St. Teresa’s correspondence makes up nearly one half of her known writings. Her letters have left us with a treasure-trove of vivid narratives about her times, along with illuminating insights into her personality. Only those letters written by Teresa in the last couple decades of her life have reached us, however, those decades representing the same period in which she wrote her major works. It is not difficult to admit that her career as a spiritual author flowed from her mystical experience of God. But while spiritual needs prompted Teresa’s classic works, it was the many other needs of her daily life that drove her to letter-writing. Her letters, as a rule, do not give us the kind of teaching and testimony we have grown accustomed to in her other works. Rather, they show us a different facet of Teresa, a Teresa immersed in the relationships and grim business matters thrust upon her by her vocation as a foundress and reformer.
Certainly she had written honestly and openly the story of her life and work in her two books, The Life and The Foundations. Despite the openness of these works, however, she wrote in the knowledge they would be read by her confessors and eventual censors. Her letters exhibit an even greater candor, and we benefit from many more details that were not meant for the public, nor even for her confessors or censors. Even at that, many personal details in her Life were not meant for broadcast. A keen observer of the reality around her as well as within, Teresa focuses light on many of the struggles in both the Carmelite order and the church of sixteenth-century Spain. She introduces us to major personalities who have left their mark on history.
In addition, historians benefit from the letters because many of the gaps in the outline of events that is presented in her Foundations are filled in through her letters. Through them we also gain better knowledge of the chronology of events in her life and of how she related to the diverse people she dealt with. A number of everyday particulars that compilers and editors of those times considered unimportant are today prized. Her worries, her troubles and triumphs, her expressions of sadness and joy, can all be discerned there. With a compelling spontaneity, the letters disclose a Teresa in a complex variety of circumstances. We walk with her year by year, day by day — even hour by hour sometimes. Without question we have before us a rich collection of documents, unbroken in their sequence, revealing in confidential tones a personal history that touches the furthest reaches of her soul.
Despite the fact that the letter-writing was a necessity, any reader can easily see that, though a lover of solitude and prayer, Teresa possessed a heart magnanimously open to others. Ever willing to communicate with them on many levels different from the decidedly spiritual level mainly found in her other writings, she pours herself out to her family members, her religious sisters and brothers, to friends, theologians, advisors, patrons of the nobility, and business people. She had to travel and buy and sell. The ever-present burden of fund-raising wearied her. Problems sprang up over jurisdiction, stirring her to write to Rome and even to King Philip II. She had to chose prioresses, advise and comfort them, and discuss the nettlesome pros and cons ever present in the selection of new postulants, as well as doubts about dowries and other material needs. People’s health was always a disquieting concern for her.
A Daily Torment
The extraordinary gifts of grace bestowed by God on this Spanish Madre fortified her for a demanding ministry of service which entailed heavy responsibilities that drew her contemplative soul into a maelstrom of activities. Because of the limited means for travel and communication in the sixteenth century, the organization of a reform like hers, with its unavoidable business matters, had to be dealt with chiefly through correspondence, a chafing duty that became one of Teresa’s greatest trials. She wrote, “With so many duties and troubles … I wonder how I’m able to bear them all. The biggest burden is letter-writing” (Ltr. 39.l). This is the often repeated confession of a woman overwhelmed with worries. Difficult as writing a book was for her, she preferred it to the letter-writing, a drudgery that cost her more than all the pitiful roads and sorry weather experienced on her journeys through Spain.
What proved painful for Teresa has proved a treasure for us, a collection claimed by scholars to be unparalleled in Spanish literature even to this day. With their humor and delicacy, the letters on the surface do not betray the inner self-coercion they hide. Held bondage by her correspondence, Teresa worked at it day after day, often far into the night by the light of a poor little oil lamp. The pile of letters to be answered was enough to drive her mad. Yet, even though she could be busy answering them until two in the morning, she was up with the rest of the community at five in summer, and six in winter.
Eventually the burden and the lack of sleep took its toll, and she fell into the alarming exhaustion of 1577, precisely in the most intense period of her correspondence. “But I wrote you yesterday, and the labor of letter-writing this winter has so weakened my head that I have been truly sick” (Ltr. 188.l). The doctor issued orders that she not continue writing after midnight and that she get a secretary. Subsequently following this advice, whenever she felt especially exhausted she turned for help to a secretary. When a letter from Teresa is written in another’s hand, we can usually attribute it to poor health at the time. “I beg your forgiveness that this is written in someone else’s hand, for the bloodletting has left me weak, and my head can’t do anything more” (Ltr. 28.2).
