A Skeptic’s Epiphany on Sister Thérèse of Lisieux
Cautionary advice: This post mentions Christian doctrine, but it is not meant to alienate people practicing other belief systems (including atheism and agnosticism). It does not attempt to preach but to inform and promote awareness of a holy person’s life and struggles and how she is so much like ordinary folks. The difference is that she was able to rise above human frailty to overcome challenges. We do not mean to be esoteric, but it was necessary to use Catholic terminology to tell this story to better portray it as it unfolded. We have placed definitions in the footnotes, however. Like the other entries in this blog, Saint Thérèse’s story shows how strength of character, love for a higher power, genuine concern for one’s fellow human being (even the nasty ones), and faith can really move mountains.
Saint Thérèse (Marie Françoise Thérèse Martin, 1873-1897) was a French Carmelite nun from Lisieux, France. She is known by several names, among them: “The Little Flower,” “Doctor of Divine Love,” “Doctor of the Universal Church,” “Principal Patroness of Missionaries,” “Secondary Patroness of France,” “Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face,” and “Patroness of People Who Fall Asleep While Praying.” She is the 33rd Doctor of the Universal Church but also the youngest.
My mother introduced her to me when I was a kid because I hated doing chores. We were expatriates in a country where household help was scarce and expensive. Regular folks there had to maintain their households themselves. “What does a saint have to do with washing dishes?” I asked impetuously. I was in that rebellious stage when well-meaning advice simply flew out the window of my consciousness.
What Mom was trying to impart to me then was the intrinsic value of doing mundane tasks, which can pave a path toward holiness. But I retorted then as I do now (or at least until I rediscovered said saint): “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t have any ambitions of being a saint. It’s too difficult and I’m too self-centered.” So I went on with my life of self-absorption, doing good deeds occasionally only when it was convenient, or when guilted into it.
I didn’t realize until I was an adult and had undergone many trials that Mom’s lesson was immensely important. I thought she was on “nagging mode” then, but she was actually toughening me up for the future. She was part of a society of leisure. She and her siblings grew up with servants and everything was provided for them. All they had to do was snap their fingers and somebody would come running to cater to their every whim, even if it was just a glass of water (which they could easily get themselves). Mom saw the detrimental effects of this type of upbringing, so she wanted to save me and my brother from them. That’s why we never had nannies growing up even though our neighbors did. Her insistence on us doing household chores and cooking was to train us for independence.
I remember her telling us that children who depend on helpers will grow up weak, helpless, without ambition, and unable to take care of themselves in adulthood. This holds true even for adults who are extremely attached to their spouses, kids, friends, or other family members.
“What will you do when they die or if they leave?” she asked. She was preparing us for her passing even at that early stage. “Independence guarantees you will survive when life throws you a curve and your circumstances change. Fortunes change, wars rage on, world economy fluctuates, jobs disappear, but if your foundation is strong, not only will you be able to sustain yourself, you will thrive and lift up others with you.”
Surprisingly, during her lifetime, Saint T struggled with the very notion of attachment and dependence that Mom warned us against. Her clinging to her family and past, comfortable life only magnified her suffering. She had to deal with her mom’s death at an early age, the collapse of their family businesses (her mom was a master lacemaker and her dad, a watchmaker), her father’s confinement in a mental institution, the “abandonment” by her older sisters (who joined the convent when they should have been looking after her and their dad), and experiencing debilitating pain from tuberculosis (which, at that time, didn’t have a cure). Only when she let go and let God 100% into her life was she able to manage her problems.
Messages from the Great Beyond
Many years later, after Mom joined Our Lord, I was looking through her collection of books and magazines when a photo of her when she was younger fell out from a book. She had used it as a bookmark. I wanted to remember Mom at the prime of her health, so I put that photo on my desk. This way, I can see her every day while I’m writing.
The next week, another document slipped out of Mom’s literature. This time, it was a small pamphlet with a photo of Saint Thérèse and a novena [1] on her. I wondered if Mom wanted me to pray with this patron in mind because their photos fell out in succession.
