce wind, but that will then arise!

See the text of the Pope's message, sent through Cardinal Barbarin.

The context of St. Therese's use of the symbol of the reed

Therese had many nicknames and symbols for herself.  She used "the little reed" in her early religious life, usually to describe her extreme fragility.  In May 1888, about a month after she entered Carmel, she wrote to her sister Marie, who was preparing to make her vows: 

You, who are an eagle called to soar in the heights and to fix your gaze on the sun, pray for the very feeble little reed that is at the bottom of the valley, the least breeze makes it bend. Oh, pray for it on the day of your Profession.

See this letter (LT 49) at the Web site of the Archives of the Carmel of Lisieux.

On July 4, 1888, she wrote her sister Pauline, Sister Agnes of Jesus:  

Jesus alone! Nothing but Him. The grain of sand is so little that, if it wanted to place someone other than Him in its heart, there would be no room for Jesus....

and signed the letter

"The little Reed of Jesus"

See this letter (LT 51) at the Web site of the Archives of the Carmel of Lisieux.

That same week (July 5-9, 1888), the 15-year-old postulant wrote to Sister Agnes of Jesus, and it is this letter to which Pope Francis refers: 

Thanks to the dear lamb for having made the little lamb hear once again the music from heaven. The gentle breeze made the little reed sway softly....

It was after nine o'clock when the reed noticed the dear little paper; there was no earthly light, but its heart more than its eyes knew how to decipher St. Cecilia's music. It did not miss one single word!. . .

Yes, I desire them, these agonies of the heart, these pinpricks about which the lamb speaks. What does it matter to the little reed if it bends? It is not afraid of breaking, for it has been planted at the edge of the waters, and, instead of touching the ground when it bends, it encounters only a beneficent wave which strengthens it and makes it want another storm to come and pass over its frail head. Its weakness gives rise to all its confidence. It cannot break since, no matter what happens to it, it wants only to see the gentle hand of its Jesus.... Sometimes the little gusts of wind are more unbearable for the reed than the great tempests, for in these latter it will be refreshed in its dear brook, but the little gusts of wind don't make it bend low enough; these are the pinpricks....

But nothing is too much to suffer to gain the palm. . . ."

By "the great tempests" Therese could be referring to the suffering the Martin sisters experienced because of the illness of their father, who disappeared for several days at the end of June.  The "pinpricks" and 'the little gusts of wind" probably refer to the little trials of community life. See this letter (LT 55) at the Web site of the Archives of the Carmel of Lisieux.

In January 1889, when Therese received the habit, the symbol of the reed found a concrete expression in her everyday life.  The Carmel used symbols, not numbers, to mark each nun's laundry and shoes so that the nuns could recognize them, and Therese's laundry mark was the reed.  You can see it on the photo of her work apron above. Click and scroll down to view also Therese's wooden sandals and clogs with the mark of the reed.

Therese's use of this symbol could have been suggested by her novice mistress, Sister Marie of the Angels, who loved to call herself "the little reed of Jesus."  On November 21, 1889, as Therese reached the end of her prolonged novitiate and after her father had been interned in a psychiatric hospital, Sister Marie of the Angels wrote to Therese: 

Little reed, infinitely loved by Jesus and profoundly dear to my heart!. . . . Tomor­row, the feast of St. Cecilia, 1 will offer my Holy Communion for my beloved little reed, and I will ask Jesus that she may love Him just as the virgin martyr did! Time seems long for me without my Benjamin; if she were not suffering, I would feel it less, but courage, little reed of Jesus! The storm will not break the reed; it will make it bend, but afterward it will quickly stand up straight and its head will again look up to heaven. Remember that Jesus carried it in His hand on the day of His Passion! Be, then, the privileged reed of your heavenly Fiancé.

Pray, too, for your little mistress, who loves and cherishes her Benjamin.

Sister Marie of the Angels

 Read this letter at the Web site of the Archives of the Carmel of Lisieux.

In January 1895, when Therese finished the first manuscript of what would become Story of a Soul, she illustrated it with a "coat of arms of Jesus and Therese."  In Therese's explanation of the symbolism of her coat of arms, she writes of her desire for martyrdom and adds:  

In order to respond to all the love of Jesus she would desire to do for Him what He did for her ... but Thérèse is aware that she is only a weak reed, thus she has put one on her blazon

Later in her religious life Therese seems to have moved on to other symbols for herself.  But in her play The Flight into Egypt (performed on January 21, 1896), when Joseph has just told Mary that he received word in a dream that they must flee to Egypt, she puts into the mouth of the Blessed Virgin about the Child Jesus and reed, words about the refugee Savior which are curiously appropriate for the refugees to whom the Pope was speaking; 

I know that if He willed it, a word from His infant lips would suffice to wipe out all enemies; however, He chooses to flee from a weak mortal, He is the Prince of peace.... The Word made Child will not crush the half-broken reed, He will not extinguish a wick that is still burning. If He is rejected by those of His own heritage, that will not stop Him from giving His life for poor sinners who fail to recognize the time of His visit. Let us leave without fear, let us go sanctify an infidel shore with the presence of the Savior.

In this film of the opening Mass of the Extraordinary Synod of Bishops on the Family in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome, view Pope Francis incensing and praying before the "traveling reliquaries" of St. Therese of Lisieux and of her parents, Blessed Louis and Zelie Martin, from 10:18 to 12:10.  Sunday, October 5, 2014.

Louis Martin visited Rome at least twice in his lifetime.  One hundred and twenty-nine years ago, when Therese was twelve, he made a pilgrimage through Europe with a priest friend, Father Charles Marie.  On September 27, 1885, he wrote from Rome to his oldest daughter, Marie:

We finally arrived in Rome at six-thirty in the morning.  For me. Saint Peter's is really the most beautiful thing in the world.  I prayed for you, whom I love so much.  It's so pleasant to pray here! . . .

During these visits to Saint Peter's, Louis, of course, prayed for his five daughters, including St. Therese, and remembered in prayer his wife, who had died eight years before: 

I place you all in the grace of God and pray for you every day in Saint Peter's.  The thought of your mother also follows me constantly.

[See A Call to a Deeper Love: The Family Correspondence of the Parents of Saint Therese of the Child Jesus, 1863-1885.  Staten Island, New York: Society of Saint Paul, 2011, pp. 363-364.].

           Two years later, in November 1887, he returned to Rome as part of a diocesan pilgrimage with Celine and Therese.  It was then, on November 20, 1887, that Therese asked Pope Leo XIII for permission to enter the Carmel.  Because she refused to leave the Pope's feet, she was carried out of the room by the Swiss Guards.  But on May 17, 1925, her relics were warmly welcomed at Saint Peter's for the ceremony of her canonization.  That night the outer facade of Saint Peter's was outlined with lamps for the first time since 1870.  

The relics of St. Therese returned to Saint Peter's Basilica on October 19, 1997, when St. John Paul II declared her a Doctor of the Church.  The relics of Blessed Louis and Zelie Martin were exposed for veneration in Saint Peter's Basilica in January 2009, soon after their beatification, and Pope Benedict XV received their relics in his general audience on Wednesday, January 14, 2009.