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A review by lukenotjohn
Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta by Brian Kolodiejchuk
2.5
Along with the majority of the world (controversy notwithstanding) I hold a deep admiration and respect for Mother Teresa and the tremendous, unbelievable commitments to both God and the poor that characterized her life. My own life, of course, pales in comparison to hers in that regard. These factors make this a difficult book to review (negatively). Unfortunately, it was also a difficult book to read, and for two reasons.
The first, which I think is the main reason I disliked it so much, were the technical features of it. It seem as though Kolodiejchuk opted for comprehensiveness over anything else; that is the only explanation I could think of for the level of redundancy and repetition here. We're nearly 150 pages into the book before Mother Teresa is finally granted permission to begin her mission in Calcutta, and we're given like 10 or 15 letters back and forth between her and her superiors debating and inquiring about the matter. After that, similarly, we're shown probably close to 50 letters from her that are, by and large, all echoing each other almost entirely. For a while, this drives home and intensifies her reflections and emotions, but as the book goes on it becomes increasingly frustrating and boring to read again and again, especially in recognizing that those featured in the final 50 pages largely mirror ones from 100 pages earlier. It appears as though Mother Teresa's life and spirituality followed the course of a spiral, traveling deeper and deeper as it went along, but in reading what's presented here it comes off as circular, and it's simply not that interesting or moving to read 340 pages with such little movement or progression. I can imagine that Kolodiejchuk, knowing he had access to all of this written material and carrying his own deep reverence and admiration for Mother Teresa, struggled to justify condensing or cutting much of what he had, but I think the book would have read exceptionally better if it'd been 100 or even 150 pages shorter. His voice throughout the book also added to the already-present redundancy, as he would frequently quote her words directly after providing the block quote that they belonged to, unpacking them in ways that often felt totally unnecessary after having read her own words.
Beyond those more technical reasons, though, the book was also difficult to read because it was so frustratingly sorrowful. In my defense, I'm someone whose generally a huge fan of books that explore and write from "the underside;" many of my favorite theological works address injustice, suffering, and trauma and I'm often totally turned off by easy, Pollyanna solutions. But I found myself uniquely turned off by Mother Teresa's own understanding and theology of suffering, and in fact disturbed by it and disappointed in those she shared life with.
Early in the book, while she is waiting to get permission to move to Calcutta, she is commanded by a superior to never think of the idea again unless and until he brings it up with her. Confident that it's a call she's received from God (and driven by a secret vow she made to never refuse God anything should she be forsaken for eternity...which is already concerning), this is of course impossible, and she confesses to another superior after some time that she's taken to mutilating herself whenever it crosses her mind to obey her superiors orders. I recognize that I'm likely projecting some of my modern sensibilities about mental health (as well as gender, theology, etc.) here, but I was horrified that this was hardly a red flag for these men whom are allegedly appointed by God to speak on God's behalf into (and more so over) her life. Similarly, as her life goes on, Mother Teresa spends almost the entirety of it stuck within a horrific spiritual darkness that she describes as unyielding agony, utter torment, and living hell (and I'm not being hyperbolic) and often notes that she's content to experience this if it brings God joy to watch her experience such pain and torture.
I found myself nearly throwing the book across the room wondering why the hell no one dared to suggest that that would make God a pretty sick and twisted Being. She often referred to Jesus as her spouse, but if their relationship as she described it was to be with a human man, it would no doubt be a disturbingly abusive relationship. In the end, it just felt devastating to watch as this person so wholly committed to showing others the compassionate, merciful love of God never seemed to have anyone insistent about ensuring she received the same (although her adamant refusal to ever receive a lick of affirmation or encouragement would of course make that difficult). Towards the back third of the book, she's led to a deeper understanding that I guess was somewhat easier to sit with in which God was allowing her to experience her sufferings as a way of mirroring that of those she encountered and cared for, but even then it's such a frustrating discrepancy to see her respond with joy and care for those afflicted by poverty while counting her own as deserved because of her nothingness and wretchedness.
Oddly enough, the book begins with a sort of disclaimer that Mother Teresa tried fervently to get these letters destroyed and begged continuously for them to never be published. Even at the start, I was bothered and confused why they'd then go and publish them (and in reality it points to an ongoing ickyness I felt about Mother Teresa's almost total lack of agency and constant need to convince men in power over her to approve of things she was confident God had told her to do), but after having reading the whole book, I'm even more sure that the world just didn't really need to see them...
