Credit:  Little Flowers of St. Francis Fraternity

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The Greatest Gift Ever Given

It is small.
It is round.
It is white.
Look at it.
Look behind it - far far behind....
Do you see what I see?

Jesus reclining at a long table with the twelve.
He stands up.
His eyes, a fire in their depths, move from face to face.
Sun-tanned faces, rough and leathery.
Eleven pairs of eyes gaze back at him.

The twelfth is shifting - anywhere but on Jesus' face.
Jesus dips a morsel of bread into a dish, holds it out to this twelfth person.
Hesitantly he reaches out a hand, takes it.
He lifts it to his lips.
Eats it.
Coughs, chokes.
Swallows hard.
He rears to his feet, knocking over a glass of water.
He pays no heed.
His eyes rather wild, he whirls and strides out of the room.
Hurrying - almost running - running away from something...

Jesus looks after him.
Sighs.
A shadow crosses His face. Now He reaches across the table.
Picks up a loaf of bread.
Very deliberately He breaks it into several pieces.
He holds them up so they can all see.
Then very quietly He says. He pronounces each word quite distinctly.
His eyes search each man's face.
One by one, He hands each a morsel of the loaf.
Awkwardly their big calloused fingers close about their piece.
They hold it.
Look uncertainly at it, then at Him.
"EAT IT," He urges them.
"THIS BREAD IS MY BODY."

They eat it.
They look wide-eyed at each other like little children, wondering, disbelieving this thing that is happening to them.
Eleven shabby, bearded men.
As rough a group as had ever sat down to a supper table together.
ELEVEN CHILDREN OF GOD WHO HAD JUST MADE THEIR FIRST COMMUNION.

They turn awed glances to Him, to this Man they call MASTER.
Their big hands go out to Him, loving Him!
Loving Him who loves them so very much!
"WHAT I HAVE DONE," He says, "YOU DO!"
"DO THIS IN COMMEMORATION OF ME."

Seeing Christ in Others

    There are some pretty sad derelicts in the world. Some are physically unsightly -- some mentally so -- some obnoxious in their actions, in their degradation, their blatant sinfulness, etc. But, let us take a second look. What do we see? Look good and hard -- hard enough and deep enough to see in the eyes of this derelict, Christ hanging on the Cross -- for him! Then listen to Christ’s voice from the Cross, “Father forgive this derelict for he knows not what he does.”
    Let us ask ourselves, “What keeps me from being like this poor wretch?” The answer comes loud and clear, “It is Only God’s gift of a better oportunity than this one ever had. Christ, in me, strong in the Faith He has given me as a gift. And, this Christ in me is asking me to search out a Christ image somewhere in this other person. Christ is his brother just as much as mine.” So, I must ask myself, “What can I do for him?” Pray for him? By all means. It may be the only thing I can do for him.

The Gift

The Gift.
His Gift.
Love in a little white disc.
Colossal!
Vast!
Oh God, just too too much for us to comprehend!
We can only accept.
Believe.
You, that we hold out our hands to receive...
You, we take into our mouths...
You, we cradle in our hearts...
You, we reverence with our minds and cover with the warm blanket of our love...

Jesus, these thoughts of mine are so inadequate.
But for what they are worth, I give them to you.
My thanks to you for your Gift!
YOURSELF!
Alive!
Body and Blood.
Soul and Divinity.
Real.
Felt, but not seen.
Known and loved.
You!
Jesus! My beloved! What else is there?
TO WHOM ELSE CAN WE TURN?

St. Peter said. "YOU HAVE THE WORDS OF ETERNAL LIFE. AMEN

Christ is the Center of the Mass and our Catholic Faith

From the Scrapbook of a Novice, by Ruth Vogel

Christ is life on earth -- from His Mystical Body created when He was conceived in the womb of the Virgin Mary to His public ministry - His teachings which He handed down in one magnificent, generous thrust to all the ages. He is the Head and we are the members.

"The Mystical Body of Christ"

The Commandments

Imitation of Christ

Franciscan Virtues

The Humanity of Jesus

     They threw down the whips and cut Him loose. His back was a bloody mess of purple welts and shredded skin. He was gasping; half blind from the red-hot pain surging through His body. The crown of thorns bit savagely into His head and trickles of blood ran down His face. His eyes were glazed. He gasped, "How long?" Each minute seemed an hour, each hour a year.
     The sky around the area darkens as though it is late twilight; but it is not yet 3 o'clock. Silently, His whole inner self is screaming, "How long?"
     He is hanging from the cross; the whole weight of His body suspended from nails gashing holes in his feet and hands. His body contorts; but only for a second because it cuts off his breath and suddenly, with a choked cry, He groans, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" But a whisper comes instantly into His ear, "I am here. You are my beloved Son in you I am well pleased." He sighs, a voice beside Him says, "Lord, remember me when you come into your Kingdom."
     He lifts His head slightly and seems to be looking far off into eternity.
     He says, "In my Father's house there are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you." And with a final whisper He says, "Father into your hands I commend my spirit," He dies.
     The story doesn't end there. Dismas, the thief and thousands and millions of others go chanting through the ages their Credo:
     I believe.
     I believe in God.
     I believe in the Father Almighty, in the Son, in the Holy Spirit.
     I believe in the Holy Catholic Church; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body.
     I believe in life everlasting.
     I believe in Love.
     "Love, as I have loved you," He said.

"The Pool"

     I sit here meditating on this holy season of lent. And there comes to me, again, the happy mysterious experience I had in Holy Week last year.
     I was sitting outside by the pool. The day was lovely, the scenery so beautiful, the trees, shrubs, flowers, the pool, and clouds white on blue. Suddenly I saw something in the pool, it looked like a figure unmistakable, it looked to me like Jesus, the resurrected Jesus in white flowing robes. His arms upraised in blessing. He seemed to be walking under the water, facing me, towards me.
     Instantly, I wondered what could be reflected in the water that caused this phenomenon. Was it a cloud above, for instance, or what? I stood up and stepped forward to get a better look; but at once the figure backed up, away from me.
     To this day I wonder. Was it a vision, or a figment of my imagination -- a daydream? I have thought about St. Paul's words, "whether in the body or out of the body," and St. Francis, "we see these things with the eyes of the soul." I don't really care because I know it had its origin in God, in Jesus. It was good. Everything good has its origins in God. In Jesus.
     Because I know Jesus and love Him, I can have daydreams about Him. This I know, we know: Jesus is-is for me: is for us -- there beside the pool-here-anywhere and everywhere--today, tomorrow and forever.
     I close my book of memories on another priceless page. Deo Gratias! Pax et Bonum, peace, love and prayers.

Living Christ's Redemptive life

     St. Paul said, "And now I am happy about my sufferings for you. For by means of my physical sufferings I help complete what still remains of Christ's sufferings on behalf of his body, which is the church." (Col. 1:24)
     This is a mysterious saying. How can anything be lacking in Christ's sufferings for His church? His sufferings were complete for all men for all time.
     This mysterious passage, among many others, brings out the great necessity we have to read and ponder very deeply what we are reading.
     While thinking about this passage I thought of at least three ways in which we can make up for what is lacking in Christ's redemptive acts. Of course we have to keep in mind the basic fact that actually there is nothing lacking. Christ's redemptive action was all-inclusive; 100% absolute in its comprehensive satisfaction for all sins. Acknowledging that, how can we presume to think we can make up for anything needed to complete what was already complete?
     The answer is, we can, because we are now alive in Christ, on earth in Christ. Christ, long ago, ascended into heaven and people can't see Him or hear Him any more; but, they can see and hear us. We can carry on His work for Him. Three ways in which we can continue His work now are:
         1. In our suffering
         2. In loving areas of poverty
         3. In loving service to our fellowman
    And, there are probably other ways.
    In view of the fact that we have just passed through the liturgical season of the Passiontide, let us consider suffering - our own suffering related to Christ's sufferings.
    In the natural course of living we are all afflicted from time to time with a variety of sufferings. These sufferings are not sent to us by God -- they come about naturally because of our human existence. There is mental suffering; grieving; disappointments; frustrations; put-downs; ridicule, etc. There is physical suffering; diseases, debilitation, accidents; countless aches and pains from broken bones, bruises, cuts, concussions - ad infinitum.
     Our first instinct, and rightly so, is to run pell-mell to our Almighty Father or to our Blessed Mother for help. We have no doubt whatsoever as to God's power to help us. He loves us, doesn't He? He is our merciful Father, isn't He? But, does He take it away? Most of the time He doesn't. Why not? Simply, because to heal, us in most cases, would not fit into the perfect pattern of His overall redemptive plan. He can see the whole picture, inside and outside, up and down and all around. We can see only a tiny spot.
     Supposing that when Jesus asked His Father at Gethsemane, "Let this chalice pass from me," His Father had said, "I will take it away from you." What would have been the result? A lot of things would not have taken place as they did. There would have been no carrying of His cross to Calvary; no Crucifixion; Resurrection; or Ascension. There would have been no sending down of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost; no fearless proclamation of the Good News by the apostles. Nor would there have been any fired-up believers, whose ranks swelled with astonishing rapidity as the new Church of Christ grew; But, because the church would not have existed. Not that the church would have died, but that it would never have been born.
     There is a book, "The Way of Divine Love," or "The Message of the Sacred Heart to the World," which is about a Spanish nun, Sister Josefa Menendez, to whom Christ appeared many times. Time after time He asked her if she would volunteer to suffer for certain people - His beloved sinners. She never turned Him down. Quite often the sinner was a priest who was straying and more than once Christ came back to her, after she had suffered terribly, and told her that because she had done this suffering for His wandering sheep they were now safely back in the true fold.
     Jesus does not ask most of us to suffer; but, suffer we do and quite often. We, then, can please Christ by offering our suffering to Him in union with His sufferings to help some wandering soul who is losing his way. And, thus by offering our suffering we may be able to turn those stray sheep back in the direction of the one true fold.
     In this way we can help to complete Christ's redemptive suffering because here and now we are acting for Christ by helping our brother in need.

