XVI. "I will praise Thee, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify Thy name forever."

Psalm lxxxv, 12

It was Sister Theresa Margaret's dear desire to live on the love of God to the limit of her ability. Everywhere she saw God, in everything she found God. At recreation with the nuns in the garden, she would become almost ecstatic at sight of the blue sky, the majestic trees, the lovely flowers; frequently, she would break forth into song. At first, her voice, pouring forth praise to the Creator, would be low, sweet, and melodious, but under the irresistible impulse of her heart's love of God would gradually stray from notes, rhythm, even pitch into song so unearthly, yet so wild and shrill, that the Sisters would force her to be quiet for fear that she would be heard outside the walls. On returning to her cell, the heavenly breath of verse-making would pervade her soul and, taking as a theme whatever struck her fancy at the time, a flower, a bird, even a firefly, she would write lines and verses of poetry which, although ingenuous, was brushed by the wing of genius. Most of this Servant of God's inspirations came to her in the Monastery garden. There the flowers, grasses, and herbs, the birds and insects, moved her to deep reflection or intensified her already profound thoughts. She would say, "All these creatures tell us of their love for their Maker. Through them God speaks to us, telling us to love Him."[1]

There are many who would consider such simplicity strange and queer, to put it mildly, many who would see in this young Carmelite's exuberant love only foolish fancy's exaggeration, but these are the spiritually blind whose misconceptions draw our pity. "My brethren," said Monsignor Bougaud, in his panegyric on Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque, "too much gazing at the ground is what prevents us from seeing Heaven. It is as if we were enclosed and locked up in things of earth. Let us throw off, let us banish these vain and empty cloud-veilings, so that the Sun of eternal beauty may shine upon our hearts!" Sister Theresa Margaret, from her earliest childhood, had dispelled the "cloud-veilings," had despised the things of earth in so far as they are mere things of earth. Whatever came to her notice could be taken into her mind and become the subject of consideration only in proportion to its relation to its Creator, God.

Consideration of God's creatures merely added unneeded fuel to the flame of her ardent love for the Creator, a flame that never dwindled. Her transports of exaltation, her yearning after the supernatural, her passion for Christ were only the marvelous yet expected effects of this consuming love. Her passion, her yearning, her transports show that she had reached that degree of union with God which is the culmination of sanctity since it is the terminus of divine love. The truth is that she had already entered into such an advanced and manifest state of holiness that knowledge of it could not be kept any longer within the Monastery walls. Upon the surrounding world were being reflected the rays of love showered down upon this virgin's heart by the Divine Heart. Already many Florentines were speaking of "our young saint in Saint Theresa's Monastery."

"During her lifetime," so say the depositions, "she was considered both within and without the Monastery a true Servant of God, and as such her fame had spread abroad. The conviction that she was a saint was especially firmly fixed in the minds of men of merit and spiritual eminence. One of these was General Pandolfini, a noble Florentine, who had had the happiness of sheltering her in his home during the few days preceding her final entrance into Carmel. This gentleman had such an exalted opinion of her sanctity that he would allow no one to use the bed in which the Servant of God had slept while she was his guest." The depositions say further, "This Servant of God is reputed to have lived an angelic life, to have been, in fact, a real emulator of Saint Aloysius Gonzaga in angelic purity; after death, her fame for virtue became at once so great and so wide-spread that everyone that thought of her and spoke of her, thought and spoke of her as a saint."

Our Lord was exalting His servant! Seemingly, He was not heeding the prayer of the humble virgin who had begged Him not to visit her with those signs of divine favor which frequently manifest even in this life the pleasure God takes in the love of those whose intellect and will are, as far as possible, one with His. Fortunately for her peace of mind, Sister Theresa Margaret never dreamed that the world talked of her sanctity. Such great considerateness for her humility did the nuns have that, when they strove to recall her from those sweet transports to which she had now become subject, they actually conspired to hide from her their comprehension of her state of exaltation. In the firm conviction that her gifts were known only to herself, this holy woman never ceased begging her Savior to keep her favored state hidden from human eyes. Repeatedly, she would say, "Lord, may my secret be mine alone!" Her secret was that love that bruised her soul so sweetly and so tenderly, or, to put it more happily, in the words of Saint John of the Cross, "that sweet and delightful ardor emanating from the Holy Spirit and uniting holy souls to God ... the dignity of the perfect who burn with love for God."

