On
the coincidence of my 32nd birthday and the 800th
anniversary of the birth year of Saint Francis of Assisi, my friend Linda
Culbertson gave me a beautiful book about him with text by Lawrence Cunningham and photography by
Dennis Stock. To prepare for his feast day today, I decided to reread it now,
35 years later. A saint’s feast day is observed on his or her first day in
Paradise.
I
had thought that Francis’s gentle spirit, from his love of the earth and its
creatures to his befriending a ravaging wolf, is just what we need in these
days of human-caused climate change and dealing with the ravaging wolves of our
time, from fearful electorates to elected officials who feed off their
anxieties and fears.
What
struck me reading the book this time is how Cunningham clarifies that “the
simple life” many of us try to follow is not equivalent to poverty:
In its essence, poverty means radical insecurity about the basic means of life. Poverty is literally not knowing where the next meal is coming from, or the frantic fear of getting ill because there is no money for a doctor, or the gnawing despair when one recognizes the gap between the next possible time when money will come and the actual needs of the household. It is, in short, a knowledge that the world is not solid, secure, and benign. Poverty is not only want; it is the fear and dread that derives from want (p 58).
Like
many of us, I have only experienced that fear and dread intermittently. That’s why I chose for my ordination (and for my
memorial service) my most often read words from Jesus, words of God’s
Providence, “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will
drink, or about your body, what you will wear. … Look at the birds of the air…
Consider the lilies of the field… Strive first for the kingdom of God and God’s
righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Consider
reading the whole text: Matthew 6:25-35.)
But
as I contemplate what a chronic
experience of such fear and dread can do, I realize what creates ravaging
wolves, whether at the polls or in poor neighborhoods. The way Francis
befriended a ravaging wolf was by persuading villagers to make sure it is fed
and cared for: a social safety net that is mutually beneficial. Francis tells
the wolf, “I understand that you did these evil things because of hunger.”
Francis
wanted to depend solely on the providence of God, ultimately exemplified for
him in the poverty represented in the cross. Joy for Francis came in
self-sacrifice, even in—especially in—a world that did not value (and even
hated) such service or such servants.
“If
one lives purely in the providence of God and after the manner of Christ’s
self-emptying, one’s awareness of the world as gift is sharpened,” Cunningham
writes. Poverty provided Saint Francis a feast those who are rich often miss.
I
think here Celtic Christianity can claim Francis as one of their own, as he
viewed the world as a sacrament of God’s presence, and of Christ’s presence.
For
Francis, “cortesia” should
characterize our relationship with the world.
For us, “courtesy” is simply “manners,” though in today’s world simple
manners would go far toward healing our relationships, politically and
personally.
According
to Cunningham, cortesia was far more
for Francis: “Cortesia was a way of
seeing and a way of acting towards others. … Cortesia is the recognition of rights, duties, gifts, and privileges
as they exist in relationship. … The implicit notion in [Francis's] simple observation
[of earth as mother] is that the earth is courteous to us…and we, in gratitude,
owe an act of courtesy to it.”
Other of my posts that
reference Saint Francis:
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Photo (Hawai'i, 1985) and text Copyright © 2017 by Chris R. Glaser.
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I passed this along to a Buddhist friend of mine knowing it would resonate with their experience. thanks.
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