Anawim

I'll admit to a small disappointment today - which unexpectedly led to an enriching reflection. When I attended a midday Eucharist, naturally expecting it to be in commemoration of the Feast of Saint Francis, I initially was sorry to see that it was the parish's monthly commemoration of the Blessed Virgin Mary. (Those of you who dislike commemorations of saints altogether may skip over the rest... but those who have Marian devotion may be assured that, even if my own devotion in that area is "Mary as icon of the Church" and such, I would not be sorry to see such a votive observance except on the Feast of Francis.)

It ended up being unexpectedly enriching. The gospel was the text of the Magnificat, and the sermon was a very good one on that theme. The young priest who was celebrant (and who is devoted to Francis) was telling me afterwards that Francis, of all saints, would have been glad to take second place to another observance (especially one of Mary).

I love Francis, of course, and anyone who doubts that may click the title of this post to read my Internet page on the subject. I'm his loving daughter - but, as most of us know (and anyone new to spirituality may be assured is not unique to 'beginners'... inverted commas are there because all age teaches us is that there is no Christian who ever is beyond being a beginner), the most loving child has days when s/he is confused by a 'parent.' My own confusion (I blush to admit) is connected with why Francis thought radical poverty so attractive. Thank God, I've never slept in the streets or been covered with lice (Francis' love for animals seems to have extended to every species, and he didn't flinch at their being boarders on his person). Yet I have conflicts about poverty. I can certainly see freedom in not living for the material or for accomplishment, yet so much of poverty entails endless, back-breaking labour - or, if one is fortunate enough to become educated, still having no chance to use the gifts because one must take whatever dreadful job one can find - worry - struggle - I could go on. There are many days when even my great admiration for Francis does not leave me without a wish that I had a Pietro Bernadone around to turn to in need. (Some of you are going to hate this... but conflict and questioning are true in all spiritual lives, and I doubt a little frankness is not valuable for the Church. Indeed, it is a Franciscan tradition. I'm remembering when a friar who was troubled with temptation confided this to Francesco, who told him to tell the devil, "Open your mouth and I'll shit in it." Compared to Bernadino of Siena, Francis' language was elegant.)

Now, you may be wondering by now where the Magnificat comes in - and it does, most beautifully. Certainly, the infancy narrative in Luke's gospel is one of the familiar and most cherished of scriptures, but I must admit that I regret that, through the years (and often through the influence of Franciscans), it has been reduced to reflections on Mary's dispositions and the Holy Family's poverty. This does not do it justice. Luke shows us various models of Israel (Mary, Elizabeth, Zachariah, Simeon) seeing fulfilment in Jesus.

Raymond E. Brown, in his marvellous Birth of the Messiah, treats of how the canticles in the infancy narrative (which have a liturgical flavour) may have come to Luke from a circle of Jewish Christians - who, in turn, were drawing on a piety developed at Qumran. The elements of history and theology which are pertinent are too lengthy to develop here - but Brown's presentation is exquisite. I'll quote a few points here:

"Although this title (Anawim) meaning 'Poor Ones' may have originally designated the physically poor (and frequently still included them), it came to refer more widely to those who could not trust in their own strength, but had to rely in utter confidence upon God... The opposite of the Anawim were not simply the rich, but the proud and self-sufficient who showed no need of God or His help. ..A good case can be made for the contention that, in post-exilic times, the Anawim regarded themselves as the ultimate narrowing down of the remnant of Israel...

Jewish Anawim might well have found in (the Saviour) the fulfilment of their messianic expectations, and have used hymns to hail what God had accomplished in Jesus (just as the related Qumran group resorted to hymns to express their thanks to God and to celebrate their anticipated victories in the eschatological wars.) The Magnificat... would make perfect sense in such a setting...

Luke took these general expressions of the joy manifested by the Jewish Christian Anawim over the salvation accomplished in Jesus.."

There is much more - and I cannot do it justice here. Yet it certainly makes for a fine meditation to consider how both Mary and Francis (and this beyond physical poverty) needed total trust in God - a regular giving of a "be it done unto me according to your word." I have no idea what the answer would be, even for myself - but it may open our eyes a bit to step away from concepts of sacrifice, suffering, heroism, achievement, or whatever else blinds us, and to rejoice in, rather than fear, what a 'yes' entails.

I have studied Francis' writings, and those of his contemporaries, for over thirty years - and I am not about to profess to understand the breadth of what he meant by holy poverty. I think its essence is trust and thanksgiving, and also humility (by which I mean truth, not self hatred, though Francis himself had to fight that last. Too often, the concept of humility was distorted, and I should like to cross out every line in spiritual books on the order of 'despise yourself.' Despising our sinful tendencies is valuable - but God's creation, including ourselves, is not to be despised, and our sin is about the only thing we have that He did not create.)