The Saint's interior, loving discourse with Our Lord had become so natural and ordinary to her that it would have been impossible to draw her, had one so desired, out of the habit. In the depositions, her learned confessor treats of it diffusely, describing at great length the facts and signs that convinced him that Sister Theresa Margaret had reached the highest degree of union with God. Despite her firm will and intention to live always hidden from the eyes of men, her close union with God, the very foundation of her spiritual edifice, did not escape the notice of Mother Anna Maria of St. Anthony of Padua and of other nuns who have left us their knowledge as matter of record. Her life of mortification, particularly of the eyes and tongue, her air of serene composure, causing her to seem to be, in every action, spiritual or material, in the deepest of meditation, were clear indications of what was happening in her soul. Her love of Jesus gushed forth in a flood from everything she wrote, tinged everything she said, gave tone to everything that took place in the routine of her convent life.

Of this love of God were born the holy aspirations of a zeal as full and sweeping as a pillar of fire, the tears which the world's sins made her shed, the fervent prayers that besought the Heart of Jesus to glorify the Holy Name and to draw to It the many souls for whom love had forced Emanuel to spill His last drop of blood. The Saint's always devout piety had now become a consuming fever. Her one thought was to find ever-new means through which to place everything capable of feeling and of loving at the feet of Him Who loves. Charming poetry, the out-pouring of the heart rather than of the mind, was one of this fever's modes of expression.

Love elicits poetic thoughts from even the dull-minded, poetic effusions from even the slow-hearted. Natural genius and greatness of soul, under love's incitement, have given the world its greatest lyrics. When divine love is the motivating cause, inspired poems enrich the world's literature. Divine love gave us the "Dies Irae," the "Pange Lingua," the "Lauda Sion." Divine love caused Sister Theresa Margaret Redi, the niece of the poet, Francesco Redi, to pen verses that are notable for beauty, simplicity, and spirituality. Rhythm and flow are natural and easy. Unity of thought (always the love of God) finds variety of expression. Some of her poems are little letters to her father and sisters, others quatrains of thought jotted down on stray bits of paper, yet others quite formal and even long hymns of praise to the Creator.

To quote a few verses, in the original Italian, developing her sole theme, the love of God...

Gesù, Dio del mio cuore,
Viver non posso più senza il tuo amore:
A Te grido e Te chiamo,
Viver non posso più, se Te non amo.

Nient'altro questo cuore
Cerca, che sol' per Te languir d'amore:
Tutta avvampar io bramo,
Ne viver posso più, se Te non amo.

Sister Theresa Margaret's love of God had now become so overwhelming that, except for her occasional essays into poetic composition, she was able to say little about it. Then, too, her natural reticence in regard to her interior life kept her from telling what was happening within her soul. Oft-times, in the silence that would follow the few words of love and praise of God that she had uttered, a sort of heavenly glow would steal over her face and gradually flood it ... evidence, observers felt, that she was still under the particular spell indicated by the words she had uttered. Then her limbs would become limp and lifeless, as if enervated by violent shock.

According to the Monastery annals, "So intense would the fire of her love of God become that her countenance would be inflamed, then change color, becoming almost crimson at first, then purplish, finally ash-pale like that of a corpse. Once when she was holding with another nun the kind of discourse that occasioned this phenomenon, she fell in a dead faint after the three changes of color." One need not be surprised at such occurrences if he remembers that the Holy Ghost teaches that the soul that makes its love consist of being one with God is already "one only spirit with Christ." It can readily be seen that in this union, or better, in this absorption of God in the soul and of the soul in God, the body begins to waste away; true, it may endure for some little while, but only because it is being nourished and sustained by love. Happy the man in this state! He forgets self, while two concepts, actual obsessions, the glory of God and the salvation of souls, govern all his thoughts, feelings, acts. His love perforce must be diffused ... it bursts the bonds of a straitened heart ... it seeks other hearts that are under a like urge of supernatural love ... then from the union of all these hearts arise those sublime melodies of love and praise of the Heart of Jesus that can have their source only in the depths of souls on fire!

While hearing read the "life" of Venerable Mother Paula Maria of Jesus, a Genoese of the noble Centuriani family, foundress of the Vienna Monastery of Discalced Carmelites, Sister Theresa Margaret learned that this saintly woman, in order to live and die wholly in the love of God, had inaugurated in honor of the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost a religious practice called the "Observance of the Company of the Seven Sisters," which consisted of offering the merits of each of the seven forming the "company" to the advantage of all the others in the gaining of Divine Love. The moment Sister Theresa Margaret heard of this practice she would have it introduced into her own Monastery! She at once began to use all her powers of persuasion with the Mother Prioress, and soon the Monastery saw within its walls the functioning of this pious "company." Many outside the walls became members. One of these was Monsignor Francis Mary Ginori, Bishop of Fiesole, who often came to the speakroom to give the nuns conferences on the love of God. Charge of this association was given the Saint, at whose death it passed to Mother Anna Maria of St. Anthony of Padua, who found the members' names listed on a piece of paper tied to the hands of a statuette of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Sister Theresa Margaret's little "Madonna."