    It's been a good many days since I talked with you like this, Jesus. It's been much too long.
    We get wrapped up in our earthly living, the details of which are manifold and time consuming, but really a necessary part of our earthly living as human beings among other human beings, in community, our parish, in our neighborhood, and family and the world as a whole. We are a part of it all and we must not forget to carry out our part in your way, Jesus.
    In this week's Scripture readings, from the Acts of the Apostles, we get your message so distinctly of how we should be doing in our relationship with one another, in particular where it tells us of how they took care of one another. No one remained in need among them. All of them used what they had to share with those less fortunate than themselves and they did this gladly, with pure spiritual love.
    This is what we Franciscans must do also. This is our love in action. This is conducive to the peace that we are makers of. There must be justice to be peacemakers, because without this justice there will be breaches of peace.
    I thank you for talking with me this morning, Jesus.
    At Mass this morning I was thinking, after Communion, about how I had held you in my hands and I was a bit awed by the thought. It came to me how holy my hands are that held you, and do you remember I asked you to help me not to forget how holy my hands are and that I must not do anything with my hands to besmirch their holiness. The sacred Host touched my lips and tongue and I must remember not to utter any words that will desecrate their sanctity; in fact my whole body was transfigured as yours was on Mt. Tabor. I must conduct myself in a manner that will reflect this all day.
    There is also this to think about, Jesus, that the substance, the physical substance of the Host becomes, though in a small way, a part of my bloodstream which runs through my heart. I have thought about this before. It changes my heart to a heart suffused with love which courses through my brain and affects my intellect so that it should, if I use it as I should, imbue me with a spirit of wisdom of the Holy Spirit; hence my intellect can dictate to my heart my will, my conscience and say, "think Jesus, act Jesus, will Jesus and love as Jesus loves,"
    And so I say Amen for now, my holy Savior, my Jesus.

                                Ruth

Saints

St. Maximilian Kolbe

Saint Maximilian Kolbe (1941)
    He was a polish Franciscan priest, completely dedicated to Our Lady, who founded the "Militia of the Immaculata" to convert sinners, heretics and especially enemies of the Church. The Marytown friary he set up in Poland and devoted to publishing grew to be the largest in the world. Saint Maximilian was an apostle of the Miraculous Medal of Our Lady. He died in the concentration camp at Auschwitz on Aug. 14, 1941 having Voluntarily taken the place of a prisoner who was condemned to death. He once said, "One day you will see the statue of the Immaculata in the center of Moscow atop the Kremlin."

St. Joseph

From the Scrapbook of Ruth Vogel, a Franciscan Tertiary.
Sacred Heart Fraternity, Arlington, Virginia

MAN OF GOD

A man stands holding an infant in his arms.
Who is this man?
A man stands hammering a nail.
Is it the nail for a sepulcher?
A man trudges wearily along a stony road.
A road to where?
The man is not alone. There is a woman and a
child with him.

Who are they?
The woman shivers, clutches the child against her breast.
Who is this woman?
The man reaches out, wraps a threadbare blanket
about her shoulders.
Who can they be?
The woman looks up into the tired and kind face of
the man and smiles her thanks.
Doesn't anyone know these people?
The baby, in the woman arms, stirs, cries out.
Doesn't anyone know these three?

Joseph is a man of mystery.
Joseph is a well...so deep...so deep...
The name JOSEPH is etched in history.
Joseph, a gentle man--a Tower of Steel!
Joseph, a poor man--a Priceless Treasure!
Joseph, a "little" man--a Mountain!
Joseph, a humble man--a Man of Power!
Joseph, a quiet man--a Man of Action!
Joseph, an obedient man--a Husband! A Father!
Joseph, a loving man--a Man Much Loved!
Joseph--Companion of Mary; Companion of Jesus;
Companion of Angels!
Joseph--A man who walked with his two feet on the
earth, his head and shoulders in heaven!
Joseph is a well...deep...deep...
Joseph is a well …unfathomable…unplumbed,..
Joseph is a man of Mystery, a man of Destiny, a man of God!
JOSEPH WALKS WITH GOD!

Brother Rufino

    My dear brothers and sisters, St. Francis could be stern as well as compassionate. During this lent, a time of penance, a story from "The Little Flowers of St. Francis," which I am about to tell you, brings out the beautiful simplicity, childlike qualities and desire for penance of St. Francis.
    This story concerns Brother Rufino. Brother Rufino was so absorbed in heavenly things that he hardly noticed anything that went on around him. He was not much of a preacher, so when St. Francis one day said to him, "I want you to go to a church in Assisi and preach to the people," Brother Rufino was taken aback. In a most humble way he ask to be excused because he had no talent in that direction. St. Francis, in his impetuous way, instantly rebuked him and said sternly, "Since you did not obey me when I asked you, I now command you to go, and to go naked except for your underwear, and preach in some church in Assisi." Brother Rufino gulped and paled. But without a word of protest he started off. On the way he was accosted buy jeering boys; and men who tagged at his heels and cried out, "These brothers have gotten so wrapped up in penance that they have gone crazy." Brother Rufino gritted his teeth but kept going straight into a church and up into the pulpit where he did indeed start to preach.
    In the meantime, Francis, back at the monastery, was struck with remorse. Here is this man of high noble birth," he accused himself, "whom you, a nobody, have sent off on this humiliating task. Now," he told himself sternly," you can just go and do this same thing yourself that you have made him do." "Brother Leo," he called as he disrobed, "Id like you to accompany me." Brother Leo stared at him, shook his head and hurried out of the room, calling back, "I'll be right with you." Soon he was back with a mysterious knapsack slung over his shoulder. Off they went and when they were trudging into Assisi they, too, were greeted with jeers and hoots of laughter. St. Francis held his peace, but was humiliated. He, with a red faced Brother Leo trudging beside him, hastened on into the church where Brother Rufino was preaching, and doing a creditable job of it.
    Looking up at the pulpit, Francis stopped, aghast, there high above him in the pulpit, was Brother Rufino looking for all the world like a great featherless bird. "Is that the way I look?" Francis gasped with a quick glance down at his own nakedness. Shaking his head, he strode forward and joined Brother Rufino in the pulpit. He motioned Brother Rufino back, swallowing hard and cleared his throat loudly. That helped. It steadied him. Quavering, he began to preach. Laughter came up at him. His voice grew louder. Soon it's beauty was going out like a great bell until it's sonorous tones filled the length and breadth of the church. The silly grins on the faces below began to fade. He preached eloquently, of poverty, humility, and penance. A hush fell over the assembly and when he came to pour forth his love and reverence for Christ's Passion, Christ's own humiliation, and aloneness, and nakedness, as He hung on the Cross, sobs shook many a hardened sinner and tears splashed down many a weather-beaten face. Gone was any vestige of contempt; in its place were sorrow, repentance, deep reverence, and a great swelling conversion in the hearts of the deriders. He finished and stepped back and Brother Leo hurried forward. He opened his knapsack and out of it he took the two habits for the naked duo. Without a word he handed one to each and without a word each man gratefully took his and put it on. Then, with sheepish grins all around, they left the church and marched homeward, not abjectly, though; but, in triumph because their hearts were high in the glory of God and they knew there were many people converted in Assisi that day. As a matter off fact, there were many who were so struck with the holiness of these men that they desired nothing better than the privilege of just touching their garments with the utmost reverence.
    A thought for us to take home might be to strip ourselves of the enter garment of pride and to put on the inner garment that Christ Himself is taking out of His knapsack and wordlessly handing to each of us. The garment is humility, which, in this coming Lenten season could lead to self-accusation, self-denial, repentance, to heartfelt sorrow for even our venial sins and to a firm resolution to "go and sin no more;" in particular, to overcome the same old sins, confession after confession.

