Book Review: Louis and Zélie

Louis and Zélie, The Holy Parents of Saint Thérèse, by GinaMarie Tennant

This review was originally published in Faith Magazine, January / February 2022

‘How can I ever express the happiness of the marriage that is joined together by the Church, strengthened by an offering, sealed by a blessing, announced by angels and ratified by the Father?…  How wonderful the bond between two believers, with a single hope, a single desire, a single observance, a single service!’^[1]

Tertullian may have struggled to articulate the real and gritty, holy joy of sacramental marriage but his words came to my mind after reading Louis and Zélie.  Through her excellent exploration of the lives of Louis and Zélie Martin, canonised together in 2015, author GinaMarie Tennant shows the reader exactly what Tertullian meant. 

Louis and Zélie is an uplifting and encouraging reflection of what the marriage covenant truly is: an image of Trinitarian love.  The book could serve as a springboard to a discussion on the vocation of marriage; the joys and challenges that it invariably brings and the buckets of virtue necessary for parenting.  It is said that holiness is a family project and nowhere is that illustrated more clearly than in the Martin family (though Tennant never falls into the trap of defining Louis and Zélie as ‘merely’ saint-makers).  The sacrificial nature of true love shines from every page but especially evident through watchmaker Louis, who recognises that it is Zélie’s lacemaking business that is booming and so gives up his own business to support hers.  Both are constantly and generously giving – to each other, friends and strangers – and I am in no doubt that this is a fruit of the couple’s deep Eucharistic spirituality, though this link is not explicitly made.  

Tennant portrays Louis and Zélie from early childhood in a style congruent with her brief to write for children aged 9-15 and with a determination to show – rather than tell – their story.  This ‘show, don’t tell’ device is both the worst and best feature of the book.  At its worst, it is clunky, as when Tennant has the seven-year-old Louis ponder a rather convoluted thought in order that the reader know his father’s occupation.  At its best, the reader learns with ease not only the biographical facts of these lives but a good deal about the vocation of marriage. Tennant chronicles the nine births and four deaths of the Martin children without shying away from the question of why God allows suffering, which she explores through the voice of Louis in conversation with his older children, Marie and Pauline.  9–15-year-olds may well acquire a good understanding of marriage and the importance of the primacy of God in all things without even realising that they are being ‘taught’.  In fact, I did wonder whether Tennant wrote with the words of Louis and Zélie’s most famous daughter ringing in her ears: ‘When I read some spiritual treatises which show perfection as difficult to attain and liable to many illusions, my poor little spirit tires very quickly; I shut the learned book which is giving me a headache…’  There were certainly no headaches for me in reading Tennant’s vignettes – many of which are delightful and not a few are exciting – but I did find myself wondering wherein lay the boundary between history and the author’s imagination?  In Tennant’s defence, I must add that I do struggle this way with historical fiction and will often research the topic to find that invisible boundary.  Consequently, I rooted around and read enough of the Martins’ correspondence to satisfy myself that Tennant passed the test: the impression I had gained from Tennant’s book did indeed match that which I found in those primary sources. 

But here’s the rub: will any 9–15-year-old read this book?  I asked my 12-year-old daughter (a voracious reader) if she would be kind enough to read at least the first chapter (18 of 264 pages).  She obliged but was tempted no further because ‘seven-year-olds just don’t talk like that’.  She has a point: I found Tennant’s prose style reminiscent of Enid Blyton and I reminded my daughter that she used to enjoy The Famous Five. ‘That was years ago,’ she countered, adding that Blyton’s action-filled plots enable the reader to forgive 1950s style, whereas the cover of Louis and Zélie… well, shall we say she wouldn’t be tempted to pick it up in a book shop?  And based only on the cover, neither would I.  When I discovered the riches of Saint Thérèse, it was despite hagiography so saccharine that ought to carry a health warning and I’m afraid the front cover of Louis and Zélie also set my pancreas on edge.  I suspect that on the far side of the Atlantic, where author and publisher are based, readers are not put off by such images but will a British audience get past the front cover?  I hope so: after a less-than-exciting start, Tennant’s perceptive and sensitive approach brings to life not only these two fine saints but a rekindled resolution to live out one’s ordinary vocation with extraordinary love. 

