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There have been two St. Teresas in my life.
The first, Therese of Lisieux, a sweet-tempered 19th-century French nun
who
died at age 24, was to my dismay hugely popular in the American Catholic
Church of my youth, and she remains so. Pretty statues of her as the
Little
Flower of Jesus, meekly standing with her arms full of roses, are
everywhere.
I was introduced to another St. Teresa and quite another kind of statue
in
college. Bernini's "The Ecstasy of St. Teresa" is a canonical
masterwork of
the flamboyant Baroque.
It shows Teresa of Avila, the formidable 16th-century Spanish Carmelite
nun,
lofted by an orgasmic cloud while a flirtatious angel pierces her
through the
heart. The sculpture's fusion of spiritual and carnal love draws on
erotic
metaphors from the Song of Solomon.
St. Teresa of Avila, the first woman ever made by papal decree a Doctor
of
the Church, has been a tremendous role model for me.
Born to wealth, Teresa defied her father by running away to join a
convent.
Though troubled by illness, she became renowned for her mystic visions,
so
frequent and powerful that some accused her of satanism.
Teresa was a prolific author and reformer whose influence spread far
beyond
Spain. As a leader of the Discalced or Barefoot Carmelites, she called
for a
return to piety and ascetism. With modern managerial skill, she founded
a
chain of convents and friaries, despite bitter opposition from the
church
hierarchy.
Ultimately, she triumphed over derision and defamation to become one of
the
giants of the Counter-Reformation.
Therese of Lisieux, modest, feminine, and obedient, was pre-feminist
woman.
But Teresa of Avila, bold, fiery, and tenacious, is for me a woman of
the
future, blending practical realism with passionate idealism. |