One hundred years ago today, Thérèse of Lisieux was canonized. There are too many things that one might say. No one could count everything that has flowed into the Church out of the acknowledgment of her sanctity.

So, for this momentous day, I picked a theme that I know both Popes John Paul II and Francis addressed in their major reflections on the importance of the Little Flower.

A little flower has an aroma. And an aroma, even if its source does nothing, nonetheless has effects on other people. Or, put another way, a contemplative might do nothing; the proximate and long-distance effects of the contemplative’s prayer do much. This is more or less what St. John Paul has to say in his letter accompanying the promulgation of the saint as a Doctor of the Church:

Thérèse is also a contemplative. In the hiddenness of her Carmel she lived the great adventure of Christian experience to the point of knowing the breadth, length, height and depth of Christ’s love (cf. Eph 3:18-19). God did not want his secrets to remain hidden, but enabled Thérèse to proclaim the secrets of the King (cf. Ms C, 2v). By her life Thérèse offers a witness and theological illustration of the beauty of the contemplative life as the total dedication to Christ, Spouse of the Church, and as an affirmation of God’s primacy over all things. Hers is a hidden life which possesses a mysterious fruitfulness for spreading the Gospel and fills the Church and the world with the sweet odour of Christ (cf. LT 169, 2v). (Divini Amoris Scientia 11)

Pope Francis touches on the same topic in his apostolic exhortation on Thérèse, quoting the third Carmelite Doctor at length:

The final pages of her Story of a Soul (Ms C, 33v-37r) are a missionary testament. They express her appreciation of the fact that evangelization takes place by attraction (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 14, 264), not by pressure or proselytism. It is worthwhile reading her own words in this regard: “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! This simple statement, ‘Draw me’ suffices. I understand, Lord, that when a soul allows herself to be captivated by the odour of your ointments, she cannot run alone; all the souls whom she loves follow in her train; this is done without constraint, without effort, it is a natural consequence of her attraction for you. Just as a torrent, throwing itself with impetuosity into the ocean, drags after it everything it encounters in its passage, in the same way, O Jesus, the soul who plunges into the shoreless ocean of your Love, draws with her all the treasures she possesses. Lord, you know it, I have no other treasures than the souls it has pleased you to unite to mine” (Ms C, 34)…

We see something similar when Therese speaks of the working of the Holy Spirit, which immediately takes on a missionary hue: “That is my prayer. I ask Jesus to draw me to the flames of his love, to unite me so closely to him that he live and act in me. I feel that the more the fire of love burns within my heart, the more I shall say ‘Draw me’: the more also the souls who will approach me (poor little piece of iron, useless if I withdraw from the divine furnace), the more these souls will run swiftly in the odour of the ointments of their Beloved, for a soul that is burning with love cannot remain inactive” (Ms C, 34r). (C’est la Confiance 10, 12)

In this passage, Papa Francisco specifies the missionary character of Thérèse’s spirituality. The sweet smell of Christ draws the contemplative soul in; then, in like manner, the sweet smell produced in some spiritual sphere by the contemplative draws in other people, too. It’s a magnetic connection of the first link to Christ; next, the second (and third and fourth…) link to the first, then indeed to Christ himself. Quite characteristically, Thérèse mixes her metaphors. But put into a single image, this is basically what she says. Two popes draw it to our attention.

Here we have, of course, one of the reasons why Thérèse is a patron of the missions. Contemplative love is missionary. That happens if the “products” of one’s contemplation are directly funnelled into particular works to be done in the Church. But it also happens if one has no work to do. In such a case, God provides. The missionary impulse is real in the love for Jesus Christ. It “cannot remain inactive.” In the interactivity of the Body of Christ, behind the curtains of plain visibility, something catches on. The fire is lit. The contemplative is, as Thérèse was, a missionary at heart—or even, if we will, in the heart of the Church (cf. Ms B, 2v–3v).