    To the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ, Amen

St. Francis

"The Carceri"

    I was glancing through some of my back copies of the Franciscan Herald when these words on a front cover caught my eye: "The Carceri -- Experience of the Caves." Before our May pilgrimage to Assisi, that would not have caught my eye. But, since our pilgrimage....!
    The Carceri, (meaning prisons), is one of the very beautiful to the eye, and inspiring to the soul sanctuaries we had the privilege of visiting. It is high up on Mount Subacio and Francis and some of his brothers voluntarily imprisoned themselves in caves on this mountainside. They spent long hours in deep contemplation with God.
    The article in this February 1981 issue of the Franciscan Herald was by Annetta Duveen, who is the National President of the North American Federation of Secular Franciscans. The theme of the article was the Caves and the Community. She said, "there is a mystery in the life of every Franciscan -- a living in mystical fullness in the caves and in the community. The caves and the community form a perfect sphere -- and the center is Christ."
    The caves are our secret, silent place where we are alone with God, heart to heart with Him, and word to His Word. His Word to us in this secret place of ours is what tells us what to do, how to act, how to relate, how to serve in the community. It is from the caves in our hearts that God directs us in our life in the world.
    Annetta says, "We are Franciscans because we have been chosen to follow and serve the Lord Jesus Christ and rebuild the Holy Roman Catholic Church in the spirit of our Holy Founder, St. Francis."
    The center of our life in the world is Jesus who was born in the cave of our being in holy Baptism, just as he was born in the cave of Bethlehem; of Mary, His holy mother and in the Holy Spirit with the love of the Father. And, astonishingly and marvelously, the Babe of Bethlehem is re-born in the caves of our human bodies, mingling his flesh with our flesh and his blood with our blood, our holy manna from heaven; as well as imbuing our inmost being with His divinity, every time we receive Him in the Sacred Eucharist.
    This is our consolation, our security, and our Joy -- this mystery of Jesus Christ, stooping to enter the caves of our heart, which would be empty and intolerable were it not for His dwelling within us.
    This in-dwelling within us is with us all the time. It is our motivation to anything that is good. It is our bulwark of strength in the times when we find it necessary to conquer both our weaker selves, and seemingly, at times, the unconquerable tribulations and heartaches of life.
    Annetta Duveen concludes her article with this: "I pray that our Franciscan Family, will be a growing sign in the Church and in the world. My hope is, that the eternal love God bears for us, who follow His humble servant, St. Francis, will enter into the caves of our heart and to our community."
    I cannot conceive a life in this complex 20th century without being a Franciscan. It is the Lord's great gift and answer to our day."
To which I add a fervent "Amen!"

The First Chapter of Mats

    St. Francis called a General Chapter to meet on the plain of St. Mary of the Angels. There were over 5000 who attended that first Chapter of Mats.
    Among those who attended was St. Dominic, with seven of his friars, who were on the way from Bologna to Rome. They stopped by to see what it was all about. Another one of those who came was Cardinal Hugoline of Ostia. Francis had predicted that one day he would become Pope. And, so it was, he later became Gregory IX.
    Those present were quiet and meek, praying and doing deeds of charity. The Groups made tents covered with mats all around, the top and sides, and with rushes, and so it was called the Chapter of Mats. They slept on the ground or on straw.
    Noblemen came and ordinary people, too; cardinals and bishops came to see the very holy, and large gathering of saintly men; but, especially, they came to see Francis.
    Francis greeted them and explained the word of God in a loud voice "As clear as a bugle", preaching whatever the Holy Spirit inspired him to say. He encouraged them to have reverence and obedience to Holy Mother Church; to have brotherly love; to pray for all the people of God; to have patience in adversity and temperance in prosperity; to be figures of chastity, and to be at peace with God and all men; to love poverty and express humility and meekness, and have contempt for worldly things.
    Under obedience he commanded them to have no care concerning anything to eat or drink; but, to concentrate on praying and praising God, and leave worldly worries to Christ who would take care of them.
    St. Dominic felt consternation at this and thought his words imprudent. But soon people from Perugia, Spoleto, Foligno, Spello, Assisi and others from the surrounding countryside came with donkeys, mules and wagons loaded with bread and wine, beans and cheese and all good things to eat. They also had among them those who were concerned for their brothers and sisters; they too brought things like pitchers, dishes, glasses and tablecloths and all such helpful items.
    Knights and nobles went humbly about serving, so reverently it seemed, as though they were serving, not the poor friars, but, the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ." When Dominic saw all this, he was overcome with remorse and begged Francis to forgive him.
    When it was over Francis sent them all back to their provinces comforted and filled with spiritual joy, with God's blessing and his own.
    "To the glory of Our Lord Jesus Christ. May He be blessed! Amen."

There was a Boy

A little poem on the successful formation of a beloved, well known, Franciscan, by Ruth Vogel.

There was a Boy

There was a boy, quite willful,
A show-off, teen-aged brat.
Who wakened folks at midnight,
With loud singing and all that.

Who spent his father's money
As though it were going out of style;
But, who suddenly had a vision
And then in a very little while --

Became so hooked on Jesus
He was never again the same.
He reached the heights of sainthood,
And came alive in Jesus' name!

We're speaking of St. Francis
Believe it if you can!
Our noisy, willful laddy boy
Became that saintly man

So, Secular Franciscans,
It's so very plain to see
That what happened to our Francis,
Proves there's hope for you and me.

Ruth's Archives:

Francis' Life according to Ruth

FRANCIS' LIFE WITH REFLECTIONS

REFLECTIONS
     My object in having this series of talks about St. Francis during the coming fall and winter months, is not only to take the shadowy figure of 800 years ago and breathe the breath of life into him, and SEE the flash and fire of his eyes; but, also to HEAR and grasp the whole message of his good news, so that we can bring that message into our 20th Century and make it our way of life.
In these episodes, along with the facts, I am giving you my interpretation of those facts. This is true also of anyone else who has ever written anything about St. Francis. It's the only way to bring the facts to life and breathe the breath of life into them. Without that they are worthless.      We need to walk right into the middle of his thoughts; into his heart; into his inner most feelings. We need to intrude into his privacy; to stick our noses into what he is doing at any given moment in the 13th Century, when he was alive and also, if we may use an exaggerated modern repression, drag him kicking and screaming into the nowness of our hectic 20th Century existence.
    This is not far-fetched, because exaggerated expressions fit St. Francis to a T. He was a master craftsman of exaggeration, both in truth and in deeds.
    These things I am going to tell you about him will be colored by my own style and my own thoughts of what he was all about. I will try to be factually accurate; but, he will look different to you than he does to me. You will be interpreting him with your own mind and I with mine.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    The first question I'm going to try to answer is: What was the most important thing in Francis' life? Why was he not lost in the obscurity of time, as most people are? The answer is: because of his conversion process.
    I purposely said conversion process, because it didn't happen all of a sudden. He didn't kiss the leper and BANG, the light of conversion suffuse him and he was a full-fledged saint.
    No. It had its beginnings before that and it went on and on after that, agonizingly for him, more often than not.
    I think it can be said to have begun when he was in prison for a year and he had much time to think.
    But, before we go into that, let's take a look at what he was like BC - Before Conversion.
    Picture this scene in Assisi in the early 13th Century - a narrow street at midnight - old houses, possibly in baroque architecture, and down the street comes a shouting, laughing, singing gang of youths. Their leader, though more slightly built than the rest, was the loudest of all. He was dressed in the showy costume of a minstrel or troubadour. His shoes were pointed, his socks a splash of many colors, his hooded tunic richly woven and also brightly colored, and his lute was slung carelessly in front of him.
    This was Francis of Assisi, lover of a bulging purse; lover of showy clothes; a first class show-off; a lover of braggadocio; a reckless spendthrift, who gloried in paying all the inflated tabs in the swanky restaurants they frequented to wine and dine. He was inordinately gratified by the kudos of his parasitic companions who clung to his financial coattails and praised him for his wit.
    This evening, his rich tenor voice rose clear and beautiful, above the laughter and shouts of his companions, as he poured forth his gay troubadour ditties.

REFLECTIONS
    In this series we are going to try to discover not just factual details about the life of St. Francis, but much more his message and his spirit, so that we can bring that message and that spirit right into our lives as we seek to form ourselves as Franciscans.
    First of all, we must not lose sight of the fact that we are a part of the material world, as well as the spiritual, and we must, every day, use things of the material world to sustain our existence. But, although we have this need for worldly things, we should always keep in mind that we must maintain a detached attitude towards them, not owning them or being owned by them, but recognizing and acknowledging that they are gifts from God for our use.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    We said before that Francis' conversion process began early in his life and was furthered by his year of imprisonment. So, let's talk about his imprisonment. How did it come about?
    There was an age-old enmity between the citizens of Assisi, of which Francis was a native son, and the citizens of Perguia. In fact, to this day, animosity still exists between them.
    Francis was a fiery, restless youth, always ready to fly off in behalf of some cause or another. Thus, when the those of Assisi prepared to march into what, no doubt, they considered a just cause against the Perugians, Francis, like a tail-wagging puppy, was right at their heels, panting and barking excitedly, gleefully happy to be allowed to go with them.
    Well, that didn't last very long, because very soon they were ignominiously defeated at Ponte Giovanni, taken prisoner, and our eager little puppy now had his tail between his legs as he was marched off with the rest of them, over the old bridge and up into the walled city of Perugia.
    His spirits soon revived however, and because of his gay, audacious manner, and his fine clothes, the jailers thought he was highborn like the nobles and knights, so they threw him in with them.
    All during this year of imprisonment he was his usual gay, carefree self. But at the same time he had much time on his hands and he did a great deal of thinking about himself about his life and about where he was going and what he was all about.
    He was a good morale builder for the others because he was so jolly and lighthearted. He sang a great deal, and as we said, he loved to sing, and sing he did for his own, and his companions' amusement.

