As I started to show in my last post, Marcel Văn has a robust spirituality of Nazareth. He understands this, at the basic level, to be a life of the ordinary, lived anywhere and everywhere, immersed in the lives of others, vivified from within by a certain hiddenness that generates spiritual fruitfulness beyond itself, with a special understanding of the value of childhood, and with a complementary understanding that simple obedience to circumstances and the nature God created is what, for little souls, constitutes mortification and asceticism.

In this post, I will build on this foundation, which was established using the Conversations, by investigating more recently published material from Marcel’s notebooks. The notebooks that give matter to chew on are one that Marcel was given for a novitiate retreat right after joining the Redemptorists (OWN0),[1] one with a mixture of personal notes and poetry (OWN1), another composed of retreat notes with personal commentary (OWN2), and a collection of poetry (OWP).

Novitiate retreat

We have hardly anything written by Văn from before his joining the Redemptorists. Everything he narrates from earlier in his life was jotted down years later, and few pre-novitiate letters survive. So, in a sense, the novitiate retreat notebook that we have is one of the earliest sustained glimpses into his soul.

Because of this, it is difficult to determine where Văn’s predilection for the mystery of Nazareth even comes from. As far as I can tell, Nazareth doesn’t appear in the pre-Redemptorists views and actions reported by Marcel in his Autobiography. There is something of it in his beloved Thérèse, but few of the notes hit seem the same; it’s a message composed in a different key from that sung by the French Little Flower.

Notably, when he arrived to begin life as a coadjutor brother (i.e., a religious brother primarily associated with doing manual work), Văn would, however, have been presented with Nazareth. As Gilles Berceville indicates, at the time, it was a commonplace that this class of religious brothers in the Congreation of the Most Holy Redeemer would “strive to imitate Jesus more particularly in his hidden life of Nazareth.”[2] This fact is something solid. Reading the first notebook bears out the influence. Throughout this retreat notebook, Marcel writes down ideas that mention Nazareth. I don’t think we can say exactly how much comes from the priest giving the retreat and how much originates in Văn. But we know, from other sources, how much of this theme that Marcel takes on, ponders, and makes his own.

The very first thing Marcel bequeaths to us about Nazareth, then, is this:

By his work and prayer, he [the religious brother] contributes to the work of the redemption of the world, like Jesus in Nazareth. Living in common in a fervent community, he is distanced from the dangers of the world and participates in the spiritual and material advantages of the community. (OWN0.2)

Here we find the theme of hiddenness. Marcel will have a hidden apostolate, as Thérèse revealed to him. He will be hidden in the Heart of God, sending out value to others. The first notes say roughly the same thing, but we could be justified in thinking that the spiritual density is a bit less. The stock phrase is “the work of the redemption of the world,” whereas there is something more arresting and immediate in Văn’s ideas of a hidden apostolate, the Heart of God, and becoming a vital force for others.

What might surprise us here, though, is the notion of the protection of the community. Marcel will live in a community of religious. As in Carmel, this offers a certain protection. Văn knows what it’s like outside. He knows poverty, child abuse, and the life of a beggar on the street. He is not deluded that “Nazareth” in a religious community encompasses all the realities of “Nazareth” outside. And he makes no effort to modify that state. Unlike Charles de Foucauld, he does not seek to convert religious life into something more approximating the reality of those living outside it, particularly the poor. For Văn, that reality outside is actually something that scarred him. He can be justified in accepting a refuge. But the refuge has only one purpose. It is to create a stable hidden life, from which his secret work can be accomplished in souls.

In this same retreat notebook, Marcel also notes something about obedience. Commenting on the assertion made by the preacher that “[t]he Redemptorist must imitate the life of Jesus, and this imitation must be explicit,” he writes: “O Jesus, you who, formerly, at Nazareth, did everything through obedience without shrinking from any difficulty, teach me to do everything perfectly” (OWN0.17). It is interesting that the bare bones of the pre-assigned retreat notes do not here mention obedience. Marcel talks about it anyway. Does he get this from the preacher? Does he get it from reading the Gospel (Lk 2:51)? No matter what, we know that he develops or receives from Jesus a very profound regard for the virtue of obedience. Attention to nature and circumstances, i.e., base-level obedience, offered in sacrifice, is the best mortification for little souls. Moreover, this kind of obedience both makes us like unto God and makes God’s will like unto ours: “And if you know how to obey, God will follow your will in all things; but for that it is necessary that you obey in all things” (To Nghi, 11 Jan 1948).[3] A little mortification can be redirected into petition and intercession.