The use of a secretary became more common after the exhaustion of 1577. “You should know, mi padre, that my heavy correspondence and many other duties that I tried to handle all alone have caused a noise and weakness in my head. And I have been given orders that unless it’s very necessary I should not be writing letters in my own hand” (Ltr. 187.5). Sometimes Teresa begins the letter herself, gives it to the secretary to continue, and then adds some final words in her own hand. If she needed a special guarantee because of the uncertainty that surrounded the mail, she again turned for help to a secretary to make copies. She would order duplicates, triplicates, and even quadruplicates to be made and sent by different means. In that way she could sustain some hope that at least one would reach its destination.
Even in her tortuous travels she seized every moment she could find to work on her correspondence. With her longing for the day when she could be free for more prayer and solitude, her forced confinement in the Carmel in Toledo would have been like a paradise — except for the heavy load of correspondence. It is hardly a surprise that sometimes she didn’t know what day it was, that she nearly sent to Gracián’s mother a letter she wrote to the Bishop of Cartagena, or that she did actually get some addresses mixed up.
The Quantity of Letters
How many letters did Teresa write? The answer to that question is not an easy one, unless you respond that no one knows. Most of her letters have not survived. Some of them she directed to be destroyed, those that if intercepted could have given her trouble. Fortunately Gracián paid little heed to her warnings and saved a good part of Teresa’s correspondence. But Anne of Jesus, submissive to Teresa’s orders, burned what must have been a captivating collection. One of the letters to her, however, a severe letter, did escape the fire, although by Anne’s mistake. On another occasion, in an act of renunciation, it is told, John of the Cross burned a cherished packet of letters from Teresa. Whether or not this is so, none of her letters to John have been conserved.
But how could many of Teresa’s correspondents have known the value that a letter from Teresa of Jesus would one day have? Teresa herself generally destroyed letters written to her. Today we regret the loss of all that must have scintillated in her letters to St. John of Avila, Doña Guiomar de Ulloa, St. Peter of Alcántara, St. Francis Borgia, St. Luis Beltrán, St. Pius V, and many other collaborators, friends, and benefactors.
Undoubtedly, because of the defects of the postal system, numerous letters were clearly lost. Judging by Teresa’s own complaints, a quantity of her letters simply vanished along the road. At times they vanished because someone suspected that money was enclosed. Simple carelessness, the way in which autographs have been treated by their owners down through the centuries, further contributed to the loss of letters. In sum, Teresa wrote hundreds of letters more than those that have reached us.
In his fourth edition of Teresa’s letters, Tomás Alvarez has located 468 letters. From all that has been said and from Teresa’s own words about her correspondence, this number presumably amounts to only a fraction of those she wrote. Among editors, Vicente de la Fuente in the eighteenth century estimated that she wrote about 1200 letters; Silverio in the nineteenth raised the number to 5,000; while Efrén/Steggink put the number at 15,000. It could easily have gone higher, as high as 25,000 according to Rodríguez-Egido.
Formalities and Content
Upon examination, the existing autographs, with their evenly spaced lines, absence of crossed-out words, and margins increasingly large according to the social category of the recipient, suggest a much more tranquil setting than was actually the case. Teresa always had other letters to write, many things to worry about, and many matters to attend to. Time was lacking, or it was getting late; or the messenger was waiting and in as much of a hurry as she was to finish, for the mail carrier or the muleteer who would ultimately deliver the letter was also waiting and also in a hurry. “[I wrote] in such a hurry that I don’t know what I said” (Ltr. 175.11). Who would deduce, if she didn’t confess it outright in a letter to her brother Lorenzo (Ltr. 177.12) that she didn’t take the time to reread her own letters or even, in this case, reread his before answering it? Despite the many demands on her time, and the tedium of the letter-writing itself, she convincingly leaves her recipients with the impression that it is with the greatest pleasure that she writes to them.
