From Archbishop Lyke

The Solemnity of St. Francis
October 4, 1992
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The annual remembrance of St. Francis of Assisi on the fourth day of October has been, from my early years, a time to reflect. Who was this man, who captured the imagination of his time, and who continues to speak and awaken wonder and admiration among the people of our time? His admirers are not just men and women of the Catholic Tradition. There are many among the religious traditions of the East and the West for whom Francis is an extraordinary human being, an example of what is finest in the human character.

His feast can be a moment of tension, however, or even embarrassment. Mentioning his name typically evokes the figure of a ragged man blessing animals and wildlife. It’s often done with an exhortation to scatter a bit of bread or some seed to feed the birds, or to bring the family pets for a blessing. To recall him only for this is to miss the point of remembering him. To limit him in this way diminishes the significance and meaning of his life for his time and ours. We remember great men and women, and recount their deeds in order to be heartened in our own day by what they did in theirs. With this principle in mind, let us recall Francis, and the era which produced this giant of Christian spirituality.

I. On the Cusp of Eras- Francis’ World and Its Turmoil

Francis was born into a world of tumultuous change, a world rife with ambition and violence. The feudal order of medieval Europe had begun to reel under the impact of newly forming economic and political structures. The crusades had brought armies from the West into contact with distant lands of the East. Merchants and trade followed. Serfs began to leave the land to which they had been bound. Early efforts to deal with distant people fired the feudal imagination to look for life beyond the annual harvesting of field and flock. The enclosed, self-sufficient feudal manor system collapsed as seacoast towns and inland villages linked to form a new “empire” of trade and commerce. Cities developed, becoming strong and self-sufficient by the accumulation of new forms of wealth in a competitive, and frequently violent world. New fortunes begot a new nobility, of wealthy merchants.

Pietro Bernadone’s son was born into this world. At baptism he was named John. But when his father returned from a visit to France, a land and a people he greatly admired, he nicknamed him Francesco. Pietro knew what it meant to be a serf, to be bound to, almost to be part of, another man’s land. However respectable and virtuous the lord of the manor may have been, the lot of the serf was not far from slavery. Property was wealth, and wealth bestowed freedom. Without property one’s life and future lay in the hands of another.

Pietro was a determined man. He had married well. He had gained wealth and position by cleverly managing economic tensions. His sons, children of wealth, would be among the new nobility, free men and merchants controlling the destinies of a new world. In his father’s shop the young Francis learned a merchant’s shrewdness. In him, however, shrewdness was seasoned with a good measure of generosity, even as his life was tuned by the happy din of good times with youthful companions. Among them he was the leader. And he would be a soldier and a knight. He went off to war, only to be captured and imprisoned in Perugia. After a year, he returned home ill, weak, and somehow changed. He grew quiet. No longer was he Assisi’s troubadour. His generosity took a deeper turn when he began to give to the poor whatever came into his hands.

The climate of power and arrogance, of abundance and success that nurtured him, and later indulged his carefree extravagance, could not comprehend what had begun to happen. In response to his father’s angry complaints about this new and strange behavior, Francis stripped himself in the public square, threw his clothes at his father’s feet, and declared that henceforth his Father must truly be the One in heaven! The bishop covered Francis’ nakedness with his own mantle. Francis left the town square unsure of what he should do, save that it must be other than what he had learned.

He began to restore three ruined churches, responding to what he had heard as he gazed on the crucifix in the church of San Damiano: “Francis, go and repair my house which, as you see, is falling completely into ruin.”(1) In time he realized that by example and preaching he was to restore, not the buildings, but the Church of his time. From the Gospel he learned how. He embraced, as absolutely as he could, the poverty of the Apostles, whom the Lord sent into the world without purse, sandals, or staff.

In Perugia’s prison the failed knight and warrior felt in a dream the first stirring of a new call - a call to serve the Master rather than a servant. What did he begin to see? Why did he begin to live as he did? What idea took shape in his heart? What spirit held Francis captive? Whence the charm that still engages the attention of so many, who have made their own the Peace Prayer that bears his name?

