The Truth about the Birdbath Saint

Francis of Assisi is noted for his voluntary renunciation of worldly wealth. He turned from a life of privilege and embraced poverty like a bride. In his radical embrace of poverty, Francis was actually making a radical embrace of charity, that is, of love, unselfish, even self-denying, love. 

When he set aside his family’s expectations, including his father’s ambitions for him to join the family cloth-selling business, and when he set aside his social circle’s expectations that he would continue to be the life of the party and the engine of merriment, he set them aside not for a simple selfishness, a self-denial of negative ambition. 

Francis set aside worldly expectations, his own and others, to be transformed by love, and in that love to transform the world around him. 

Francis had all the gear for a successful career: he even had the armor of a crusader. But in the course of his conversion to a higher purpose he gave that very weaponry to a poor knight, a passer-by on his way to the crusade (or to a more local quarrel).

In some ways of course Francis never ceased to be a crusader or the life of the party. But in his conversion, in his embrace of radical charity, he became the host of a different celebration than his old friends, and family, had at the outset expected.

Francis, whom we remember largely for his love of the non-articulate parts of creation, wolves that give up wolving, and birds that flock to his shoulders, was more challenging than that. He invited human predators to end their predations, and human lions to make safe space for lambs.

We remember him this fall at the culmination, or kick-off, of the creation season in many churches. Around us it is harvest-time, or a cooling from a hot summer. It is a time of revival or relief. But it is also a time of remembrance, of the world that was not made for our exploitation, but invites us  for our pleasure in its care and our enjoyment of something beyond our making.

October 4th is Saint Francis of Assisi Day. It is our day to celebrate the goodness of creation, and the goodness of caring for that creation, of loving it with a selfless love, not for negative reasons, but out of gratitude and a radical embrace of love, that is, of charity.

Father John Leech is a priest associate at the Episcopal Church of Saint Matthew in Tucson, and a frequent guest preacher at other churches throughout southern Arizona.

The Birdbath Saint

 Sandhill Cranes, Whitewater Draw, February 28th 2021. Photo: the author.

A young man in fancy clothes got off his horse, took his rich apparel and the fine fabrics he was carrying, and sold them in a neighboring town. He gave the cash -or tried to- to the priest at a small derelict church, which, as he could see, was falling down. The priest, worldly enough to anticipate trouble, refused the offered money. Whereupon the young man in disgust and frustration cast the coins into a corner of the church. Soon enough his father came looking for him, imprisoned him in a basement, and accused him of theft. Then in front of the entire town, bishop and everybody, the father demanded the son return all he had had from him.  

And so the young man did just that. He divested himself of his attire and stood naked before his accuser, that was his father, and the bishop. The bishop quickly put his cope around the young man’s shoulders and led him away. Later in the bishop’s garden the young man found a cloak abandoned by an under-gardener and, chalking a cross on the back, happily adopted it as his new garb. 

And then he began his new life. He embarked on a new kind of pilgrimage, even a new kind of crusade, as he traveled about his home country and farther afield, even to Palestine and an encounter with “the enemy” across the front lines of a Crusaders’ battle. He preached to the people and begged for his daily bread. He struggled with his inner temptations, and he gave freely of what he had. It drove some people crazy. And it attracted others.

About 795 years ago, much of a lifetime later, a poor little man died in central Italy, surrounded by friends he called his “little brothers”. Worn out with work, travel, illness, and excessive self-deprivation, he died exhausted, as he had driven his frail frame beyond its ordinary powers. 

Indeed, at the end of his life he admitted, “I’ve been too hard on Brother Ass.”-- He called his body Brother Ass, like an overburdened burro. 

He called all created things his brother or sister, not just humans, though surely those, but the sun, the moon, the elements, animals … and at last even death.

He himself was known to his friends as Brother Francis, though as soon as he died he was acclaimed as a saint. 

