St. Teresa of Avila

Teresa de Ahumada y Cepada was born into a very wealthy Avila family in 1515—a time when Spain was at the height of its glory. One of eight children, Teresa became deeply attracted to God at a young age.  Her mother’s devotion to God inspired her. Often the woman would point to Our Lady and say to her daughter, “She is your real mother.” When Teresa was only thirteen, her mother died. The job of making sure the children were well-educated fell to the father. Teresa was a quick learner.

She moved through her teens a beautiful and vivacious girl – one who spent more time in front of the mirror than on her knees saying the rosary. Nonetheless, she felt deep pangs of emptiness and longed for something more permanent. She began to sense the rewards that came to those who left worldly things behind to serve the Lord – or “His Majesty,” as she called him. Thus began a period when her “sense and spirit struggled with each other.” Spirit won. She came to feel that, for her, spiritual life meant action and determination. She believed that God gave mankind free will, but that if a person would but turn to God with determination, God would do the rest. As Swami puts it, “Take one step toward me and I will take ten steps toward you.”

In time, Teresa decided to join a convent. At first, her father and other family members vehemently opposed her decision and tried everything to dissuade her. But one day at dawn, while the household slept, she stole away, and entered the convent at Avila. Her early days were tranquil. She firmly believed that worldly things were nothing and God was everything. She became a changed person, walking with downcast eyes, her facial expressions controlled. She kept silence as much as possible, giving only the briefest of replies when they were called for. She was well aware of the six internal enemies. “There are no worse robbers than those we carry around within ourselves,” she said. Eventually, as we know, she became a pure and shining example to the world. But her transformation was slow and came only after many long torturous years of struggle.

She became discouraged when she saw the spiritual progress other nuns were making. Many fasted most of the time and spoke to no one but God. Teresa undertook severe physical penance, but the practice made her so ill that she had to be taken to her father’s house for convalescence. Only later did she realize that torturing the body does not lead to the realization of God. She learned to pray intensely and in time her concentration increased so that worldly thoughts no longer disturbed her. When she went to bed each night, she sought God, refusing to give in to drowsiness. She said that her nighttime prayers were like nestling in God’s arms, similar in spirit to a child being nourished at a mother’s breast.

Her spiritual progress quickened so that by the time she was twenty, God’s grace poured over her. During meditation she could detach from the senses and rise into a realm where the only experience is of God. She did her best to live in the continuous presence of Christ. Reading inspired her and gave her spiritual focus.

Poor health forced Teresa to return again to her father’s house for aggressive medical treatment, which very nearly killed her. Feeling she was near death, she asked for the last sacrament, but her father refused. By the second day, her breathing seemed to have stopped. On the third day a grave was dug for her at the convent; she was washed and covered in a shroud. A candle fell, causing a fire on her bed, but no reaction came from the lifeless body. But the next day, when nuns came to take her body away, Teresa painstakingly opened her eyes. When she regained consciousness, she reported a near death experience in which she was told that she had much work ahead of her, building convents and establishing foundations. But her partially paralyzed body was weak and wracked with pain. For the next three years, she walked on all fours. Then one day she stood erect and started to walk.

As she grew in wisdom, people began coming to her with questions and problems. Because of her sincere, caring nature, she never turned anyone away. But the stream of seekers became constant, taking her away from prayer and growth. Life, even in the cloisters, had become worldly. Her spiritual aspirations were high. She felt frustrated.

When her father lay dying, she moved back to his house, where she intensified her spiritual practices. Slowly the realization came that she must put all her trust in God. “Up to now, it was my life; now God lives in me. God be praised for having delivered me from myself,” she said. She began to hear God speaking to her – an experience which was, at first, scary. She felt His strong presence which brought a degree of tenderness and joy that was not of the senses. When she returned to the convent, she was far beyond her confessors in spiritual matters, yet she meekly submitted to their views, practicing with ever greater obedience and diligence.

Since Teresa lived in the time of the Spanish Inquisition, when all miracles and phenomena were considered the work of evil forces. She knew from reading that it was best to restrain external signs, such as the trances which often came upon her in deep meditation. She began to feel the presence of Christ at her right hand. Her confessor asked how she saw Him. Teresa spoke of seeing a light: “Its brightness does not dazzle. It is a soft white glow, so different from earthly light that the sun seems dim in comparison.” (The Gita describes something similar: “If a thousand suns were to rise in the sky, that light could not be compared to the brilliance of God’s light.”) Teresa maintained a constant state of prayer, even in her sleep. She had visions and was filled with such an intense love of God that she didn’t know what was happening to her. Occasionally, during mass, she would rise a foot or so above the ground. She held tight to the grill to try to prevent it. Her public displays of “grace” embarrassed her.

