by Rev. Herbert Nichols

St. Francis is no doubt one of the most popular saints, not only among Catholics, but ecumenically as well. But the 20th century did a grave injustice to this saint. The prayer which we attribute to his name is not found among any of his authentic writings. It is perhaps a composite of many of his saying, probably paraphrased.

And the bird bath statues give the impression that he lived his life, at least after his conversion, as an exemplar of serenity. That’s worth about as much as bird digestings dropped on the statue. But the statue is not a waste, if we see the symbol of the birds for Francis as those who have found freedom, the gift of flight, the struggle to be released from earthly bondage.

Francis died in the beginning of autumn when the leaves turn brilliantly beautiful just before they fall to earth and die. Their greatest beauty is revealed as their very life is being drained out of them. As we yield our own life-wills, God reveals the beauty which has been hidden in us.

Is there a moment when we can say we have discovered Christ, or as the Protestants say: "when we gave our lives to Christ"? Would that it were so easy. St. Paul experienced such a dramatic moment, singularly unique. While yet still sinners Christ died for us. Though alluding to the past tense Paul in another context speaks of himself as the worst of sinners indicating an ongoing struggle within.

In Romans 6, Paul writes: As you once put your bodies to the service of vice and immorality, so now you must put them to the service of righteousness. For Paul it is significant not to look back, as Lot’s wife did, but to keep the focus on the present and the future, on the great prize for which I am striving, realizing that I am not yet there.

For Francis Bernadone, a medieval aspirant to knighthood and questing for the prize offered by an earthly king, this imagery spoke very clearly. Was it a vision or a dream in which Christ portrayed to him various military apparatus and a most beautiful bride? But as for most of us his initial carnal interpretation was erroneous; accordingly in a second vision, Jesus questioned him: "Who might serve you better; a fellow servant or the Lord?" Answering: "the Lord," Francis was asked: "then why are you seeking the servant instead of the Lord?"

While still in the glow of youthful passion, and the age of wantonness urging him immoderately to fulfill the demands of his youth; from that day on he began to hold in contempt the things that he had admired and loved before, but not fully or truly freed from the cords of vanity, nor having shaken from his neck the yoke of evil servitude.

It is indeed very hard to give up things one is accustomed to. Things which enter the mind are not easily eradicated, and by constant repetition become second nature.

Again we quote St. Paul: "I know that good does not live in me, that is, my human nature. For even though the desire to do good, is in me, I am not able to do it. I don’t do the good I want to; instead I do the evil that I do not want to do. What an unhappy man I am? Who will rescue me from this body?"

Ignorant of God’s counsel, Francis still tried to flee the hand of God, still looking forward to accomplishing deeds of worldly grandeur and vanity. Then after a third nocturnal vision, Francis sought out the counsel of a Holy Man from Assisi, entering into solitude and prayer in order that the true and eternal God might direct his way and teach him His will.

A divine fire began to burn within him and he was not able to hide outwardly the ardor of his mind. He publicly repented of his grievous sins and offenses before the face of God. Neither past nor present evils gave him any further delight. Still, as yet, he had not won full confidence that he would be able to guard himself against them in the future.

For St. Paul and St. Francis, the discovery of Christ is not a chronological moment, but one that transcends the eternal moment in which the power and the fire of the Holy Spirit replaces the fires and flames of burning passion. That, which releases and gives life, is the cost of love, enduring all suffering and even death in witness to Christ.

The death of self-will is the lifelong struggle to release. Then the autumn leaves fall, the birds are liberated, and love gushes forth like a living fountain, a living Eucharist.

G.K. Chesterton writes at the end of his biography: "Francis cared chiefly for the best kind of giving; that which is called thanksgiving, which he came to understand to the depths of his heart."