REFLECTIONS
     Take a minute and picture him in that dank, dark prison, sometimes sitting alone and lost in thought. Other times, an impish grin on his face, he deliberately intruded into the awareness of his fellow prisoners with his swaggering antics. Annoyed at first they watched him. They saw his slim, slight figure pirouette before them in an exaggerated dance. If the twist had been in vogue at that time I'm sure he would have been doing the twist, and often, in pantomime. He would accompany himself by playing an imaginary fiddle, pretended to hold under his chin with one hand, while with another he sawed away with an imaginary bow.
    If you look you might see, reluctant at first, then with all out delight the smiles break over the faces of at least some of his companions. This sort of entertainment they liked. It was joy. It was a breath of the freedom they had lost. They welcomed it and encouraged him; although, he didn't need much encouragement. He was a born show-off and actor; an artist and a poet; a mystic and a lover, above all else a lover. The lover in him was dormant at this time, waiting ...
    No one ever loved the way Francis loved. All out. Toe to head. Inside and out. All the way. And the great love that was to flame up and consume him later was Jesus Christ crucified. It was to possess him. To shake him and tear him from his roots and foundations. To wrap him up and lock him in, never to be freed again. Such was his love for his Lord and Master, Jesus the Incarnate God. But, we're getting ahead of ourselves.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    During his year's imprisonment his joyful manner both cheered and annoyed his companions. "How in the world," they complained, "can you be so cheerful in this dismal place?" His answer was a shrug and with a sudden twinge and a little frown, he became silent. He was realizing that he himself didn't know the answer to that question.
    Why was he happy, when the others were so gloomy?
    He really didn't know. It was something inside him that had to come out.
    "You must be out of your head," they told him. But he only answered gaily, and mysteriously, "Why shouldn't I be jolly? One day the whole world will bow down to me."
    He was right, of course, but not the way he was thinking right then in his carefree head. He was taking the wrong meaning as he did so often then and later. He was a starry-eyed boy in love with himself and he was thinking in terms of being a great hero, a crusader, a brave soldier glorious in battle.
    All the while there was stirring inside him a smoldering mystery that was kindling a fire that later was to spill out like an erupting volcano, the fire of God's Love and compassion.
    Now he was unaware of what was at work inside him because he had not yet made the journey into himself where the real Francis was.

REFLECTIONS
    And what significance does this have for us today?
    It is what we, too, now need to do. We need to make this journey into ourselves, right down into our roots, to find the real "me" hidden inside, to fire it up and make it spill its compassion and understanding and brotherly love; to send it, not like destructive lava; but, like a softly illuminating candle flame into the market places of the world. This is the spirit of St. Francis moving in "me" that I am discovering in this metanoia; this radical inner conversion I am working on that is making me reach outside myself to embrace my brothers and sisters wherever I may find them.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    One final thought about his year in prison. There was a young nobleman who was very shy, a wallflower type of person, who was lonely and looked down upon and ridiculed by the others. Francis took him under his protective wing. Francis was ever a champion of the lowly and oppressed, the weak ones of the world. Francis, so related to this shy person and so drew him out of himself that before too long the others, though perhaps grudgingly, began to accept him.
    Francis' compassion was as big as the whole wide world because it embraced the whole wide world and everybody and everything, because this world was to him straight from God, created by God, who was and Who is and Who ever will be LOVE.

REFLECTIONS
    Now we see Francis just emerging from his year of imprisonment. He is sickly, some think from malaria, others tuberculosis. He is quieter. He is, and always will be a strange combination of gaiety and austerity - a man of childlike simplicity with a passion for perfection.
    His whole conversion process carried him closer and closer to being a reflection of Jesus Christ, and in the last phase of his life it locked him hand and hand with the Suffering Servant, Jesus on the Cross.
    Francis, too, was a man of sorrows and full of contrasts. He praised the sun and the moon and the stars, yet he often went away from these brothers and sisters of light into the gloom and mold of a darken cave.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    After his year of imprisonment, things didn't seem the same to him. He was strangely depressed so often that he would return to the company of his old carefree friends; but, they bored him. His old way of living had gone flat - the champagne had lost its fizz.
    Once, during this time of depression, he met a very poorly clad knight, and Francis impulsively exchanged his rich garments for the poor one's of the knight.
    All the while he was thinking, with longing, of becoming a great knight. The idea was becoming an obsession with him, so much so that he had a dream about it one night. He saw a great palace. The walls were covered with glittering shields and bucklers and spears and helmets and many trophies of battle. Francis' dreaming eyes widened greedily. His arms reached out, wanting to gather them all in at one time. Oh, the wonder of them, he thought. Whose were they?
    But even as the question flashed into his head an answer came, spoken out loud, in a very distinct voice. "They are yours, Francis." "Glory be to God," he cried and in a rush of joy he was wide-awake and out of bed. Joy ! Joy ! This was for him! He would be a knight. Didn't this dream prove it?
    Off he rushed with coat tails flying, riding off down the road towards Apulia. He would join the army of Walter of Brienne, who was a great knight leading his army in a crusade for Pope Innocent III.
    But he hadn't gone very far before he felt ill. He was annoyed. What was the matter with him? He was light headed. He pulled up at an inn at Spoleto and headed straight for bed, and lay there wondering, fearful and dizzy.
    Towards morning, half asleep, he suddenly heard that voice again and it sounded reproachful. "Francis, is it better to serve the master or the servant?" Francis sat up with a jerk. He could see no one; yet, there was the voice. "Oh Lord," he groaned, "What do you want of me?" "Return home," the voice bade him, "and wait there. I will tell you what I want you to do."
    Instantly his spirits sank like a ball of lead. His elation of the day before flew right out the window. With dragging steps he left the inn. Reluctantly he turned his horse's head back towards Assisi.