The genuineness of her experiences was doubted by church officials – men of letters with no spiritual experience. But when they saw how obedient and humble Teresa was, they had no choice but to believe in the validity of her experiences. If she offended someone, she prostrated at their feet to beg pardon. Her humility and obedience were true signs of spiritual growth. By the time she reached the age of forty-five, she had emerged from her illness unscathed and deeply humble. Her mind was so clear and well balanced that she could stand up to anything. Her desire for perfection extended even to the smallest tasks. Armed with this outlook, she felt ready to plunge into action. Though she entered a period of many worldly obligations pertaining to her family—estate matters, the marriage of her sister, and so on—her new-found balance allowed her to take care of them without becoming entangled.

Her fellow nuns began to follow her example. She always reminded them that heaven was more easily won by obedience to God’s word and forgetfulness of self than by desire for psychic experiences. Such phenomena, she said, indicated God’s mercy but were no substitute for union with God. Teresa was acutely aware of the dissipating effect of useless talk. Solitude brought silence, concentration, and strength. She believed that God created mankind to be happy, but man had broken the divine law, thus making himself unhappy. God wills us to seek what is eternal, yet we continue to love transient things. Teresa wanted love to saturate everyone and everything. In instances when she might have judged, she loved.

Teresa obtained permission from Rome to found convents in accordance with the Primitive Rule of Carmel. The first was set up in Avila. For centuries, the anchorites of Mount Carmel had worn clothing of plaited palm fiber and chosen a life of general deprivation. Their monasteries were scattered all over Europe, but a plague in 1348 killed thousands and the surviving monks relaxed many of the rules, which they considered too rigorous. The number of fasting days was reduced to three per week; abstinence from meat was reduced from seven days a week to three days; fine cloth replaced coarse garments. The practice of complete silence was abandoned. Nuns could visit among themselves and with relatives.

But Teresa brought back strict Primitive Rule. To enforce silence, the sisters worked in their cells alone, spinning or weaving. They could speak a little during recreation, but even then a rattle was shaken to remind them of the presence of God. They strove for solitude and silence, paid little attention to the body, and remained ever mindful of the soul. Teresa would say, “You know that God is everywhere, so no one need go to Heaven to speak to him or enjoy his presence. … Precious is silence, our Lord builds his dwelling-place in us with silence.”

As Teresa became know for her spiritual stature, aristocrats and royalty often called her to their homes in times of need to offer strength and consolation. She saw that for many of the rich, life was bondage: “One of the world’s great lies is to call lords those who are slaves of a thousand things.” The nuns in Teresa’s care focused on humility, love, and detachment—and on the achievement of unity. Swami, too, stresses the importance of dharmic living as a prelude to liberation.

Teresa’s teaching also stressed service to the sick and needy and the performance of the lowliest tasks—to her these were on a par with meditation. She accepted criticism humbly and showed by her own example how one must “preach by deeds, or teach by example.” “It is the humblest among you who are most perfect—not those who are favored in prayer or ecstasies,” she said. “If I had understood as I do now that my soul’s tiny palace contained so great a king, I should not have left him there so often alone. I should have stayed with him from time to time.”

Teresa helped found an order for men who wanted to live by the Primitive Rule. One of the first friars to join was the famous St. John of the Cross, who rose to heights similar to Teresa herself, and was, like her, later canonized. For a time he was her confessor. Once, it is said, they were on opposite sides of the grill at confession when both started to speak of God and both fell into ecstasy. Someone who saw John reported that he actually touched the ceiling.

Teresa de Jesus, as she came to be called, never feared anything in the world. She had complete trust in God, believing that he knew what was best for her.  She believed that when we trust in worldly resources, God’s support is withdrawn. On the other hand, when we give everything over to Him in complete trust, He takes care of everything. Even during periods of problems and suffering, Teresa’s actions and words were never contradictory. She achieved perfect harmony in thought, word, and deed. She prayed with total attention, involving herself in action whenever it was called for. Hers was the perfect balance between action and the contemplative life. God was a living presence for her in both the darkest and the brightest hours. She sometimes even had humorous conversations with God. Once, when she was in her sixties and in great physical pain, she was asked to travel for her work. Usually perfectly obedient, she now complained to God, “Lord, amidst so many ills, this comes on top of all the rest.” God answered, “Teresa, that is how I treat my friends.” “Ah, my God,” she replied. That is why you have so few of them.”

In her mid-sixties, old and in poor health, she lived in Christ. Her body was a weak shell, but her ageless spirit still shone in all its splendor. She saw God everywhere and in her exalted state of continuous bliss, nothing disturbed her—not even the poverty, illness, and wretchedness around her. She is said to have had prior knowledge of her death before it happened. Several ethereal signs appeared at the convent a whole year before she entered it to spend her last days. Conscious to the end, she remained constantly aware of God. When she died, a light filled the room and her body exuded a lovely fragrance for days afterward, showing no signs of decay. Though Teresa de Jesus lived in the sixteenth century, her message and example are relevant for every age. She is remembered with reverence and love.

Source: Auclair, Marcelle. Teresa of Avila.
Massachusetts: Saint Bede’s Publications. Used with permission