II. Conversion and Legacy - the Saint Emerges

Francis turned away from his former life and set out in a new direction, a direction that would bring him to a profound love for Creation unmatched before or since. It is fitting, therefore, to remember him as a friend of creation, and brother to all. He admired the world and everything in it. But he especially admired and honored people, whose destiny is to receive gratefully, to hold and to use gently and generously the richness of Creation, and to lend a voice to the voiceless—to the sun and the moon, to field and stream, to the work of hands providing what others need—to praise God’s immense and overflowing goodness reflected in the work of His hands, the good creation. At the root of it all, Francis admired because he saw the unique ways that every thing and every one bears the mark of the good and giving God. Francis made his choice because of what faith gave him to see. The merchant’s shrewdness never left him, and with it he also grasped and understood the signs of his times. He saw the changes happening around him. He was caught up by them, and for a while was swept along with them. There were those times—in prison, ill and alone, before a crucifix in a darkened church—when conscience recalled the promise of greater things. He would later remember that long moment in his own Testament:

The Lord granted me, Brother Francis, to begin to do penance in this way: While I was in sin, it seemed very bitter to me to see lepers. And the Lord Himself led me among them and I had mercy upon them. And when I left them that which seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness of soul and body; and afterward I lingered a little and left the world.(2)

This extraordinary insight focused the power of his faith, and confirmed his unconditional love and imitation of Christ. Francis knew that the Son of God become son of Mary, is, in the fullness of his humanity, the radical center holding all else together and giving it meaning. In Christ we know we are created. We exist, and have our being because of a totally free and holy act of God, who is love. Each person is called to see in faith, to taste in love, and thereby to reflect in life the one God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, by relating to one another as brothers and sisters. Christ reveals that through Him, God’s glory is achieved in us.

Francis heard the Gospel as never before. He saw what was happening around him; he realized what was happening within him; he willed to be a different man by taking a different course. He gave his life away in the realization that Christ had done it first for him. And he discovered joy. Faithful to the full measure of the Gospel, he forged a path that fascinates us still! And so we fittingly draw Francis’ example into our own era, to learn from him how to claim that same full measure for ourselves.

III. St. Francis - Teacher and Friend for Our Times

Francis fulfilled what it means to be the just man. Justice has to do with relationships. Francis saw the world as the bountiful gift of God who is love; he accepted this gift with gratitude, and treated all with gentle courtesy. Because he was such a friend of humankind, to speak of him as a teacher of justice for our time is right and true.

Our’s is not the world of the thirteenth century. We have only to pick up a telephone, FAX a document, board a plane, or turn the ignition key in a car to measure the difference between late twentieth century living and the life of 13th century Italy. Technology has laid hold of us. It affects the ways we organize our private and public relationships, and—especially as it captivates our imagination—sets itself as an irresistible and irreversible force within our civilization. We expect progress, and that expectation fires efforts to develop the world, to make it our own, and to realize all its potential.

Desire:

Can the shrewdness of Francis, coupled with his unitive desire for Creation teach us to seek the Master, rather than to fight for the servant? The first step is to consider our own desire: the desire to be better informed about what really makes our world work. We need the truth, and to get it we need objective information. But we also need listeners, readers, and friends who want to be informed. Our desire is shaped by our critical faculties, and tempered into sound judgements about the actions we will take.

Judgement:

With reliable information and a clear picture of what is happening, we take another look, to examine, and to interpret what is happening. What do the facts mean? Why are events taking place? How may we better understand? And, more pointedly, what are we called upon to do?

What does the ideal of greater justice mean for relationships between and among peoples today? The world in which we make our daily lives is bordered by the northern shores of the Atlantic and the Pacific. Do we see the struggle of the poor, especially in the southern hemisphere of our world? Can we understand the striving of people to be emancipated from political, economic, and cultural dependence upon the rich and powerful? Can we envisage a world of greater justice, a new economic world where goods are more equally distributed, and where there is a balanced and equitable partnership among all peoples? It is true that the full scope of information can leave an ambivalent and unclear impression. There may well be confusing elements of selfishness, dishonesty, and manipulation interspersed with noble ambitions. When there is confusion, can we discern in the faces of the poor the face of Christ whose image they are? Do we hear His voice in their hopes and cries? Can we see the power of Him who came that all might have life to the full (cf. Jn 10: 10) present in the efforts of the poor—individuals, peoples and nations—to be free?

Response:

How shall we respond to the cry of the poor, the poor close to home, and the distant poor brought close in the evening news? What must we do? How can we be just? Francis spoke of all as brothers and sisters; can his insight be expanded to describe a family of nations? If the world and the things that we own belong to the Lord, may we not take an example from Francis who, realizing God’s generosity, gave away all that he might have had? Can the cry of the poor reach our hearts?

We traditionally link ecological matters with Francis. Do we know what it means for people to live in harmony with their environments, both those given by nature and those we build ourselves, and to relate them, in turn, to economic and technological progress? Does Francis’ humility suggest a new dimension of responsibility for the earth? Francis spoke of the earth as Sister, and named it “Our Mother.” His humility bespeaks closeness to the earth, and all that grows on and from its soil. He reminds us that piety includes closeness to the earth and all its creatures, a sense of responsibility for them, and, without losing sight of human progress and development, the deliverance of nature from the arrogance of power and profit.