Next, we find Marcel jotting down something about childhood, another of his key themes of Nazareth: “O my little Jesus, I have taken you as my model. Give me the grace to practise the virtues of childhood. I love you a lot” (OWN0.21–22). This note is in response to the retreat leader’s assertion: “The Child Jesus, the model of childhood. Simplicity, humility, chastity, poverty, obedience.” It is doubtful that the preacher could have had any notion of just how far this little Văn would take the notion of spiritual childhood. He never strays from the core virtues enumerated. Despite initial appearances, Marcel’s spiritual childhood never falters from the robustness of the faith. But just a quick regard for the way Marcel writes here (e.g., “my little Jesus,” “I love you a lot”) alerts us to how seriously he takes childhood, humility, and simplicity.

Finally, note that when it is suggested to think of “the passion of Jesus,” Marcel has the remarkable insight to speak to “you who have suffered through love of me for thirty-three years” (OWN0.23). Marcel connects the Passion to Nazareth. This is not a one-off. Consider this passage from the Conversations (spoken by Jesus):

The sorrows I endured dying on the cross were external sorrows, but the interior sorrows were no less than the former. The outward sorrows endured until my death are nothing compared with the interior pain that I felt in my childhood in thinking of the sufferings I would have to endure later… (Conv. 553)[4]

In the novitiate retreat notebook, there is nothing developed regarding the weight of interior and exterior sufferings. Marcel doesn’t say that the former outweigh the latter. But he is convinced that Jesus suffered for him his entire life—the vast majority of which was at Nazareth. So, he will not separate Golgotha and Nazareth. At both hills, he was rejected (cf. Lk 4:29). How true it is that “you… have suffered through love of me for thirty-three years.” Nazareth isn’t all roses. It has its thorns. Thus, it has its Redemption.

Poems I: Little Redeemer

On 16 October 1948 (the feast day of Saint Gerard Majella, patron of the coadjutor brothers), Marcel wrote or completed a poem that he called “I am a Little Redeemer.” This expresses his idea of what it means to be a Redemptorist brother, because, for him, to be a Redemptorist is to be “another Redeemer” (Conv. 716) and to be hidden like the coadjutor brothers is to be little. Yet being a “little Redeemer” also means, for Văn, to be a denizen of Nazareth:

Yes, I am a little Redeemer!
My life is like that of Jesus of former times.
I am totally absorbed in the housework,
As little Jesus was at Nazareth.

I am a little Redeemer!
I must remain hidden all my life,
Without being able to go faraway to preach the gospel,
Being happy to serve the apostles of Jesus. (OWN1.6)

He even enumerates the kinds of work he does, the accomplishment of which helps the apostles who will go out, while he stays put and hidden:

Following the example of Jesus of Nazareth,
Applying myself all day to humble work,
I also spend the day dusting and scrubbing,
Planting vegetables and sewing. (OWN1.7)

Marcel knows that some people will find this distasteful. He writes elsewhere:

One sees in it the wonderful results of laborious work, where one dirties one’s hands and feet. This type of work, considered as menial, is regarded by nearly everyone as without honour and very few are they who know how to appreciate it as being meritorious and infinitely pleasing to God. (OWN2.59–60)

The value of these tasks is not determined by material support alone. Indeed, knowing Văn and reading the above passage carefully, we can see that the material support doesn’t just have a complement; it is surpassed by another dimension. First, it is associated with merit:

[A]ll the merits we acquire, all the joy we feel, have their source in the perfect accomplishment of our daily work, since that is the proof that we conform in all things to the holy will of God. (To Father Alphonsus Tremblay, 31 Dec 1948)

And second, merit means we can participate in redemption. That’s wonderful. Now, to pass another step, we need prayer. Prayer converts work into something else. With prayer, it becomes sacrifice. And as Marcel knows well, obedience is the best mortification. In sum, Marcel does the lesser part and chooses the better part (cf. Lk 10:41–42). He unites the busy work with prayer:

Although very busy with this manual work,
I never forget to join it to prayer.
Quite the contrary, all my fatigues,
I offer them to God as an ardent supplication.

