The ‘Odor of Sanctity’
IN BAD TASTE?
My friend Sandra spent a quiet day with the Eucharistic ministers of her church, and they got to talking about St. Thérèse of Lisieux. One of the minister’s family is French, and he said his grandmother was present at the exhumation of Thérèse’s body at the Lisieux cemetery in 1910. The grandmother always recounted with wonder that she smelled an intense fragrance of flowers as the coffin was opened. Many people present experienced the same phenomenon.
I confess, this interests me because I had an experience of what’s called the “odor of sanctity” as well. One summer I hitchhiked to Jerusalem from England, staying in monasteries along the way. Halfway through France I stopped at the town of Nevers, where St. Bernadette (who saw the Virgin Mary at Lourdes) spent her days as a nun. She died in 1879. Her body is supposed to be uncorrupted, and is still on display in the convent chapel.
At the convent I was assigned a room, went up to wash, then made my way down to the dining hall. At the table everybody was jabbering away in French and this woman sidles up and sits next to me.
She flashes me a big American smile and says, “Ah hope you won’t mahnd if ah sit here.” She’s from Alabama.
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With a heavy heart I announce the death of Dale Vree, my father and former editor of the NEW OXFORD REVIEW. He passed away peacefully on December 10.
Among the nations of the Old World only the Vatican raises her lonely voice against the enshrinement of immorality into law and as a result becomes the target of public scorn and ridicule.
I believe that there is room for the faithful doubters in the Catholic Church, but only so long as they can transcend their doubts and accept the Creed.