On Wednesday I concelebrated the 6pm Mass at Notre Dame de Paris. Her stonework shone with renewed splendor, as did the faces of the three French priests who welcomed me to offer the First Mass of Lent in the planet's most beloved church. It’s been over a year since the world finished putting almost a billion dollars into restoring Notre Dame from the 2019 fire, but the joy of her reopening has not diminished. Notre Dame is the most visited monument in a city bursting with beauty, and the 12 million who wait in line each year proclaim that Our Lady’s beauty far surpasses that of any other, for she is the Mother of God.
I had just completed my annual retreat, which this year was in Lourdes with 30 other priests from fifteen nations. The preacher was none other than Fr. Brian Kolodiuchuk, postulator for the canonization of Mother Teresa, of whom no man alive knows more about her life and spirituality. His retreat, entitled “Two lives; One Vocation,” described “The Little Way” (of sanctification) revealed both to St. Thérèse of Lisieux and Mother Teresa of Calcutta. Most of us cannot do great things, but we can all do small things with great love, and so reach heaven by this “little way” of simple trust in God.
The parallels between St. Thérèse, who never left her Carmelite cloister before dying at age 24, and Mother Teresa, who established mission houses in every nation on earth (except China) before dying at age 87, are astonishing. Both attained invincible strength by remaining as weak as little children, entrusting everything and operating entirely on God’s grace. The fact is that we are nothing, really, or next to nothing, and God is everything. “Jesus is my all in all” Mother Teresa would say with a big smile, full trustful peace in the face of certain disaster. We are but a handful of dust, or as Jesus said to Catherine of Siena, “I am who is, and you are she who is not.” The joy of these women came from knowing that God loves the little, the poor, and the children with a particular affection. For a Christian, to be happy is to be little, and on ash Wednesday the Church describes this holy simplicity as “dust.”
Back in the sacristy at Notre Dame, the priest taught me the words in French used to mark the foreheads of the faithful: Souviens-toi, que tu es poussière, et que le retourneras a la poussière. I repeated the words several times as we headed into a basilica, filled with mostly young people hoping for eternal life and the "ashes” that would help get them there. As we processed up the main aisle with the organ thundering its plaintive tones, I began mixing up the words. The priest saw my consternation and whispered “Ah bon, you can use the shorter form, Convertissez-vous et croyez à l'Évangile. But I knew the people wanted to hear about “dust,” so I kept repeating at least that one word, poussière. Clutching my little bowl of ashes, I did my best to say the correct formula in French, but sometimes the best I could do was to say something like “tu … poussière … et retourner a … poussière!” It was enough. They wanted the ashes, and they wanted to hear that they are just a handful of dust, but dust held lovingly in the hands of God.
Millions, perhaps billions, around the world came to churches on Wednesday to hear a priest tell them that there is a God, and that we are not He. The eager and devout faces of France’s young people lining up showed me how we will always feel the need for a Higher Power. We do not have to save the world—that has already been done. We are nothing, but by entrusting ourselves to the God who can make something out of nothing, we become something.
I had just completed my annual retreat, which this year was in Lourdes with 30 other priests from fifteen nations. The preacher was none other than Fr. Brian Kolodiuchuk, postulator for the canonization of Mother Teresa, of whom no man alive knows more about her life and spirituality. His retreat, entitled “Two lives; One Vocation,” described “The Little Way” (of sanctification) revealed both to St. Thérèse of Lisieux and Mother Teresa of Calcutta. Most of us cannot do great things, but we can all do small things with great love, and so reach heaven by this “little way” of simple trust in God.
The parallels between St. Thérèse, who never left her Carmelite cloister before dying at age 24, and Mother Teresa, who established mission houses in every nation on earth (except China) before dying at age 87, are astonishing. Both attained invincible strength by remaining as weak as little children, entrusting everything and operating entirely on God’s grace. The fact is that we are nothing, really, or next to nothing, and God is everything. “Jesus is my all in all” Mother Teresa would say with a big smile, full trustful peace in the face of certain disaster. We are but a handful of dust, or as Jesus said to Catherine of Siena, “I am who is, and you are she who is not.” The joy of these women came from knowing that God loves the little, the poor, and the children with a particular affection. For a Christian, to be happy is to be little, and on ash Wednesday the Church describes this holy simplicity as “dust.”
Back in the sacristy at Notre Dame, the priest taught me the words in French used to mark the foreheads of the faithful: Souviens-toi, que tu es poussière, et que le retourneras a la poussière. I repeated the words several times as we headed into a basilica, filled with mostly young people hoping for eternal life and the "ashes” that would help get them there. As we processed up the main aisle with the organ thundering its plaintive tones, I began mixing up the words. The priest saw my consternation and whispered “Ah bon, you can use the shorter form, Convertissez-vous et croyez à l'Évangile. But I knew the people wanted to hear about “dust,” so I kept repeating at least that one word, poussière. Clutching my little bowl of ashes, I did my best to say the correct formula in French, but sometimes the best I could do was to say something like “tu … poussière … et retourner a … poussière!” It was enough. They wanted the ashes, and they wanted to hear that they are just a handful of dust, but dust held lovingly in the hands of God.
Millions, perhaps billions, around the world came to churches on Wednesday to hear a priest tell them that there is a God, and that we are not He. The eager and devout faces of France’s young people lining up showed me how we will always feel the need for a Higher Power. We do not have to save the world—that has already been done. We are nothing, but by entrusting ourselves to the God who can make something out of nothing, we become something.
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