When there were too many big headlines in the old days, news that otherwise would have garnered our attention often got pushed below the fold, or onto page two.
As we have observed the death of Pope Francis, the conclave and the early days of Pope Leo XIV’s pontificate, the centenary of St. Thérèse of Lisieux’s canonization — May 17, 1925 — has mostly fallen off the radar. But the details of that momentous event are worth remembering.
All the stops were pulled out for the Little Flower’s canonization. Contemporary reports of it are spellbinding. Huge crowds gathered: nearly 60,000 inside the church and another 200,000 in the square. Representatives of Europe’s royal houses, high officials and statesmen were present. But although they had been invited to attend, Thérèse’s four surviving sisters chose not to leave their cloistered vocations to do so. Garlands of roses decorated the altars, pillars, and ceiling. Twenty-five thousand electric light bulbs illumined the inside of St. Peter’s Basilica and loudspeakers were installed for the first time so that everyone could hear the Holy Father.
The procession began with 23 cardinals, 250 bishops, a large number of abbots, and other representatives of the church’s religious orders, priests and missionaries. Then came the canonization banner, depicting the new Carmelite saint dressed in her habit scattering roses. Pope Pius XI entered the basilica, crowned with the triple tiara, enthroned and borne aloft with immense fans waving around him. Everyone broke into applause. The procession alone lasted a whole hour; the ceremony for six hours.
Perhaps the most memorable thing about Therese’s canonization, however, was witnessed later that night. A centuries-old custom that had been set aside was revived and the exterior façade of St. Peter’s was illuminated by thousands of lanterns and torches. Synchronized flames flickered from every architectural point, lining them all in fire. It must have been truly glorious.
Before tensions between the Vatican and the new nation of Italy erupted in 1870, the basilica’s exterior was routinely lit for special occasions such as papal coronations, some canonizations, and annually for Christmas and the feast of Sts. Peter and Paul (June 29). By all accounts, including one written by the German poet Goethe in 1780, the effect was breathtaking. This spectacle of lights required 360 men, called sanpietrini, suspended by ropes or climbing down the dome, to install and ignite them. By 1925, most of the pietrini had died — or were too old to dangle from ropes. Few men remembered how this feat had been accomplished, but somehow, they managed to make it happen. And at the canonization of St. Thérèse, nearly a million people came to see it.
In her brief life, the Little Flower shows us what we most need to know. God created every one of us for glory. We do not need to accomplish a long list of extraordinary deeds, or possess a full storehouse of riches, talents, or even time.
St. Thérèse gives us what Pope Leo ascribed to Christ Jesus in his first homily: “a model of human holiness that we can all imitate.” The fact that the centenary of her canonization occurred one day before Pope Leo was formally installed, gives us a chance to remember that the pope who granted Thérèse Martin permission to enter Carmel at the age of 15 was Pope Leo XIII. The Little Flower’s path to heaven was opened just when she needed it to be. The same is true for us. We already have everything we need.
Traditions grow and go. The last firelit illumination occurred in 1937. The installation of new exterior lighting at St. Peter’s this year makes it even less likely that we will ever see lanterns and torches on the basilica’s façade again. But what that tradition signified lives on. God places each one of us like lanterns on St. Peter’s dome, to illumine the night, show forth the beauty of faith, to draw souls to Christ, and inspire those who already know him to persevere.
God’s grace does not fade away. Saints are God’s gift to us, not just for a century, but for eternity. And each saint is unique. Sanctity is the fingerprint of every soul; holiness is unrepeatable because it is quintessentially personal. Whatever our vocation, God calls us to holiness, to be torches and lanterns of his love that all can see.
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