Awkward and brief tribute to Lady Poverty

Happy, indeed, is she to whom it is given to share this sacred banquet,
to cling with all her heart to Him.
Whose beauty all the heavenly hosts admire unceasingly,
Whose love inflames our love,
Whose contemplation is our refreshment,
Whose graciousness is our joy,
Whose gentleness fills us to overflowing,
Whose remembrance brings a gentle light,
Whose fragrance will revive the dead,
Whose glorious vision will be the happiness of
all the citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem.
-Clare of Assisi

Indeed, this life is unpredictable. I had fully intended to develop a (long overdue) essay on Clare, or, at the very least, to prepare a meditation for the blog. Yet my mind is rather muddled today. The strain of moving house is exhausting, but nothing compared to the images in my mind after watching today's world news, and wondering if a certain world leader is about to seek to use atomic warfare to prove how powerful he is.

I'm too weary to develop a full reflection, but, ever since Michael ('who is like unto God?') cast Lucifer from the heavens, why has the nature of created, intelligent beings always been twisted by the desire for power?

I remember, some years ago, some creative ramblings (the name of the book I do not recall) to the effect that Francis and Clare were rebellious kids, somewhat on the order of 1960s protesters. (That I should like to see more spirit in protest, and not on 'safe' topics such as eliminating smoking, I shall save for another thread.) Though both, to borrow the apt words of Mother Mary Francis ("A Right to be Merry"), walked at right angles to the world, my inclination is to think that Clare, like myself, was quite a sanitised hippie. :)

Clare's embrace of poverty, at first glance, can seem chilling to most. I did not grow up in extreme poverty (though my parents had), and always had necessities of life - though I dare say not what those from more prosperous homes would have considered 'necessary.' I suppose I always was puzzled by those who devote themselves to the pursuit of wealth - they never seem satisfied, and will make anything take second place to having more material goods. But poverty, even when one was not dying in the street, had a bleak side. It meant having no choices - even those like myself, with university degrees, seldom had the ability to use true gifts, because of the pressing need to take any job just to survive. It too often became just working and working and working - not in a creative or satisfying mode, not even with avenues for service. Everything was sheer survival.

The core of vowed poverty is eschatological - with the lives of those so consecrated as icons to the oft-forgotten truth that there is more to creation than this earth. The poverty of the Poor Clares was (and is) beyond that which most would care to embrace. My own convent days (though I was not cloistered), for all of their good aspects, nonetheless involved constant, ravenous hunger - weakness and fatigue - taking three times as long to complete (for example) simple household tasks because, by the time a cloth was granted the high status of 'rag,' it was transparent.

Sorry to make this post so miserable - that is not my intention. I am trying to express that Franciscans really do 'live poor.' At its best, this is very liberating.

The 'other side' of poverty, and one which can grow only quietly (extremes destroy it), is gratitude. It tends to foster an awareness of all of the good of creation, and thankfulness for the simple things we do have.

I am beginning to see that gratitude is the way to the sort of detachment that is holy. That is a topic I must pursue... but, again, that may take another quarter century (if I live that long.) The convent version of detachment meant pretending that the bit of time with family on visiting day was a sacrifice for their sake - excessive rigidity and formality - cultivating the expression of a sphynx to give the impression of being 'recollected.' May I know what any of that means before I die! (And know all the more afterward.)

Blessings for the feast of Clare.