The Saint's sacrifice of her dearest affections was a proof of her fidelity to God. Once, on her way from the speakroom where she had just been visiting with her father, she was asked by a nun if his departure made her sad. The Servant of God smilingly answered, as she drew a little card from the folds of her habit, "Look at this little memorial of Friar John Columbine!" On the card were written Saint Augustine's words, "The less does he love Thee, O Lord, who at the same time, loves another than Thee." To the Sister's question the Saint made no other answer, but hastened to the chapel to pray for her father's safe arrival home.

The religious, who were beginning to look upon her as a saint, never missed an opportunity of enriching themselves with her clear explanations of the perfect practice of the holy love of God. All her explanations, simple and charming in style, mirrored her soul's beauty. This is one of them: "To possess ourselves of Holy Love, we must call to mind the presence of God and place ourselves in that presence; just as one in the world loving some one of the world often has him in his thoughts, so we must frequently remind ourselves that God is always present, and that He always has us in His thoughts for our good and happiness. In loving, one must render love for love; therefore, if God has loved us always and so much, regardless of our merit, what must we, who have been so loved, do to requite Him for His love? We must make ourselves like unto Jesus in humility, kindness, sweetness, saying to ourselves whenever we experience the weariness and repugnance that can come to anyone, 'Without complaint everything shall I suffer, for in the love of God nothing have I to fear!'"

Similar sensible counsel to one of her co-religious of Saint Theresa's we have in her own writing, "The one and sole care of a religious desirous of attaining perfection in her state of life should be to keep her heart clean that she may live wholly united to God.

"For this it is necessary for one first, with all possible caution, to guard against the advertent committing of any fault; this should be easy if one seriously considers, in the light of God's grace, how grievously offensive it must be, lightly and with eyes wide open, to transgress the law of that God to Whom we owe everything and for Whom we ought to be ready to give both blood and life, so great a lover of us is He, and so lovable in Himself.

"Secondly, one should consider seriously how one can be cured of committing small and inadvertent transgressions, those that occur through heedlessness, thoughtlessness, or habit; such transgressions can be prevented by constant and vigilant attention and reflection upon all one's actions no matter how trifling, upon all the words of one's mouth, upon all the movements of one's heart; in this way one can see what motives spur one on to action, one can know the moment when the first movements of the passions begin to bestir themselves within one and, when one sees and knows all this, it will be easy to crush transgressions the instant they dare to lift their heads, easy, certainly, to prevent them from taking definite shape and form. Introspection into and watchfulness over one's own heart are wholly necessary that one may walk well and safely in the way of God; if these be neglected, one becomes filled with defects and bad habits which, unnoticed, accompany one to the grave; if, however, one is usefully introspective and constantly watchful, one has hit upon universal and efficacious means through which all faults and failings may be eliminated ... all this do I recommend to you, and most insistently, because I believe that upon it depend your welfare and your perfection. Make up your mind, therefore, to live wholly withdrawn into yourself and in God: see how all the thoughts and affections of a religious, whose sole reason for leaving the world is to become more united to God, should be directed. Above all, she should guard well against giving too much time to things outside her own spiritual being; or abandoning herself wholly and with too great solicitude to external occupations to which she should lend herself only with the befitting reservation of the best of her being to God and to herself, the best of her being consisting of her heart and soul; or entertaining useless thoughts and considerations; or giving too much freedom to her inclination to take part in useless discourses and to satisfy her natural curiosity, thus sowing seeds of infinite distractions; ... if she shall guard herself against all these failings, and, at the same time, practise proper introspection and reflection, she shall be able to talk with God and to begin to live in Jesus and with Jesus, investing herself little by little with His very spirit, which is that of subjection, simple and blind obedience, humility, meekness, and charity."

This young nun who had become such a capable teacher must indeed have become perfectly schooled in the arts of remaining always in the presence of God and of imitating the virtues of His Son. That she was mistress of these arts is evident from her habit of recollection, her frequent exaltation of soul, and her flaming, heart-consuming love. To the nuns who lived with her, her words, her tears, her very ecstasies, were merely exhortations to contemplate, to love, and to praise.

This young Carmelite was a model of fervor in the imitation of Jesus Crucified. "Remember," we find her cautioning herself, "that when you made your entrance into Religion, you determined to express within yourself the life of the Crucified. Therefore, see to it that your Calvary be your cloister, your Cross the observing the Holy Rule, your Nails the three vows, your Crucifier mortification." Another self-addressed leaflet, written probably at the time of renovation of first vows, reads, "My Lord Jesus Christ, for love of You and Your Most Holy Mother I resolve to practise kindness, humility, and obedience to the full extent of Your Divine Majesty's will and permission."

