The Little Way of St. Thérèse is perhaps the hardest way we will ever be asked to walk. I am staying with two lovely young girls, my grandchildren, while their parents are away. This week has plunged me, once again, into the little way of keeping house with and for children, preparing meals, cleaning up, doing laundry, and keeping the school and sports and ballet and birthday party and school calendar. And listening, the little way of listening.
(I began the week rather impressively by getting lost on the way to a cross country meet and finding the park — at last, moments to spare — driving between the white metal stanchions of the bus lane. Well done, MaMaw. Thank you, startled fellow drivers, for not honking or yelling. And, thank you, police, for being occupied elsewhere.)
I see in the goodness and kindness of these girls the effects, everywhere, of the Little Way their parents walk each day. I am grateful, for the witness of Thérèse, and the witness of those who take her as companion and guide.
I wrote this piece one year ago for The Way, the monthly magazine of the Diocese of Pueblo (Colorado). St. Thérèse is the patron of the diocese and the Bishop, Stephen Berg, takes the call to the Little Way seriously. Very often, the magazine features a parishioner, unknown outside the circle of those who are helped and taught and blessed this holy man or woman. Full disclosure: this week I have followed the pattern of prayer before sleep that is already established in this house, and not the one I describe in the article. It's good to remember that what I describe is a suggestion and not a command. And, also, the pattern established in this house is shorter, for which, oh, my goodness, I am grateful. Bedtime is sweet when one is walking the little way. (I chose the photo for this site because it shows three of my granddaughters, one of whom I am with this week, pretending to be asleep, well past the time when they should have been asleep. And well past the time when I should have been asleep.)
The entrance antiphon to today's Mass honoring Thérèse is from Deuteronomy 32:10-12:
The Lord led her and taught her, / and kept her as the apple of his eye. / Like an eagle spreading its wings / he took her up and bore her on his shoulders. / The Lord alone was her guide.
This antiphon, on the Memorial of the little one who walked the little way, is my prayer for the girls who are, these days, in my care. May the Lord alone be their guide.
The “Little Way” of St Thérèse of Lisieux begins in the home, just as Thérèse’s path, or way, to sainthood, began in hers. Zélie and Louis, Thérèse’s parents, were her first teachers. In the eccleisola, or little church of the home, Zélie and Louis taught Thérèse the stories of Jesus. They held her hand and traced the sign of the cross, head to heart, shoulder to shoulder, the sign of her first and final belonging. They taught her to fold her hands and pray. They taught her to greet each day as a gift from God to be offered back as a gift to God. They taught her to pray before sleep. They took their baptismal promises they made on her behalf seriously and taught her the rituals of the domestic church. In doing so Thérèse’s parents formed her in faith.
That’s our sacred duty, too. When parents present their child for baptism, the Church asks them, “What name do you give your child?” This authority to name comes from the authority God gives to Adam, which is to name the world God has made. “So the Lord God formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds of the air, and he brought them to the man to see what he would call them; whatever the man called each living creature was then its name.” (Genesis 2:19) You name your child. You name the world for your child. When you pray before meals, you name the food, a blessing from God. Not a possession to be grasped, but a gift to be received. When you sign your child with the cross and bless your child before sleep, you are naming your relationship. Not owner to owned, but shepherd to lamb. The cross of baptism is an indelible mark, by which you acknowledge your child as one whose first and final belonging is not to you, but to God — Father, Son and Holy Spirit — the One who created and called him, created and called her. You are rightly naming the child’s relationship to you, and to God, and, so, to the world.
This is what the Church means when it addresses parents at their child’s baptism, handing on to the parents — and not the priest, not the Director of Religious Education, but to the parents — the responsibility of training the child “in the practice of faith.” We are told that it is “our duty” to bring our children up “to keep God’s commandments as Christ taught us, by loving God and our neighbor.” This is what it means to be leaders, that is, the ordinary ministers, of the domestic church, the core church, the first church. The domestic church is where children begin learning, before they can walk or talk, what it means to be a follower of Christ. It doesn’t require workbooks or special equipment. The tools are already in your hands.
We are to train children “in the practice of faith.” Not the theory of faith, but the practice of faith. Practice means doing. Practice means exercise, routine, repetition. We know this: to be a runner doesn’t mean sitting on the couch thinking about running; it means running. How do you train a child in the practice of courtesy? By reminding, over and over and over, “How do you ask?” Or instructing, “Say please. Say thank you.” Courtesy is a practice, one repeated daily over a lifetime. Still, we know that we can remind as much as we want, but, if we are not seen to ask politely, aren’t known to speak words of gratitude, the children will follow what we do and not what we say. The domestic church requires leaders — that’s us, the parents — who practice, day after day, again and again, starting over when we fail — what we ask our children to learn, the practice of the love of God and the love of neighbor.
This can sound overwhelming. “Wait! Another item on my list?” So the best place to start is with what you’re already doing. If you know how to put a child to bed — and you do — then you know how to pray the night prayer of the church. Let’s begin there. The Church knows what parents know: at night, children need familiar routines. This blanket, this stuffie; no other. They need story and song. They need their mothers. It’s interesting how closely night prayer hews to the rhythms of the home. It is prayer meant for the bedside, meant to be prayed by heart. Night prayer begins and ends with the sign of the cross, the sign of our true name: Child of God.
Examination of Conscience: For children, and their parents, this might be, “What did I do to bring joy to God’s heart today? What did I do to bring sorrow to God’s heart today?” If that leads to talking in the quiet, in the dark, be grateful.
Scripture: You know your children. Add brief scripture passages as they are ready. The younger the child, the simpler this time should remain. Simpler does not mean lesser.
Psalm 131 or 134
Colossians 3:12-15
Canticle of Simeon: Children love stories told again and again. Learn with them the story of faithful Simeon and Anna and learn Simeon’s canticle, his song.
Hymn to Mary: Night prayer always ends with a hymn to Mary, our mother still, our mother always, even when our earthly mothers are separated from us. The traditional hymn is the “Salve Regina,” “Hail Holy Queen.” It would be a gift for you and your child to know this one by heart, and to be able to recite in the dark watches of the night. You may know a Marian hymn in Spanish that was sung to you as a child. Hand it on.
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