She`s Got A Way

She’s Got a Way

Billy Joel once wrote, “She’s got a way about her.” The song is about the mystery of a woman, about the power she can have over us. I have often thought of St. Thérèse of Lisieux when I listen to it. “I don’t know what it is,” Joel sings in the song, and in my case, I am reminded of Thérèse’s little way. Her hidden life led to a spiritual path that deepens our love of the Father, and of each other.

St. Thérèse, also known as the “little flower,” was born in France on January 2, 1873. She became a Carmelite nun at the tender age of 15. The story behind that is a testament to faith and love of God. In 1997, Pope John Paul II declared her a doctor of the Catholic Church. When she died at 24, no one knew what to say about her. It appeared, at first glance, that Thérèse had lived an unassuming life. But because of her obedience to the Carmelite Order, she left us one of the greatest spiritual writings of all time, a treasure chest bound into a book called Story of a Soul.

She wanted to become a saint. That desire sounds impossibly bold, and yet so simple. Thérèse’s little way is not about finding greatness as the world teaches but instead becoming small so Christ can work through us. Something I see in every story I read about those the Church has declared as saints. Desire. The yearning to love as He did. The little way captures this in such profound ways.

She writes about a sister whose repeated noise as they adored the Blessed Sacrament irritated her. The sound was like “two shells rubbing together.” Thérèse did not confront her or retaliate against her but instead chose to love her. Eventually, she writes, the sound became like a symphony that she dedicated to Christ.

That is the little way. Not pretending that irritation is pleasant but choosing to love in silence. Loving when no one else can notice. Simple and beautiful, right? But not easy. However, in my own life, the little way has become very practical. I try and practice listening without offering advice, almost impossible for us men. How about apologizing first? Or making time for someone even when life is busy. How about loving the unlovable? Maybe forgiving the ill someone has caused you. Or better yet, do something meaningful for your wife, child, or friend, and, here is the hard part, don’t tell anyone about it.

I have stayed behind with another when I thought, ‘I have too many things to do!” And in fairness, maybe that’s true, but Jesus would always remind me later that I certainly didn’t have more important things to do.

I had a glimpse into this kind of love when I met the bishop of Sioux Falls in January. There was a line of people waiting to speak with him, het he treated each person as if he was the only one in the entire world. He was totally present. I still pray I can learn to be that way with others someday.

Jesus would have climbed onto the cross had I been the only human being on earth. He would have died just for me. St. Thérèse’s little way is just like that, it is that personal love of Jesus he yearns for us to live out.

She writes, “a soul in the state of grace need never be afraid of the devil, who is such a coward that even the gaze of a child will frighten him away”. Her point is not that evil doesn’t exist or that temptation doesn’t matter. A soul that belongs to God need not live in fear. Instead, it is that the power of grace is greater than the power of evil. Thérèse’s courage was not childish naiveté; it was childlike confidence.

I have had to learn that distinction in my own life. There have been moments when I was afraid to fail, afraid I’d make the wrong decision, or afraid of what the future might hold. Thérèse reminds me that faith rarely tells us what will happen. What we do have is a person in Christ that faith tells us we can trust.

One recent challenge came during Lent this year. I was convinced He was calling me to lead a new school. An opportunity to shape and promote Catholic education in a way that would answer the question of why God made me. The school is based on much of the writings of G.K. Chesterton, the greatest writer of the 20th century. You may disagree, but I am confident you are mistaken.

During Lent, especially in prayer during Adoration, I suddenly realized that I was not going to become the headmaster. Someone else was being called to that role. At first, it felt like a disappointment. Yet, what it did become was more like an invitation. He had other plans for me.

Thérèse wrote that she had offered herself to the Child Jesus as “His little plaything.” She did not want to be “a valuable toy children are content to look at but dare not touch,” but “a little ball of no value” that He could throw, push, pierce, set aside, or press to His heart. The image is tender but a bit unsettling. Thérèse wanted to be entirely available to Jesus, willing to let Him do as He pleases with her.

