Francis, poor and humble, enters heaven a rich man

Click the link in the title to read my essay about Francis

From the Rule of Saint Francis, 1982 revision, Prologue:
"In the Name of the Lord!

All who love the Lord with their whole heart, their whole soul and mind, and with their strength, and love their neighbour as themselves, and who despise the tendency in their humanity to sin, receive the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and bring forth from themselves fruits worthy of true penance."

The rule of Saint Francis is very short, and half of its content is comprised of quotations from the scriptures. Francis, as is true of many great saints, had no idea he was special in the least. His rule is simple (I am not suggesting that means 'easy'!), though it never occurred to him that those less saintly than himself may be puzzled by exactly what it was saying. Consequently, the Franciscan Order is distinguished in church history - it has the most canonised and beatified saints, and the highest number of splinter heretical groups.

Love the Lord with one's whole heart, soul, and mind - no easy task, that (and loving one's neighbour may be harder still.) Despising the tendency to sin is quite difficult as well, because, for those of us less humble (that is, truthful) than Francis, the most insidious aspects of our personal sinfulness seem harmless or even attractive. Indeed, the more devout we become, the more likely we are to mistake our biggest distractions for heroic virtues.

It is a shame that the lovely word 'penance,' which I would define as 'seeking to place one's life back in line with the gospels,' has fallen out of favour. Perish the thought that we should think we need transformation, now that 'self-esteem' is far more valued than grace. Essentially, it means accepting that our actions have consequences - spiritual ones, even if there are no natural ones in some cases.

Francis indeed kissed the leper - but it is easy to forget that, between that 'conversion' and his total commitment to Christ, years elapsed. I have seen no indication that Francis was wicked, weak and prone to excess though he was. Yet he faced that the sinfulness in his own life was keeping him from 'the fragrant words of My Lord.'

I wish I could quote from Francis' writings at length here, but I had a distressing incident today - I could not find my Omnibus of Sources. I must pray to Saint Anthony about that - I never would have disposed of it, certainly, but it must have been misplaced when I moved. (Please excuse the personal comments - perhaps you could pray for me about this, and about my sadness, because I am spending the feast alone.)

Francis was a young man at the time of his conversion. (He, of course, never was an old one - he was dead at 42.) It is possible that his pilgrimage at the time may have been an imposed penance, or a penitential act taken on freely.

Now, in middle age, I know that it is unlikely that anyone (who has reached my age or older - and some much younger) who is committed to the spiritual life has not had times of major conversion. All of us (yes, even those who were in monasteries at 16) have had times of facing our own sin and its effects - on our relationship with Christ, on others, on our own fragile selves. Penance, then, is a treasure. Times of conversion are not sweetness and light! In the recognition of the wrong, there often is a certain relief - rather like locating the source of an infection, when one cannot understand why one feels chronically ill. There is joy of a sort in recognising divine forgiveness - but a long period of healing, getting back into the correct frame of mind, acceptance of one's brokenness, does ensue.

It is difficult - and one may feel bereft. We may be spiritually weak - to the point of feeling paralysed. Yet the Lord is quite gentle in leading us back to him.

When I entered the Franciscan Order (unaware, of course, of any sinfulness in myself), the formula was to 'beg for a life of penance.' Granted, there are times I wish that prayer had not been answered quite so frequently! Yet penance is transformation - and that, I hope, I shall learn to embrace with ever increasing tenderness.