Elisabeth Leseur: Sensitivity to Sensibility; Sensitivity to Souls

In my conversations about faith and religion I have become much aware of peoples' "sensibility." By this word I mean a sensitivity or tendency to appreciation and aversion that is less intellectual than emotional, physical, intuitive , aesthetic, moral and spiritual. People respond passionately, viscerally, to spiritual things in a way that is less cerebral than psychological, more from the heart than from the head. And so it is crucial that in the desire to share our faith we are attuned to the sensibility of our conversation partner. Consider Pope Francis: he is not so much a comprehensive thinker as a man of passion and emotion. He loves the underprivileged, the suffering, the marginalized and those who feel far from the Church. He would rather talk to an atheist in despair than the the College of Cardinals or the Grand Knight of Malta. He despises any hint of clerical privilege, of ostentation in piety, of moralism among culture warriors, of a capitalism that lacks compassion, of Catholic complacency, superiority, coldness. He is pronounced in his feelings and unrestrained in their expression. Regardless of his theological teaching, he is widely popular because he is felt to be kind, flexible, generous, and approachable in contrast to his Church which is felt to be the exact opposite. On the other hand, he is offensive to many who are most loyal to the papacy and feel his contempt. These in their turn, hurt and angry, become offensive to Francis' admirers. When I was thinking these thoughts I had the good fortune of reading the journals of Elisabeth Leseur who is my patron saint of "sensitivity to souls." A woman of unusual saintliness, charm and kindness, she wrote of her excruciating pain that she could not share her faith with those around her, especially her husband Felix, then a hardcore atheist. But she prayed unceasingly for those she loved and asked God to give her "sensitivity to souls." She never preached, moralized or argued about religion. She rarely mentioned it. But many people, largely agnostics and atheists, loved her dearly; they visited her often, especially in the later years when she suffered so physically, and came away refreshed by her warmth, joy, acceptance and quiet wisdom. She spoke, like other saints including her contemporary St. Therese of Lisieux, about "hungering for souls."  She longed to bring those she loved to the God she so loved. But she did so courteously, quietly, delicately. When she died, her husband read her journals and was converted immediately, becoming a Dominican priest. She frequently asked God for "sensitivity to souls" so that she would say the right thing, never anything that would offend, even unknowingly. She wrote that "the battle of minds does nothing." And yet she valued learning and  reading, praying for a wisdom so as to help others, but never in a didactic manner. During her lifetime and afterwards through her journals she influenced many, always in sweetness, charm, delight and delight. May we, with Elisabeth, yearn for those we love to be drawn to God! May we, with her, receive each person with joy, warmth, tenderness and reverence! May we, like her, radiate such gentleness, humility, and holiness!