The first, which I think is the main reason I disliked it so much, were the technical features of it. It seem as though Kolodiejchuk opted for comprehensiveness over anything else; that is the only explanation I could think of for the level of redundancy and repetition here. We're nearly 150 pages into the book before Mother Teresa is finally granted permission to begin her mission in Calcutta, and we're given like 10 or 15 letters back and forth between her and her superiors debating and inquiring about the matter. After that, similarly, we're shown probably close to 50 letters from her that are, by and large, all echoing each other almost entirely. For a while, this drives home and intensifies her reflections and emotions, but as the book goes on it becomes increasingly frustrating and boring to read again and again, especially in recognizing that those featured in the final 50 pages largely mirror ones from 100 pages earlier. It appears as though Mother Teresa's life and spirituality followed the course of a spiral, traveling deeper and deeper as it went along, but in reading what's presented here it comes off as circular, and it's simply not that interesting or moving to read 340 pages with such little movement or progression. I can imagine that Kolodiejchuk, knowing he had access to all of this written material and carrying his own deep reverence and admiration for Mother Teresa, struggled to justify condensing or cutting much of what he had, but I think the book would have read exceptionally better if it'd been 100 or even 150 pages shorter. His voice throughout the book also added to the already-present redundancy, as he would frequently quote her words directly after providing the block quote that they belonged to, unpacking them in ways that often felt totally unnecessary after having read her own words.
Beyond those more technical reasons, though, the book was also difficult to read because it was so frustratingly sorrowful. In my defense, I'm someone whose generally a huge fan of books that explore and write from "the underside;" many of my favorite theological works address injustice, suffering, and trauma and I'm often totally turned off by easy, Pollyanna solutions. But I found myself uniquely turned off by Mother Teresa's own understanding and theology of suffering, and in fact disturbed by it and disappointed in those she shared life with.
Early in the book, while she is waiting to get permission to move to Calcutta, she is commanded by a superior to never think of the idea again unless and until he brings it up with her. Confident that it's a call she's received from God (and driven by a secret vow she made to never refuse God anything should she be forsaken for eternity...which is already concerning), this is of course impossible, and she confesses to another superior after some time that she's taken to mutilating herself whenever it crosses her mind to obey her superiors orders. I recognize that I'm likely projecting some of my modern sensibilities about mental health (as well as gender, theology, etc.) here, but I was horrified that this was hardly a red flag for these men whom are allegedly appointed by God to speak on God's behalf into (and more so over) her life. Similarly, as her life goes on, Mother Teresa spends almost the entirety of it stuck within a horrific spiritual darkness that she describes as unyielding agony, utter torment, and living hell (and I'm not being hyperbolic) and often notes that she's content to experience this if it brings God joy to watch her experience such pain and torture.
I found myself nearly throwing the book across the room wondering why the hell no one dared to suggest that that would make God a pretty sick and twisted Being. She often referred to Jesus as her spouse, but if their relationship as she described it was to be with a human man, it would no doubt be a disturbingly abusive relationship. In the end, it just felt devastating to watch as this person so wholly committed to showing others the compassionate, merciful love of God never seemed to have anyone insistent about ensuring she received the same (although her adamant refusal to ever receive a lick of affirmation or encouragement would of course make that difficult). Towards the back third of the book, she's led to a deeper understanding that I guess was somewhat easier to sit with in which God was allowing her to experience her sufferings as a way of mirroring that of those she encountered and cared for, but even then it's such a frustrating discrepancy to see her respond with joy and care for those afflicted by poverty while counting her own as deserved because of her nothingness and wretchedness.
Oddly enough, the book begins with a sort of disclaimer that Mother Teresa tried fervently to get these letters destroyed and begged continuously for them to never be published. Even at the start, I was bothered and confused why they'd then go and publish them (and in reality it points to an ongoing ickyness I felt about Mother Teresa's almost total lack of agency and constant need to convince men in power over her to approve of things she was confident God had told her to do), but after having reading the whole book, I'm even more sure that the world just didn't really need to see them...