Eight hundred and thirty years ago in a small hillside town in Italy a woman named Pica Bernardone gave birth to a son and had him baptized Giovanni. When his father got home, from a long business trip into France, he announced that the boy was going to be called Francesco – “the little Frenchman.” We call him Francis, of Assisi.
His father had big plans for Francis. He made him a fashion plate, a walking billboard for his business of selling imported fabrics from France. He sent his son to the best schools so that he would mix with the elite of the town and of his generation. And sure enough Francis, a personable sort, made friends among the nobles’ sons and made his father’s fabrics fashionable. He led his friends through the town on celebratory excursions, leading them in singing the popular Provencal troubadour songs.
Young men in Italy then were in the midst of interesting times – full of the romance of the Crusades and rumors of more local wars. Francis began to have aspirations to adventure and to knighthood. His father decked him out in fine armor and sent him off to join the army of a famous warrior. But this was the first time he was to incur his father’s displeasure. Francis saw a poor knight, too poor to afford his own armor and horse, and Francis – with Quixotic generosity – gave him his. He traveled home – to an uncertain reception.
Later Francis had a vision of a small nearby church, San Damiano. The open-eyed figure on the Crucifix above the altar of the decrepit sanctuary seemed to be gazing directly at him, and calling to him, “Rebuild my church, which as you see is falling down.”
Francis went to his father’s warehouse, loaded a fine horse with fine fabrics, rode to the next town, sold both goods and horse, and walked back with the proceeds of the sale. He tried to give the money to the priest at San Damiano, who, suspecting trouble ahead refused it. Francis threw the money in a corner.
When his father got home … wrath! The old man went looking for Francis to visit his vengeance upon him. When he caught up with him he had him hauled in front of the town, the bishop and God and all, and demanded Francis return to him everything he had received from him. Francis complied.
Completely. He removed all his clothes, and piled them at his father’s feet. At that point the bishop intervened, wrapping his cope around Francis and leading him off. Later Francis found in a corner of the garden a discarded cloak – perhaps he mistook it for the gardener’s – and, chalking a rude cross on the back, wore it with joy.
His career was launched. And so was the rebuilding of the church in Italy. Francis rebuilt the church not only of rocks and mortar but of the living stones of his brothers and sisters, including some of those very same fashionable young men who had joined him on robust adventures in the past. Now he and they became troubadours for God. And they sang of joy for the goodness of God’s creation, and gave back – with extreme gratitude – all they had received from the Father from whom all things come.
Most High, all-powerful, good Lord,
Yours are the praises, the glory,
and the honor and all blessing.
To You alone, Most High, do they belong
and no human is worthy
to mention Your name.
Praised be you, my Lord,
with all Your creatures.
Thanks to the Rev. Lance Ousley, Canon for Stewardship and Development of the Diocese of Olympia, for the good conversation on Holy Cross Day about Francis of Assisi and stewardship. We celebrate the feast of Saint Francis on October 9th this year.
(“The Canticle of Creatures” by Francis of Assisi)
http://www.ofm.org/ofm/?page_id=122&lang=en
September 14, 2011.
For the Gospel Grapevine, parish newsletter of Saint Alban's Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Washington, October 2011.
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Showing posts with label Francesco di Bernardone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Francesco di Bernardone. Show all posts
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sunday, October 4, 2009
a little lower than the angels
Most High, glorious God,
enlighten the darkness of my heart
and give me true faith,
certain hope and perfect charity,
sense and knowledge, Lord,
that I may carry out
Your holy and true command.
Job was blameless and upright, he feared God and shunned evil, and yet he experienced sudden disaster. He did not despair, he trusted God. He even accepted God as the source of all being, and so of both good and evil. He kept faith; he knew God would – somehow.
The psalm in response today, Psalm 26, gives voice to someone like Job: I have lived with integrity, I have walked faithfully with you, through faith my foot stands on level ground – I stand on solid ground.
The letter to the Hebrews reminds us of another human being, a son of man: blameless, upright, God-fearing and obedient, he too experienced disaster, and yet he did not despair, he trusted God, and he accepted from God both good and evil. Even in the darkest night still his trust was unwavering.
It is this one whom we celebrate today, and every week – in his sacrifice and his redemption of our souls, in his resurrection and ascension – Jesus Christ.