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^[1] Tertullian, AD UXOREM, II, VIII, 6-8: CCL, I, 393

Rejoice heart and soul!

 

My parish is currently open for private prayer and I was there today, looking forward to Sunday, when we have the opportunity to go to Mass for the first time since March.  I took some time to read through Sunday’s readings and was greatly moved by this excerpt from the prophet Zecharaiah:

The Lord says this:

Rejoice heart and soul, daughter of Zion!

Shout with gladness, daughter of Jerusalem!

See now, your king comes to you;

he is victorious, he is triumphant,

humble and riding on a donkey,

on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

I’m often touched by the word ‘daughter’ in scripture; I relate easily to it, I guess. Reading this today, while looking forward to getting back to Mass, I saw myself as the daughter who is rejoicing, heart and soul; the daughter who is shouting with gladness because not only do I get to be present – at long last! – at the real source and summit of my real life but, ‘See now, your King comes to you’: I will be able to receive Him again.

I’m hoping that by the time Sunday comes, I’ll be able to receive communion without having to concentrate on blinking away tears, because at the moment, that’s where I am by just imagining it.

God our Father, may we never again be deprived of the Sacrifice of the Mass. May we always be grateful for the gift of Christ our Eucharist, the source and summit of our lives.  May your Holy Spirit enflame our hearts with an ever-stronger desire to be present at the most holy sacrifice of the Mass and may we ourselves become less and less unworthy to receive into our soulsthe body, blood, soul and divinity of your Son, our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

God alone

‘You must worship the Lord your God, and serve him alone.’  Mt 4:10

We used to have a spare room in our house where we dumped stuff we weren’t using and every-so-often (usually before houseguests arrived), we’d clear it out, then resolve not to let it become a dumping ground again… but the resolve didn’t last. Lent is an opportunity to  clear out that room in our hearts, which God tends to have to share with the things we think we can’t do without and the accumulated detritus of our past.  It’s often not great huge things, but many small obstacles, or even just a thick layer of dust.  In clearing it out, we can begin to focus on worshipping God, and serving him alone.

Imagine yourself in that room.  Having cleared out the stuff (through persevering prayer, fasting, almsgiving) and having given the place a good dust and polish (aka sacramental confession), you realise that you are ‘alone with none but thee, my God’.  In the silence and the stillness of that room, it is not just easy, but almost impossible not to stay, in awe and wonder, in the presence of the Lord your God.

And in the silence of the heart, God speaks.

 

Then and now; now as then

St Matthew records that, as Jesus steps out of the wilderness and into public ministry, he uses the same proclamation as John the Baptist had used at the beginning of the previous chapter:

‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand.’*

The difference, of course is that John always pointed away from himself, towards ‘the one who follows me’. The proximity of the kingdom was the closeness of the long-awaited Messiah.  When Jesus – God incarnate – uses the same phrase, the kingdom of heaven is much closer than his hearers realise!

I often catch myself pondering how wonderful it would have been to have encountered the incarnate Son of God.  Would I have been one of the ones who recognised the Messiah, heard his words and let them transform my life?  In the next few verses, Jesus bids the fishermen ‘Follow me!’  Would I have left my nets and followed, or carried on fishing?

Then, I realise that I needn’t imagine, because these words – like all of Scripture – are also spoken to me, here and now:  ‘Repent, Jane, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’.  Now that’s a different situation: I’m no longer in the land of hypothetical pondering but face-to-face with Jesus’ challenge.  Repentance necessitates recognising my sins, being sorry for them and resolving to change.  Of what must I repent, and how am I being called to change?

The kingdom of heaven is close at hand. God desires to be King of my heart; to reign there (cf the Lord’s Prayer – adveniat regnum tuum).  Is God King of all of my heart, or just selected parts?  Who or what reigns supreme in those other parts?