So I looked at the requirement: Say 24 chants of “Glory Be” [2] for nine successive days from the 9th to the 17th of every month. Are you kidding me: 24? That would take forever! It typically takes me three hours to say the rosary, which is supposed to be recited within 15 minutes. What more 24 prayers? No can do. The only saint I was consistent in invoking was Saint Jude Thaddeus (not the traitor), “Patron of the Hopeless,” because I identified with his devotees. (Although “Patron of the Hopeful” sounds better.)
The Book That Lulled Me to Sleep
Days later, I came across a book on Saint T written by a Carmelite nun in England. It was amazing how insistent my mother was at pushing this saint on me... and from the grave too. I tried to read the book in honor of Mom, but the author’s writing style was so boring and difficult to read, I found myself falling asleep every time I attempted to read a few pages. “I can do better than this,” I thought arrogantly.
“Then do so,” Mom dared me. She prompted me to read the inside cover. I saw her handwriting: “Arrival of the relic of Saint Thérèse, March 11, 2007.” She used another leaflet as a bookmark. On it was information on the saint’s Asian shrine in Villamor Air Base. What was it doing in a military installation? I didn’t know she had a church in the country dedicated to her. Mom must have gone there on that day and bought the book as a souvenir.
Nevertheless, I told my mother that being an advocate of a saint was too difficult. Isn’t that the job of the clergy or the religious laity? I’m the last person who should be writing about one. I’m not worthy, what with my criticism of my religion and all.
And with that reasoning, in one fell swoop, I snubbed the same saint twice in one lifetime: as a child and as an adult. I set the book, novena, and shrine pamphlet aside and forgot about them... until one night when I was in a desolate mood, I happened to chance upon them again.
History of the Novena
I had no intention of taking up a novena habit then, but on that dismal day, I was on the verge of giving up writing my novel. So I read the novena handout, hoping to find a sliver of solace. Inside it was an interesting story about how Saint Thérèse (hereinafter referred to in this article as Saint T) presented a miracle to Father Putigan (Father P for short), a Jesuit priest. That event was the catalyst that later started a global prayer movement.
The pamphlet stated that on December 3, 1925, Father P designed a novena in Saint T’s honor consisting of 24 rounds of the prayer “Glory Be” to commemorate the 24 years of her life. He used the novena to ask a big favor from Saint T. He also asked her for a rose to let him know that she heard his plea. On the third day of the novena, a stranger gave him a rose. Father P took it as a sign from Saint T. His problem was resolved shortly after.
Father P made another appeal on December 24, this time asking Saint T for a white rose—possibly to test the viability of that miracle and make sure it wasn’t a fluke. Sure enough, one morning, a nun handed him a white rose. He asked her how she came upon it and what compelled her to give it to him. She said that while she was passing by an altar that had a photograph of Saint T above it, a white rose fell at her feet. Instinct told her to give the flower to Father P instead of returning it to its bouquet.
The Female Thomas
Despite having read the novena‘s origin, I let my journalistic cynicism take over. I doubted anyone would spend the time to fact-check that anecdote, especially since it went back almost a century. (Unless they were purposely researching the life of Saint T for work or study.)
I thought, “Hmm. Another example of religious propaganda to reel the masses in—a remnant of the conquistadors’ ploys to subdue their subjects—like the invention of ‘confession.’ Since the previous saints were old fogies, the younger generation wouldn’t be interested in them, let alone patronize them. So the Church had to come up with a modern symbol of humility, unquestioning obedience, and abject sacrifice. Give parishioners a heroine in the form of a young nun who not only performed miracles but also lived in the 19th century—closer to our time. That way, they will better identify with her.”
Saint T was the perfect representation because today’s youth no longer listen to their elders and are instead influenced by the more enticing call of mass media and digital communication. The Church hailed her as “The Greatest Saint of Modern Times”... effectively bypassing Mother Teresa of Calcutta (20th century; died 1997)—who patterned her name after Thérèse—and Pope John Paul II (our century; died 2005). Nonetheless, I viewed the life stories of the saints as a clever publicity stunt.