Regardless of her simplicity, openness, and surprising intimacy at times, Teresa follows rigidly the rules of letter-writing acceptable in her day. At the letter head we find the Christian symbol for the name of Jesus: JHS, in which a cross is made from one of the vertical stems of the letter H. The greeting is usually a variant of one of two formulas: “May the Holy Spirit be with your honor” (or your lordship, your paternity, your reverence, and so on), or “May Jesus be with your honor.” Throughout a letter she will continue to use, almost scrupulously, the opening form of address, such as “your honor” or “your reverence.” (In this English version, I have, for the most part, translated the title of address literally only at the beginning or again at the end of the letter and in the body settled simply for “you” to avoid a rhetorical repetition that can be painful to read for the modern reader. And the higher the dignity of the person to be catered to, the more frequent becomes the repetition of the form of address. Teresa made careful use of all the formalities of her times in addressing others. Even her own brother and sister are addressed as “your honor” (vuestra merced, which could also be translated “your worship”). Bordering on exasperation at sixteenth-century Spain’s penchant for titles of honor, in her Life she jokes, “Just for the titles of address on a letter there’s need for a university chair” (37.10). Despite her jests, she is hardly ever careless in the use of titles. Religious men and women are addressed as “your reverence,” or sometimes, in the case of priests, “your paternity.” In instances where she feels greater confidence, she uses “mi padre” (my father), or “my daughter.” Bishops receive a “your lordship”; the inquisitor general is greeted as “your most illustrious lordship.”
There were, as well, the maestro, the licenciado, the doctor, and the rector. The title maestro (master) was used in two senses. In the proper sense it referred to a teacher who had received a degree to teach. Secondly, it was sometimes used for a very learned person, as when someone notably erudite was called by the people a maestro. The title licenciado (licentiate) was given to someone for having earned a licentiate degree, which paved the way for the doctorate degree. In addition to using the title “doctor” for someone who received the doctorate, the people were apt to give the title “doctor” to someone out of respect for his person or learning. And finally “rector” was a title used for Jesuit superiors, or for directors of schools.
The point that Teresa understood so well is that in her social and business contacts, the cultivation of friends depended on a thorough knowledge of the intricacies of courtesy. Knowing the way to present a petition in writing became indispensable to her for her work as a foundress. Not only the high nobility, but nobles of minor rank, clergy and members of the middle-class depended on letter-writing in their business and personal affairs. Those who could not afford a secretary for these matters studied the manuals for letter-writing and composed the letters themselves.
Teresa’s usual tactic in making requests or suggestions, providing advice, or warning, was to be exquisitely polite, and her letters are filled with expressions of courteous respect. She apologizes, lightens the blow, suggests options, and then often distances herself to acknowledge the independence of her addressees to act as they see fit. But her politeness never prevents her from also being colloquial in her style. Through her letters we acquire a better sense of the language of daily conversation.
Written in response to special situations, her letters cover a multiplicity of topics. From beginning to end, however, she is returning to the problems of her new Carmelite communities of both friars and nuns. The events surrounding her reform are the basis for a narrative of joys and conflicts. Conflicts arose, understandably, with the Carmelite friars of the observance, but more surprisingly they did so even with her own discalced friars. These many frictions stirred up fears within her that her letters might be stolen, so she often used code names for different individuals lest her candid words be read by others for whom they were not intended.
Another topic that posed sobering concerns for Teresa was bodily health, her own and that of others. Well known is her caution in her Way of Perfection against “complaining about light illnesses”: “If you can tolerate them, don’t complain about them” (ch. 11). Nonetheless, she speaks freely of her own illnesses, indeed deploring them, but worrying much more over the health of others. She becomes noticeably upset when others are sick, especially those who are leaders in her communities. She scolds them when they fail to inform her of their illnesses. In her other writings Teresa’s major concern is with spiritual health; in her letters she focuses more on physical health and well-being. As a result, her letters furnish an informative document about the medical practices of her day.
Though Teresa did not neglect to consult medical doctors and respected their advice, she was also an enthusiast for popular medicine. She welcomed all the varieties of medicinal remedies — except, of course, sarsaparilla water. The most frequently used remedy, even among professionals, although to our minds strange, was recourse to purges and bloodletting.
Mainly as a result of her own long, woeful history of illness, Teresa had acquired an uncommon knowledge of medicine. With remarkable insight, she grasped the import in care for the sick of cleanliness, appropriate climate, special nourishment, and comfort — all of these clashing with the austere practices exacted in her time of discalced nuns. She summed the matter up with her own sensible maxim, “… it is better to cater to yourself than to be sick” (Ltr. 114.6). This was her principle in dealing with the sick, but she was not so careful in dealing with her own health.