And just as Jesus called the fishermen, so too does he call me, each and every day, ‘follow me!‘ It doesn’t matter that I don’t see the whole itinerary planned out.  All I’m asked is step out of the boat and follow, remembering that King of heaven is with me, every step of the way.

*Mt 3:2 (John the Baptist) and Mt 4:17 (Jesus)

 

 

Lord, give us the grace to say Yes

This morning, I watched the first Advent Reflection from the Diocese of Clifton, given this week by Dr Gavin D’Costa (available here).

Dr D’Costa takes this picture* as his theme:

This is the Annunciation, but look at Mary’s body language!  Dr D’Costa speaks eloquently on this and I urge you to listen to his reflection, but what struck me was this: sometimes, through the grace of God, my ‘Yes’ is joyful, enthusiastic, wholehearted, Deo gratias.

Sometimes however, I’m aware of the still small voice calling me but I’m either afraid, like Mary here, or apathetic or I think I ‘can’t’ respond positively (forgetting – or not trusting – that the Lord provides).

Seeing this painting this morning, sitting with it and praying with it has inspired me.  If Mary said yes when her body language said anything but, then surely I can too?

Please God, give us the grace to respond positively to your call, even when we feel no inclination to do so!

________________________________________

* A detail from the altarpiece of the  Annunciation with St. Margaret and St. Ansanus  by Simone Martini, now in The Uffizi, Florence.

Book Review: From Islam to Christ

This review was originally published in Faith Magazine, September / October 2018

From Islam to Christ: One Woman’s Path Through the Riddles of God

By Derya Little     Published by Ignatius Press, 2017               £13.99                    204 pages

There was great surprise among my children when they discovered that the book responsible for gluing Mum to the sofa was the one she was reviewing for Faith Magazine!  I was gripped, as though with a work of fiction in my hands.  ‘Unputdownable’ is not a word I expected ever to use in these pages and yet I’ll admit that it neatly sums up From Islam to Christ. 

 From the title you’ll have guessed that it’s not a book about what happens but how and why it happens: how does this Turkish Muslim woman become an American Catholic?  Why does Little discard the Muslim faith she shared with her family and 99% of her country?  How does the grace of God break through the armour of her adopted atheism?  It is a joy to ‘watch’ as Little continues to respond to grace, taking step after faith-filled step, ever deeper into the One whom her soul most evidently loves. 

 Little weaves into her own story of childhood in Turkey an outline of her nation’s history and culture, which is perhaps a little more detailed than necessary for a British (rather than American) audience. Similarly, she sets about introducing her reader to Islam from the perspective of her own childhood experience. Here, I found that if it had been a work of fiction, I would have struggled to stay in the story, for it seems too negative to be believable.  Why, I thought, should I believe an account of Islam written by one who left the faith in childhood?  As I read on, I my scepticism disappeared.  Firstly, Little tells of an early formation in her faith that was nothing if not thorough; she shows herself to be a voracious reader and intellectual heavyweight who will accept nothing on a mere say-so.  Her footnotes show solid evidence not only of the points she is explaining but of recent further, deep and detailed exploration of Islam.  And of course on top of all this is the authenticity of the autobiography per se:  Little speaks of and from her experience and I don’t doubt that she speaks as she finds. 

Little has shown great humility in writing so candidly about her past and I gained a real sense of her detachment from that ‘old self’ that arises from her abiding knowledge that she is ‘made new in Christ’.  As she writes on her first page, ‘if my twenty-year-old self were to occupy my thirty-four-year-old body momentarily, and saw who I was, she would think I had gone insane.  The younger Derya …did not want anything to do with God, yet I was filled with gratitude and hope at the sight of a crucifix in a garage’. Little appreciates that in her journey she has ‘traveled far, not only physically but also spiritually’ but she refuses to take herself too seriously.  Comically, she recalls her childhood image of America that was based on Knight Rider and Back to the Future and how it failed to measure up to reality: ‘my car refuses to converse with me and my children’s primitive skateboards have wheels.  Where is the lifestyle Hollywood had dangled in front of me?’ (p.73)

