Why St. Teresa of Avila Is My Kind of Saint

Long story short, I’m finally getting confirmed this Easter -- I know, imagine that! -- which means it’s time for me to pick my saint name. When I found out St. Teresa of Avila (1515-1582) was the patron saint of headaches, it was a no-brainer — although she did face stiff competition from St. Elmo, the patron saint of women in labor; St. Clare, the patron saint of television; and St. Isidore of Seville, the patron saint of the Internet.

I haven’t had time to read an actual book about St. Teresa since deciding on her, so I’ve been cobbling together interesting tidbits about her courtesy of Wikipedia and similar sources. The more I read, the more I like her.

Typically, I don’t have much in common with mystic Carmelite nuns from Spain, but there’s an awful lot about St. Teresa that I can relate to, even though we live centuries apart. Here are a few examples:

1. When I was in second or third grade I went through a very pious phase and wanted to be a nun (likely inspired by the character Marie on “Just the Ten of Us”). Needless to say, that particular phase didn’t last long, but I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard myself or other frustrated daters say “I should just join a convent.” I was kind of comforted to read that St. Teresa had similar thoughts. She’s often described as a social butterfly and no stranger to love affairs. She first spent some time in a convent as a teenager in an attempt by her father to discipline her. That attempt was short-lived, and she returned to her home. Says one site:

Back at home, Teresa was once again faced with the choice: marriage to whoever could be found (and with each passing year her marriageability was lessening) or the convent. She finally decided on the convent, out of the certainty that otherwise she was bound to go to hell.” 

Word.

2. You also could say that it was Catholic guilt that drove her, as a very young child, to attempt to turn herself over to the Moors who were carrying out the Spanish Inquisition. Her grandfather had been a Jew that converted to Christianity as a result of the Inquisition, leading St. Teresa to feel that she should become a martyr for the cause. Luckily, a relative found her before she could walk out of town.

3. The first thing, of course, that drew me to St. Teresa was the headache connection. And it looks like she suffered from a number of chronic conditions. However, it was this paragraph or two on one site that I identified with the most:

“…Yet instead of helping her spiritually, her sickness became an excuse to stop her prayer completely: she couldn't be alone enough, she wasn't healthy enough, and so forth…When she was 41, a priest convinced her to go back to her prayer, but she still found it difficult. "I was more anxious for the hour of prayer to be over than I was to remain there. I don't know what heavy penance I would not have gladly undertaken rather than practice prayer." She was distracted often: "This intelect is so wild that it doesn't seem to be anything else than a frantic madman no one can tie down."

She eventually was credited with a technique called “mental prayer” and wrote extensively on the subject, but this little bit about her echoed the reasons I’ve used to claim that I’m “bad at religion.” I’ve always felt like religion and faith seem to come more easily to other people — like it’s a skill or something that I have to train for. Like wind sprints. For instance, when I go to church, after I walk in and find a seat, I can only kneel and pray for one or two minutes before succumbing to distraction and giving up. It’s probably more like 30 seconds, actually. It must look to others like I’m either a super efficient prayer or have church-specific ADD.

4. St. Teresa is famous for a lot of her writing (she’s also the patron saint of Spanish writers) and advice, but this quote is one of my favorites: “I do not fear Satan half so much as I fear those who fear him.” I like this because it was relevant during her lifetime — with the Spanish Inquisition and other major upheavals in the Church — and during ours. It’s a useful antidote to the likes of Fred Phelps and other hate mongers that use their beliefs to justify bigotry. I guess some things never change.