Vulnerability is the Key

Further Wisdom from Thérèse of Lisieux's "Little Way"

If there ever was a mystic of vulnerability, it’s Thérèse of Lisieux. In her brief life of twenty-four years, she discovered the oft-hidden “little way” to God through imperfection, smallness, and ordinariness. This underground tunnel to Love has, of course, always been available to us—but it’s narrow and small, as Jesus said it would be (Matthew 7). The narrow gate to God opens from within our actual lives—not life as we wish it would be, or the life we had then when things were different. No, the way to God is only in what is real and right in front of us. For me on Saturday, that’s in an annoying visit to a car dealership with a pushy salesman, another kid basketball tournament, and a relaxed afternoon around the house. We find God in the holy ordinary, as the title of this Substack tells.

During Lent, as I’ve shared before, I’m praying and slowly reading works by and about the 19^th-century French Carmelite Thérèse of Lisieux. (See previous articles here, here, and here). In a letter to her sister Marie in 1896, Thérèse stressed her counter-intuitive view of Jesus’ message, quoting a Psalm:

“The truly poor in spirit, where do we find him? You must look for him from afar,” said the psalmist… He does not say that you must look for him among great souls, but “from afar:” that is to say in lowliness, in nothingness…Ah! Let us remain then very far from all that sparkles, let us love our littleness, let us love to feel nothing, then we shall be poor in spirit, and Jesus will come to look for us, and however far we may be, He will transform us in flames of love.

Thérèse of Lisieux knew the search for God from a perceived distance “afar,” and mostly through her experience of profound suffering. Her childhood and young adult life were full of illness and grief: her mother died when she was four years old, she experienced a troubling health crisis that included convulsions and hallucinations at ten, and her father was institutionalized for dementia and likely mental illness when she was a teenager. At just twenty-three, she coughed up blood and exhibited signs of advanced tuberculosis. Much of the last year of her life was spent in agonizing pain. When Thérèse counsels us to “love our littleness” and tells her sister that we must “look for God from afar,” she’s speaking from the heart of her simple life, her full cup of sadness, and her conviction that even if we cannot go to great lengths for God, God will go to great lengths for us.

Thérèse of Lisieux is often referred to as “the little flower.”
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

We find God in our lowliness and littleness, which is to say that we create space for God through vulnerability and humility. A couple of times a year, I’ll have an experience that feels like a seismic revelation of my selfishness. It’s the humiliating awareness that a significant aspect of my behavior or communication impacted someone else, even when I wasn’t aware of what I was doing. When this happens, I inevitably want to defend myself, make my case, and prove my “rightness.” But that is the way of denial, and it never leads me to increased connection. In that moment, I hover between a choice of self-righteous avoidance and the vulnerability of accepting reality. When I eventually accept the reckoning of truth—and sometimes it takes a while—I eventually soften.

The social science storyteller Brené Brown is, for me, a deep teller of such truths of “the little way.” In her viral Ted talk from 2010, she talked about how in her research she discovered traits of courage and vulnerability in people who reported an abiding sense of belonging and connection. These subjects of hers, she said, had the “willingness to say I love you first; the willingness to do something when there are no guarantees.” Brown illuminated the connective tissue that vulnerability provides between our fear and shame and our joy and love. Vulnerability can lead to further suffering, but it is required to pass through the narrow gate of a vital life.

The vulnerable softening of heart when I am “afar” from God is exactly what causes God to come near—and for me to realize that God has always been near. My defense dropped, I immediately feel a deeper connection and sense of love, not only with my spouse but also with God. I feel a lightness around me, I laugh at myself, and everything stops becoming so serious. The little way, which I think we can also call vulnerability, is the key. I could call it “confession” or I could call it an uncomfortable encounter with truth. Vulnerability is the choice that allows me to cross the abyss of denial and reconnect to Love.

BOOK ANNOUNCEMENT

I’m thrilled to announce that my first, forthcoming book “The Holy Ordinary: A Way to God” will be published by Monkfish Publishing on October 22, 2024. Much more on this in months to come. For now, here’s the description and cover. It’s available to pre-order on Amazon.

Description:

“The Holy Ordinary” takes its inspiration from mystics, modern prophets, and saints, with surprising insights from Christian scriptures. “Mysticism is a stream of the experiential, flowing from the hearts of those who knew and know God,” explains Mark Longhurst, demonstrating the availability to every person of a mystical life.

Through topics such as “How to be contemplative and active” and “Live green like Hildegard of Bingen,” Longhurst speaks to each person’s need for transformation. This book is both profound and practical, a reflective guide for anyone—Nones, Dones, former Christians, and Christians open to learning from people of all backgrounds—seeking a vibrant, just, and inclusive spirituality.