4 October 2009

Amos 6.6-8

Galatians 6.14, 16-18

St. Matthew 11.25-30

St. Francis – what is it about this particular saint that captures the hearts of so many? People who would rather choke than use the word saint have no problem talking about Saint Francis. And I’ve watched as people who deplore statues even of Jesus look at a plaster casting of St. Francis, and I’ve marveled at how their faces have softened and become downright beatific in contemplation of Francis encircled by birds and bunny rabbits, by deer and squirrels. And I’ve even heard tell that there are, here and there, Jewish homes where St. Francis stands watch over the zucchini and tomatoes. I’m quite certain too that some of the statues of Francis I see about town have been bought and placed by people who have uttered the name of Jesus only when they’ve tumbled down a flight of stairs. So what’s up with all of this St. Francis stuff? Why are we so enamored of this singer from Assisi?

In the Eucharistic Prayer that we’re using during Ordinary Time, one of the things we do is remember the gracious acts of God, and so in part we pray: “As a mother tenderly gathers her children, you [O God] embraced a people as your own and filled them with a longing for the peace that would surpass all understanding and for a mercy that would never fail.” This “people,” of course, refers first to God’s people Israel, a family into which we have then been adopted through our union with Christ in the Sacrament of Holy Baptism. We too are now a people who, with this ancient people of God, long for a day when all creation will live together in mercy and peace. The prophet Amos tells us that a longing for mercy, for kindness, for us all people to walk humbly upon the earth is the very essence of life in God. The prophet Isaiah captures this same longing in a promise that, through the gracious actions of God, a day will come when “the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp . . . They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain . . .” And it is Francis who so well embodies this longing deep inside of us – the longing placed in us by God for a peaceable realm.

St. Francis is said to have instructed his followers to preach the Gospel – and if necessary, use words. In order to preach the good news of there being one day a peaceable realm led by a little child – Francis gathered together his sisters and brothers, the creatures of earth and sky, gathered them together in a cave, brought into their midst an infant attended by a young mother and her companion, and laid the baby in a feed trough and invited people from the surrounding villages to gaze upon this scene. And to this day, we ourselves gaze upon this sermon of Francis preached in our churches and homes every Advent and Christmas. This sermon is called the manger scene, the crèche, and it was begun by none other than Francis himself.

When I asked one of you this week why Francis is so special to us, you replied, “Because he gets it. Francis gets, with his whole life, what we never seem to get ourselves.” You said, “The life of Francis was one of radical trust in God; he trusted that God would provide all things.” You were right: Francis trusted with his whole being that just as surely as God clothes the lilies of the field in splendor unsurpassed, so does God promise to provide for us, for all of us. Just as God provides food in due season for the birds of the air, so does God give to us. And I know I yearn to forget about what I will wear – I really do wish I had the guts – or whatever – to dress in the simple brown habit of the Franciscans, fastened by a simple rope, wearing simple shoes – I do long to be content with just that. I wish I could live a life wherein possessions have no meaning. And you Francis, you embody that yearning. You make real and realizable our longing for that peace that surpasses all understanding, for that mercy that never fails.