Saint Francis is known for several things: his passion for the gospel, his embrace of poverty, his leadership of the religious orders known as Franciscans, his love for creation, and of course birdbaths.

He is said to have preached to a wolf, and to birds. Indeed, he is often known for the latter. We might call him “the birdbath saint.” Once as I crossed the street to Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, a crowd of pigeons lifted off the roof of Diocesan House and gathered at my feet. What would Francis do? He would preach! I didn’t have the temerity to admonish them to repent; instead quietly I urged them to rejoice in our fellow creaturehood.

We celebrate Creation Sunday on a Sunday close to October 4th, the feast of Saint Francis.

And it is only right. As we look at creation around us, all creatures, each other, ourselves, we look at them in part through Francis’ eyes. 

He regarded all things through the lens of his devotion to his Lord and because of that he embraced what is holy in all things.

This was not an easy road. 

Early in his career he asked God to grant him to know the pain and the love Jesus felt on the cross. And perhaps he did. 

What we remember today - without forgetting the pain of the passion - is the love that surrounds it.

The love of the passion: paradoxical, all-embracing. 

Today that love we particularly remember as we look with gratitude, hope, guilt, and a deepening desire to care, upon our fellow creatures, especially this fragile earth that is our home, and our creaturely neighbors, from fish and birds to sky and sea. 

How can we love our fellow creatures as God would have us love them - as family? Maybe seeing through the eyes of the little poor man of Assisi - Saint Francis - will help.

Most High, all-powerful, good Lord, yours is the praise, the glory and the honor and every blessing.

To you alone, Most High, do they belong, and no one is worthy to speak your name.

Praised be you, my Lord with all your creatures,...

O praise and bless my Lord, thank him and serve him humbly but grandly!

(from the Canticle of the Sun by Francis of Assisi)

 

Some material previously published as "Love all of God's creation", Arizona Daily Star, Home + Life, Keeping the Faith. October 10th 2021. E3. Used with permission.

https://azdiocese.org/2022/09/the-birdbath-saint/ (September 14th 2022).

Friends of St Francis

 

About 795 years ago a poor little man died in central Italy, surrounded by friends he called his “little brothers”. Worn out with work, travel, illness, and excessive self-deprivation, he died exhausted, as he had driven his frail frame beyond its ordinary powers. 

Indeed, at the end of his life he admitted, “I’ve been too hard on Brother Ass.”-- He called his body Brother Ass, like an overburdened burro. 

He called all created things his brother or sister, not just humans, though surely those, but the sun, the moon, the elements, animals … and at last even death.

He himself was known to his friends as Brother Francis, though as soon as he died he was acclaimed as a saint. 

Saint Francis is known for several things: his passion for the gospel, his embrace of poverty, his leadership of the religious orders known as Franciscans, his love for creation, and of course birdbaths.

We celebrate Creation Sunday on a Sunday close to October 4th, the feast of Saint Francis.

And it is only right. As we look at creation around us, all creatures, each other, ourselves, we look at them in part through Francis’ eyes. 

He regarded all things through the lens of his devotion to his Lord and because of that he embraced what is holy in all things.

This was not an easy road. 

Early in his career he asked God to grant him to know the pain and the love Jesus felt on the cross. And perhaps he did. 

What we remember today - without forgetting the pain of the passion - is the love that surrounds it.

The love of the passion: paradoxical, all-embracing. 

Today that love we particularly remember as we look with gratitude, hope, guilt, and a deepening desire to care, upon our fellow creatures, especially this fragile earth that is our home, and our creaturely neighbors, from fish and birds to sky and sea. 

How can we love our fellow creatures as God would have us love them - as family? Maybe seeing through the eyes of the little poor man of Assisi - Saint Francis - will help.

JRL+

Published as "Love all of God's creation", Arizona Daily Star, Home + Life, Keeping the Faith. October 10th 2021. E3. 

The Rich Young Man and the Leper

Once upon a time there was a rich young man. He wanted to be a knight - but he was a commoner. He wanted to be a crusader - but he was a clothing salesman.