Before you think I’m being blasphemous, take a look at world history. It was no secret that the conquering nations had to “tame” the natives, so they wouldn’t resist conquest while their lands were plundered, indigenous culture erased, and archaeological artifacts pillaged and shipped to museums in the invaders’ home countries. Forced conversion to the conquerors’ religious beliefs aided in the subjugation of massive groups of people. The Catholic conquerors introduced saints who performed miracles to manipulate the sociopolitical climate of their vanquished lands and control the viewpoints of the inhabitants. The concept of miracles was supposed to elicit wonder, awe, and fear. Its offshoot: compliance.
However, my skepticism was overtaken by this nasty little inkling called “faith,” which makes believers out of heretics like me. What happened to make my doubts about Saint T and her holy homies disappear?
The Revelation
Well, for some time now, I had been accompanying my close friend to her appointments at a medical center. On yet another visit there, I looked out the window while she was waiting her turn and found myself face-to-face with the bell tower of a church. All the windows of the air-conditioned clinic were shut, yet I could hear gospel music from outdoors.
However, instead of being soothed by the sound, I was irritated because I associated it with the singing that woke me up every Sunday morning. The songs were supposed to be religious hymns sung by a choir. Instead, one female voice dominated everyone else’s. The result was a pronounced wailing backed by a chorus that seemed to have been forced into joining it rather than keeping in harmony with it. I have been enduring this weekly infernal racket for several years now. And today, it has followed me to this church.
However, God interrupted my annoyed rumination on this auditory assault. He said, “You’ve been to this building a few times already. My house is just opposite. Why haven’t you visited me?”
In my head, I replied (so as not to alarm the doctors and be mistaken for a patient), “I’d like to, but as you know, I have to take my friend home and I have another appointment after that. Besides, I can’t stand that wailing. If you make her stop, I’ll drop by.”
He answered, “Regardless... how much effort would it take to cross the street and peek inside for a few minutes?”
At that precise moment, my friend said her cousin texted her, offering to take her home, with apologies. He was supposed to accompany her to that appointment but was caught in traffic, so I had to step in.
With my excuse effectively voided, I had to accept God’s invite. Before I went in, however, I asked the security guard at the church’s entrance what the cacophony was about. (I was referring to the horrible, pre-recorded singing that was grating on my nerves). “Is there an ongoing mass?”
The woman with him who I assumed—from her uniform and ID—was one of the church minders, answered me. “It’s just pipe music,” she explained. Apparently, the church had it playing on a loop as a filler until the next mass.
I didn’t want to stick around for an hour waiting for the next church service while being subjected to that awful music. So I decided to just pop in for a sec. The minute I sat down at one of the pews, a multitude of hands with smartphones shot up into the air. It was like a swarm of paparazzi had suddenly burst into the scene and I was the unwilling subject. Objectively speaking, I wasn’t, but I was instantly aware that if the owners of those smartphones were capturing the interior of the church, I would naturally be in their footage—which I hated.
On second glance, I discovered to my relief that I wasn’t the main attraction. A clutch of humans, mostly women, were taking selfies by the altar. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the object of interest was an edifice encased in glass.
It must be important, I figured, if all those people wanted souvenirs with it. Switching to my long-distance eyeglasses, I searched for clues to the showcase’s identity. To the left of it was a poster. I missed it earlier because I was wearing my anti-blue light specs, which was intended for close computer work and not distance vision. The announcement stated, “5th Philippine Visit of the Pilgrim Relics of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, January 2 to April 30, 2023.”
I asked a woman with the same uniform (as the one outside) about the relics. She said I was lucky to have dropped by because Saint T had been making her rounds in the country for the last three months, it was the last day of her visit to that church, and her relics were about to be sent back to France. No wonder God urged me to visit that day!
