I’ve always been drawn to the early saints and writings of the Catholic Church, powerful and moving in the days before the Popes – the CEO’s of the first corporation in the world – took over and went to war to build their empires and get rich.

St. Terese worshipped God but also the idea of “The Little Way,” for which she is known.

Great deeds are not for me,” she wrote: I cannot preach the Gospel or shed my blood, no matter! My brothers work in my stead, and I, a little child, stay close to the throne, and love.“

The original philosophy of “The Little Way“— Thérèse—teaches that holiness is not achieved through grand, heroic deeds, but by doing ordinary, everyday tasks with extraordinary love and total surrender to God.

 She lived from 1871 to 1897 and became best known as “The Little Flower.” She is one of the most beloved saints in the Catholic Church and, along with Jesus Christ, a major influence in my life and in my ideas about what it meant to do good.

“I have never given the Good God aught but love,” she wrote,” and it is with love that I will repay. After my death, I will let fall a shower of roses.” And she did. For years, Catholic worshippers brought roses to sick and poor and dying people in honor of her.

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What strikes me again and again about her is her humility and kindness. I sometimes think I do good things for people for my own sake, as well as for theirs. They make me feel good about myself, a respite from the hateful and wounded people who seem to have taken over our world.

I never think that of her. She did it for the love of love.

She and I have almost nothing in common, and came from utterly different places.  I can’t really compare or equate my life to hers. But she touched me deeply when I came across a book called “Her Little Way,” by John Clarke, some years ago.

The book described St. Thérèse’s realization that she was not capable of heroic, legendary deeds like the great saints or revered heroes of the past.

Legendary deeds were a thing of the past, she decided. But she could do a lot of good in small ways. If everyone did that, she wrote, the world would be a much better place.

In its place, St. Terese, who became a nun as a teenager, developed a spiritual approach to do-gooding that became mine, even before I quite realized it.

She centered on doing “small things with greatness.” This emphasized a childlike trust in Good or good, focusing on ordinary daily struggles as acts of love. Nothing showy, nothing huge.

When I became involved in my first do-good work at a home for older people, I decided the best way to help them was to do so in what I came to call “The Little Way,” then “small acts of great kindness.” The name stuck, at least to me.

“Small acts of great kindness” is the motto of my do-good group, the Army Of Good.

Anyone can do that, I thought; I didn’t need to be rich or famous. Wherever we live, there is someone who needs help.

I didn’t realize for some time that I had taken this idea from  St. Terese and her writing. Instead of fundraising or expensive gifts, I looked for small things – socks, underwear, pencils, sweaters, socks, underpants, pens – things wealthier people bought and brought to help them.

St. Terese emphasized humility, not generosity. And humility, not reverence.

 Mother Teresa of our time, another saint,  distilled this philosophy into her famous mantra: “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

My work with the Pantry also reflects this philosophy: a humbler but effective way of doing good. Philanthropists do good by giving away a lot of money, something very much needed in our culture. I don’t have a lot of money, but I can always help people who need small things.

But St. Terese, in her writing, taught me to think about what I could do and to think of that work as small acts of great kindness.

The “Little Flower” died at the age of twenty-four on September 30, 1897, and her last words seemed to be an echo of a pure and beautiful life.

“My God, I love you.”

I wondered how St. Terese herself defined her idea “The Little Way,” and I think I found it in a book she was pressured to write:

The “Little Way,” she wrote, “is the way of spiritual childhood, the way of trust and absolute self-surrender.”

I doubt I am not large enough and gentle enough to get to absolute self-surrender. I do not have her gentle heart. But she gave me a lot to work with, and I carry her in my heart. In my work with a Food Pantry, we look for the small things to donate, not the big things the big donors can do. But it matters; it does great good.

I have not yet found a God to worship, but I have much to learn from the ancient spirituals who devoted themselves to caring for people in need. Instead of worshipping a God, I found my faith in worshipping other people who believed in God.

I haven’t completely figured that out yet. She seemed to me to be that rarest of humans, a selfless one who seemed to love others more than herself.

I am grateful to this person I’ll never know or see for teaching me how to do what I can to make the world a bit better.