When I am tired it is with joy that I rest,
Holding myself close to Mary and joining her for prayer.
My prayer does not consist solely of my personal needs;
It embraces all souls still deprived of the light of faith. (OWN1.7)

He knows, too, that this prayer is not just for himself. It has a supplicatory, intercessory value. He can offer a sacrifice for someone. He can say that he does this undesirable act of obedience to help a distant situation. He has confidence in Jesus. He does Jesus’ will. Surely Jesus will do his? Pray!

The immense confidence of little Văn is captured in startling terms in a later notebook (OWN2.33): “With my hands which wash the pots and pans I have the power to sanctify the whole world. Who am I? A religious who lives by faith.” To be sure, Jesus, not Marcel, accomplishes this great task. Yet Marcel is the instrument. Anyone who lives in Nazareth can be the instrument. All the elements are present in each Nazareth. We always have work, obedience, and the possibility of intercession.

Poems II: Bamboo, spider, and ants

Other poems are much more imaginative and creative. One lengthy poem called “The Call from Afar” speaks of the discovery of a vocation. It is not obviously related to the theme of Nazareth, but there are a couple elements that shouldn’t be skipped in this connection. The poem opens like this:

Alone… cuddled in hedge of verdant bamboo tree
As the echo on the dyke reverberates in me
Your voice insisting says: Come follow me.
And I rush, leaving all immediately. (OWP17)

As I say, at first sight, this is nothing about Nazareth. In fact, it seems to pull someone away from somewhere. It disturbs a settled existence. But on closer inspection, I think the themes bear out.

When Marcel explains the poem to his little sister, he notes: “‘The shade of the verdant bamboos’ is a figure of the soul that loves to live in solitude,” whereas the “dyke” symbolizes the tabernacle (To Tế , 21 Apr 1951). Yet everything is described as the life of a Vietnamese country girl. For myself, I can’t help but thinking that the poem, unbeknownst to itself, says that it is possible to live a Nazareth life anywhere. Văn’s necessary ingredient of hiddenness or solitude is there, placed firmly in all the regular, ordinary life of the country people. Yet so too is the extraordinary aspect of the interior, reaching beyond itself, for the “dyke” is somewhere the country girl knows. Perhaps this girl is “alone” only in the sense of yet to find her longer-term Nazareth. There are indications that she already had a first one of some sort. Perhaps, though, this is stretching it. Other poems are more clearly about “Nazareth.”

Marcel often had need to act as exterminator of insects and indeed gave advice on this to other brothers (To Brother Victor, 10 Jul 1950). But in some of his poetry, the value of common pests is reversed. They become the protagonists.

The first poem with protagonist pests (OWP20) treats the life of a coadjutor brother as being akin to the life of a spider in the corner of a house:

Here I am a spider suspended in a corner of the house.
All the year long I spin some silk.
Close to the sewing machine, my hands are always busy
Skilfully threading the needle,
Repairing socks and pants,
I become a generous hero.
With thread of velvet silk,
I repair torn trousers and jackets.
What does it serve to become attached to a hollow fame?
Happiness for me is to lead a life of sacrifice!
A life of collaboration,
A life working for the community,
Contributing by that to the formation of tomorrow’s heroes
Morning, noon and night,
Aiming for a noble end, full of beauty,
The pure heart does not wear itself out,
Even in secret
It perseveres all the time.

Obviously, the particular image of a spider comes from Marcel’s assigned role in the tailor’s shop at the monastery. (It certainly doesn’t come from his beloved Thérèse, who was scared of spiders!) But this spider, he is careful to note, isn’t a wanderer. It abides in a house. This reflects the sedentary nature of Nazareth. It is one place. It is not everywhere all at once for one person. It settles down. As such, the house betokens a community. What begins with the notion of a solitary spider in a corner ends with the declaration of collaboration, community, contribution, and co-formation. There may be “secret” work without “fame.” There may be individual perseverance. But people come together in Nazareth. Mary was always there. Joseph was there. Jesus was there.

