The Depths of Love

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In a previous entry I wrote:

I wonder how it is that I continue finding these Theresian themes cropping up in my life. “My vocation is to love” she said. Perhaps if I had chosen a different saint for my patron when I was confirmed I would have seen the development of things attributed to them instead.

All other vocations must have this vocation as their source. Each of them is but a different expression of the same vocation to love. I can be faithful to my vocation, though I do not know what form it shall take, for it is in the end a vocation to love.

I further resolve that I shall not seek out any particular form of this vocation, but shall trust that he shall reveal his calling in his good time. Indeed, he is already calling me and leading me in the way I should go, though I cannot tell where I am going.

In the absence of a clear call to take decisive action, I shall content myself with remaining as I am. I shall heed the words of St. Paul to the Corinthians (1 Cor 7:24 NIV)

Brothers, each man, as responsible to God, should remain in the situation God called him to.

He continues in vss. 29-31:

What I mean, brothers, is that the time is short. From now on those who have wives should live as if they had none; those who mourn, as if they did not; those who are happy, as if they are not; those who buy something, as if it were not theirs to keep; those who use the things of the world, as if not engrossed in them. For this world in its present form is passing away.

The earth in its present form is passing away. This means that I ought not to do anything for the sake of earthly gain, for any earthly gain will pass away with the earth. I must fix my eyes on what is unseen, on what is eternal, that which does not pass away. What does this mean when it comes to discerning my vocation in life, particularly as concerns whether to marry or to remain unmarried? Jesus says (Matt. 19:11-12):

Not everyone can accept this word, but only those to whom it has been given. For some. . . have renounced marriage because of the kingdom of heaven. The one who can accept this should accept it.

The gift of celibacy is clearly a symbolic anticipation of the kingdom of heaven. It proclaims, "We live for more than this life, our destiny reaches beyond the doors of death." What then, is marriage but a concession for incapable of controlling their passions? Certainly it has that function. But let us consider an example from history:

Louis and Zelie were an ordinary man and woman. As young adults, they were both drawn to the religious life and each unsuccessfully sought entrance into a religious community. With that path closed to them, at least for a time, they each settled down in a town in France. After some time, they met each other and were married.

Louis, 34, and Zelie, 26, married and began their remarkable voyage through life. Within the next fifteen years, Zelie bore nine children, seven girls and two boys. "We lived only for them", Zelie wrote; "they were all our happiness".

The Martins' delight in their children turned to shock and sorrow as tragedy relentlessly and mercilessly stalked their little ones. Within three years, Zelie's two baby boys, a five year old girl and a six-and-a-half week old infant girl all died.

Zelie was left numb with sadness. "I haven't a penny's worth of courage," she lamented. But her faith sustained her through these terrible ordeals. In a letter to her sister-in-law who had lost an infant son, Zelie remembered: "When I closed the eyes of my dear little children and buried them, I felt sorrow through and through....People said to me, 'It would have been better never to have had them.' I couldn't stand such language. My children were not lost forever; life is short and full of miseries, and we shall find our little ones again up above." (Source)

Loius Martin and Zelie Guerin married because of the kingdom of heaven. In their vocation to marriage, they were choosing the way of love, and were living for the world which is to come. Their last child was a girl, one who is known far more widely than either of her parents. They named her Therese — Therese Martin, whom we know as St. Therese, the Little Flower.

It is clear to me that it is not important whether I am called to marriage or celibacy, but that I live out my vocation to love. Whether I am called to marry or to remain unmarried, I shall do so "because of the kingdom of heaven."

How else can I live?

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