Hebrews gives us a veritable hymn of praise to the Son of God:
• the heir of all things,
• through whom God created all worlds;
• the reflection of God’s glory,
• the exact imprint of God’s very being;
• through his mighty word he sustains all things;
• he sat down at the right hand of the Father, the Majesty on high;
• he is above all angels …
and yet, he became one of us
What kind of God is this? Why does God bother with us?
What is man, that thou art mindful of him *
and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
Thou madest him lower than the angels *
to crown him with glory and worship.
Thou makest him to have dominion of the works of thy hands *
and thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet;
(Psalm 8:4-6, Coverdale translation)
And yet the holy one who sits at the right hand of the Father came to us, became himself for a little while lower than the angels, that he might take us with him into glory. He led the way, through death to eternal life. God for whom and through whom all things exist, sent his only begotten one to save us – that is, to bring us with him into the heavenly kingdom, the right relationship with God, that is purchased for us with his own sacrifice.
This is the one whom the Pharisees tested – once, asking if it were lawful to give tribute to Caesar (“render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar”); now, posing the puzzler is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t: flout the Torah, or offend the king— for Herod Antipas had married Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife. It seems there were two schools of thought – that the only grounds for divorce were adultery, or that pretty much any thing would do, if a man wanted to change wives.
Jesus kicks out both possibilities. He puts the whole thing on a higher plane. The purpose of marriage is not self-gratification or social convenience; it is part of the plan of God for humankind. The man – note, the husband and not the wife – will leave his family of origin and become one with his wife. They are now one flesh. So do not drive apart those God has joined together.
The law is a guide to conduct but it is inadequate in itself, as are we. The spirit must guide us into grace, whether we are married or separate or single.
We may practice grace wherever we are, whatever our situation.
This is carried through in the next section of the gospel, when Jesus rebukes the disciples who are shooing away parents seeking a blessing from him.
People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them [so they would receive a blessing]; and the disciples spoke sternly to them.
But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.
What is it about these kids that makes them worthy when grownups aren’t—or think they’re not? Is it their innocent, humble, obedient, trusting nature?
Remember, Jesus was a kid himself— so don’t try to kid him on this one.
More likely it was that the kingdom of heaven, the establishment of God’s eternal reign of peace and justice on earth, needed to begin with a child. It needed to begin with the least of the least of humankind, the most vulnerable — for in that society, children were almost invisible, and often bore the brunt of adult behavior they could not control or defend themselves from.
Ched Myers, citing family systems therapists like Alice Miller, observes: “The child is always the primary victim of practices of domination within the family.” If there is something wrong at home, the child pays the price. This cycle of oppression and depression, that many a child knows first-hand, leads to rage, mourning, … or reconciliation, transcendence, if somehow the child learns first-hand of unconditional love, of acceptance, here and now.
There was a child who knew this from the inside, not in a particularly violent way, but in a still typically sad way, with loneliness (on both sides) and misunderstanding. In the town of Assisi in Italy, there lived a cloth merchant with a pious wife – his name was Pietro, hers was Pica. They had a son, whom the church baptized Giovanni, until his father came home and got it changed to Francesco.
That’s Francis, the little Frenchman – because the dad had a plan for him.
Francis became the clotheshorse, the runway model, the shill, for his father’s products, all imports from France. Francis became a walking showroom. And his father set him up, with finery and money, so that he could makes friends for himself, and customers for his father, among the rich young men of the town.
The plan worked— for awhile… Francis became the life of the party, the popular one among the popular. He sang French songs, troubadour songs, of love and romance and high adventure.
He dreamt of going on crusade— the opportunity came, and his father kitted him out. But there was something missing. And after one mishap or another, something in Francis gave way. He began to have a series of visions, of a larger life, a stronger vocation, than the one his father had in mind for him, or he had for himself. There was another Father with another plan.
God called Francis out of this difficult relationship with his father in a rather dramatic way. Francis got the idea to help rebuild a rundown little chapel, San Damiano, and so he loaded up his horse (his father’s horse, really) with cloth from his father’s shop and rode off to the next town, where he sold – for an honest price – both goods and pony. He walked back with the money, which he offered to the priest in the little church. Something fishy. The gift was turned back – and Francis threw the money in a corner. Drama.