Văn does, however, know how to modulate the metaphors and make up for the deficiencies of his literary devices. The very next poem in the collection (OWP21) is about a group of ants pulling a “victim” together across the forest of life, as “a huge legion of ants” (the saints of heaven) wait for us to arrive. Here, we deal with not a home, but the vast outdoors. Nor are we concerned with the work of a solitary spider (who happens to find himself connected to a community too), but rather an awesome army of ants. Nor are things stationary, but rather moving from one place to another. We get clarification on the “noble end, full of beauty” from the previous poem; it involves the beauty of persons, or fellow “ants,” who wait for us at the finish line. Reading these two poems together (OWP 20, OWP21) is really enriching. I would recommend it.

The next poem after this again (OWP22) is a short four lines about fraternal charity. We learn that, when joy is present, we want to know even how the other person feels, deep in their heart, and the shared status of memories is a key, says Văn, to community life. I think this fits also with the Nazareth theme being developed. The dimension of shared memory is a new one. It could be used to say a lot about Nazareth. Nazareth is not a snapshot or a freeze-frame. It’s a shared history in the present.

Viewing his vocation as a community affair is, despite the initial jumping-off point of the poems about the call and about the spider, a predilection of Văn’s. The same attitude is evident when Father Louis Roy (“Jesus with the ginger beard”) asks him, “Who are you doing this work for?” And Marcel replies, “For the Congregation.” To which the priest rejoins, “But you work for God; that’s all that matters.” Jesus himself mystically tells Marcel that he is happy that the priest said this rather than Marcel (Conv. 419). It might be true that we work for God alone. But we can also say very simply that we work for each other. This is the whole meaning of Marcel’s hidden apostolate. He doesn’t just do things for God. Every little work can be offered in obedience, in sacrifice, for others. They are small things in themselves. But with confidence, they are big in the hands of God.

What kind of community we have in mind, though, is ultimately up to interpretation. The plain interpretation for Marcel himself is that this is a community of religious brothers and priests. The broader interpretation shouldn’t limit it to this, though. Remember that Nazareth can be anywhere. If Marcel himself has, as he tells one of his sisters, journeyed “to a religious community to lead there a hidden life” (To Lê, 16 Sep 1950), he is also able to tell the same sister that holiness in the world can be “a hidden life, an ordinary life like that lived by most people,” provided we set about “offering” our life to God and make an effort to “consult each other” spiritually (To Lê, 18 May 1950). Marcel himself died as one prisoner among many in an internment camp, breathing for them spiritual life. Nazareth is unbounded. It lacks bounds both in Văn’s thought and in his life. This brings us back to where we started in the last post. In seeing the details, often didactic, often poetic, that Văn adds to the picture for his own circumstances in the Redemptorist monastery (themselves only one phase of his life and not even the last), we shouldn’t forget that he knows there is a bigger picture, too. Nazareth is hidden in the dough everywhere.

Conclusion

What, then, is Marcel Văn’s spirituality of Nazareth? It certainly is not a treatise. Whatever we have comes to us piecemeal. But it seems quite full nonetheless.

Marcel understands Nazareth to be the life of the Holy Family. It was a place of suffering and obedience. But these were lived in the ordinary, the very, very ordinary, only extraordinary by means of the intense interior life that accompanied events. This interior life was hidden. The primary action of the Holy Family on the world, at all ages of Jesus but especially in his childhood, was through offering up whatever happened for the sake of the world, others, individual causes known to them. They worked. Marcel knows very well they worked. If any of that ever was felt as undesirable in the moment, it was offered up, and God won a victory. Although Marcel welcomes a stable life of Nazareth, free from the vicissitudes of poverty, abuse, and street life that plagued his childhood, he also knows that Nazareth is not limited to such a cloistered existence; he is convinced of the necessity of loving Jesus everywhere, in whatever situations of material or spiritual poverty may exist—and this leads him into the hands of the communists, where he will die.

Marcel Văn’s Nazareth is little. It is also saintly and heroic. It can be anywhere and everywhere.

[1] OW = Marcel Van, Other Writings, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 4; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2018). Additional system for abbreviations explained on page 14, e.g., OWN = notebooks; OWV = various writings.

[2] Gilles Berceville, Marcel Van, ou l’infinie pauvreté de l’Amour (Paris: Éditions de l’Émmanuel, 2009), 106n4.

[3] To = Marcel Van, Correspondence, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 3; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2018).

[4] Conv. = Marcel Van, Conversations, trans. Jack Keogan (Complete Works 2; Versailles: Amis de Van Éditions, 2017).