Saint Teresa of Lisieux and the Perfection of Simplicity

Aurelio Porfiri

In the past few decades, I’ve often heard about a “return to simplicity” in the Church, a rejection of the grandiose elements of the Counter-Reformation to more closely resemble the early Christians.

Now, anyone who knows even a little about the early Church and wants to be honest knows very well that it was by no means a time of peace and harmony but rather a time of great tensions, as we clearly see reflected in the Letters of Saint Paul. Yet, I’ve always imagined meeting a first-century Christian and telling him or her: “I come from the 21st century, and I’m here to inform you that the Church is doing everything it can to resemble you.” I think they’d be astonished. They might even think: "After twenty centuries, they haven't improved enough that they still aspire to be like us?" Surely, we must love the early Church, but we must also love all the developments in tradition that have made her even more radiant. Of course, there have been falls in her  history that we cannot deny, but there have also been countless examples of holiness, heroism, and creativity. We certainly can’t forget them.

But let’s leave my fantasies about the ancient world and return to the theme of simplicity by speaking of Saint Teresa of Lisieux (1873-1897). A saint with an enormous zeal for faith, she spoke to us about the “little way”—remaining simple and humble to become saints. One of her sisters, Céline Martin, who also became a nun, recalled these words:

"The Church has always seen Teresa of the Child Jesus as the saint of spiritual childhood. Numerous testimonies from popes support this. I will limit myself to quoting two from His Holiness Pius XII: the first when he was legate a latere of Pius XI, on the occasion of the inauguration of the Basilica of Lisieux on July 11, 1937; and the second 17 years later: 'Saint Teresa of the Child Jesus has a mission and a doctrine. But her doctrine, like her whole person, is humble and simple; it is summed up in two words: spiritual childhood, or in two other equivalent ones: the little way.' 'It is the Gospel itself; it is the heart of the Gospel that she rediscovered; but with such grace and freshness: "Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven" (Mt 18:3)'” (reported in 30Giorni, August 2007).

This “little way,” this return to simplicity as the heart of the Gospel, is not a call to banality but something infinitely deeper. Perhaps we should better understand what we mean when we refer to simplicity.
Simplicity comes from "sine plica," without fold, meaning perfect. Unfortunately, the simplicity that is sometimes presented to us in our liturgical and spiritual lives often borders on banality, mediocrity, and diminishment, but this is not what great saints like Teresa wanted to teach.
She taught us the importance of being in the present moment, of treasuring every minute and making the most of it, because, as Seneca said, death is not before us but behind us. She taught us to look within ourselves to rediscover—or discover for the first time—what God asks of us, our vocation. And this vocation could be to do great things with humility or even humble things with greatness. Humility and greatness always go together, just as justice and mercy do.

In her Story of a Soul, Saint Teresa explained:

"For a long time, I wondered why God had preferences, why not all souls received equal graces. I was surprised that He would lavish extraordinary favors on saints who had offended Him, such as St. Paul, St. Augustine, and why, I might almost say, He forced them to accept His graces; then, when I read the lives of saints whom Our Lord has cherished from the cradle to the grave, never allowing any obstacle in their path which would prevent them from rising to Him, and showering their souls with such favors that it was impossible for them to tarnish the immaculate brightness of their baptismal robe, I wondered: why do so many poor souls, for example, die without ever having heard His name? But Jesus enlightened me on this mystery. He set before my eyes the book of nature, and I understood that all the flowers He has created are beautiful, that the splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not take away the fragrance of the violet or the delightful simplicity of the daisy... I understood that if all the little flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose its springtime beauty, and the fields would no longer be decked out with lovely blossoms. So it is in the world of souls, which is the garden of Jesus. He has created great saints who may be compared to the lilies or the roses, but He has also created smaller ones, who must be content to be daisies or violets, gladdening His eyes whenever He looks down at His feet. The perfection of these flowers consists in doing His will, in being what He wants them to be."

Here is true simplicity, which lies in surrendering to the plan God has for each of us. It doesn’t consist in trying to please Him with our own efforts but in making ourselves worthy of Him as He desires, in giving Him the honor and worship He is due, and in seeking, amid the folds of the present moment, how, despite our imperfections, we can glorify Him.