Sisters in Faith

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For the last two months I have been living in the company of four amazing women. Their companionship is all in my head, because each of them is long since dead, but they live on through their writings. Up until now I knew only their names, but having spent time getting to know them through their prose I consider them friends whose company I want to share.

Hildegard of Bingen reminds me of my own German grandmother. Raised during the Great Depression, Grandma could cook for a farm crew, quell unruly children, grow a garden and keep a spotless house. So intent was she on getting an education that she defied her father and continued walking to school until she graduated from the eighth grade. It is this tall, lean farmer’s daughter I imagine when I think of Hildegard, who lacked a formal education but published well-regarded works on natural science and medicine, wrote music that still is performed today, and chided the emperor for his support of the antipopes. A Benedictine nun who lived to the age of 81, she founded two monasteries. Her theology was so sound that the pope permitted her to preach publicly (something as unheard of for a woman to do in the Church of the 12th century as it is today). At the age of 43 she had visions in which a voice commanded her to write what she saw. After publication of her first book, Pope Eugene III encouraged her to continue writing, which she did, eventually completing a trilogy about salvation history and the Church.

If Hildegard is a German grandmother, Teresa of Ávila is a Spanish aunt, solicitous of my spiritual welfare and offering sound advice on how to improve my prayer life. Like her German predecessor, Teresa was a cloistered nun, but that did not deter her from going out, at the age of 51, into the 16th-century Spanish countryside to set up 17 convents for the order of the Discalced Carmelites, which she helped found.

Catherine of Siena is like a bossy older sister whose popularity and achievements make me want to be part of her inner circle. With her band of followers, she served the poor and visited hospitals. In 1376, in large part due to her efforts, the papacy returned to Rome from Avignon, where it had been since 1309. She also wrote to cardinals, bishops and priests to plead for the reform of indolent clergy. Although only a tertiary with the Dominican order, she established a monastery for women. Like Hildegard and Teresa, Catherine was a mystic; she dictated her seminal work, The Dialogue, while she was in ecstasy.

We come last to the only one of the four who is difficult for me to really like. Thérèse of Lisieux seems to me a little sister who is Daddy’s pet, Mom’s favorite, the one they point to and say, “Why can’t YOU be like that?”

Well, because I’m not a saint, and if I were I would rather be Joan of Arc leading an army with upraised sword instead of Thérèse with her “little way,” which would require me to suffer willingly and seek hidden ways to serve others. That Thérèse herself admired Joan of Arc only irritates me, because it means I have to share my role model with her.

Still, there is something compelling about this 19th-century French Carmelite nun who was unknown to the world until after her death, when her autobiography was published. With Hildegard and Catherine and Teresa I can admire their deeds, comfortable in the knowledge that I cannot emulate them, whereas with Thérèse I must admit that only pride holds me back from following her way.

These four women are my mothers, my sisters in faith. All of them also happen to be Doctors of the Church. I wish I had been introduced to them earlier, but now that I have met them I’m going to deepen my acquaintance with their writings, for they have so much to teach that I want to learn.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Contact her at marie@icatholic.org.