It goes without saying that Teresa’s correspondence covered a rich variety of other topics. Her letters give us a hint of what her conversation must have been like: simple yet multifaceted. Each represents one part, a splendid part, of a dialogue with another. There are her usual digressions, parenthetical insertions, afterthoughts, repetitions, and so on.
Since most of the historical background for the letters constituting this volume can be found in the introductions I’ve already written for volumes one through three of The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, there would be no point in repeating all of this information here. The biographical pieces at the end of this volume are intended to provide additional information about many of the persons appearing on the pages of this correspondence, whose lives in themselves were often fascinating.
Motivated by respect for the recipients of her letters, Teresa chose paper of the best quality, with its watermark still perceptible. If she inadvertently began on a piece of poor-quality paper, she felt no scruple in leaving the rest blank, telling the reader to pass on to the next page (cf. Ltr. 48.3). The ink, too, had to be the finest. A bad pen would simply not do, and vexedly she would change it for another — and change it again, if necessary, within the same letter. Annoyed, she complained to her brother about the poor quality of pens in Toledo: “… they are a nuisance and make my task harder” (Ltr. 185.1). The remarkable state in which her autographs are preserved gives testimony to her generous care for quality, a care prompted by the esteem she bore toward her correspondents.
Addressing and Mailing
Teresa concluded her letters with greetings to others, a prayer, a plea for prayers, or a promise of prayers. After she signed and dated them, more often without precision (thereby creating puzzles to be solved by her editors), but very precisely when she wanted to follow the best protocol, there remained the task of folding them. Before doing so, however, she often thought of other things to say, not surprisingly, and added postscripts in any free space she could find — even the king could receive a postscript. Envelopes had not yet been invented. Generally, as was the custom, Teresa wrote on large sheets of paper 8 1/2″ by 12″ which were folded. She used a smaller size when only intending to write a note. One section of the paper was left blank so that when the letter was folded the blank section provided the space for writing the address. The address was more or less detailed to match the status of the addressee. She goes to great lengths to be sure she is using the appropriate titles in the address.
Once the address was written out, if the letter was to be sent by the official mail, it was marked with the cost, agreed on with the carrier as part or full payment. This amount was to be paid by the receiver on the letter’s arrival. The ends of the folded paper were glued together with paste or wax and then imprinted with Teresa’s seal, bearing the anagram JHS. She had another seal, consisting of a skull, which she used only when she didn’t have her preferred one with her. When these procedures were completed, Teresa was still liable to think of some other news she wanted to add, which she then wrote on the outside.
The Postal System
When Teresa’s task was finished and her letters ready to go, she had no choice but to hand them over to uncertainty, the carriers not always being reliable. They might open the packets if they suspected something valuable within, and then destroy the letters; or they might lose them, or themselves be the victims of robbery before reaching their destination.
As a matter of fact, it was during Teresa’s lifetime that the official mail was converted into a service open to the public. You could deposit your mail at one of the postal houses, although you could never be sure it would arrive at its destination. Teresa felt more at ease when her houses were situated in places linked with this network of public service. She deplored the trouble she had to go through to communicate with her out-of-the-way monasteries, like Malagón and Beas.
The muleteers were those she trusted more, especially with valuables, and they could carry heavier packages. But, lamentably, the cost was higher. She valued them also because they went to places not covered by the ordinary postal service.
In delicate business matters needing prompt attention, when she could not chance any delay or uncertainty, she hired special messengers — or her correspondents did. Because of the high cost, she did this only as a last resort.
Relatives, friends, friars, nuns, other members of the clergy also, carried letters for her on their travels. Another means to which she had recourse was the help of a prioress in one of her communities. She would send her a packet of letters to distribute or have distributed.
Teresa prized Toledo as a center for communications. In the commerce carried on with the Americas, the road passing along from Seville to Toledo to Madrid was a primary route, later extended to Medina del Campo and Valladolid.