REFLECTIONS
    His freeloading friends gathered around him. But he couldn't abide them any more. They were shallow, irresponsible and silly.
    He was restless. He withdrew and turned more and more to solitude. He prayed in secret; but, didn't know it at the time he was beginning his journey into himself, his own personal metanoia, his root conversion.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    After Francis left his cave, and came down from his mountain retreat, y> he would seek, not his old friends, but the poor and became more kindly towards them. He was l> still dressing in the rich clothing his father gave him; but, now he would insist on having sewn in with the rich cloth some cloth of very poor quality. At that time it was a pattern in his life - reaching for his highest goal while wallowing the depths.
    He began to take an interest in old churches and their poor priests. He helped them financially with his father's money, much to the disappointment of his father.
    In his restlessness, he went on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Peter. He saw many beggars standing outside the great church and on an impulse he approached one of the most ragged beggars and struck up a conversation with him.
    "Will you exchange your clothes for mine?" he asked.
    The beggar's eyes popped. He stared at Francis' fine clothes, then down at his own rags.
    "You've got to be kidding!" he said.
    But Francis wasn't kidding. It took some persuasion to convince the poor man; but before long, there was Francis standing outside of St. Peter's amidst the beggars - he, the most ragged of them all. He fingered the coarse, ragged garment he was wearing.
    "Me," he marveled. "This is me in these rags!" Suddenly he grinned. He was enjoying himself immensely.
    Back home he kept so aloof from his old friends that they were puzzled.
    "You must be in love," they taunted him. That comment lit up his face with a smile.
    "Yes," he agreed eagerly. "I am in love." I am going to marry the most beautiful lady anyone has ever seen."
    They hooted with laughter. They didn't know he was referring to his Lady Poverty.
    One friend often accompanied him when he withdrew into his caves. This was a young man about his own age, whose name is not known. His friend would wait outside the cave while he went in alone to pray. His friend must have been a very remarkably patient and understanding, person to wait long hours outside for Francis.
    These excursions took them to Mt. Subasio. Here Francis was beginning to find a priceless treasure, a growing living awareness of Jesus.
    But these were difficult times, this journey into himself. It was rugged, mysterious, fearful, arduous, agonizing. He regretted deeply his wasted life up until then. He was uncertain of his future.
     "God," he agonized. "You got me into this. You dragged me back from Walter of Brienne's crusade. Why? What do you want of me?" You told me you would let me know what you wanted. Why aren't you telling me?"
     He prayed in a sweat - his own private Gethsemane. He had a downright fear of the future and what was in it for him. Where was he headed? He was at loose ends, going nowhere. "God, you've got to help me," he cried.
    God did, of course, in His own good time. God, he found out, would not be stampeded into action. He would find out that God goes at His own pace.
    One day in the cave he was deep in prayer when something caught his eye and he looked up - in sheer astonishment. There, before him, life sized and alive, was Christ hanging in agony on the cross! Christ's eyes seemed to burn right into Francis. Christ's lips were drawn back from His teeth in terrible pain. His whole body was such a picture of excruciating agony that Francis suddenly felt like a candle too close to a fire, his muscles, he was sure, were melting. Then the vision was gone.
    For a long time Francis remained rooted to the spot; then he fell on his knees, rocking back and forth, his head hidden in his hands, moaning and weeping.
    "I now know," he gasped, I know what you want me to do. You are telling me I must deny myself, take up my cross and follow you."
    In a daze he went forth from the cave and was never again the same. Christ crucified had branded Himself on his heart.
    One day he was riding, deep in thought, through the countryside and not paying too much attention to where he was going. Suddenly he found himself near the forbidden area of the lepers. He saw a leper not far away and he shrank back. He was so close to the frightful figure he began to tremble with dread and abhorrence. He wanted to turn his horse and gallop away, but something was holding him there, and all at once there leaped into his mind again those words. "Take up your cross and follow me." Was this what that meant - this leper?
    With a bound he was off his horse and striding towards the shrinking figure. He held out a handful of coins to the leper. Greedily a misshapen hand darted out and took the money. But Francis didn't stop at that. He put both arms around the loathsome figure and embraced him. He pressed his cheek against his and saw tears spring from the leper's sunken eyes.
    Then he turned away, leaped hack on his horse, and started off. He wasn't trembling any more and felt very odd. He looked back over his shoulder and gasped with incredulity. Where was the leper? Where he had stood there was no one. Francis was completely alone.
    "Oh my God," he thought.
    He felt such a rush of emotion that he reeled in his saddle. "God," he prayed. "Oh my good God."
    He sat quite still for a while. Then a feeling of elation swept over him. He laughed. He felt lighthearted as a bird in flight. He felt he himself had wings. He could fly. He could fly. He could fly!
    He burst into song and urged his horse into a gallop and down the road he sped. "O, glory be to God," he sang.
    In the spirit and awe of God he went on to his cave to pray and then, in a high movement of spiritual closeness to God, a most disturbing thing happened to him.
    Into the solitude of his cave came the devil himself. Francis saw him, stared at him and then shrank from him. He shivered and felt like screaming. The devil spoke to him. "Remember that hideous hunchbacked hag in town?" The devil's voice was raspy and disjointed. It grated on Francis' ears and made his blood run cold. The devil said to him, "I will make you just like her if you don't stop this stupid way you are going." But quickly and urgently another voice inside Francis said, "Don't pay any attention to him. Believe in Me. BELIEVE IN ME!"
     Christ's own words flashed into his mind, "Begone Satan!" Yes, it was his own voice inside saying it, bellowing it loud and clear, "BEGONE SATAN!" And instantly he was alone again - shaken but alone.
    He knelt and prayed. He felt great sorrow for his past life and his wasted time. He thought of Jesus hanging on the cross and how Jesus came alive in his life - the love of Jesus, greater than anything he had ever imagined.
     And thus was his conversion process solidifying, embedding its roots in the deepest recesses of his being. His metanoia was moving along in high gear.

REFLECTIONS
    We have reached the point in Francis' conversion where Jesus has become the real person in his life - Jesus crucified.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    About this time in his life we have the San Damiano incident. Francis was on his way somewhere when he passes a dilapidated church. He is so deep in thought that he almost walks by it before he notices it is a church. (He never passed by a church without popping in). He backtracks to the front door and enters. He looks around and sees that the interior of the church is in sad shape. The roof was so badly caved in, in some places, that he could see the sky through it. Stones and rubble were scattered on the floor beneath the crumbling walls.
     He shakes his head. It saddens him profoundly. He falls on his knees and starts to pray. He stares at the large crucifix that is over the altar. It is different from any crucifix he has seen before; actually, it is a Byzantine crucifix. The Christ figure is surrounded by other figures of saints.
    Francis raises his eyes to those of the Christ. Going through his head is the starkly and realistic vision of the living Christ on the cross. His eyes seem to be fixed on those on the crucifix and tears spring into his eyes. Half blinded with tears he stares dumbfounded at the crucifix. He blinks away the tears and does a double take. Yes! He does see the lips of Christ moving. They are uttering words and the words are coming out quite audibly.
    "Francis, repair my church which, as you see, is falling into ruin."
    Francis is stunned. He gets to his feet and walks distractedly about the church, stopping to look at the worst places of disrepair. It certainly is falling into ruins, he says to himself.
    He goes back to the crucifix and stands gazing at it. It is lifeless now, just an inanimate cross with an inanimate figure on it. He is puzzled. Had he been mistaken? Had he imagined he heard it speak? No! He's sure he had seen the lips move and heard the words.
    "Glory be to God," he cried in rapture. "This is what my Lord told me to wait for. This is what He wants me to do." He experiences a great on-rush of joy.
    Without further ado, he rushes out of the church and begins to beg, borrow, or let us say it mildly, "steal," some of the materials - the stones, mortar, and boards, he needs to repair the church. He works until the sweat rolls off him. From time to time a few other youths, attracted by his enthusiasm, help him.
    He went into this new phase of his conversion on the run. He was always running, even in his latter years, running towards the outstretched arms of his Savior.
    But again we are getting ahead of our story.
     Now, in throwing himself headlong into repairing San Damiano, he had something concrete to fasten onto; something the Christ on the crucifix had told him to do.
    He gave the poor priest who came to live there a handful of money and asked him to use it to buy oil to keep the lamp always burning before the crucifix.
    Repairing the church, he knew would take some doing. What to do? He needed money. He hadn't yet reached the phase in his conversion where he despised money.
    He paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. Suddenly a thought came into his mind and he snapped his fingers. He had it! He was the indulged son of a rich father, wasn't he? So he thought he would take a few bales of his father's cloth and sell them.
    He mounted one of his father's finest horses and off he rode to the city of Foligno and there, without thinking of the consequences, he sold not only the cloth; but, the horse as well.
    Soon, back in San Damiano he eagerly held out the money to the poor priest. The priest was taken aback. "Oh no," he protested. But Francis insisted that he take the money. "You need it," he said, "for repairs. I will help you and work here myself. I thought," he went on hopefully, "I could live here with you. Please let me live here."
    The priest sighed. "You may live here," he said. "But, I cannot take the money. It belongs to your father. You should not have taken the cloth and the horse. It was wrong."
    He put the purse back in Francis' hand and kindly, but firmly, closed the young man's fingers about it.
    Francis looked with distaste at the money. All of a sudden he hated it, what was it to him? He didn't want any part of it and with a contemptuous gesture he hurled it onto a windowsill.
    Pietro Bernardone soon got wind of what Francis had done. In a rage he charged down upon the little church and the poor old priest.
    "Where's my son," he demanded.
    But that was the question. Where was Francis?
    Anticipating his father's anger, Francis had turned chicken and was hiding in a little cave not far away.
    His father stormed around for a while; but, unable to find him, he gave way to two emotions. Alternately he was beside himself with rage, and overwhelmed with genuine grief. He was unable to understand how this son of his, on whom he had lavished his affection and his goods, could have done such a complete about face as to become this weirdo that the whole town of Assisi was laughing at. His father hung his head in shame.
    Francis, in hiding, was praying intensely and beseeched God to help him. After a time, peace began to come over him and he began to reproach himself for being a coward.
    With that thought he rose up and out of his hiding place and strode with determination down the road towards Assisi.
    The Assisians looked upon Francis at that time as a rich, pleasure loving, playboy jongleur, and impeccable dresser.
    Now, here he came, looking anything but impeccable, disheveled, wild in appearance, downright dirty and a perfect picture of a modern day hippie at his sloppiest worst.
    The townsfolk thought he had gone bananas. They didn't hesitate to ridicule him. They even threw stones and mud at him.
     His father hastened to meet him. This was no Gospel father going out to meet his prodigal son. This was a red-hot parent, after his maddening, crazy, mixed up kid.
    He seized Francis, dragged him into the house, and beat him, not sparing the rod, in true Old Testament fashion.
    Then he threw him, shaken and bruised, into a dark cellar, in chains.

