By Sister John Marion
School Sisters of Christ the King
It happens every year.
On May Crowning day in May, it is a custom in our schools for the children to bring flowers and process into the church to give them to Mary.
The Sisters are positioned to receive the flowers from the children and then arrange them in vases around the statue of Mary.
Each child gives his or her own flower. Some are lovely roses and lilies from the store; others are home-grown tulips and daffodils. Some are small dandelions and flowers from weeds, plucked in the moment when Mom was ushering everyone into the car that morning before school. Whatever the flower, Our Lady is honored to receive them and all the love behind them.
But every year, a child hands me a flower that is nothing but a stem!
The last petal is crushed somewhere on the floor behind him. The leaves are shredded from the stress of its journey in the car and down the aisle. Even the stem itself is limp in the tight grip of his small hand. The child flashes a triumphant smile and hands over all that is left of his flower.
And I think this must be Our Lady’s favorite flower.
As I tuck the wilted stem among the vibrant splashes of color, the magnificent carnations and gladiolas and irises, I cannot help but think that Mary holds this hidden gift with particular reverence. Even as the stem disappears beneath the petals of other flowers, it has disappeared into a privileged place in her heart.
Once again, children are teaching me what it means to give myself to Jesus. They do not give only what is presentable or lovely. Such things tend to draw attention to themselves. Nor do children give with calculated precision. It is with spontaneous joy that children give without holding anything back, even if all they have to give is a crumpled flower!
It reminds me of a poem St. Thérèse once wrote entitled “An Unpetalled Rose.” She reflects on the splendor of roses that adorn the altar, a radiant gift of beauty. Thérèse knew that this gift was pleasing to Jesus. But one day during a procession she watched as rose petals were strewn on the ground before the monstrance. Littered rose petals do not draw attention to themselves but to the one who is walking over them. In her poem, Thérèse claims that she does not want to give herself to the Lord in a display of beauty. Rather, she desires to be unpetalled, squandered in a radical display of love that spends everything for the Beloved:
“Lord, on Your altars more than one new rose likes to shine. / It gives itself to You; but I dream of something else: to be unpetalled. / This unpetalled rose is the faithful image, Divine Child, / Of the heart that wants to sacrifice itself for You unreservedly at each moment / … The unpetalled rose is just flung out, to blow away. / An unpetalled rose gives itself unaffectedly, to be no more. / Like it, with joy I abandon myself to You, Little Jesus.”
Jesus is at the center of Thérèse’s words. Like scattered rose petals, she wants to spend everything with the emphasis on giving Him glory, not herself.
Very often authentic acts of love do not look beautiful. Nor are they always visible, even to those to whom they are given. Love seeks to empty itself to enrich the beloved, and that emptying consists mostly of actions that are hidden, faithful, and ordinary. I think of parents who work tirelessly for their children who are carefree and unaware of the sacrifices. I see my Sisters wearing themselves out for their students day after day. And most of all, I see Jesus in the Eucharist. I have never looked at the tabernacle and wondered if He would be there today. He is always there, reduced to the appearance of bread, waiting in silence and obscurity for a trusting heart. He has unpetalled Himself before us, squandering His glory, His power, His divinity, and even His humanity in laying bare His Heart before us.
When I ponder the children and St. Thérèse in their examples of love, I see that my heart has much to surrender. I have found that the best antidote to selfishness is to lay my heart bare before Jesus in the Eucharist and receive His self-emptying (or kenosis, which is the Greek term for “self-emptying”). When I am immersed in His self-gift, He makes mine possible.
