Without love, deeds, even the most brilliant, count as nothing. St. Therese of Lisieux

I love you, Jesus, and bear in mind the words of St. John of the Cross: The least act of pure love is of more value than all others put together”. St. Therese of Lisieux

An egg given during life for love of God is more profitable for eternity than a cathedral full of gold given after death. St. Albert the Great

These words from St. Therese should give us all pause. Why do I do the things I do for others? It’s not an easy question to answer and if one spends too much time ruminating about it, one might end up failing to do what needs to be done. What does it mean to do an “act of pure love”? Is it even possible on this side of eternity?

It probably gets down to being honest with oneself—becoming more attuned to our thoughts, feelings, and even body cues. When I do this for a person, am I thinking about all the other things on my to-do list? Is my “heart” in what I am doing? Do I feel energized by what I am doing, or do I feel resistance? Am I allowing past hurts to dominate my inner world as I respond to a need? How freely am I doing what I am doing…am I responding to compulsions or some sense of duty?

In answering such questions, it would be important not to get caught up in a duality, i.e., responding in a yes/no manner. I believe that on this earthly plane, there are few “pure” motivations and so these questions are more aspirational in nature. Much of what we do is driven by a complex of motives. We do need the words of people such as St. Therese to raise the bar, all the while accepting that we are going to fall short of our ego’s false narrative sof “perfection”. Perhaps that is why humility is often considered a foundational virtue.

Though it may be counterintuitive, it does seem to me that love is sometimes best recognized by its absence. One could even speculate that St. Therese’s great insight arose from an awareness of her own failures. So if we practise some kind of regular conscience (or consciousness) exam, we m discover that our motivations may have been less than pure (and that’s OK!),  I do, however,  believe that such honesty with oneself clears a path to allow grace to do its work and to trust that we will become more loving in what we do as we grow.  Words from the Desiderata poem popularized decades ago may be instructive: Beyond a healthy discipline, be gentle with yourself.

In the third quote, St. Albert, a Dominican Bishop who lived in the thirteenth century. uses powerful imagery. For me, the egg symbolizes not only a food source for a hungry person, but also reminds one of its potential to become life. It also serves as a foil to a cathedral filled with lifeless gold.

The word “profitable” can suggest “payment” for doing a good deed; but I don’t believe St. Albert uses the word in that sense.  Love is its own reward and the greater one’s love, the greater one’s sense of a connection with the Great Mystery whose very essence is love. “Eternity” is not only what happens after death, but through growth in love it is always within grasp. As Catherine of Siena noted, “It’s heaven all the way to heaven”.

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We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. St. Teresa of Kolkata

Give them through our hands this day their daily bread. And by our understanding give, give them peace and joy. St. Teresa of Kolkata

Do not believe, sister, that caring for the sick consists only in giving them medicine and food. There is another kind of care which you should never forget; that of the heart which seeks to adapt to the suffering person, going to meet his needs. St. Maria Josefa Sancho de Guerra

Two of these quotes do not contain the word ‘love’, but the fruits of love such as peace, joy, and understanding. They also point to that mysterious inner source of love that St. Maria Josepha refers to as “of the heart”. One is reminded of Jesus’ words in relation to what He calls false prophets: “By their fruits you will know them”. (Matt 7: 15-20)

The idea of “adapting [to] meet his [the one who suffers’] needs highlights the sad reality that often caregivers’ needs trump those who receive care. Some of this is inevitable, especially in large institutions. I recall listening to an interview with a hospital chaplain in which he related an incident in which a patient had been mentally distressed to the point of compromising others’ safety. The chaplain slowly approached the poor fellow, providing a safe space and for him to rage until he had calmed down enough to engage in some dialogue. The chaplain then asked him “What do you need?” (Apparently, none of the staff had asked the patient that question) His answer was simple: he was hungry and wanted a burger and fries. The chaplain said he could arrange for that to happen and while they waited for the food, the reason for the patient’s disproportionate response to being hungry was revealed.  The man had spent much of his life in institutions and the way his hospital meal was presented triggered a kind of PTSD response. Of course, providing loving care does not mean a complete abandonment of caregiver’s or even the institution’s needs. However, simply asking the question: “What does the person I am serving need?” can be a kind of ‘compass’ by which service remains properly (i.e. lovingly) focused.  

Some might feel that St. Teresa’s statement of love as a cure for “loneliness, despair and hopelessness” is naïve.  Yet who among us has not experienced or is now experiencing “loneliness, despair, hopelessness”?  What did help or could have helped?  One should never minimize the complexity and seriousness of issues related to these psychological states and in some instances consider the need for medical support. Nonetheless, I suspect that such presenting issues are at least partially related to love—lost  love, betrayed love, lack of parental love, loss of extended family love.