One surprise for me in this book was the impact that the simple, everyday love within families had on Little’s conversion.  I’d expected Truth to be the dominant force in this young academic’s conversion but while it was the initial draw, Goodness also made an important early impression on her.  The first Christian she encountered was Therese, an American missionary whom Little tutored in Turkish.  ‘The Lord knew I needed a woman who was as intellectual and stubborn as I was,’ she writes,  ‘we had many heated and at times annoying arguments, but she was the only one I knew who held a glimmer of light, a sliver of hope in the darkness.  If nothing else, curiosity about where that light came from brought me back time after time’ (p.91).  Little describes how it was not only Therese’s arguments that nudged her towards the Lord but also being with Therese’s loving Christian family.   Little was astonished at the love between Therese and her husband and saw in their children something she had not known herself:  ‘the positive results of growing up in a loving caring home with boundaries…  I did not immediately make the connection between their being Christians and having much happier home than mine.  Slowly Christ’s light on this loving family became clear to me’ (p.90).  Time and again, Little describes the love that she encountered in this and many other Christian families as something that in her experience was uniquely Christian.  Once more, I was doubtful; are our families really that different? Still, she speaks as she finds and thanks be to God, the Christian families she encountered – especially in those early days of her ‘path through the riddles of God’ – were lovingly warm and open examples of the domestic church. 

Little’s path is made of many steps, some taken tentatively, others boldly; some in fellowship, others with none but the Holy Spirit as guide. I shan’t reveal any more of her journey but I’m confident that if you’re looking for a riveting read with a happy ending and much to ponder this Summer you will not be disappointed by ‘From Islam to Christ.’

 

Book review: Bearing False Witness

Bearing False Witness

Debunking Centuries of anti-Catholic history

Rodney Stark

Published by Templeton Press

“Mummy, I spent this afternoon trying not to listen to the teacher.”

“Why was that, Sweetie?”

“She said that we’d come to the point in our science topic [evolution] when we had to choose between believing the science and believing in God.”

I wish I’d made that up but I’m afraid our eldest and I had that conversation five years ago, here in Somerset.  I was amazed that anyone could think we believe that fossils are ‘put there by God to test our faith’ and wondered what other nonsense our children might be taught at school.  We set about teaching our eldest how her faith is compatible with science and hoped that would be the last time she would encounter such a misrepresentation.

However, if Bearing False Witness is anything to go by, there are many more widely-held misconceptions out there and Rodney Stark has taken it upon himself to set the historical record straight.  The very fact that this book exists at all is encouraging, not least of all because of Stark’s own position:  ‘I am not a Roman Catholic, and I did not write this book in defence of the Church.  I wrote it in defence of history’ (p.6).  Stark is best-selling author of The Rise of Christianity, co-director of the Institute for Studies of Religion and professor of the social sciences at Baylor, the world’s largest Baptist University.  His lack of Catholic credentials ensures his book is not dismissed as ‘a work of special pleading’ (p.231).

The book is simply structured around the exposition and refutation of ten statements which, in Stark’s experience, are ‘part of the common culture, widely accepted and frequently repeated’ (p.5).  Stark invites the reader to ‘consider whether you believe any of the following statements…’ (p.4) which include claims of anti-semitism; the Church’s suppression of ‘new Christian Gospels’ and of scientists; persecution of pagans; the ‘blood bath’ of the Spanish Inquisition and the Church’s support of slavery.  Even if you do not believe any of these myths from the beginning, Bearing False Witness can be a handy tool with which to counter these myths if you hear them from the mouths of others.

Stark draws clear distinctions between myth-peddling historians (or ‘distinguished bigots,’ p.4) and those whom he considers to be trustworthy.  These latter are easily recognised by accolades such as ’the revered historian…’ (p.21); the distinguished… (pp.63, 139, 174) or ‘the prolific…’ (p.139).  They are further highlighted through short biographies in each chapter.  Presumably Stark did this to bolster the authority of those whose views he is advocating but personally, I could do without knowing that, for example, ‘Gerald Strauss (1922 – 2006) was distinguished professor of history at the University of Indiana… a fine cellist [who] played in amateur string quartets’  (p.215).