Dad hauled him before the bishop, and in the middle of the town square, in front of God and everybody, demanded: Give me back everything you’ve had from me! All right. Francis, realizing that everything he had, down to the clothes on his back, had been supplied by his father, gave it all back – down to the clothes on his back. There he stood, completely naked and out of luck, in the middle of the town square, alone – in front of everybody, and God.
The bishop clothed him quickly in his own chasuble, and Francis later dug out an under-gardener’s cast-off cloak, on which he happily chalked a cross.
Dramatic and a bit weird, Francis embodied in his own way the utter dependence on God alone that really lies underneath all our lives. While it is not necessary for most of us to reject all we have had from Mom and Dad – it is necessary to realize that we are not sufficient in ourselves. The law is inadequate in itself, and so are we. We cannot make it on our own. We need help – we need grace. And by Christ we receive it – by this very one who was humble enough, obedient enough, truly innocent and totally faithful, who accepted on our behalf sufferings beyond the sufferings of Job – this one whose passion exceeded any human patience, took on himself a cross, and gave his life that we might find ours at last in his self-offering love.
Welcome to the family of Christ. Welcome to the kingdom of God.
With Christ our brother and the love of God before us, we can let go of the false hopes of self-sufficiency, acknowledge our dependence on the one beyond all names, and receive with gladness the everlasting gift of life.
Most high, omnipotent, good Lord, grant your people grace to renounce gladly the vanities of this world; that, following the way of blessed Francis, we may for love of you delight in Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;
the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.
(Numbers 6:24-26)
St Alban’s Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Wash.,
October 4, 2009, the 18th Sunday after Pentecost, Year B, Proper 22, RCL:
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Psalm 26
[or Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8]
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16
JRL+
enlighten the darkness of my heart
and give me true faith,
certain hope and perfect charity,
sense and knowledge, Lord,
that I may carry out
Your holy and true command.
Job was blameless and upright, he feared God and shunned evil, and yet he experienced sudden disaster. He did not despair, he trusted God. He even accepted God as the source of all being, and so of both good and evil. He kept faith; he knew God would – somehow.
The psalm in response today, Psalm 26, gives voice to someone like Job: I have lived with integrity, I have walked faithfully with you, through faith my foot stands on level ground – I stand on solid ground.
The letter to the Hebrews reminds us of another human being, a son of man: blameless, upright, God-fearing and obedient, he too experienced disaster, and yet he did not despair, he trusted God, and he accepted from God both good and evil. Even in the darkest night still his trust was unwavering.
It is this one whom we celebrate today, and every week – in his sacrifice and his redemption of our souls, in his resurrection and ascension – Jesus Christ.
Hebrews gives us a veritable hymn of praise to the Son of God:
• the heir of all things,
• through whom God created all worlds;
• the reflection of God’s glory,
• the exact imprint of God’s very being;
• through his mighty word he sustains all things;
• he sat down at the right hand of the Father, the Majesty on high;
• he is above all angels …
and yet, he became one of us
What kind of God is this? Why does God bother with us?
What is man, that thou art mindful of him *
and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
Thou madest him lower than the angels *
to crown him with glory and worship.
Thou makest him to have dominion of the works of thy hands *
and thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet;
(Psalm 8:4-6, Coverdale translation)
And yet the holy one who sits at the right hand of the Father came to us, became himself for a little while lower than the angels, that he might take us with him into glory. He led the way, through death to eternal life. God for whom and through whom all things exist, sent his only begotten one to save us – that is, to bring us with him into the heavenly kingdom, the right relationship with God, that is purchased for us with his own sacrifice.
This is the one whom the Pharisees tested – once, asking if it were lawful to give tribute to Caesar (“render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar”); now, posing the puzzler is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t: flout the Torah, or offend the king— for Herod Antipas had married Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife. It seems there were two schools of thought – that the only grounds for divorce were adultery, or that pretty much any thing would do, if a man wanted to change wives.
Jesus kicks out both possibilities. He puts the whole thing on a higher plane. The purpose of marriage is not self-gratification or social convenience; it is part of the plan of God for humankind. The man – note, the husband and not the wife – will leave his family of origin and become one with his wife. They are now one flesh. So do not drive apart those God has joined together.
The law is a guide to conduct but it is inadequate in itself, as are we. The spirit must guide us into grace, whether we are married or separate or single.
We may practice grace wherever we are, whatever our situation.