The woman happened to be a representative of the shrine at the air base. She urged me to buy a souvenir to help with the saint’s worldwide mission. I bought a rosary and two handkerchiefs, meaning to give one as a gift to my friend. I asked the seller why the rosary looked weird. It was crowned by a rose instead of a cross and it was missing a lot of beads. He explained that the 24 beads were intentional. They represented Saint T’s 24 years on earth and the rose was her official symbol.
With this in mind, I chose two rose photos to frame Saint T’s quotes. When I first came across these JPEGs a couple of years ago, I didn’t want to save them because they were quite simple and not as breathtakingly gorgeous as the other flowers in the Solace Team’s collection and I wanted to save hard drive space. However, instinct told me to save them because I might need them “for later.” I think that time has come.
God must have sent me to buy one of those small rosaries to make reciting the 24 “Glory Be” prayers easier! Owning that single religious item eliminated my reluctance to say Saint T’s novena. I found myself using it everyday because the beads helped me keep track and made saying repetitive prayers less of a chore. I have a hyperactive mind, which becomes uncontrollable especially during prayer or meditation, so markers, such as rosary beads, help in pulling it back in.
I found out later that the reason for the structure of that rosary was that it was meant to be a bracelet as well. And Filipinos call it a “chaplet,” referring to a smaller version of the rosary with fewer beads. However, chaplet is simply a synonym for rosary, derived from the French “chapelet.” The photo on the left is similar to the one I got, except mine is made of wood and it doesn’t have Saint T’s image.
The Realization
I found out through the Daily Tribune that the object inside the glass case was Saint T’s reliquary, a container for a holy person’s earthly remains or objects she touched during her lifetime. Hers was called a “centennial reliquary” because it was built in 1997, 100 years after her death. This is the one traveling around the globe, including 50-plus dioceses [3] and apostolic vicariates [4] and Malacañang Palace in the Philippines. The container is a silver case dipped in gold further encased in jacaranda hardwood. It holds Saint T’s right femur (thigh) bone exhumed from her tomb in Lisieux during her beatification [5] in 1923.
According to the Business Mirror, Saint T’s relics’ visit to the Philippines coincided with her 150th birth anniversary (January 2—recognized by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization), and the centennial of her beatification (April 29). Her order, the Carmelites, is holding a three-year commemoration of her until the centenary of her canonization [6] on May 17, 2025.
While I was kneeling at the pews, it became apparent to me as I listened more closely to the singing that the lyrics were in the local language. That was why they flew over my head. But when I translated them to English, I realized they formed a composition in honor of Saint T! That was the reason the hymn was on a loop—possibly for the duration of Saint T’s relics’ presence in that church. I remembered then that there’s usually no music in between masses. That parish just made an exception during her visit.
Later, I learned through the website of her shrine at the air base that the hymn, together with two others, were the winners of a song-writing competition. I’m sorry if I cannot appreciate one of those creations. The lyrics were fine; maybe it was the rendering or the acoustics in the building that I found discomfiting. Anyway, that’s just my opinion. I’m sure those compositions won because the contest organizers found them exceptional.
The reason the shrine rep suggested I buy a Saint T hanky was so I could press it to the glass encasing her relic—a part of the nun’s thigh bone—then use it to touch a sick person, who would hopefully be healed. The Catholic in me felt unfulfilled when I was unable to do that. (I was wary of being included in the numerous selfies at the altar.) But the logical me argued that if I had faith, that gesture wasn’t necessary. It was enough that the saint made her presence known to me. That alone was an immense privilege because not many people are likewise blessed.
I felt a similar “religious” regret when I was in Turin many years ago during a European tour with my friends. I wanted to see Christ’s shroud in person, but I was late in meeting them in Milan, Venice, Pisa, and Rome, so they had moved on to London without me. If I stayed another day in Italy, I would miss them in England too. So I was unable to see Jesus’ burial sheet.