I found Stark’s frequent reference to the opinion of so many other historians less convincing than he’d perhaps hoped.  I’m much happier to read primary sources as evidence (even though the choice of excerpts lies with the author), as I find this more convincing and usually more entertaining.

Stark makes brilliant use of primary sources, for example, when pointing out that ‘a major reason pilgrimages were so common was because the knights of Europe were both very violent and very religious’.  He first tells the anecdote of the most notorious pilgrim, Fulk III, count of Anjou, who accumulated as penances no less than four  pilgrimages to the Holy Land (no spoilers from me, but Stark concludes that maybe that was ‘far too few’ p.104).  He then contrasts Fulk III with the Burgundian Stephen I of Neublans, who justified his decision to travel thus: “Considering how many are my sins and the love, clemency and mercy of Our Lord Jesus Christ, because when he was rich he became poor for our sake, I have determined to repay him in some measure for everything he has given me freely, although I am unworthy.  And so I have decided to go to Jerusalem, where God was seen as man and spoke with men and to adore the place where his feet trod” (104-5)  These examples bring the characters – and by extension, their history – to life.

In contrast, later in the same chapter, Stark tells us that  ‘even at the time they took place, Muslim chroniclers paid very little attention to the Crusades, regarding them as invasions by a primitive, unlearned, impoverished and un-Muslim people’ (p.113).  I would have loved to read a quotation from those Muslim chroniclers!   I might then have been able to argue this point with someone, saying ‘ah, but did you know that at the time of the Crusades, the Muslim chroniclers wrote…’ but alas, all I can do is say, ‘Rodney Stark wrote that Edward Peters wrote that…’

On the whole, Bearing False Witness is a valuable read if you, or someone you know has been lumbered with an anti-Catholic perspective of history.  Each myth is successfully and convincingly debunked.  As I drew to the end of the book, I found myself musing that if Templeton Press could produce a sister volume that deals with debunking present-day myths about the Catholic Church (false perceptions of the Church as homophobic or misogynistic, for example), the two volumes could together help ensure that accurate history will be taught to our children in the future.

 

This piece originally appeared in Faith Magazine

Beginning again

While I mourn the passing of Woolworths, I certainly do not miss the feeling of catching sight of their ‘Back to School‘ sign while in the middle of my summer holidays.  Which child wants to be reminded of school before it’s absolutely necessary?  But then, when it does come, with new shoes, bulky uniform and (if you’re lucky) a new pencil case, beginning a new school year is exciting.

Even if children are not moving schools, they move up a year with new teachers, new classrooms and new exercise books.  I remember flicking straight to the back of new maths text books to see what kind of difficult-looking calculations we’d be able to do by the time we reached the end.  I remember the feeling of starting a new exercise book (or ‘jotter’, as we called them), trying to use best hand-writing and resolving to keep it that way.

Of course as time passed and my jotter filled up, I’d inevitably mess up in some way, but there was no way I’d be getting a new one until that one was completely finished.  I remember our teachers looking through books that we claimed were complete, only to be shown several spaces – a few lines here, maybe a half-page there – to fill in before she would relent and hand over a new jotter.  I even remember the techniques of leaving larger spaces between words; leaving more lines blank between pieces of work, all out of the desire to begin again in a new jotter.

Perhaps it’s partly because of this experience that we do not trust that God is always happy for us to make a fresh beginning.  When we make a mess of things – when we fall into sin – the temptation is to think that we’re stuck with it and we can’t make a fresh start.  And yet God is not interested in keeping us stuck in our old jotters after we’ve mucked up.  Even if we come to him with a jotter that’s just a bit grubby with a few mistakes but we we’re sorry for those sins, God is happy to forgive us and let us move on.  He has an inexhaustible supply of forgiveness, which he is always delighted to bestow on those who seek it with a contrite heart.