He pierced me to see what I was made of. Like her little ball, I was not as sturdy as I had imagined. God allowed me to be cracked open, and in that He revealed what was deep inside of me. Traces of ambition, fear, yet also a deeper desire to serve. His little ball fell to the ground and slowly brought it back and pressed it against His heart. I didn’t get what I thought I wanted. Instead, like Thérèse, I began to receive what I actually wanted. Not a position, but a vocation.

The road was not easy. I had already given up the job I held, and my wife understandably wanted God to hurry up with the next part of the plan. I kept saying, “God’s got this!” She agreed but figured He could move a little faster. Eventually, I found myself back in the classroom. I had chased leadership roles and chased geographical changes, only to discover God had brought me full circle to where I had begun. I had wanted to help shape an entire school but discovered that God wanted me to shape individual souls. My proverbial trip to Rome was more like Odysseus’s ten-year journey home. Although, I must admit, my trip was much more enjoyable.

St. Thérèse has been present in my life since before I became Catholic. If I’d have known it was allowed, I would have picked her as my confirmation saint! I am grateful for St. Juan Diego and the wonderful journey he has led me on with Our Lady of Guadalupe, but Thérèse has spoken to my heart in a way I never expected. She has shown me that Jesus can use an ordinary life, an ordinary act of patience, an ordinary classroom, and even an ordinary disappointment to lead a soul closer to Him.

Billy Joel’s song, “She’s Got a Way,” describes someone he doesn’t fully understand. That’s how I feel about St. Thérèse, I don’t quite know why I have such a devotion to her. I am a romantic at heart, and her little way is such a beautiful path. She is quoted as saying, “If I were Mother Mary and you were Thérèse, I would want to be Thérèse so you could be Mother Mary.” Meditate on that for a while! It’s a version of her little way that draws us past herself and towards Jesus. It is a reminder that we are inserted into Christ’s life, and He is inserted into ours.

Some might find it strange I used a Billy Joel song in an article about a saint. After all, it was his song “Only the Good Die Young,” that got him in some trouble with the Catholic Church. He said it wasn’t intended to be an attack on Catholicism.

I believe him, and I have always loved his music. Ever since I first listened to The Stranger album back in the late 70s, I was hooked. Joel’s lyrics are so authentic, he’s a true storyteller in every sense of the word, and his music covers a myriad of genres. He writes from the heart, just like Thérèse did, and has given us a treasure chest of songs that are dear to me. At our youngest daughter’s wedding this past June, her and I picked out “Vienna” for our dance. A song he wrote to his father. It’s my favorite by him. A song about dreams and passions and about chasing your desires. One that I listen to today and have no regrets because I chose to have Christ in my life and He filled in those dreams and passions and desires. I pray the same will be true for my daughter, and for all of you out there reading this.

I once heard a story that Billy Joel, who grew up Jewish, and entered a Catholic confessional as a joke. The priest figured it out and sent him away. An understandable reaction. I don’t know if the story is true, but if it is, it breaks my heart. Not because the priest was wrong to protect the sacrament, but because the moment could have been an opportunity to explain, to be patient, and to show mercy.

St. Thérèse’s little way doesn’t mean ignoring Truth or acting as if every action is acceptable. It means responding to people with charity, even when the going gets tough. God places people in our lives, and each one is unrepeatable in the words of Saint Pope John Paul II. Each one is an opportunity to love as He loves. The saints aren’t carbon copies. Instead, they are uniquely the person God called them to be. St. Thérèse taught me that being holy doesn’t mean becoming someone else. It means letting God perfect the person He created me to be.

Today I teach today at an alternative school. A destination I would not have predicted. After a particularly rough first day I was looking up and said, “You told me to do this.”

In the silence of prayer, the answer was clear, “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

Touché.

I refocused. After all, this was the answer to the question my wife wanted Him to hurry up about. I had wanted one kind of leadership, but God had given me another. He placed me in a classroom asking me to love one student at a time. Billy Joel sings, “She’s got a way.” St. Thérèse does have a way, a little way of surrendering, trusting, and loving. It is that way which Christ has brought me back into the classroom, and back to the truth that holiness is found in places that don’t always look impressive at first.

You see, her way is little, but it is not small.