A Gift and a Connection to the Past

Earlier this year, my husband John mentioned that his cousin Terri had something she wanted to give to me. He showed me a photo of a sculpture that included statues of St. Rita of Cascia and St. Therese of Lisieux.

I was so touched that Terri wanted to share it with me—and I was excited to see it myself. St. Rita is my patron saint, and St. Therese is such an inspiring, accessible saint to have as a friend. They have both played important roles in my life, and I love incorporating visual representations of saints into our home.

Still, I didn’t realize how beautiful the sculpture was until this weekend when I saw it in person. I also hadn’t fully understood the history of the piece and its connection to John’s family.

The sculpture first belonged to John’s great-grandparents, Johann Büttner and Theresia Gräbner, who were Terri’s grandparents. Johann and Theresia were married at St. Michael’s Church in Baltimore on June 4, 1901. The couple welcomed six children together, and sometime during their marriage, they acquired this sculpture, which is a holy water font that was made in 1923.

St. Therese was beatified in 1923 and canonized in 1925. This year, as we celebrate the 100^th anniversary of St. Therese’s canonization, we also celebrate the 125^th anniversary of St. Rita’s canonization. I wonder whether that’s why they are sculpted together, as fairly newly saints. I tried to do a little research online, but I couldn’t find anything to explain the pairing.

But as I admire the sculpture of St. Rita and St. Therese standing together in our home, I’m struck by the beauty of this reminder of our connection to these two strong women who lived their faith with such a devotion on earth.

Although St. Rita is always depicted as an Augustinian sister, she was a wife and mother before her husband and sons passed away and she entered the convent. She is patron of the impossible. She is a powerful advocate, and I turn to her for intercession on some of the bigger, more complicated problems.

St. Therese is known as “The Little Flower,” and she teaches us that we can live out our faith in small, but meaningful ways. I love that St. Therese invites us to live with beautiful simplicity, embrace daily sacrifices even when they seem small, and to think of how Jesus is calling us to live. When you pray a novena to St. Therese, you look for a rose at the end, and I have been amazed over and over to find a rose.

The beauty of this piece for me is not just that it features two of my favorite saints, but also that it has a history and a connection to my husband’s family. How special to be able to show it to our sons and tell them that their great-great grandparents had this piece in their home.

As Catholics, we talk about the communion of saints, recognizing how we are all connected throughout time, whether we are on heaven or on earth. This sculpture is such a lovely reminder that we are all on this journey toward heaven, leaning on the saints and on one another as we strive to live for Jesus.

I’m so grateful to have this very special gift—a reminder of our shared faith with those who went before us, and a reminder of what we aspire to be as we long to be closer to God.

We had not planned to pick up the sculpture this weekend. We had other plans that were canceled at the last minute on Friday night, and John proposed that we go see his sister that morning. She had picked up the sculpture for me.

It was only as we were saying goodbye and carrying this beautiful piece to our car on Saturday that I realized that it happened to be the feast day of St. Therese’s parents, Sts. Louis and Zelie Martin.

I had to smile. Of course it was. So often in life, the timing isn’t ours but God’s. And they’re just two more members of our extended family on earth and in heaven who are a part of our story.

St. Rita and St. Therese, pray for us! And Sts. Louis and Zelie, too.

Copyright © 2025 Catholic Review Media

 Print