This is carried through in the next section of the gospel, when Jesus rebukes the disciples who are shooing away parents seeking a blessing from him.
People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them [so they would receive a blessing]; and the disciples spoke sternly to them.
But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.’ And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.
What is it about these kids that makes them worthy when grownups aren’t—or think they’re not? Is it their innocent, humble, obedient, trusting nature?
Remember, Jesus was a kid himself— so don’t try to kid him on this one.
More likely it was that the kingdom of heaven, the establishment of God’s eternal reign of peace and justice on earth, needed to begin with a child. It needed to begin with the least of the least of humankind, the most vulnerable — for in that society, children were almost invisible, and often bore the brunt of adult behavior they could not control or defend themselves from.
Ched Myers, citing family systems therapists like Alice Miller, observes: “The child is always the primary victim of practices of domination within the family.” If there is something wrong at home, the child pays the price. This cycle of oppression and depression, that many a child knows first-hand, leads to rage, mourning, … or reconciliation, transcendence, if somehow the child learns first-hand of unconditional love, of acceptance, here and now.
There was a child who knew this from the inside, not in a particularly violent way, but in a still typically sad way, with loneliness (on both sides) and misunderstanding. In the town of Assisi in Italy, there lived a cloth merchant with a pious wife – his name was Pietro, hers was Pica. They had a son, whom the church baptized Giovanni, until his father came home and got it changed to Francesco.
That’s Francis, the little Frenchman – because the dad had a plan for him.
Francis became the clotheshorse, the runway model, the shill, for his father’s products, all imports from France. Francis became a walking showroom. And his father set him up, with finery and money, so that he could makes friends for himself, and customers for his father, among the rich young men of the town.
The plan worked— for awhile… Francis became the life of the party, the popular one among the popular. He sang French songs, troubadour songs, of love and romance and high adventure.
He dreamt of going on crusade— the opportunity came, and his father kitted him out. But there was something missing. And after one mishap or another, something in Francis gave way. He began to have a series of visions, of a larger life, a stronger vocation, than the one his father had in mind for him, or he had for himself. There was another Father with another plan.
God called Francis out of this difficult relationship with his father in a rather dramatic way. Francis got the idea to help rebuild a rundown little chapel, San Damiano, and so he loaded up his horse (his father’s horse, really) with cloth from his father’s shop and rode off to the next town, where he sold – for an honest price – both goods and pony. He walked back with the money, which he offered to the priest in the little church. Something fishy. The gift was turned back – and Francis threw the money in a corner. Drama.
Dad hauled him before the bishop, and in the middle of the town square, in front of God and everybody, demanded: Give me back everything you’ve had from me! All right. Francis, realizing that everything he had, down to the clothes on his back, had been supplied by his father, gave it all back – down to the clothes on his back. There he stood, completely naked and out of luck, in the middle of the town square, alone – in front of everybody, and God.
The bishop clothed him quickly in his own chasuble, and Francis later dug out an under-gardener’s cast-off cloak, on which he happily chalked a cross.
Dramatic and a bit weird, Francis embodied in his own way the utter dependence on God alone that really lies underneath all our lives. While it is not necessary for most of us to reject all we have had from Mom and Dad – it is necessary to realize that we are not sufficient in ourselves. The law is inadequate in itself, and so are we. We cannot make it on our own. We need help – we need grace. And by Christ we receive it – by this very one who was humble enough, obedient enough, truly innocent and totally faithful, who accepted on our behalf sufferings beyond the sufferings of Job – this one whose passion exceeded any human patience, took on himself a cross, and gave his life that we might find ours at last in his self-offering love.
Welcome to the family of Christ. Welcome to the kingdom of God.
With Christ our brother and the love of God before us, we can let go of the false hopes of self-sufficiency, acknowledge our dependence on the one beyond all names, and receive with gladness the everlasting gift of life.
Most high, omnipotent, good Lord, grant your people grace to renounce gladly the vanities of this world; that, following the way of blessed Francis, we may for love of you delight in Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;
the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.
(Numbers 6:24-26)
St Alban’s Episcopal Church, Edmonds, Wash.,
October 4, 2009, the 18th Sunday after Pentecost, Year B, Proper 22, RCL:
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Psalm 26
[or Genesis 2:18-24, Psalm 8]
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16
JRL+
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