The modern saint

We are following paths that lead to a saint. There are saints everywhere, in the names of churches, in the names of villages. Bits of saints in jewelled cases. Even one of the French kings was a saint. But the saint I remember most has a contented half-smile on her rounded, homely face. She's in a black and white photo that emphasises the whiteness of her face, the blackness of her eyebrows and the echoing head dress. Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus.

We met her in almost every church in Normandy, and again in Paris. It's got so I say "Hi there!" when I see her. Born in Lisieux in 1873, she joined a convent at the age of fifteen but by the age of twenty four was dead from tuberculosis. In Bayeux Cathedral was an excerpt from her diary: "I came to Bayeux with my father to pray before asking to take orders.... The rain poured down outside...."

I read the words as the rain poured down outside.

Why she was made a saint, I still don't know. I guess you don't have to be martyred anymore. Perhaps all you have to do is miracles, in which case she's been busy. Churches everywhere are lined with little marble plaques thanking her for her help after someone had prayed to her. They give dates and initials, but few specifics, and few miracles are mentioned. Maybe it's like a celestial X-Factor contest? The more people you get phoning in - or putting up a plaque - to support you, the more likely you'll be chosen ....

1 March 2008