His father’s business was importing fine fabrics from France.

His father gave him fine clothes to wear so he could impress all his rich young friends with his fashionable clothing made of imported fabrics. His father gave him a fine horse to ride.

His father gave him money so he could keep up with the fast crowd and impress them even more with his stylishness.

But then one day the rich young man was out riding on his fine horse in his fine clothes.  On the side of the road he saw a beggar. Not just any beggar - a man with a skin disease. A leper!

Stay away! That was the standard protocol of the time. Don’t come near them - you might catch the disease. And look at them. They have open sores on their bodies. How could you touch them anyway?

We don’t know the name of the man with the disease. But he might as well have been Jesus.

For the rich young man leapt from his horse, went up to him, embraced him, and kissed him.

Not so much the attitude of the man in the Gospel story. What was the difference? Maybe this rich young man had heard the Gospel story. Maybe he just knew he wasn’t so different from the other man. Not deep inside.

For they were both of infinite value in the sight of God.

We have seen things like this in our own day. In Sacramento General Hospital in the summer of 1983 when I was working as a trainee chaplain, someone found out I came from Berkeley. And that was near San Francisco. And you know about San Francisco. Stay away from him! He might have that disease. You know the one. (They didn’t know what to call it yet.) And so the teasing went on - sick, cruel, cased in fear.

Fear. Shunning the unknown, the different.

Our young man, by the way, wanted to be a crusader. He got as far as to get the gear (Dad paid) and the horse and start on his way. But he encountered another poor man, this man a knight (a real one) but destitute, without armor or spear. And the young man in a fit of compassion gave him what he had. And went home rejoicing. Dad was furious.

And then came the last straw. One day the young man went into a church. It was in ruins. So he went back into town, to the warehouse where all the fine fabrics were kept, loaded his horse up and rode to the next town. He sold the fabric and the horse, brought the money back to the church. He tried to give it to the priest. Who wouldn't touch it. Hw wouldn’t have any part of this escapade.

So the young man in a fit of youthful pique tossed the money - now filthy lucre - into a corner of the church and went away. He didn’t get very far. His father was furious. And threw him into the basement of their house. For a month. Or a week. And then he drew him out, dragged him in front of the bishop, right in the town square, and demanded justice. This son of mine has squandered my wealth. Get him to give me back everything he has had from me.

All right, said the young man. You win. And there and then he gave back to the old man everything he had had from him. Every. Last. Stitch.

Naked in the public square.

The bishop threw his cope around him and led him off.

(Later he found a castoff gardener’s garment and wore that. His new life had begun.)

By now you know, or have guessed, the name of the rich young man.

Extraordinary. Singular. Unique. Admirable - but a tough act to follow. You wouldn’t expect, for example, a pope to name himself after that young man, would you?

But there was something about him. Something ennobling - no, better than ennobling, humanizing - about him. Something compelling - because unlike the wealthy man in the gospel story, he didn’t see his status as something to be grasped and held onto. In fact he gladly gave it up for another.

And in fact hard as his act was to follow, some of his rich friends, his father’s customers, well, former customers at this point, followed him into his new life.

They embraced the gospel without fear.

They embraced charity as eagerly as the young man had embraced the leper.

They embraced poverty as if it were the fairy princess in a fable, and they were the heroes, fallen at her feet.

They embraced a love of the world and all that is in it. They served the people, rich and poor, and sang to them of God.

They embraced obedience - to the gospel - even when it was hard. Take up your cross and follow me.

And they went on their way rejoicing.

We have a prayer we can say, inspired by their story (#62, BCP, 833):

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

2016 September 25

Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

CProper 21

Amos 6:1a,4-7

Psalm 146

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

The Book of Common Prayer, 1979, 833.

St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, Tucson. Sunday, September 25, 2016. JRL+


© John Leech 2016. All rights reserved.