And unlike the school’s resource cupboard, at the confessional near you, you’ll always be able to walk away with a new jotter.

Just one thing…

Butler’s final remarks regarding Ss Peter and Paul are: ‘Impulsive, generous Peter and moody, introverted Paul make an odd pair; but their work was complementary, which is why the Church has remembered them together through the centuries.’  

Their differences in personality and background make it hard to imagine how the two would have got on if they’d worked in close proximity.  I’m not sure for example, that had they worked together as fishermen, theirs would have been the most harmonious boat on the sea.  As it happened, they had the whole of the Mediterranean world to move around and barely ever met.

But they did meet.  For the Office of Readings today, we have a chunk from St Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where Paul sets out in black and white what occurred when he and Barnabas met with Peter, James and John in Jerusalem.  Paul is at pains to point out that ‘These leaders had nothing to add to the Good News as I preach it.  On the contrary, they recognised that I had been commissioned to preach the Good News to the uncircumcised just as Peter had been commissioned to preach it to the circumcised.’    They all shook hand’s a sign of partnership and it seems all the business is conducted.  I imagine all are thinking, ‘Gosh, that went well.  They are jolly good chaps.  The Church is in safe hands indeed…’ and then, as Paul and Barnabas turn to go, Peter calls out,

‘Just one thing, Paul, that we really must insist on…’

Imagine Paul and Barnabas freezing on the threshold – what could it be?  Not circumcision, as that’s all cleared up and everything else has been covered, surely?

‘Remember to help the poor.’

An awful lot of ink has been used to comment on this meeting of Peter and Paul (with even more spilt over the next chapter…) but it’s telling that after what some call ‘the first Council’, the statement that is left ringing in the air is not some intricacy of theology but a most practical point of Christianity: Remember to help the poor (Gal 2:10).

A Birthday Psalm

Our psalm for today, the Birthday of St John the Baptist, is excerpts from Psalm 138 (139) (vv1-3; 13-15).  It is always interesting to ask oneself why particular psalms have been chosen for a particular day and it seems that our answer today lies in verses 13 and 14:

13   For it was you who created my being,

  knit me together in my mother’s womb.

14   I thank you for the wonder of my being,

  for the wonders of all your creation.

Birthdays can give good opportunities to reflect on our lives.  It is fitting, of course, to spend some time on our birthday thanking not only our parents but also our Divine Creator, and to give thanks for all that we are and for all the Divine gifts we have received throughout our lives.

I do love this psalm, especially that phrase, ‘knit me together in my mother’s womb’.  The image of God knitting makes me think of God concentrating on making me ‘just so’; giving the incomplete me His whole attention, as He works to make me just as He intended.  It reminds me that I am ‘wonderfully made’; an apt reminder on birthdays where there is no longer room on the cake for the candles!

God’s attention to detail is a theme in the rest of the psalm too: ‘O Lord, you search me and you know me, you know my resting and my rising, you discern my purpose from afar.  You mark when I walk or lie down, all my ways lie open to you.  Before ever a word is on my tongue you know it, O Lord through and through… 

Thoughts of God’s omniscience overwhelm the Psalmist: ‘Too wonderful for me, this knowledge, too high, beyond my reach’ and he considers running: ‘O where can I go from your spirit?‘ but realises, of course, that any attempt is futile: ‘If I climb to the heavens, you are there...’

What to do, then?  Run anyway?  Put fingers in ears and proclaim, ‘La, la, la, I can’t hear you’?

Happily, the Psalmist gives good example:

23   O search me, God, and know my heart.

O test me and know my thoughts.

24   See that I follow not the wrong path

and lead me in the path of life eternal.  

God knows us better than we know ourselves and, loving us, He wants what is best for us.  What better can we do but pray that our wills be united with His?  Usually, saints’ feasts are held on the day of their death: their ‘birthday’ into heaven.  In praying with the Psalmist here, we are declaring our intention to walk in God’s paths, that we might follow those saints in that path and be born into life eternal.

St John the Baptist, pray for us!