We have survived an arms race, but we do not have peace. Violence haunts our cities. Armed conflict is both threat and reality in the world. We need especially to know the truth, to be prompted by peace research, and the study of political theory, to unmask stratagems of national interest that endanger or prevent peace, the always fragile work of justice. Peace movements are often suspected of being utopian and unrealistic, while government officials are presumed reasonable and realistic. One would hope that, after shared conversation and study by people representing many responsibilities, reasonable arguments and realistic logic may find a voice in shared conversation among all who search for peace, including especially those whose skills call them to be politicians, economists, and leaders of armed forces. Can the modern cynic be swayed by the memory of medieval Francis, unarmed and without fear, facing the “Wolf of Gubbio” with only “the sign of the Cross,” and confidence in God’s help as his shields?

Among other signs of our time, the struggle of women must be named. Much has been said, but much more needs to be said on behalf of women’s role in society and in the Church. The story of Francis is incomplete without mention of Lady Clare, whom he clothed with the garb of the poor on Palm Sunday, 1212. Clare rounded off and finalized the beginnings of the Franciscan Movement that “required the feminine element to be part of its institutional structure. For a movement that was to be concerned with unity, love, and equality in creation, it would have been defective and absurd had the feminine element not had its place and influence from the beginning.”(3) In the writings of Francis it is important to note that when he speaks of creation confronting God face to face, he does not hesitate to include men and brothers within the metaphoric compass of “Woman.” The Letter he addressed to all the Faithful is an eloquent instance:

And upon all men and women, if they have done these things and have persevered to the end, the Spirit of the Lord will rest and He will make His home and dwelling among them. They will be children of the Heaven Father whose works they do. And they are spouses, brothers, and mothers of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are spouses when the faithful soul is joined to Jesus Christ by the Holy Spirit. We are brothers when we do the will of His Father Who is in heaven. [We are] mothers when we carry Him in our heart and body through love and a pure and sincere conscience; we give birth to Him through [His] holy manner of working, which should shine before others as an example.(4)

A man of peace and friend of creation, Francis’ appeal is universal.(5) Those words would be hollow - they would be without any foundation in truth - if he had not fulfilled what justice seeks in every relationship that defines human existence. Francis remains always new. The rich man’s son, the shrewd merchant, glimpsed the pearl of great price, and gave his all to have it. He imitated the Lord’s largess, who became poor to make us all rich (cf. 2 Cor 8: 9). May we all take courage from his life.

(1) St. Bonaventure, "The Life of St. Francis," in E. Cousins (Tr.), Bonaventure : The Soul's Journey into God : The Tree of Life : The Life of St. Francis (New York, NY: Paulist [The Classics of Western Spirituality], 1978), 191.

(2) "The Testament," in R. Armstrong (Tr.), Francis and Clare : The Complete Works (New York, NY: Paulist [The Classics of Western Spirituality], 1982), 154. It seems impossible for us, who are enlightened about the causes of disease and the possibilities for cures, to imagine the emotional power of these words. To be a leper was to be declared dead; to have the rites of burial said, and to be sent away from the life of the living. Lepers were the living dead.

(3) Eric Doyle, OFM, "Discipleship of Christ in St. Clare's Letters to Blessed Agnes of Prague," in Damian McElrath (Ed.), Franciscan Christology (St. Bonaventure, NY: The Franciscan Institute [Franciscan Sources, No. 1], 1980), 15.

(4) R. Armstrong, Op. cit., 72; two other examples are in his Later Rule, his Rule for Hermitages, and his Letter to the Faithful: (a) in the Later Rule we read the exhortation: "And let each one confidently make know his need to the other, for, if a mother has such care and love for her son born according to the flesh (cf. 1 Th 2: 7), should not someone love and care for his brother according to the Spirit even more diligently?" (ibid., 141); (b) his Rule for Hermitages describes life in the hermitage in terms of mothers and sons: "Those who wish to live religiously in hermitages should be three brothers or four at the most; two of these should be mothers and they may have two sons or at least one. The two who are mothers should follow the life of Martha, while the two sons should follow the life of Mary (cf. Lk 10: 38-42)" (ibid., 147).

(5) Francis challenges us to relate justly in other aching relationships. Do we listen to the poor from other nations and cultures, who stand at our gates and knock, to find protection and asylum, or the chance to support their families by contributing to our culture. Fires of racial conflict, and dark suspicions of ethnic prejudice where we live always question our desire to enhance justice and forge harmony and peace. Do the aged, the weak, the mentally and physically ill, find caring attention and honor among us? What do the imprisoned mean to us? Do we have a desire to see the world through the eyes of the poor? Questions and signs for our time, and for every time of history.