The Rich Young Man and the Leper

O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity: Grant us the fullness of your grace, that we, running to obtain your promises, may become partakers of your heavenly treasure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Rich Young Man and the Leper

Once upon a time there was a rich young man. He wanted to be a knight - but he was a commoner. He wanted to be a crusader - but he was a clothing salesman.

His father’s business was importing fine fabrics from France.

His father gave him fine clothes to wear so he could impress all his rich young friends with his fashionable clothing made of imported fabrics. His father gave him a fine horse to ride.

His father gave him money so he could keep up with the fast crowd and impress them even more with his stylishness.

But then one day the rich young man was out riding on his fine horse in his fine clothes.  On the side of the road he saw a beggar. Not just any beggar - a man with a skin disease. A leper!

Stay away! That was the standard protocol of the time. Don’t come near them - you might catch the disease. And look at them. They have open sores on their bodies. How could you touch them anyway?

We don’t know the name of the man with the disease. But his name might as well have been the name of the man who gave us this morning’s parable. He might as well have been Jesus.

For the rich young man leapt from his horse, went up to him, embraced him, and kissed him.

Not so much the attitude of the man in the Gospel story. What was the difference? Maybe this rich young man had heard the Gospel story. Maybe he just knew he wasn’t so different from the other man. Not deep inside.

For they were both of infinite value in the sight of God.

We have seen things like this in our own day. In Sacramento General Hospital in the summer of 1983 when I was working as a trainee chaplain, someone found out I came from Berkeley. And that was near San Francisco. And you know about San Francisco. Stay away from him! He might have that disease. You know the one. (They didn’t know what to call it yet.) And so the teasing went on - sick, cruel, cased in fear.

Fear. Shunning the unknown, the different.

Our young man, by the way, wanted to be a crusader. He got as far as to get the gear (Dad paid) and the horse and start on his way. But he encountered another poor man, this man a knight (a real one) but destitute, without armor or spear. And the young man in a fit of compassion gave him what he had. And went home rejoicing. Dad was furious.

And then came the last straw. One day the young man went into a church. It was in ruins. So he went back into town, to the warehouse where all the fine fabrics were, loaded his horse up and rode to the next town. He sold the fabric and the horse, brought the money back to the church. He tried to give it to the priest. Who wouldn’t have any part of this escapade.

So the young man in a fit of youthful pique tossed the money - now filthy lucre - into a corner of the church and went away. He didn’t get very far. His father was furious. And threw him into the basement of their house. For a month. Or a week. And then he drew him out, dragged him in front of the bishop, right in the town square, and demanded justice. This son of mine has squandered my wealth. Get him to give me back what he has had from me.

All right, said the young man. You win. And there and then he gave back to the old man everything he had had from him. Every. Last. Stitch.

Naked in the public square.

The bishop threw his cope around him and led him off.

(Later he found a castoff gardener’s garment and wore that. His new life had begun.)

By now you know, or have guessed, the name of the rich young man.

Extraordinary. Singular. Unique. Admirable - but a tough act to follow. You wouldn’t expect, for example, a pope to name himself after that young man, would you?

But there was something about him. Something ennobling - no, better than ennobling, humanizing - about him. Something compelling - because unlike the wealthy man in the gospel story, he didn’t see his status as something to be grasped and held onto. In fact he gladly gave it up for another man - men.

And in fact hard as his act was to follow, some of his rich friends, his father’s customers, well, former customers at this point, followed him into his new life.

They embraced the gospel without fear.

They embraced charity as eagerly as the young man had embraced the leper.

They embraced poverty as if it were the fairy princess in a fable, and they were the heroes, fallen at her feet.

They embraced a love of the world and all that is in it. They served the people, rich and poor, and sang to them of God.

They embraced obedience - to the gospel - even when it was hard. Take up your cross and follow me.

And they went on their way rejoicing.

We have a prayer we can say, inspired by their story:

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

2016 September 25

Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

CProper 21

Amos 6:1a,4-7

Psalm 146

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

The Book of Common Prayer, Prayer 62, page 833.

