As a child, Teresa of Avila—the 16th century Spanish saint and mystic—hatched a plan with her brother, Rodrigo. She had been reading about how wonderful heaven was. It sounded delightful. They thought, let’s get there as quickly as possible. Marytrs’ deaths seemed to be the most surefire method. They would run away to a neighboring region and ask the local inhabitants to chop their heads off. As Teresa tells the story, “Having parents seemed to us the greatest obstacle.”
They were almost correct.
It was actually an uncle who spotted them, not far from the city walls and brought them back home on horseback. Their plans for glory were thwarted and heaven would have to wait.
In her autobiography, Teresa tells this story with palpable affection for her younger self. Even as a young child, Teresa wanted to serve God courageously. But, the adult Teresa is also clear: The idea was a “cheap” one. God didn’t want her to seek a quick, painful, and heroic death. Instead, Teresa’s path was destined to be one of slow and patient service to God, coping with chronic suffering over the course of a long life.
Teresa didn’t seem to think that God ever desires us to seek out suffering. But, God does desire us to patiently endure suffering when it cannot be avoided. To do so is a holy act.
Teresa suffered from severe illness throughout her life—which included intense chronic pain, as well as the emotional and psychological suffering that can often accompanies persistent physical suffering. Early in religious life, medical treatment worsened her chronic conditions and, at one point, her fellow sisters started to prepare her body for burial.
When life presents us with suffering—as it did for Teresa—Teresa thought that we should bear it patiently. Teresa understood suffering as an opportunity to serve God if it was borne well. It is not suffering itself which Teresa sees as service, but instead it is the opportunity to practice patience that suffering presents.
For Teresa, patient bearing with suffering includes trying to lessen suffering by taking care of ourselves as well as we can (in a holistic way—that is, by prioritizing our needs for community as well as our needs for individual well-being) and persisting in works of love for others and the disciplines of prayer. Care for the body in the process of healing from suffering is an opportunity to express one’s love of God. “Patience,” thus, is understood as patience with oneself—particularly, patience with the limitations of the suffering body and a commitment to serve God within these limits.
Teresa’s own experience of her body was fraught. At times in her writing, she expresses frustration with her body—an admission that I find refreshing. Sometimes, she talked about the body as a “wretched guest”—a burden to be ministered to and one that you would, honestly, rather go away. As she writes in a letter to her brother, “to see myself capable of so little is bothersome, for this body of mine has always done me harm and prevented me from good.” In my own limited experience of long-term pain, this makes sense. There comes a point that you feel like you cannot continue.
Other times, she talked about the body with joy. Many times, she suggests that bodily pleasure is a gift from God and that sensual delight is one of the purposes of intimacy with God in prayer.
In both times of frustration and joy, Teresa viewed her body as something that she attended to with compassion and patient self-care.
In keeping with her time, Teresa at times recommended disciplines of bodily mortification to practitioners of prayer. But, especially compared to other spiritual teachers, she was careful to recommend them in strict moderation, giving specific instructions about getting enough sleep and enough food to eat. She was more worried that those who are ardent in the path of prayer might deprive themselves to excess, than that one might treat the body too indulgently.
Teresa, an avid letter writer, made matters of bodily care a frequent topic of correspondence in communication with those whom she was closest. “It is better to cater to yourself than to be sick,” she wrote to María de San José whom she considered her spiritual “daughter.” For Teresa, bodily well-being was an important component of spiritual well-being, and accepting one’s bodily limits was an important part of discipleship.
Yet, for all of the importance that she places on the role that bodily well-being plays in spiritual well-being, Teresa makes clear that we don’t need to be physically well in order for God to meet us. As Teresa argues, “bodily strength is not necessary but only love and a habit; and the Lord always provides the opportunity if we desire.” Though the care needed from others can sometimes limit an ill person’s ability to devote time to solitude, lack of time alone is no barrier to intimacy with God. She is confident that if we do what we can to make time for prayer, we open the door to union with God: “With a little care great blessings can come when because of our labors the Lord takes from us the time we had set for prayer.”
We play a role in preparing ourselves to receive God’s grace—by taking care of our bodies, by setting aside time for prayer, by refusing to seek out suffering, and for looking for opportunities to manage suffering well when suffering is inevitable. These efforts we make are strengthened by through the gift of courage, given by a God who is always seeking union with us.
In Their Own Words is a new web column from U.S. Catholic. In these essays, academics and other experts provide short, evidence-based explanations of prominent Catholic figures’ views on an array of topics of interest to the church and offer resources for finding further accurate information.
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