There was a reason for my ruefulness. Throughout my years in school, I had always proposed that topic for my book reports. I received an A or A+ for all of them. I therefore imposed it upon myself to see the real thing to make my writing authentic. That loss ate at me for some time before I got over it. But the realization is the same. It was enough that I was in the city that hosted the Holy Shroud; I didn’t have to see it to believe. Despite some documentaries disputing its authenticity, the Catholic Church is steadfast in maintaining it. Nevertheless, let the naysayers and believers battle it out among themselves. There should be no war between science and religion because they complement each other. Where science ends, religion takes up the slack. If you have faith, you don’t need proof.
So if you find yourself in a similar situation, like not being able to go to pilgrimage sites like Medjugorje, Lourdes, or Jerusalem, know that it is not mandatory for entrance into heaven or to achieve holiness. Being able to visit those places is simply icing on the pastry puff of organized religion. If a belief system obliges its subjects to go on pilgrimages as a prerequisite to enter Nirvana, wouldn’t that be unfair? What about the multitudes living in remote or impoverished areas for whom long-distance travel is not an option? Would God deny them entrance?
I later found out from the shrine’s brochure that Saint T chose her religious name from the two mysteries of Christ: “Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face,” which symbolizes the faithful’s patient endurance in suffering together with the Lord no matter how heavy the burden.
Roses From Heaven
A week after the church event, my friend, to whom I gave the second Saint T handkerchief as a birthday gift, asked me to accompany her to the cemetery, so she could visit her parents. On the way, we stopped to buy flowers. After she paid for them, the florist gave her a bunch of red roses—freebies to thank her for her purchase. Delighted, my friend told the shopkeeper that her gesture was a pleasant surprise because yesterday was also her birthday. In response, the woman gave her a second bunch of roses! That was when it hit me: Saint T had let her presence known to me once more!
I asked my friend if she had unwrapped my birthday gift. She said no because she had been so busy yesterday and today, we were out and about.
I said, “Remember what happened today when you finally open it.”
When we spoke on the phone days later after she had opened my gift, I told her about the origin of Saint T’s novena and what happened at the church after her last doctor’s appointment. She said the hairs on her arms prickled as I was relaying the story, especially the anecdote about Father P.
I didn’t tell her I was a bit miffed the day she got the roses. I wondered why it was she, who wasn’t a Saint T devotee, who got the flowers instead of me, the one who asked for her intercession daily. I even dedicated my first novel to her.
This is what I got: “Your friend is the one regularly visiting her parents and buying flowers for them. Have you done the same for your mother and brother?”
This also entered my thoughts: Part of the novena was a pledge to make Saint T known everywhere. I haven’t done that yet, so why would she reward me with roses?
Between the time my book was published and the church event, I watched a rerun of The Hunger Games. A white rose was one of the recurring symbols in that movie series and for a split second, I thought Saint T may have been nudging me with it to remind me of my duty to evangelize. But I told myself that flower didn’t count as a holy marker because the one who wore it on his lapel was President Snow, the penultimate antagonist (played by Donald Sutherland). I forgot about roses after that... until that incident at the florist.
The Book That Kept Me Awake
I had asked Saint T to help me meet the press deadline, so I could have my novel published by Christmas. My tardiness in keeping up with the production schedule made that goal impossible, as I was in a Catholic country where everything shuts down during Christmas and New Year and the period in between. Yet I was able to make it—on Christmas Eve, to be precise.
Another blessing happened with my book. One of the lessons I learned from online publishing was that for ebooks, it’s better to place the dedication section at the back because online publishers tend to exclude it when showcasing the first few chapters in the “Look Inside” section, leading to the possibility that it may be overlooked altogether. (“Look Inside” is a feature where readers can view the early portions of a book without buying it.)
But something told me to leave the dedication page as is. To my surprise, my publisher included it in the sampler! That way, people who click on the “Look Inside” button will see my dedication to Saint T.
The Local Shrine
Earlier, I wondered why a religious edifice like Asia’s Diocesan Shrine of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus was in a military installation, specifically Villamor Air Base in Pasay City, Philippines.
