Radical innocent simplicity
St Francis of Assisi Day: 3rd October, 2010
Fr John Davis, Vicar of St Peter's, Eastern Hill
Francis of Assisi died on the evening of October 3rd 1226. It would not surprise you to know that I have many books on Franciscan themes, but for my reflection at this time I have gone back to a most beautifully illustrated life, Francis of Assisi by Gianmaria Polidoro, himself an OFM friar. A copy of this was given to each of the pilgrims who went to Assisi from this parish a couple of years ago. Francis died surrounded by companions and friends, singing the evening office. Although blind and terribly frail, he could still ask to bless the first of his brothers, Brother Bernard, he could still have the pleasure of at least a taste of some sweet almond cakes brought to his death bed by a noble woman from Rome (and her bones lie across from his in the tomb crypt in Assisi), he could still have his body laid directly on the earth at the Portiuncula chapel on the plain below Assisi in utter simplicity. He had deliberately left the comfort of the bishop's house up in the town for exactly this reason.
The stories around such a death are of course many — no doubt many more than actually happened. But many of them ring true. Like the local bishop not being sure whether to wear black as for a regular funeral rite or the white as for a saint. The people who were unsure whether to pray the 'Rest eternal...' prayer as for the departed or to at once say 'Holy Francis pray for us'. But there was a great gathering of people of every rank and condition streaming out of the town and down to the little Portiuncula chapel on the plain below. The procession back to the town church where Francis had been baptised (and now the site of the Poor Clares' convent) did not take the direct route back, but rather went by way of San Damiano where Clare and the other enclosed sisters were waiting. A flickering torchlight procession, overlapping waves of singing and chanted prayers, the fragrance of the last flowers of the season, waved olive branches, swirling flocks of calling birds, church bells ringing from everywhere, the clinking of the goat bells from the flocks kept in the surrounding olive orchards, the steady movement of the growing crowds making their way back up the steep hill — a real sense of something very special indeed. This is what is remembered today, the Transitus, the passing of Francis.
As Polidoro observes:
The glory of the poor Francis, who did not want to keep anything for himself, who persistently tried to be humble and despised, burst forth everywhere after his death, when the friars, who were not held back by his own modesty, would be able to express through art and in song all the admiration they felt in their hearts. Splendid basilicas rose up; beautiful melodious songs flourished; the ancient places where he lived became the object of great devotion; the art of painting, created with the stroke of a brush, renewed Italy. All these things were just for Francis, who didn't want a thing for himself when he was alive in earth.
There are some places in this world where once you have discovered them for yourself you really do need to return. The Celtic spiritual tradition was very aware of places where the walls are very thin: the walls, that is, that separate us from the life of the world to come. Assisi is such a place. That is so even with the millions of visitors and pilgrims coming there, year by year, but especially before 10 in the morning and after 4 in the afternoon. The buses have gone. The town is there, not that much changed through the centuries, the holy places are there, thick with prayer and heavy with silence. The spirit and the example of Francis and Clare is strongly apparent, each with gospel simplicity continuing to guide us towards a seriously joyful embrace of our God in Jesus Christ. So many times people come to such a place with an uncertain agenda, only knowing that their lives are filled with jostling priorities and demands. With enough time and enough space, in the context of supportive and gentle hospitality, much can become clear. It is that sort of place, that kind of gifted opportunity. I am off there again in May next year, for just that very reason.
More generally, a commemoration of St Francis' Day has come to be a celebration of the beauties and the joys of the wider creation. So there is often to be found a blessing of the animals — most likely a collection of reasonably friendly faithful hounds. They are representative of a much bigger range of all creatures great and small. Francis very definitely saw humans as merely part of the far greater whole, from Brother Sun and Sister Moon all the way down. Therefore it is not at all surprising that the responsibilities we have as stewards and carers very quickly comes into the equation. Francis' joyful celebration of all creatures of our God and king, animate and inanimate, and his calling out of the attributes of a kind and gentle heart in all our interactions with each other and with the world around us — all this makes Francis again such a positive and attractive guide for our own challenging times.
The readings set for this day each give attention to an aspect of the Franciscan charism; the particular attributes that are especially those that Francis himself exemplified and encouraged his brothers to follow. From the first lesson: 'perform your tasks with humility, then you will be loved by those whom God accepts'. 'Many are lofty and renowned, but to the humble God reveals his secrets'. And Paul's assertion 'I carry the marks of Jesus branded on my body' in the epistle remind us of the stigmata wounds that Francis carried for the last two years of his life — the five marks of the cross that the risen Lord showed. And the gospel directs us towards radical innocent simplicity — like the intuitive response to love that an infant has. What a gift such faith is. The gospel concludes with that great and generous invitation from the Lord that so many have found so much comfort in, across the generations and centuries and circumstances:
'Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.'
The Lord be with you
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