It is well known that I had neither riches, nor talent, nor external charm, but I have always loved, and I have loved with all the strength of my heart. St. Mary Euphrasia Pelletier

The Saint is reminding us of something that I believe most of us sense, i.e., that it’s what “inside” that is most important. Her words reinforce themes in many of the Gospel parables: the leaven in the dough, the mustard seed, or the pearl of great price hidden in the field. Most of us tend to value aspects of a person such as honesty, integrity, loyalty, and faithfulness in love as more significant than how someone looks, which race they belong to, or in which social stratum they grew up.

I have come to believe that unhealthy religion tends to over-emphasize the outer manifestations of faith, often without attention to the place where love dwells—in the intimacy of our hearts. Rituals, devotions, and repetitive vocal prayers are almost always an aspect of one’s religious life. There is clearly nothing ‘wrong’ with any of such devotional practices unless they take on a meaning for themselves.  I believe we all need to be reminded about religion as “fingers pointing to the moon”” and not the moon they are pointing towards: nothing less than our deep longing for the Divine.

For St. Mary Euphrasia, that longing is grounded in the “heart choices” of love. Her use of the phrase “strength of my heart” seems to suggest that such choices are not always the easiest to make.  As well, “heart strength” likely varies from person to person, and so one ought to be careful not to become judgmental towards others and ourselves.

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Jesus loves hidden souls. A hidden flower is the most fragrant.  I must strive to make the interior of my soul a resting place for the heart of Jesus. St. Faustina

In one of the prayers for the dead in the Catholic funeral Mass, a reference is made to those who have died whose faith is known to you alone.  I have always taken great comfort from that line, and it has served well as a reminder that God's kingdom exists within the intimacy of our innermost selves.

Why would a “hidden flower” be the most fragrant? I suppose it may refer to a situation in which an experienced gardener passes by a rose bush which had escaped attention because if was dwarfed by a nearby shrub. Because of her acute awareness of the delicate scent of roses, the gardener notices  the little flower and does what is necessary to help it grow to its potential. What that suggests to me  is that it behooves us to become more sensitized to others’ loves, even if they are not particularly “lovable” on the outside. After all, that is how God loves each one of us.

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The only way to make rapid progress along the path of divine love is to remain very little and put all our trust in Almighty God.  St. Therese of Lisieux

One should not be surprised that this young  and uneducated Saint who was ultimately declared a “Doctor of the Church” would make such a statement. Indeed, St. Therese has often been referred to as the “little flower” and in her autobiography (Journey of a Soul) she describes how this great insight emerged in her hidden life as a young nun through which she learned to “do little things with great love”.

Societies have a way of creating hierarchies and so there exists a strong drive to not only be successful (i.e. move “up”) but to be seen as successful. Maybe that’s the way it just is and it may be what keeps  things going in the “world” . However, problems emerge when we apply this frame of reference to our relationship with God.

Therese reverses the “worldly” order of things: we succeed by becoming “little”. To some extent it’s about humility, (s long as we don’t strive to “out humble” others). For some, the way of the Little Flower is very difficult. We all like to be recognized for the ‘good things’ we have done: having wings of hospitals named after us, seeing our good work celebrated in the paper, or simply sharing accomplishments within a family or social media circle.

The quote ends with the importance of trust (rather than belief). It’s an acknowledgement that while we have many opportunities to love, we do so only as partners in a cooperation with Grace. Ultimately we can only defer to the far greater loving energy of God. We can never “out love” the Great Mystery.
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In the midst of my physical sufferings, the inner music of my soul will not stop praising God with acts of virtue offering Him my love. St. Genoveva Torres Morales

Often, love and music are connected, regardless of genre or historical era, ranging from the melodramatic to the sublime. Why do so many religious gatherings involve music and song? Why do people dance? Why do composers often write music for their beloved as well as ways of expressing their spirituality?

Of course, there is no definitive answer to these questions, but this Saint is pointing us in the direction of what many consider our core identity. We may not be able to define the soul, but at some inchoate level, we do “know” what that is. It's reflected through comments such as “it does my soul good” or  “What a soulful experience that concert was!” Most would agree that it has to do with a kind of “resonance”, similar to what people experience when they meet someone and “something just clicked”. Is that experience much different than the connections we make with music?

So perhaps St. Genoveva is saying that the “inner music of [her] soul”—the wholeness of who she is—is best able to express her love of God. It’s mystery speaking to the Great Mystery, with Whom we are united for all eternity. These days, some might even call it a kind of “energy transfer”, what happens when you sing along with someone, attend concerts of the latest stars of the music world, or sing in a choir. (Let’s not forget Karaoke!) Yet when we are asked why we like a particular piece or song,  it’s hard to answer.

I imagine that there are as many ways to get in touch with one’s “inner music” as there are seekers: being present to a liturgical celebration,  communing with nature, sitting in silence, visiting an art gallery, or  going to a symphony performance, At their core, these events  celebrate the fullness of our being, transporting us back in time, crying out of sadness or joy, and expressing ourselves through our bodies. Though we may rarely think about such experiences as having a prayerful dimension, I believe they can be. Music can remind us that it is fundamentally good to be alive, cause us to well up with awe and gratitude, or remind us of the depth of our connections with the givenness and wholeness of things.

 “He who sings prays twice” (St. Augustine)

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All the goods of this world cannot content the heart of the human person, who has been created to love God and can find no peace outside of God. St. Alphonsus Liguori

The well-known Franciscan priest Richard Rohr once noted that “The more you have, the more you want, and the less it satisfies”. Think of something you may have wanted for an extended period of time—material or otherwise—and finally acquired. How did you feel a short while later? Was that former longing replaced by another?

I believe that all of our longings have their root in out thirst for a "love-connection" with the Divine. We are called to create a space in our lives for that infinite love to be experienced and expressed. Where? In the spaces and contours of one’s (unique) life, as it unfolds before us.  

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