I found out through its brochure that many of Saint T’s devotees are men and women in uniform. Stories of conversion by military personnel in France abound. That was why Military Bishop Leopoldo Tumulak declared the church near the airport as the Shrine of the Military Ordinariate in partnership with Magnificat Ventures Corporation. Cardinal Ricardo Vidal consecrated and rededicated it to Saint T on May 17, 2007, which was the 82nd anniversary of her canonization. May 17, 2023 is her 98th.
As Dad served in the US Air Force and Navy, he was often stationed in other countries. During those times when we weren’t abroad with him, it was Saint T whom Mom asked for intercession. That was another reason why she brought the saint to my attention.
What’s the Point of Saint T?
The conquistadors of yesteryear may have misused the concept of sainthood to manipulate their subjects, using it as a tool for subjugation. But the point of introducing saints to the masses should be to provide concrete, sustainable examples of kindness that people can emulate to make their lives more altruistic and fulfill most religions’ mantra: to love one another, no matter what. Since such a simple goal is also the most difficult—have you tried “appreciating” your neighbors who drive around at 6 am with their boom box turned up to the max?— most of us need others to show the way.
Before, I didn’t have much respect for the contemplative religious orders: monks, nuns, brothers, and priests who live in isolation because what they are doing is easy for me (and other introverts). I felt that their solitude in prayer or meditation isn’t much help to the greater populace. I believe the true test of one’s character is to be among fellow human beings—regular ones, not fellow introspectives. Fallible, irritating, inconsiderate, selfish people.
It’s easy to be holy when you’re alone in a cloister on a hilltop overlooking the sea and don’t have to grapple with everyday annoyances. I don’t think there’s much merit to things like vows of silence because it’s easy to live in harmony with your environment if you don’t have to deal with the daily noise of living in the real world. Try surviving in the depressed, most densely populated areas of the planet and if you are still sane after a year, I salute you.
Instead, I placed other orders on a higher level: the missionaries, religious medics, and charitable organizations because they serve on a grassroots level. They are in the trenches with us, ordinary folks, wading in the same muck of suffering and misery.
That’s why I didn’t think much of Saint T at first. I scoured through that sleep-inducing book on her by that nun to find out what made her special. Nada. She did nothing closely resembling fantastic. What? That can’t be right. A saint needs to have done phenomenal, earthshaking, once-in-a-lifetime deeds unmatched by other humans.
Yet according to the website of Saint T’s Philippine shrine, Pope Pius XI proclaimed her a saint on May 17, 1925. On December 14, 1927, the same pope named her the “Principal Patroness of Missionaries” (equal to Saint Francis Xavier) despite the fact that she never left her country. The accolade was due to her support for the missions by way of prayers and letters. On May 3, 1944, Pope Pius XII proclaimed Saint T the “Secondary Patroness of France,” equal to Saint Joan of Arc, one of her sources of inspiration. Why?
Mom used to refer to Saint T’s “Little Way,” but I never bothered to find out its significance. So I went beyond the book to find out what that phrase meant. I remembered that Mom used to say that saints were ordinary people who did extraordinary things. What I discovered was that Saint T really didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. What she did instead was provide solutions to everyday problems, such as what to do when a colleague (in her case, her fellow nun) was being a pain in the neck. Like me, she didn’t like doing domestic chores. She wasn’t being arrogant nor did she view those activities as beneath her; mundane tasks simply irritated her. (Likewise! But my dislike for them had to do with their capacity to waste time; I could be doing more important things.)
The trick, Saint T said, was to regard routine tasks equally important as other activities because they are gifts to God. If you do them for the Lord, you won’t begrudge your time in accomplishing them.
Saint T taught by example the value of putting up with people’s shortcomings, sacrificing one’s indulgences, and extending acts of kindness—what she called “loving God in action.” She knew she was limited in what she could do for people because of the imposed seclusion of her organization.