The amount of time for letters to reach their destination depended on the place and season of year. In August, a round trip between Madrid and Toledo took five days, and from Toledo to Seville, eight days. But letters to America or to Rome required a good store of patience. The first step for a letter to America was to keep informed about when the fleet was to set sail so that a letter could be there in time. This was only the first obstacle to be surmounted. If the letter did finally arrive at the other shore, it then had to travel over land. The safest solution was to send many copies of the letter by different routes.
Before she began receiving support from the Spanish monarchy, Teresa’s correspondence with the general of the Carmelites was substantial, regardless of the fact that only a few of these letters have been preserved. To Teresa’s disappointment, the letters from the general were especially slow in reaching her. One of them took as many as 150 days to arrive. Another took over a year, 374 days to be precise. And many never made it to their destination.
What may come as a surprise to a present-day reader is that correspondence in sixteenth-century Spain was a luxury. Because of her longings to live a life of poverty, it pained Teresa to have to engage in a task like this. The postal system, which was less reliable, had a fixed rate, but the other methods put Teresa in the undesirable position of paying expensive fees. In certain circumstances the fees were downright exorbitant. The official mail cost about a quarter of a day’s salary, limiting its service for the most part to paper and money. Teresa received packages on various occasions that included much more than paper or money: potatoes, lemons, butter, quince, marmalade, melons, coconuts, crucifixes, preserves, balsam, spices, and fresh fish. She found herself obliged to admonish the prioress of Seville: “But the portage costs so much that there is no reason for you to be sending me anything any more; it’s a matter of conscience” (Ltr. 222.1).
Another perhaps novel fact for us is that the portage or postage was not paid by the sender but the receiver. The sender would write the amount for the postage on the outside of the letter or packet of letters with the understanding that the recipient was obliged to pay. Sometimes in pressing matters Teresa took pains to urge her correspondent to put down a generous amount for postage, and she had to coax others that they not neglect writing to her, that she would gladly pay the postage. There were times when she felt obliged to apologize for the postage, but then found an excuse for herself in the weighty nature of the contents. Never one for haggling over the postage, she did feel uneasy about the possibility that others might have to pay beyond their means to receive a letter from her.
Autographs, Copies, and Editions
Nothing of the kind of enthusiasm prompted by Teresa’s other writings was shown toward her letters, neither by Philip II nor by her numerous friends and followers. It took time before people came to value the letters. Because of the many and difficult travels he was obliged to undertake after her death, Padre Gracián entrusted a packet of letters from Teresa to the care of his sister, who was then prioress of the monastery in Consuegra. This packet was handed on to her brother Tomás Gracián at the beginning of the seventeenth century in the hope that it would serve usefully in the process of Teresa’s beatification. Not being used in this process, however, the packet was broken up and regrettably the letters were dispersed far and wide. Two small collections from Gracián’s packet are conserved today, one in the Carmel of Seville, the other in the Carmel of Corpus Christi in Alcalá de Henares. Although autographs were lost, fortunately there were people interested enough to make copies of many of them.
If this happened with the correspondence for which special efforts toward preservation had been made, what could be expected for many of the other letters received from Teresa by different people. To our benefit, though, there were persons who did know the value of what they possessed. They took careful measures so that those who succeeded them after their death knew what to do with these precious mementos. An example here are the letters written to María de San José. A dear friend of Teresa’s, she was the recipient of many precious letters from her revered foundress. Two years before her death, María de San José went to Lisbon, Portugal, to make a foundation there. She carried with her a cherished keep-sake, her letters from Madre Teresa. Later these letters passed into the hands of Doctor Francisco Sobrino, who then became Bishop of Valladolid. Two of the bishop’s sisters were members of the community of Carmelite nuns in Valladolid, which explains how the Carmel in Valladolid has in its possession an invaluable collection of letters written by Teresa to María de San José.
The oldest codified copy of the letters dates from the middle of the seventeenth century and is found in Manuscript 12.763 in the National Library of Madrid. The copyist made a selection from a group of letters more doctrinal in character. Nonetheless, this copy has merit for its integrity and fidelity to the autographs; a comparison of autographs with this copy shows how trustworthy the codex is. On the exceptional occasions when something is suppressed, an indication of this is carefully provided. In the preparation of critical editions this codex has proved a trusty guide when the autograph is missing.
