The Story of a Soul or autobiographical manuscripts of Thérèse of Lisieux famously begin and end with a pair of complementary images.

First is the opening vision of a vast array of flowers in a field. Each flower has its own beauty and use which contributes to the harmony of the whole. Thérèse tells us that there are fragrant lilies, eye-catching violets, and little daises alongside grandiose cedars and majestic roses (Ms A, 2v–3r)[1]; in fact, if all the flowers wanted to be roses, then nature would lose its springtime beauty and the fields would no longer be adorned with little wild flowers” (Ms A, 2v). There is something indeed in these little “wild flowers the simplicity of which attracts God” (Ms A, 3r). Every flower is beloved by God. It should just be what it is and what he wants it to be.

As the introduction continues, the visual imagery that is quite famous, though, gradually becomes saturated with olfactory dimensions. Thérèse tells us that some flowers, like herself, are bestowed a “virginal perfume” (Ms A, 3v), and she mentions the “sweet perfume” of her lily-like older sisters (Ms A, 3v–4r). Why is the smell of these flowers so important?

For Thérèse, pleasant odours stand for what spurs us to draw closer to goodness and beauty. She tells Mother Marie de Gonzague that one of her good works remained with her memory “as a perfume that aids me in the practice of charity” (Ms C, 29v). Focusing her gaze yet higher still, she tells of how the perfumes of Jesus in the Gospels tell her which way to run (Ms C, 36v). At great length, she explains of her own activity in this life:

“Draw me; we shall run after you in the odour of your ointments.” O Jesus! It is not even necessary to say, “When drawing me, draw the souls whom I love!” It simply suffices to say, “Draw me.” I understand, Lord, that when a soul allows itself to be caught by the odour of your ointments, she cannot run alone; all the souls whom she loves follow in her train. All this happens without constraint, without effort. It is a natural consequence of the soul’s attraction for you. Just as a torrent, tossing itself with impetuosity into the ocean, drags after it everything it finds in its way, similarly, O Jesus, the soul who plunges into the boundless ocean of your Love, draws with her all the treasures she possesses. Lord, you know it, I have no other treasures than those souls it has pleased you to unite to mine. (Ms C, 34r)

Pope Francis points out in C’est la Confiance 10 that we have here “a missionary statement”: “the fact that evangelization takes place by attraction.” Thérèse teaches that love is itself apostolic, because it causes others to fall into its wake. The imagery or phenomenology that she chooses for this is olfactory: the sweet perfume of love.

We have, then, an interest paradox. The smallest flowers, not the greatest trees, might produce fantastic, enticing perfumes. It is such odours that will lead souls to the divine beauty and cause them to fall into the ever-growing train of the King with his royal ointments.

But what of those who feel that they are small flowers who lack the kind of perfumes that Thérèse attributes to herself and her sisters at the opening of her first autobiographical manuscript? They must also have a place, too. After all, Thérèse started by saying that if a little flower could talk, it would tell its story of all the love God has for it—without it having to be a different kind of flower than the Lord made it to be. Yet another paradox.

Marcel Văn, who, in the wake of his experiences with clerical abuse, knew a variety of moral injuries and had trouble believing in his own goodness, grappled with this very problem. He didn’t answer it in quite the same way as his spiritual big sister. But he based himself on her all the same. In one of his notebooks, we find him writing this:

There are some flowers so small and with such a delicate scent that they cannot even sweeten the air a short distance away. In spite of the richness of its colours and all its beauty, its stem cannot be noticed by anyone, so much so that it can be trod upon inadvertently, without any regret! …

According to common opinion, this flower should be sad at its fate, no longer wishing to display its beauty, no longer wishing nor being able to live such a life, forgotten and abandoned.

On the other hand, the little flower continues to live, to keep its freshness, to give out its scent and to fulfil perfectly its role as a flower.

How precious is this very little flower.

It is a question of flowers of the fields which exist, but without a special name, which are designated simply as little flowers of the meadows…

Happy the souls so privileged to be abandoned like these little flowers, and who find their happiness by being precious in the eyes of Love.

15-11-51 (OWN2.19–20)[2]

Not a lily, certainly not a rose, not as luxuriously fragrant as a cedar tree, not even a daisy… just a little flower of meadow—these adornments of the field are rich in colour but almost imperceptible, and their olfactory allure is negligible. It is “trod upon inadvertently, without any regret.” But it is not sad at all this. It doesn’t need to know that it has wafted its perfume far and abroad, causing people to run in the right direction.

Marcel couldn’t always, indeed very rarely, lift his eyes up high enough to see the triumphal image that closes the Story of a Soul, as one soul after another falls into the train of an ointment-laden march towards the King at the centre of all our experience. But he knew that he didn’t have to. It is enough to exist, “without a special name,” “trod upon,” “abandoned,” but fresh, colourful, alive, beautiful, even if unnoticeable to eyes and nose.

“How precious is this very little flower… Happy the souls so privileged to be abandoned like these little flowers, and who find their happiness by being precious in the eyes of Love.”

These are words to hold onto when we can’t see—or smell—any farther than their limited horizons.

[1] All references to Saint Thérèse of Lisieux using the system in Œuvres complètes (Paris: Cerf / Desclée de Brouwer, 2023), with translations my own.

[2] 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.