Sunday, November 23, 2025

The Co-Redemptive Suffering of St. Thérèse of Lisieux

This month I have been working through the classic 1957 book The Sanctifier by Luis M. Martinez, Archbishop of Mexico. The Sanctifier is one of the great modern texts on the Holy Spirit, an incredibly rich work that I recommend for anybody seeking deeper insight into the way the Holy Spirit affects our sanctification.

In Martinez's chapter on consolation and suffering, he discusses those situations where our Lord calls us to suffer on behalf of others, joining our sufferings to His own to merit grace to sinners. Martinez uses St. Thérèse of Lisieux as an example, saying:

But also at times, our Lord, through some loving motive or because of some profound providential design, withholds His consolations completely. The last days of the life of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus were a period of terrible desolation, of unspeakable sufferings. By reason of the perfection she had attained, that unique soul should have died in peace and joy, for peace and joy belong to the heights of the spiritual life, and ceratinly St. Thérèse had established her dwelling on the heights. But God willed to submerge her soul in desolation. He wanted her to suffer for other souls. We may call this desolation of St. Thérèse co-redemptive. The union of her very intense suffering with the profound sorrow of the heart of Jesus was effected to obtain singular graces for other souls. The Little Flower herself gives us an understanding of this secret of God in her delightful autobiography. She tells us that she sat at the table of the incredulous in order to suffer with them and to secure special graces for them in that way. (Luis M. Martinez, The Sanctifier, [Pauline Books: Boston, 2003], pp. 241-42)

This little excerpt illustrates how the principle of co-redemption was not applied exclusively to the Blessed Virgin, nor was it a term that was considered controversial, confusing, or difficult to understand. Martinez suitably explains how St. Thérèse's suffering was co-redemptive with a single explanatory sentence—"the union of her very intense suffering with the profound sorrow of the heart of Jesus was effected to obtain singular graces for other souls." This is the fundamental idea of co-redemption in a nutshell: Christ alone merits redemption, but, His redemption is "inclusive"; to quote Fernández's own document, "He enables various forms of participation in his salvific plan because, in communion with him, we can all become, in some way, cooperators with God and “mediators” for one another (cf. 1 Cor 3:9)." Pretty basic.

We are all co-redeemers in this sense, inasmuch as we can all unite our labors and sufferings to Christ in order to "make up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ for the sake of His body, the Church" (Col. 1:24). You are participating in co-redemption whenever you "offer it up." Mary is the Co-Redemptrix par excellence; her participation is utterly unique by virtue of her divine motherhood and superior to any other creature due to her exalted status. This is why she alone is graced with this as a formal title. But even so, it is certainly not improper to apply the concept to other faithful, as Archbishop Martinez does in his matter-of-fact statement about the suffering of St. Thérèse.

I understand not wanting to confuse people or place unnecessary stumbling blocks in front of those seeking to understand the faith. But not every truth can be reduced to a sound bite; some things simply require explanation and catechesis. St. Peter says of the Apostle Paul's letter that "there are some things in them hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction" (1 Pet. 3:15-16). Peter admits that Paul's teaching can be "hard to understand," but this is no reason to abandon it. Ultimately those who refuse to accept Paul's writings are those who are "ignorant and unstable"; thisis their real problem. Do Protestants think we worship Mary? Yes. Just like they think we worship statues, that Christ is killed again at Mass, and that we earn our way into heaven. Muslims think we worship three gods and Adventists insist that we "changed" the Sabbath in the time of Constantine. The falsehoods that non-Catholics believe about us are legion, and altering our vocabulary will do little to change this. If any Protestant or non-Catholic sincerely wishes to understand these things, there are innumerable resources at their disposal to explain them accurately and succinctly. Honest ignorance can be easily rectified, as Martinez does with a single sentence. Beyond this, we are looking at incalcitrance—a refusal to make the sincere and necessary mental effort to understand. 

As for Catholics, no well-meaning Catholic misunderstands Mary's co-redemption. I say "well-meaning" because I grant there are those who are confused, but whose confusion likely stems from their anemic formation; that is, their cluelessness comes not from the complexity of the concept but from their willful ignorance, like the droves of uncatechized Catholics who think the Church teaches the Eucharist is a symbol—imagine blaming the doctrine of Transubstantiation for poorly formed Catholics' confusion about it! If you ask any Catholic anywhere, "Who saves us from our sins?" they are going to say, "Jesus." Even some dusky jungle rustic, newly converted and barely-catechized, understands at least that Jesus Christ is the Savior. The idea of some widespread Catholic "confusion" about Co-Redemption is a canard. What you actually have are people who don't understand because they are uncatechized, as well as people who do understand but willfully reject. 

In the Modern Catholic Dictionary of Fr. John Hardon, S.J., published in 1980, we find the following succinct definition of Mary's redemptive role in the entry for the term Co-Redemptrix:
CO-REDEMPTRIX. A title of the Blessed Virgin as co-operator with Christ in the work of human redemption. It may be considered an aspect of Mary's mediation in not only consenting to become the Mother of God but in freely consenting to his labors, sufferings, and death for the salvation of the human race. As Co-Redemptrix, she is in no sense equal to Christ in his redemptive activity, since she herself required redemption and in fact was redeemed by her Son. He alone merited man's salvation. Mary effectively interceded to obtain subjective application of Christ's merits to those whom the Savior had objectively redeemed.
The objection that "a phrase that has to be continually explained is not a helpful phrase" is pure sophistry; every phrase has to be explained to be comprehensible. For crying out loud, we belong to a religion that once had an entire ecumenical council over the difference between homoousios and homoiousios. Every article of faith requires careful and persistent explanation. Is that not the principle that underlies all catechesis? Why else do we bother making catechumens sit through a year of classes before admitting them to baptism? And for that matter, why do our pastors still preach on truths that were elucidated 1800 years ago? Imagine going to your pastor on Trinity Sunday and telling him that he needn't review this doctrine every year because "a phrase that has to be continually explained is not a helpful phrase."

As I see it, the question is not whether something requires explanation, but whether the explanations confuse more than they clarify, or obscure more than they explain. This is clearly not the case with the Co-Redemptive work of Mary. I think it's interesting that Fr. Hardon's book was published in 1980, a time when catechesis was at an all-time low throughout the west—and yet even then, Fr. Hardon still found it easy enough to explain Mary's Co-Redemption to his readership in four simple sentences that are concise yet wonderfully comprehensive.

In the end, it does not really matter what Fernández thinks about the verbiage of co-redemption because co-redemption is a reality, not only as a theological fact but as an enduring part of the Church's vocabulary. Ten thousand books spanning centuries all contain the phrase, from theological treatises to reference works like Fr. Hardon's dictionary, to works of piety, like Archbishop Martinez's book. It shows up in papal speeches and letters. It is taught and even assumed by scores of saints. Any Catholic who makes even a rudimentary attempt to educate himself is going to come across the phrase and its explanation—and likely with greater precision and clarity than anything written by Fernández.






 


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