REFLECTIONS
    You see how often Francis goes from light into darkness, from freedom into a dark cellar, like before when he was thrown into a dark, dank prison. He went often from sunlight into musty caves - from open decisive action to the darkness and uncertainty of an unknown future.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    Pietro beat him again and again, trying, to make him see reason, but it was to no avail.
About this time Pietro had to go out of town. Francis' mother, through all this, was terribly grieved and the situation tormented her. She couldn't stand having him chained in the dark cellar. After Pietro took off, she pleaded with him to change; but he would not. He could not, he told her. So she set him free. She was afraid to the point of trembling of the consequences, but still set him free.
    Actually, according to civil law of that time, Francis, for his rebellious actions, was subject to the punishment of being shunned by everyone, of being banished altogether from the region, or of being imprisoned.
    But when his father returned and confronted him with this, he coolly informed his father that he was no longer under civil authority because, at the time his father had seized him, he had been living with the poor priest at San Damiano. He, therefore, was subject to the clause in Pope Innocent III's recent bull, which gave the bishop judiciary power over clerics and people on church property. So, Pietro promptly took him to the bishop.
    On Apr. 16, 1207. Bishop Guida, who later became a friend and spiritual advisor to Francis, had a hearing in the public square, which gathered quite a crowd.
    "Francis," the bishop said, "first of all you have to return your father's money to him."
    No problem," Francis replied. "Not only will I give back the money; but, also my clothes."
    He threw the money at his father's feet; a rude act indeed, then stripped himself naked and hurled his clothing, too, at his father. He threw back his head and cried out to heaven, "I have nothing left belonging to Pietro Bernadone. From now on I shall not call him father. From now on I shall say, 'Our Father who art in Heaven.' He, from now on, is my only father."
    Actually, it has been said, he had one garment remaining on him, a hair shirt.
    One account of the episode says: His father rose up, burning with grief and anger, and gathered up the garments and the money and carried them home. And with them he carried inside himself a father's broken heart. It wasn't easy to be the father of Francis.
    Shocked, no doubt, by this sudden stripping act, the bishop rushed to Francis and covered him with his own mantle. He sent a servant to fetch something for Francis to put on. The servant came back with an old, warn-out farmer's tunic and Francis put it on. Later, on the front of the tunic, he drew in white chalk a crusader's cross. He was now embarked on his own private crusade and thus was born the "habit" of the Franciscans and a new man of God, on his way to unbelievable spiritual heights and honor.

    Now, a different sort of knight than he had dreamed of being, Francis entered into his new life.
    One day he was going along minding his own business when he was roughly beset on by robbers. It was obvious they could not have hoped to get anything of value from him, because he was in much worse shape than they were. He looked like something left out in the rain then brought in and dried out.
    He was not afraid of the robbers; at least he pretended not to be. He looked them squarely in the eye and declared with an audacious swagger, his ragged tunic flapping about his bare legs, "I am the herald of a great King." Well that got them! They laughed uproariously and clapped each other on the back.
    "Now I've heard everything!" One of them yelled. He was a huge fellow, and towered over Francis. He was rough and bearded. He minced about mockingly and mimicked Francis. "I am the herald of a great king," he said.
    Then, with a sudden swoop, he seized Francis, held him high in the air, then dragged him like an empty sack squarely into a ditch filled with dirty, melting snow. He bent over Francis and pushed his face into the snow. Francis came up gasping. Down went his face again and then a third time. The snow was cold and he was half drowned.
    Finally, after sneezing, coughing and spitting out dirty snow, he got to his feet. He shook himself off, looked up at his tormentor and smiled disarmingly, "Good morning good people," he said graciously. His smile broadened. It was genuinely mirthful and friendly; they stared at him, baffled.
    "I don 't believe this," one of them muttered. "This guy can't be for real."
    He turned away, shaking his head and the others followed him. Francis heard one of them mutter, "Cuckoo!"
    Francis laughed aloud.
    "Cuckoo, Cuckoo," he repeated like a clock measuring the hours. "Was my Lord Jesus cuckoo, too?"
    Later he trudged on up Mt. Subasio and came to a place of cloistered monks and stopped at the front door. He reached out his hand, to knock, then drew it back. "Will they let me in?" he wondered. "Well here goes," he thought, and he knocked on the door.
    The door flew open and he found himself confronted by a big monk who was glaring at him like a bear reared up on his hind legs. Francis gulped.
    "Well, what do you want," the monk demanded.
    "May I, that is, I thought ..."
Francis found himself stammering. "Don't be a jerk," he told himself. "Are you a man or a mouse?"
    "May I come in" he said, stoutly. "I hoped you might let me stay here for awhile." The monk's eyes were boring holes in him. After what seemed to Francis an interminable time, the monk stepped back and motioned him to come in. He was still eyeing Francis with suspicion. "If you stay a while," he said, "you will have to work," Francis did and how he worked - hard menial jobs and cheerfully singing as he worked.
    He emptied slop pails; scrubbed floors; washed dirty clothes and pots and pans, and all the while he sang. From time to time he caught their questioning looks at him. "Cuckoo," he said under his breath. "That's me, a Cuckoo." He laughed at his own joke. Humbly he accepted the thin broth they gave him to eat, but there came a time when his ragged tunic was no Longer fit to hang on his skinny body. He asked them timidly, "Do you have some old thing I could have to replace this?" He touched his ragged garment. They ignored his request.
    They turned against him then, if it can be said they ever had turned towards him, As a matter of fact, some time later when his sanctity had become well known all about the countryside, that same monk came to him, and on his knees, begged his forgiveness). Then they turned him out.
    The big door slammed behind him, and here he was again outside, alone and nowhere to go, He went to Gubbio and there he found an old friend who gave him a cast-off garment, which he accepted gladly.
    He took up residence there in a leper colony. He went to the lepers as their servant, like Jesus Christ. He tenderly washed their feet, washed their sores, and cleaned their ulcers. He looked compassionately at their rotting flesh and thought, with a rueful smile, of the times at Assisi when he had stood far off and held his nose and shuddered at the sight of their foul physical condition. Now, he rose his eyes heavenward and sighed, "How could I have been like that?" he wondered. It made him sad to think of it.
    "Forgive me, my Lord," he begged. Help me to learn how to console, to understand, to forgive, and to love as you do. Make me an instrument of your blessed way.
    The leper colony was not far from San Damiano and he remembered Christ's command to him to rebuild His church. Francis left the leper colony and it was then that he threw himself heart and soul into the task. He had no resources whatever now and had to work with his bare hands. His physical strength sometimes was unequal to the task; but, his determination was boundless.
    When he needed to, he begged and exhorted those around him. And, of course, he prayed. The very seeming impossibility of accomplishment drew a few other youths to help him. Eventually, sweating and almost exhausted, with his eyes bright with triumph, he stood before that little church and saw it restored. "This is all for the love of God," he cried.

REFLECTIONS
    Francis, when he needed to, begged, and when he begged he also prayed. There is an important message here for us Secular Franciscans.
    The message is not that we should go from door to door with an empty bowl and receive the scraps that people drop into it; but that we should take this as an example of how not to give alms. We should not give useless, worn out, spoiled things - things we want to get rid of - in the name of charity.
    It is also a lesson for us with regard to the things we buy for ourselves. We should be satisfied with less, we do not have to have the best all the time. We could deliberately choose, for instance, plain ground-up beef once in a while, instead of chopped sirloin. We could put some thought and love of God into the preparation of, for instance, a meat loaf, that could come out very palatable and satisfactory. The difference in the price of the hamburger and the sirloin we could put aside for filling a starving child's stomach. And I absolutely guarantee that, in this spirit of the love of God, the meat loaf would change the bitter into the sweetness Francis discovered in his bowl of weak soup.
    Francis' piety was robust. He refused to be pampered like a spoiled child. And, that is another lesson for us Franciscans.
     Aren't we like spoiled children much of the time? We don't like this food. We don't like that. I don't like the way you do something, you should do it my way or I won't play. I want to go this way. I don't want to go that way. I don't want this egg; it's over done or it isn't done enough. Many times we are like spoiled children. Isn't it time we started being adult Christians? Are we striving to form ourselves as Franciscans, or aren't we?
     We should ask ourselves these questions often in our quest for formation - on-going formation in the way of St., Francis. His way that is the Gospel way, the way of Jesus.

FRANCIS' LIFE
    All the things Francis had done up to now testify to his progressive conversion: his putting on the beggar's garments in front of St. Peters; his exchanging his fine garments for those of a poor knight; his kissing the leper; his selling his father's cloth and horse to get money for the church (a wrong act but a right motive), his stripping himself naked; his tending the ulcerated flesh of lepers; and now his begging from door to door.
    He also went about the city begging oil to keep the lamp before the crucifix burning in San Damiano's.
    All this begging was very painful for him. He still had his pride and still could be embarrassed.
One day when he went begging for oil he hesitated at a house where men were gambling. He was ashamed to go in and started to walk past the house, then stopped. "No," he told himself, "I must not be ashamed to beg oil for God." His whole being shrunk back, rebelling against appearing like a fool in front of those sophisticated men.
Once more he walked away; but, with a sudden resolution he whirled and strode into their presence.
    "I'm a sinner," he blurted, thumping his chest. "Take a look at me, I was too proud just now to come in here and beg alms for God's church; but, I'm begging now for the love of God." They looked at the little beggar, half amused, half sympathetic and gave him the oil.
     And he got something else. He got a big "A" on his report card for Humility - big, beautiful, sincere, real, down deep, Christ centered HUMILITY.
     During this time he was living at the little church of San Damiano, which he had repaired and perhaps lived there while he repaired the little church of St. Mary of the Angels. It was said that angels often visited the little church. That, probably, was why it was known as St. Mary of the Angels or, maybe he just gave it that name? We know he loved the church very dearly. So much so that he made it the mother church of his three Orders.
     He asked to be carried to it when he was near death. And it was at this beloved little Portiuncula, this little portion of ground that he died, flat on his back, lying at his request, on the bare earth, almost naked.
    In rebuilding these churches he did not have in mind simply to restore the edifices, but much more, to provide a suitable reverential place for the celebration of the Sacrifice of the Mass and the Holy Eucharist.
    Out of this restoration of churches came one of his well known prayers: "We adore you, most holy Lord Jesus Christ, here and in all the churches throughout the whole world, and we bless you, because by your most holy cross you have redeemed the world." It was in this little church of St. Mary of the Angels, that he received the final impetus in his conversion process that set him on his Gospel way to draw followers, few at first, then an avalanche of them down through the centuries.