We have already seen to what an extraordinary degree of humility she had attained. As for kindness, to her Sisters she was like the most benign of fathers, like the most affectionate and tender of mothers. Obedience she carried to excess, for she was like a prompt servant to everyone, ever ready to obey and to be of assistance. In fervor of spirit, she literally soared; her one desire was to be crucified in everything and to everything, to live in and for Christ. Within her mind and heart she carried the clear impression of the image of the Divine Heart Which had become her whole life. She was generous in her suffering because the Heart of Jesus is always generous with us. Reminding herself of the humbleness of heart and of soul of which Jesus has left us so many examples, she would say, "If we long to find Jesus, the sure way is that of humility of heart and simplicity of soul, remembering, however, that we shall not obtain them without a struggle. Still, we must have courage, for there shall be wanting to us neither grace nor the help of the Heart of Jesus Which would have us all saints; let us lose no time ... every second has its value!" Again, "If we would be saints, let us work and suffer in silence, always keeping our souls in peace, allowing no situation in which God places us to worry us, but leaving everything to Him, uniting ourselves to His holy will and purpose ... thus shall we love Him with purity of love."

When she would read the Savior's words, "He that hath my commandments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me. And he that loveth Me, shall be loved of my Father. And I will love him and manifest Myself to him" (John xiv., 21) she would become almost beside herself at the thought of God's condescension in making a bargain of love with us miserable creatures. On hearing the words of Saint John (iv., i6) "God is love, and he that abideth in love abideth in God and God in him," she would speak rapturously to her confessor, telling him, as if she were inspired, that this love which we all share is the very love with which God loves Himself from all eternity, that is, His very Spirit, His life and very breath, the Holy Ghost, Himself! Then she would say that he who abides in love abides in God and is already living in life eternal. "Between such souls and God," she tells us, "there is only one life, one love, one God. In God everything is by essence, in creatures everything is by grace and by participation ... thus it is that, between the loving and the beloved, love is one!"

One day, as if to probe more deeply into that seraphic soul, Friar Ildephonse began anew to speak of the life of holy love. At once, Sister Theresa Margaret forgot her customary reserve and entered wholeheartedly into the discussion. The friar tells us that she spoke so sublimely that he, speechless, was forced to listen in astonishment and admiration. On another occasion she said, "The mirror into which we must look to attain union with God is Jesus Christ Himself. We can attain that union only through Jesus Christ Crucified and His merits"; then, revealing the deep impression made upon her by Saint John's words (xiv., 6) "No Man cometh to the Father but by Me," she added, "In God the Father is everything because 'God is love' ... everything He has done, is doing now, and shall do is the effect of love ... this love is the principle of all things ... this love is God Himself. To come into possession of this God in Whom is everything, it ought not to seem hard or arduous to undertake any task, any labor. We should never turn back because of difficulties that confront us, but should welcome every bitter and hateful thing gladly and readily as just one more cross sent us. In this way, which is Jesus Christ's own way, it is not hard for us to come into possession of the true God, for us to have our being in charity, for us to walk in love."

These and like thoughts that frequently fell from her lips, almost without her knowledge and seemingly in betrayal of her habit of silence, she had acquired, we can be certain, in the school of the Divine Spirit Who was teaching her to live and to act no longer in a human way according to nature, but in a divine way according to grace.

One Sunday after Pentecost, 1767, when she had heard read Saint John's words, "God is love," in choir as part of the chapter of tierce, she was seized by so violent and vivid an onrush of love for God that, for a short time, she fell into a sort of trance. Thereafter, she enjoyed one of Saint Theresa's own privileges, for she kept within her heart a trace of that Divine Flame or, rather, a secret wound from It which, day by day, and little by little, consumed her and drew her slowly to her death. Furthermore, after that event she remained for several days thoughtful and withdrawn in mind from the community, frequently repeating the words "God is love"; the nuns concluded, from observation, that every time she said these words she experienced within her soul a flaming-up of overwhelming love for God.

Thenceforth, more generous and heroic sacrifices were demanded of her by her love. Gratefulness to God for the gift of love made her soul feel the urgent need of rendering love for love, life for life. The desire for martyrdom surged up strongly once more in her heart. No human butchers were there to torture her, but she could invent ordeals that were more ingenious than those by which the cruel tyrants of this world try their victims. The penances and mortifications she imposed upon herself make our timid souls shudder. Her love of God had now become so fervent, so ardent, and withal so selfless that the desire for purification by the fire of torture seemed normal to her. For her the sacred science of crosses, trials, abandonment of self was no longer a closed book, an unknown mystery. Saint Theresa's maxim of "pure love" in all its perfection now became the law of the few short years of life remaining to Theresa Margaret Redi. The nearer she drew to her mortal end, the greater became her happy recognition of the holy and delightful pains that accompany a crucified love.

[1] Can. Proc.

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