Another codex (12.764) in the same library, intended for the first edition of Teresa’s letters, shows a troublesome tampering with the text. Much of the material covering internal affairs was omitted, supposedly because Teresa would not have wanted such material presented to the public. What the editors thought should be presented to the public were her “divine and heavenly teachings.” This was the criterion in 1654, and this codex was the basis for the first edition of Teresa’s letters published in 1658 in two volumes by Juan Palafox. It contained sixty-five letters. But they are immersed in and almost drowned by Palafox’s innumerable notes written, in the baroque style of the times, for the purpose of bringing into relief the seemingly sparse doctrinal content. The letters seem to end up as not much more than a springboard for Palafox’s long-winded efforts to edify.
Nonetheless these volumes pleased the public, so much so that in 1674, 108 more letters were published. Since, however, the diligent Palafox had died, Pedro de la Anunciación prepared the commentary, this time with more critical rigor and with unadorned notes. This richer volume, praiseworthy by our standards, did not please the public the way Palafox’s did and met with less success. Not until the eighteenth century were more of Teresa’s letters published, again filled with spiritual commentary, bringing the total to about 371 letters. The excellent critical work done in that century on Teresa’s correspondence by Manuel de Santa María and Andrés de la Encarnación went unappreciated and ignored in the publications of her letters at that time.
In the nineteenth century Marcel Bouix in France and Vicente de la Fuente in Spain brought out more complete and acceptable editions of Teresa’s letters, but still there were many defects.
The twentieth century saw the beginning of a much more critical approach and an assiduous effort to establish the exact chronology. Padre Silverio de Santa Teresa was the major player in the enormous task of securing the correct text of the Teresian writings. A further advance in the critical study of Teresa’s letters, qualitatively and quantitatively, was made in the Efrén/Steggink critical edition of the complete works of St. Teresa published by the Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos in three volumes (Madrid 1959).
Teresa’s letters put forth the same difficulties that most correspondence does when only one side of the picture may be had. We wonder what is motivating the responses or reactions, we ask what is being alluded to or to whom one is referring. But in Teresa’s case the frustration mounts because of the four-centuries distance in time, and this made worse by the lack of care for, or curiosity about, them in the beginning. There are little events and large ones, great dramas and small ones, which we don’t know enough about, the toils, the travails, the complexities hidden in the background, preventing us from an understanding that satisfies. And then there are the many people appearing on stage. Reading the letters of Teresa has been compared to reading a Russian novel. In fact it is even more difficult to keep straight all the characters, their many tiny worlds, that make their way onto her pages. I have found no greater help with this problem than in the most recent volume of the letters of St. Teresa edited by Tomás Alvarez (Santa Teresa Cartas, fourth edition, Burgos 1997). Taking Silverio’s critical edition as a basis, attentive to the considerable progress made in research since then, he has given us a text that lays before us the best information research now gives. We have an answer for at least a good number of questions about persons, places, and events that arise as one reads. I have also chosen to follow his numbering of the letters — the numbering varies from editor to editor — which in his fourth edition follows a chronological order.
It goes without saying that the heading for each letter, which presents the name of the addressee, the places where the letter is sent to and from, and the date are the work of editors. These are not always certain, which means that discrepancies are found when comparing the editions of different editors. I have chosen to follow Tomás Alvarez’s judgment in these matters also. If the autograph is still extant, I included information about the place where it may be found. Finally, after a short introduction, intended to indicate only briefly the thrust of the letter, the actual text of Teresa’s begins. If the address is still extant, it precedes the letter’s initial words of greeting.
Obviously Teresa did not number her paragraphs; numbering was done by Silverio in his critical edition. I have followed this numbering since it serves a practical purpose in presenting references.
The best introduction that I know of to the letters of St. Teresa is the one authored by Luis Rodríguez Martínez and Teófanes Egido appearing in Introducción A La Lectura De Santa Teresa (Madrid: Editorial de Espiritualidad, 1978), pp. 427-72. I found the abundant material presented there extremely helpful in the planning and writing of this introduction.
Among the many who have encouraged me to bring this volume to completion, I want to mention the special assistance I received from Mrs. Tina Mendoza who painstakingly compared my translation of each letter with the Spanish text giving me many excellent suggestions toward a better or more exact rendering. I am grateful for her constant readiness to help. I must also mention my debt of gratitude to Dr. Carol Lisi for her careful editorial assistance and valued work in the page design and layout.
Kieran Kavanaugh, O.C.D. Carmelite Monastery Washington, D.C