    We have come to the point in Francis' conversion where a key episode sent him rushing headlong into preaching the Good News of his beloved Christ.
    This incident took place when he was attending Mass in the little church of St. Mary of the Angels, on the Feast of St. Matthias Feb. 24, 1209. The Gospel that day was Matt. 10: 7-14, in which Jesus sent the twelve Apostles out to preach.
    Jesus said: "… expel demons, heal sicknesses of every kind, provide yourselves with neither gold nor silver nor copper in your belts; no traveling bag; no change of shirt; no sandals; no walking staff … Enter a town and look for someone willing to welcome you. When you enter a home, bless it."
    Francis listened to these words with growing excitement. They rang in his ears all during Mass, and no sooner had the priest left the altar, Francis ran to him.
    The priest turned with curiosity to this puny, ragged young man whose dark eyes were blazing with something beyond ordinary excitement.
    "Will you explain the Gospel passage?" Francis asked eagerly.
    The priest thought for a moment, then he said, "Why, it means that the Apostles were told by Christ not to possess money. They were not to carry a wallet, nor bread, nor a staff. They were not to wear shoes, or to have two tunics. They were to preach the Kingdom of God and penance. That is what it means." Francis clapped his hands like a delighted child.
    "This is what I have wanted," he cried exultantly. "This is what I have been seeking."
    Without further ado, while the priest looked on with astonishment, he sat down on the bare floor, tore off his shoes and ripped off his leather belt. He got to his feet and started rushing about looking for something. He soon found it, a length of rope which he tied about his waist.
    And just like that was born the white cord of the Franciscans.
    It was somewhere about this time, too, that he designed his tunic in the shape of a cross that was to become the Franciscan habit. Simply, the tunic was of rough material and very poor in quality. This was the real beginning of his Gospel Way.
    He hastened back to Assisi and began to preach the Gospel message of the Kingdom of God; penance, and peace and brotherly love, so zealously that some people of Assisi thought he was a fool and came, not to listen to him, but to laugh and deride him. Others remained with him to weep, to repent, and to beg God for mercy and forgiveness.
    As Thomas of Celano said, "He filled the whole earth with the Gospel of Christ."
    Now, in rapid succession, attracted by all this, he was joined by his first followers.
    The incidents that had pre-dated this feast of St. Matthias, namely, the vision of the Crucified Christ ALIVE on the cross; and the voice of Jesus from the crucifix at San Damiano church had stopped him in his tracks; but, now he had a direction clearly spelled out for him, showing which way he was to go.
    And go he did! That passage from St. Matthew, read in that simple little church, sent him and his followers jet-propelled down through the centuries straight into our present day.
    "I left the world," was his own simple way of expressing it.
    And so we see him from then on going joyously about, this little poor man of Assisi, popping up here and there wherever there was need for the preaching of the Kingdom of God.
     St. Bonaventure said, "His poverty will be a sign of the riches of God in his life." And so it proved to be, a sign so persuasive that soon people were drawn to him.
    The name of his first follower is unknown. The second was Bernard of Quintavalle, a wealthy nobleman of Assisi. Bernard had had his eyes on Francis for some time. He had watched him rebuild the little churches. He had seen him begging from door to door. He had known for a long time how he prayed in solitude.
     He personally heard his preaching, so simply, so sincerely it seemed to Bernard, it was out of his heart and his love and tenderness for Christ.
    Bernard began to experience a longing to share this that Francis seemed to have.
    But, was it real, he wondered? Was it genuine? How was he to know if Francis was for real?
    He knew what he would do. He would invite Francis to his home as his guest for supper and to stay the night; there he would observe him closely. Francis accepted the invitation.
    Bernard put him up in his own room. Bernard was accustomed to leave the light burning all night. So now he could watch Francis. He would pretend to be asleep and see what Francis would do.
    Francis also pretended to be asleep. But he fell for Bernard's deception and thought him really asleep. Quietly, Francis got out of bed.
    Bernard saw him kneel, hands clasped, eyes raised to heaven. "My God and my All," he heard Francis say with such intensity that Bernard was suddenly uncomfortable. He seemed to be intruding upon something sacred.
    He saw tears run down the cheeks of Francis and heard him whisper, "My God and my All," over and over, the words seeming to be torn out of him - again and again - until it seemed his heart itself was being ripped apart, being shredded word by word and bit by bit.
     "My God and my All." Francis would repeat. Bernard felt tears in his own eyes. He was profoundly moved. "God," he prayed fervently, "what he has I want to share." The next morning he lost no time in telling Francis he wanted to dispose of his possessions and join him.
     Francis looked at him with astonishment at first, then delight. He was touched.
    This man, this nobleman, wanted to go his way of austerity! Humility swept over Francis.
    "I must not take it upon myself alone to agree to this," he told himself.
     Aloud he said, "Lord Bernard, this that you undertake is so great a step that we must seek the will of Jesus and His advice in this matter? Come, we will go to the church of St. Nicholas and pray."
    In the church, after praying fervently Francis went to the altar and opened the Gospel Book, in the name of the Lord, three times.
    This incident is related in a little different detail by different authors.
    We are all familiar with the three passages:
    1. Matt. 19:21: If you want to be perfect go sell your possessions and give to the poor. Then come and follow me.
    2. Matt. 16:24: If a man wishes to come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.
    3. Mark 6: 8: Take nothing for your journey but a walking stick, no food, no traveling bag, not a coin in the purse in your belt. They were, however, to wear sandals. Do not take a second tunic.
    "There Bernard," Francis cried, "there is our answer. It is plain as daylight."
    He plucked at Bernard's sleeve. "Come. Let us go immediately to carry out what we have read in the Book. Blessed be our Lord Jesus Christ who has shown us His will in this."
     Almost at once there was a third man, Dr. Peter Catania (or Catanea or Cataneo), a man of learning, a lay canon at the cathedral.
    Later he was to say, "When God gave me some brothers, there was no one to tell me what I should do; but the Most High Himself made it clear to me that I must live the life of the Gospel."
    And so Francis had his first followers.

Reflections
    Today, in talking about St. Francis, we are going into his transition from his conversion process into the evolution of his three Orders.     What he was doing in his preaching was the repair of Christ's Church from within that Christ had advocated from the crucifix in San Damiano Church. Francis now was all afire to bring Christ strongly back into His Church.     In his preaching he was making Christ come alive in the mind and hearts of those who followed him.     It was not just his eloquent preaching, though, that drew followers to him. He was a forceful, inspired speaker. The zeal of his love for Christ electrified those that heard him. But even louder than his words was the message of his example. These two things together were an irresistible force that drew many souls to him along his Gospel way.
Francis' three Orders mushroomed from then on.
He had no idea at all at the outset of his conversion of starting any religious order. He was engaged simply in bringing about his own metanoia. But, his reforming of himself snowballed into reformation of Christ's Church from within, unlike the reformers who came after him who left the church altogether and sought reformation by starting their own new religious movements. How did the later reformers think they could reform Christ's Church by deserting it? Only by staying within the Church, as Francis did, could it be reformed.     We Franciscans need this reformation within ourselves, our own personal metanoia. A happy result of our reforming ourselves is that in doing so we, too, are making our church, and the world itself, a better place.      There was an anecdote given by Father Albert Niseth (Franciscan Herald, Oct. 1971) to illustrate this point: A man was trying to read his newspaper one evening but his little boy kept interrupting him.     In exasperation, the father ripped a page from the newspaper showing a map of the world and tore it into pieces. He gave the pieces to the boy and said, "There! Put that together like a jig-saw puzzle." He thought this would keep the boy busy for a good long while, But soon the boy was back with it all together, "How in the world did you do it so fast?" the father asked in astonishment.     "It was easy," the boy stated matter-of-factly. "There was the picture of a man on the other side. I knew if I got the man right I would get the world right.     That is what Francis did. He got the man right first.     Now, back to our story of Francis.