She admitted that she didn’t do missionary activities, like preach overseas or work with the underprivileged. She also conceded she didn’t have the strength to take care of children or infirm family members. Her own father was confined to a mental health facility, while she and her sisters were cloistered as nuns. (Good thing they had a non-religious sister who stayed behind with him.) What she had to offer God, though, was a “thousand and one ‘nothings’ that make up my day.” Examples of these were helping others in need, stopping oneself from saying mean comments, or praying despite not feeling like it.
She said it’s easy to overlook these small actions—that they aren’t worth presenting to God. But most of us aren’t given opportunities to do stupendous things. All we have is the ordinariness of our daily lives, but “holiness is made up of these tiny things if done for God and with love.”
The Power of Prayer
Last month, I had the privilege of chatting with two nuns from The Missionary Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I told them I applaud their work and that I appreciated them more than I do their contemplative counterparts (like Saint Thérèse’s and Saint Teresa of Avila’s religious order, the Carmelites). Those missionary nuns said I shouldn’t be quick to dismiss religious people who pray in solitude. They may not join us in the trenches, but they serve a primary purpose: they lead the world in prayer.
“Do not underestimate the power of prayer,” the sisters admonished me. “The Catholic Church regards contemplative orders as ‘the powerhouse of the Church’ because they provide the spiritual foundation that makes possible the work of missionaries like us and representatives of the Lord who serve the needy.”
Saint T's testament to the power of prayer was her own, said on behalf of Henri Pranzini, a convicted murderer. She prayed and made sacrifices so that he would ask forgiveness and be saved from hell. On the day of his execution, Saint T read from a newspaper that Pranzini asked for the cross and kissed it, proving that prayer moves beyond the walls of the cloister.
I kneel corrected. In the end, on that day inside that church with the horrible acoustics and the humans with their smartphones and selfies, I thought I was visiting Saint Thérèse... when in fact, she was visiting me.
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Expat Scribe, the writer of this article, is also the author of the psychological techno-thriller, “The Invisible Cyber Bully: What it’s like to be watched 24/7.”
The novel tackles the surreptitious bullying and illegal surveillance, DNA-extraction, psychological torture, and experimentation by law enforcers, scientific laboratories, various “hidden” associations, and global authorities on ordinary citizens. Some chapters discuss the garden-variety bully from schools and neighborhoods. The book also features a primer on how to fight cyber bullying.
Footnotes:
[1] A form of worship among Roman Catholics comprising special prayers to be recited for nine consecutive days
[2] A Catholic prayer of praise to the Holy Triumvirate: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit
[3] A district in the Christian Church managed by a bishop
[4] A church or parish managed by a vicar
[5] This is when a pope declares a dead individual in “a state of bliss,” the first step toward canonization
[6] In the Roman Catholic Church, the official declaration and admission of a dead individual as a saint
Sources:
The brochure, Facebook page, and website of the Diocesan Shrine of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, Villamor Air Base, Pasay City, Philippines
The Story of a Soul (The Autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux), Baronius Press, 1899. [The French publication with Saint T’s original text was titled, Histoire d’une âme, published in 1898.]
Dan Navarro, “St. Thérèse’s reliquary visiting metro churches,” Daily Tribune, April 11, 2023
“After visiting more than 50 dioceses and vicariates in four months, Saint Thérèse’s relics bid farewell to Philippine devotees,” Business Mirror, April 30, 2023
Catholic Minute’s Ken Yasinski: Saint Thérèse of Lisieux: Top 10 Quotes
Society of the Little Flower website
Basilica of Lisieux website
Photo Credits:
(In order of appearance)
[a] Ron Lach
[b] Nick Castelli
[c] Mehmet Turgut Kirkgoz
[d] Nick Castelli
[e] Michelle Leman
[f] Alfredo Viramontes
[g] Nick Castelli
[h] mickaetmanue8
[i] Designecologist
[j] From the website of Saint Thérèse's relics
[k] From the Etsy store, Heavenly Hands Made
[l] Robert Cheaib
[m] Wikimedia Commons
[n] Wikimedia Commons
[o] Marites Allen
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