Extreme Gratitude

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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the promise of life that is in Christ Jesus

St Francis began as a fabric sales rep - can you imagine a father calling his son Frankie so that he would embody the French fashions he (the father) was trying to sell? But that is what Francis' father did - decked him out in fine clothes, gave him the gear and the purse, to entertain the young nobles of the town - lead them on their revels - until Francis saw something else: a vision.

It did not come to him quickly. It came after many trials. He was involved in a civil war between his hometown and the town across the valley and became a prisoner of war. He tried to enlist in the Crusades but turned back after giving his fine armor to a poor knight. He fell ill and recovered. He prayed and sought guidance. He served the poorest of the poor. He made a pilgrimage. And then while he was praying in the little lost church of San Damiano, derelict and sad, in front of an icon of Christ crucified, he received his commission:

"Rebuild my church - which as you see is falling down."

So Francis went to the warehouse of his father, loaded down his horse with fine fabrics, rode to the next town, sold good and horse, and walked home in a happy spirit. He offered the proceeds to the priest at the ruined church.

That was not enough. His father came after him - he hid but was caught. His father haled him in front of the bishop in the town square: "I want back from you everything you have had from me."

All right. He did. Francis stripped himself bare and laid all his clothes at his father's feet. He was naked, as naked as the day he was born. All those fine clothes were gone.

The bishop quickly covered him with his cope. Francis found shelter in the bishop's house. There in the garden on a trash heap he discovered a worn-out cloak that the under-gardener had discarded. He chalked a cross on the back and gladly put it on.

If you remember the first day of the week when the women walked down in the early light to the tomb, to dress the body of Jesus with spices and herbs - how Mary saw a man there, who asked her, whom do you seek? She turned to him, and begged,

"If you know where they have taken him, please tell me."

She mistook him for the gardener. He must have just scrounged something up that he could put on so he was covered against the cold.

Francis must have known what garment he was putting on - it was a sign of resurrection, of a new life beginning for him - and for the church.

From that early beginning he began to build a new life out of old bones, a new church out of old stones, turning what had been a ruin, as desolate as the city of Jeremiah, in to a new house for God.

His own life had reached a turning point and passed it. What had been broken was blessed, transformed, and offered, given as a gift to God. All it took was a little faith. Something new began to grow.

Increase our faith! The apostles said, and Jesus replied, if only your faith were as big as this - a grain of mustard - you could just say the word and anything could happen.

Francis started with something very small: a kernel, a grain; and from it built a life lived in abundance. Scarcely would it seem had he anything and yet he had all he needed: faith in a gracious God.

What he did with the small beginning was more than rebuild a little church, more than make a safe place for himself and his friends. He spent the rest of his life in worship, witness and service. Francis and his companions spread out across Italy, Europe, and the world - preaching the new life in Christ.

They rebuilt the body of Christ through word and example that enlivened the faith of the people. Francis and his friends gave us the gift of reliance on God, the love of all creatures, and the gift of making peace.

When we celebrate together the Eucharist we remember Christ and his work in the world - not only in our own time but also in times past and times to come. We remember saints of the past, witnesses like Francis to the Word's redeeming power, and we look forward in hope to a future filled with grace, the grace we experience today in the gift of the Great Thanksgiving, the Eucharist, celebrated in remembrance of God's gracious abundance, his gift of himself in the person of his Son, unstinting and unsparing beyond measure or dessert, giving himself that we might have life eternal and share it with generosity, hospitality, courage and love.



The Prayer before the Crucifix at San Damiano

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.






Blessing to Brother Leo

May the Lord
bless you and keep you.
May He show His face to you
and be merciful to you.
May He turn His countenance to you
and give you peace.