Francis' Life
    We left him the last time with his first followers, an unknown man, and Bernard of Quintavalle. Now comes along a third man, Dr. Peter of Cataneo.     Peter was a learned man, a lay canon at the Cathedral, a Doctor of Laws. He and Bernard were well acquainted and he, too, had been watching Francis for some time. Now, when he saw Bernard dispossessing himself of his worldly goods to join Francis, he was eager to do likewise, "This is for me, too," he told himself, and he lost no time in joining them.     He sold his possessions, although quite well to do but not in the category of Bernard, who had been ranked among Assisi's highest born and wealthiest citizens. Both these men put on the habit Francis had designed.     The three of them now took up residence at Rivo Torto. (Exactly where Rivo Torto was is unknown.)     It is known though that these early brothers lived in an abandoned hovel at a place called by that name, Rivo Torto, or Twisted Stream, somewhere on the plain near Assisi.     There is a big church on the high road to Foligno that some claim covers the hovel. But many writers say it is almost a mile farther up the road, where there are two ancient chapels.     One author, Ernest Raymond, when he was in that area in the 1930's said an old woman got a key for him and unlocked the door of one of these ancient chapels, the one known as San Rufino Chapel.     The author said the yard about the chapel was occupied by a mother hen who was fussily clucking and ruffling her feathers amid her brood of chicks, and when he stepped exploitatively though the now open door, mama hen, still fussily talking, herded her chicks right alongside him into the chapel.     They, the author and the chickens, all looked about with lively interest. What they saw was a dusty, oblong room with a stone altar. Potatoes, tomatoes, barrels of flour, and casks of wine were scattered all over the floor, with onions on the altar step,     Somewhere in the area of this little chapel was, it was thought, the tiny hovel where Francis lived with his first brothers, (He never referred to them as his followers. They were his brothers.)     This little hut was so small they were crowded like peas in a pod, so Francis marked off with white chalk little spaces, one for each brother, and that was where he was to "live"     This was one of the most joyful and peaceful periods of their lives together, this little band of brothers who grew to love one another with a true Christ-like love.     They hadn't been there long when along came Giles. He was a sturdy youth who came popping out of the woods one day and sought to join them. He was a farmer's son, a plough-boy.     They made room for him and he was with them several days and was still in his lay clothes when a poor man happened in and asked for alms. Francis looked at the poor man then at Giles. "Brother Giles," he said, "give this poor man your cloak." Francis watched him narrowly, since Giles had just wandered in. Francis had no idea what his reaction would be to this suggestion, But he didn't need to wonder long because the words were no sooner out of his mouth than Giles stripped off his cloak and with a bow and a broad smile, handed it to the beggar. Francis clapped his hands together, delighted. "Brother Giles, you 're one of us!" he exclaimed.     And forthwith he clothed the happy young man with the crude habit and cord of the friars.     So now there were four of them crowded into the little hovel that really wasn't much better than a chicken coop, so Francis got out his chalk again and marked off another small section for Giles.     Giles was a simple and upright young man, God-loving and a perfect example of obedience. He was strong and a good worker, not shunning hard manual labor, which he went at cheerfully. He also was a man who, like Francis, liked solitary times when he became rapt in deep and holy contemplation. It was said he lived to a very old age.     Soon they were no longer four, because they were joined by Sabatino, Morico, and John of Capella, also Philip the long, so called because he was very tall. It was said that Philip was touched on the lips by an angel with a burning coal, like Isaiah. He was well versed in Holy Scripture and understood it so well he was looked to for interpretations, even though he had not studied. He was an eloquent speaker.
    Then they were joined in quick succession by another John, this one of Constantia; Barbaro Vigilanta; another Bernard, Bernard Viridante and Angelo Tancredi. That rounded out the first known twelve brothers, according to some authors. Other authors vary in some of the names of the first twelve.

Reflections
    Not much is known about some of these men. One of them, John of Capella, later strayed into evil ways and ended by Hanging himself like Judas, one of Christ's twelve.
    Angelo Tancredi of Rieti was renowned for his courtesy and loyalty and more is known about him than some of the others. Angelo was a knight of position and wealth in the Vale of Rieti, he was young and full of youthful exuberance.     His house was in a secluded spot, hidden behind a windowless building. It is still in use, so it is said, by a contemplative order of Franciscan nuns, probably Poor Clares.
    Angelo became one of a group of four brothers who stayed very close to Francis all his life, almost, it has been said, like a body guard. After Francis' death and theirs, they were eventually buried in the same church with Francis in the middle and one each of them at the four corners, as though guarding him still. These four were Angelo, Masseo, Rufino, and Leo. Leo, Rufino and Angelo were the authors of "The Legend of the Three Companions." Francis' Life
    There is an interesting story told about Brother Giles.     King Louis of France was on a pilgrimage, traveling incognito. He had heard a lot about the saintliness of brother Giles and the King had set his heart on meeting him.
    He had heard that Giles was in Perugia, so the King, disguised as an ordinary pilgrim, went to the “little place” in Perugia where Giles and a number of the friars, were staying. (You remember we have said the brothers called the small huts where they lived a place).
    The porter, not knowing who the king was, brought him to Giles. Giles was given a spiritual insight, which enabled him, instantly, to see through the king's disguise.
    Happily and marveling at the sight of the king, Giles ran to meet the king and they literally ran into each other's arms, each embracing the other as though they were friends of long standing.
    They remained clasped together like that for a long time, wordlessly locked heart to heart.
    Then, still without a word, they parted and the king and his companions rode off.
    After he had gone, Giles excitedly told the others who the visitor was. They looked at him dumbfounded. They reproached him. “Why didn't you speak to him, show him more respect,” they said. Giles shook his head, smiling, his eyes bright with joy. “We didn't need to speak,” he assured them. “In that embrace the light of divine wisdom revealed his heart to me and mine to him. And so, by God's grace, we looked into each other's hearts and our thoughts to each other WE HEARD without sound, better than if we had spoken out loud.”
    He was quiet for a moment, happily reliving the encounter, then went on. “The defect of human language cannot clearly express the secret mysteries of God and could not have consoled us. But you should know that the King departed greatly consoled.”
    The king, as we know, is the Patron of our Third Order and long has been listed among its canonized saints.
    Another of the early friars was a priest named Sylvester. This priest had been approached a good while before Francis went begging stones to rebuild the little churches. Francis asked Sylvester for stones and Sylvester gave him some for a small fee.
    When Bernard of Quintavalle and Francis were distributing Bernard’s wealth to the poor, Sylvester got wind of it and went to them with his hand out.
    “Ahem!” he began and touched Francis on the sleeve. Francis looked around at him. He saw Sylvester lick his lips with a greedy light in his eyes. Francis’ own eyes narrowed and he waited for Sylvester to say something again.
    Sylvester cleared his throat again. He had the grace to be a bit embarrassed, but his greed held sway.     “I … that is, you will remember that I gave you some stones to help rebuild the church? You didn’t pay me very much for them you know.”
    A little flush touched Francis' cheeks and he looked at Sylvester long and hard.
    “We were giving this money to those we feel need it more than we do,” Francis pointed out. “But since you feel you are one of them — here!” And he thrust a handful of coins into the priest’s outstretched hand. Sylvester clutched it. Then with a tight-lipped smile, that was partly triumph, but also tinged with an inner uneasiness, he turned and strode away.
    By the time he reached his home there was a stricken look in his eyes. He was remembering the look of hurt and sadness that had come over Francis’ face as he took the money.
    He didn’t know that Francis had had an odd conviction, even as he looked at Sylvester's receding back, that, not only had he not seen the last of Sylvester but that the time would come when he would see a halo about the priest's head.
    And of course that is what happened. Sylvester is also listed among the canonized saints of the Franciscan Order.
    “When Sylvester went to bed that night he was already deeply repenting what he had done. And that night, and for two more nights thereafter, he had a vision from God of Francis. From Francis’ mouth came a gold cross. The top of the cross reached to Heaven while its arms seemed to extend from east to west to the ends of the earth.” “As a result of the vision he was touched by the Lord and, for God’s sake disposed of all his property and gave it to the poor. He became a Friar Minor and he was often rapt in contemplation with God.” (Little Flowers of St. Francis).
    Sylvester was perhaps the first ordained priest to become a Friar Minor.
    As an example of the high degree of sanctity with which Francis later regarded him, there was the time when Francis was in mental turmoil because of his indecision as to whether he should lead a strictly contemplative life, which he yearned for; or like Christ's disciples, go out and preach. Something kept nagging at him to do the latter even though he so very much preferred the former. That something, of course, was God.
    So, Francis sent one of the brothers with a message to Sylvester. “Tell him to pray intensely to God until he gets an answer to the question as to whether I am to live the life of a hermit, or go forth and preach the Gospel to the people.” At the same time Francis sent another brother to Clare with the same urgent request.
    Soon, the messengers came back to him and each gave him the reply received from God by Sylvester and by Clare. The answers were identical. Both Clare and Father Sylvester said: “God has revealed to me that you, Francis, are not for yourself alone. You are for the entire world. You must go forth and spread the Gospel message among all the people.”

Reflections
    This ends my thoughts and reflections on the early life and conversion of St. Francis. My hope is that those who read about his life will want to follow his way and truly follow the Way of the Gospel.

                                 Ruth Vogel