St. Francis, Pope Francis, and me

Francis, in the Lateran

As a Franciscan associate of the Dubuque Franciscan Sisters, I was overwhelmed to see a new pope named Francis. I had been praying that we would have a pope more like Francis than a Renaissance grandee.

The simplicity, the tenderness, and the warmth toward children are welcome signs of a different vision of the Church, much closer to those of Francis. His kissing of the man with disabilities in St. Peter’s Square and the pictures of him washing the feet of mothers, drug addicts, and the sick remind me of St. Francis kissing the lepers.

But there is no single idea of who Francis really is, as André Vauchez’s book on St Francis notes. But in Assisi I could see and feel the differences.

When I arrived, my first visit was to the tomb of Francis in the crypt of the great Basilica. A lot of people were moving about and so my attention was distracted. After about half an hour I left, attended Mass, and then left without touring the rest of the building.

In the afternoon my first visit was to the Basilica of Santa Chiara, St. Clare. There I spent time before the San Damiano Cross from which Francis heard the call to restore the church.

The place was prayerful and as I knelt I asked Christ, “What would you have me do?”

In my heart I heard: “Love. Love my people. Love the poor.”

My eyes filled with tears and I remained there for I don’t know how much longer.

After this, I walked through the rest of the basilica and went to get a few holy cards to bring back to the people here in Honduras. I put a few euros in the box and took a few. As I did this I spoke with the Poor Clare sister, trying to communicate in Spanish with a tiny bit of very broken Italian. She proceeded to give me a huge pile of cards to share with the poor here in Honduras.

Then I walked down to San Damiano, where the Cross had first been and where the Poor Clares first lived.

I sat down in the back of the small church, which was unoccupied. There is a poor copy of the Cross in the church but that didn’t affect me. I found myself overwhelmed by the love of God and the call to love. I sobbed in the silence of the church.

I returned twice to San Damiano, once for Ash Wednesday Morning Prayer and Mass. As the friars and the visitors (mostly women) chanted Lauds, as the ashes were sprinkled on our heads, and as we celebrated the Eucharist, I experienced a deep peace.

When I returned the third time, I found an exquisite statue of Francis sitting and meditating near the church. I treasure this image as a call to prayer.

Two other places in Assisi were also thin places, where I felt the presence of God.

The first was the Carceri, the hermitage a few kilometers up the hill. I took a taxi up and sat in the church, beginning to read Carlo Carretto’s I, Francis. Though two groups came in and listened to talks, I was not distracted.

Later I walked through the grounds and found the caves of Brothers Rufino and Masseo. I walked down the slippery side of the cliff, on an icy path, to Masseo’s cave. I entered and stood in the back, looking out at the hill and chasm in front of the cave. A deep peace fell on me.

I walked down the hill to Assisi and marveled at the beauty of the fields, even in winter. Even the city of Assisi appeared before me with an austere beauty.

The last night I went to Vespers at the little church of San Quirico, a Poor Clare monastery. The twelve or so sisters sang before the exposed Host, accompanied by a type of psaltery. The Host was not in a fancy monstrance but in a simple stand, which revealed the vulnerability of Jesus, present in the Eucharist.

There I felt a foretaste of heaven.

My time in Assisi was not all sweetness and light, though. On Ash Wednesday I experienced a deep dryness of soul, accompanied by a homesickness for Honduras.

Perhaps this was to remind me, as a Jesuit retreat master once asked me, “Are you seeking the consolation of God or the God of consolation?’

Assisi could have been – and was, primarily - a place of consolation.

But there was also the call to mission – to show that love and consolation to a world in need.

Now I’m back in Honduras, preparing for Holy Week, with a new pope named Francis and a pastoral administrator of the parish where I work who has a deep Franciscan spirit.

They both inspire hope for change – especially Pope Francis. His actions speak of a different kind of church, a church of service, a church that lives out Christ’s giving of himself on the Cross.

The people I work with have hope. He’s one of us, from Latin America. But even more, they are touched by his simplicity, by his commitment to a Poor Church, a Church for the Poor.

Francis lived as a Poor Man and showed us not only a Poor Church, but a Church of the poor.

Francis lived poor so that there he might identify with those at the margins of society, as our Lord Jesus did. He gave up property so that his brothers and sisters might live in a spirit of solidarity, sharing with those in need, and depending on the generosity of other. He wanted nothing, so that he and his companions would live with trust in the loving providential care of God.

Not many of us can live as Francis did, but we can find ways to start. Pope Francis has done a few small things and I hope for more serious efforts. But all of us can and must.

It is part of our vocation, our way of repairing the church.

With love.

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I have written on Francis and on Assisi in posts on my Hermano Juancito blog.

St. Francis, Pope Francis, and poverty

Assisi, Day One

Assisi, Day Two

Ash Wednesday in Assisi

Last full day in Assisi

The Search for the Historical St. Francis

Franciscan