Chronology of the Life of Saint Francis of Assisi, from the website of the Order of Friars Minor, the brother hood that he founded:

* 1181 (Summer or Fall) Born in Assisi, baptized Giovanni di Pietro Bernardone at the request of his mother Pica, called Francesco by his father, Pietro di Bernardone, a rich cloth merchant.
* 1199 – 1200 Civil War in Assisi. Many noble families flee to Perugia.
* 1202 (November) War between Perugia and Assisi. The latter is defeated at Collestrada. Francis spends a year in captivity (falls ill) until ransomed by his father.
* 1204 A long period of illness and convalescence.
* 1205 Francis sets out to join the army of Walter de Brienne. Returns after a vision and message in Spoleto. Beginning of a gradual period of conversion.
* 1205 (Fall) Message of the Crucifix at San Damiano, Conflict with his father.
* 1206 (January or February) Trial before the Bishop.
* 1206 (Spring) Francis nurses the lepers at Gubbio.
* 1206 (Summer) Returns to Assisi and begins to rebuild San Damiano; end of conversion process; (Summer to January or February) He repairs San Damiano, San Pietro della Spina and Our Lady of the Angels “Portiuncula”.
* 1208 (February 24) Francis hears the Gospel for the Feast of St. Matthias.
* 1208 (April 16) Bernard of Quintavalle and the priest, Peter Cattani join him. Others follow.
* 1208 – 1209 (Fall and Winter) Francis is assured of the pardon of his sins and the growth of his fraternity. They go out two by two to preach penance.
* 1209 They return to the Portiuncula and Francis writes a brief Rule for himself and his eleven friars. They receive the approval of Pope Innocent III in Rome. The friars return to Rivotorto and then to the Portiuncula.
* 1212 (Palm Sunday night) Reception and investiture of St. Clare at the Portiuncula. After a stay with the Benedictine Nuns, Clare moves to San Damiano.
* 1215 Francis at Rome for the IV Lateran Council.
* 1216 Francis receives the Portiuncula Indulgence from Pope Honorius at Perugia
* 1217 (May 5 – Pentecost) General Chapter of all the friars at the Portiuncula. First mission outside Italy.
* 1219 (May 26) First friar missionaries leave for Morocco.
* 1219 (June 24) Francis sails for the Holy Land.
* 1219 (Fall) St. Francis meets with the Sultan.
* 1220 First Franciscan martyrs: the friars killed in Morocco.
* 1220 Cardinal Hugolino appointed Protector of the Order.
* 1220 Francis resigns as General Minister and friar Peter Cattani appointed.
* 1221 Peter Cattani dies and at Chapter Bro. Elias becomes the Vicar.
* 1221-1222 Francis goes on a preaching tour throughout Italy.
* 1223 Francis goes to Fontecolombo to write the definitive Rule for the Order of Friars Minor. The Chapter discusses it and further changes are made until its approval by Pope Honorius III in November.
* 1223 The first Christmas Crib midnight Mass at Greccio.
* 1224 The long retreat of Francis at La Verna where he receives the Stigmata.
* 1225 His eye problems turn worse and he stays for a while at San Damiano with St. Clare and the sisters. At the insistence of Bro. Elias he undergoes medical treatment but without improvement. Almost blind he writes his “Canticle of the Creatures”.
* 1225 – 1226 Francis goes to Fontecolumbo where the doctors cauterize his temple in an unsuccessful treatment. At Sienna he takes a turn for the worse and dictates a short “last will”.
* 1226 (September) Staying at the Bishop’s house in Assisi, Francis knows that he is dying, writes the Testament and asks to be brought down to the Portiuncula.
* 1226 (October 3) Francesco dies at the Portiuncula in the evening.
* 1226 (October 4) He is buried in the church of San Giorgio.
* 1228 (July 16) In Assisi, his friend Cardinal Hugolino now Pope Gregory IX canonizes Francis.
* 1230 (May 25) Transfer of the Saint’s remains to his tomb in the new papal basilica of San Francesco.

http://www.ofm.org/ofm/?page_id=197&lang=en

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