Radical Francis

Sermon to the Birds

Took a day long retreat trip to Fort Wayne last Saturday with my Secular Franciscan fraternity.

We met at 6:30 AM and rode the bus there and back.  Got home about 10 PM.

During the ride we had a short formation discussion on a chapter from a book entitled In the Footsteps of Francis And Clare. The chapter was about the Canticle of the Creatures, which was composed by Francis near the end of his life.  It is one of his defining works, his definitive description of the relationship between incarnation and creation.

Francis saw everything in creation as his brother or sister.  Not just other human beings, or even other animals, but everything.  The sun, the moon, wind, water, fire, earth and even death are named brother or sister within the Canticle.  His logic for this is simple.  They shared with him a common Father, and thus they all were part of a single extended family.

Frances was known on occasion to preach sermons to animals, birds, and even flowers.

The chapter includes this thought:

“One is tempted to wonder whether Francis thought the flowers heard his sermons.  That is not such a silly question as it is often made out to be.  Obviously Francis realized the flowers could not hear.  However, he believed that it is the nature of all things to praise their creator.  Francis may not have had any idea how the flowers or rocks would or could do this, but he acted on the belief they could.”

What strikes me about this is the very radical nature of Francis’ approach to creation.  In order to become who he became, he had to unlearn everything he had learned prior to the beginning of his conversion process.

That unlearning was so deep that he even set aside his basic understanding of the very nature of things.  He assigned qualities to flowers, stones, fire, etc., etc. that everyone around him, most likely including many of his followers, would never have been willing to give them.

Calling these new found conceptions radical is probably kind.  Today, he’d be taken away for tests, and when the diagnosis came back with no known malady, his physician would likely invent one and name it after him.

Somehow, his followers found him not insane, but visionary.  Somehow, he ended up a Saint instead of a castaway like the lepers he learned to embrace.

And somehow, he remains an inspiration to this day.  For I also do not find him insane.  In fact, I find I am subject to an ever increasing urge to embrace the radical approach he models as imperative to the way I see the world.  I also want to look at the world around me, and somehow unlearn all the falsehoods I have been taught by the culture that engulfs me.

I yearn to be like Francis.

I yearn to see the world anew, for this seems the only proper response to the Gospel of Jesus.