Cristian Álvarez, a doctor of letters and member of the Secular Franciscan Order in the La Chiquinquirá Fraternity of Caracas, Venezuela, offers this article on the figure of St. Francis of Assisi on the day of his liturgical feast, celebrated every October 4.
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Perhaps one of the saints of the Catholic Church who arouses the greatest sympathy among Christians, but also among the faithful of other religions and even among many non-believers, is Francis of Assisi, whose extraordinary life following Jesus Christ began to leave its mark from the first decades of the 13th century. However, despite the rough and patched habit he wore because of the poverty he had chosen as his way of life, a condition that led his fellow countrymen to call him il Poverello d’Assisi —the Little Poor Man of Assisi—, there is something in his luminous figure that is always attractive, perhaps because of the unusual coherence of his being that did not separate words from actions, which he transformed into a continuous loving offering. It can be thought that such attractiveness resides in the display of a genuine humility, sometimes so unusual and disconcerting, that it perhaps invites us to an inner revision, to investigate and discover what the bases of openness to true faith consist of. But especially striking for many is that supernatural joy that Francis expressed in his singing to God and to universal brotherhood, and in his lavishing his love equally, without distinction and with courtesy, to all human beings, to animals and to the whole of Creation; Through the singular gaze of the Saint of Assisi, it seems that at times we can recover glimpses of a harmony that reminds us of the lost earthly paradise. And we then ask ourselves: What is the key to that sensitive human plenitude that Francis exudes and that we all long for?
It is not strange then to find in history and periodically, even during the most recent years, “lives” and biographical approaches to Saint Francis of Assisi from the most varied perspectives and inclinations stimulated by his fascinating personality that we can appreciate as “polyhedral” and even “polysemic” —following the expressions of the historian of medieval spirituality André Vauchez—, with so many rich facets that they give rise to diverse interpretations according to personal and ideological tastes and interests throughout the centuries. Vauchez tells us —in his François d’Assise: Entre histoire et mémoire (2009)— how in the early days Francis was celebrated as “the ascetic and the stigmatized, the founder of a great religious order and the model of Catholic orthodoxy”; but also since the end of the 19th century he was considered in a somewhat different light, seen more as a naive dissident or perhaps an outsider —if the terms are valid— in the renewing proposal of his feet, that is, as “a romantic hero, defender of an evangelical and mystical Christianity crushed by the ecclesiastical institution”; and now, in more recent times and with contemporary concerns, it is a matter of privileging “the image of the defender of the poor, the promoter of peace between men and religions, the man who loves nature, defender and patron of ecology, or even the ecumenical saint in whom Protestants, the Orthodox and also non-Christians can recognize themselves”. Each person aspires to shape “his” Francis, who is shown smiling, based on a representative identification that is in tune with his own searches and beliefs inspired by a perception of good. But it must be said that in a world like the one we live in, this last and simple word, which for many may seem obvious in a limited experience and for others is diluted in conveniences and relativizations that immobilize, for Francis it is a very clear quality and essence of God that drives every aspect of his life: “You are the good, the highest good, the total good,” the saint prayed to the Lord with intimate conviction of love.
Thinking about this expression of a lover and his convinced vision perhaps bring us closer to understanding something of that key of the saint of Assisi that attracts and illuminates the senses of the Christian journey. Reading the few texts of his authorship and the first biographies close to his historical existence, one can observe how Francis always speaks and acts as if in love, and so much so that he surprises with his unprecedented and intense gestures of a kind of madness of love that integrates at the same time exaltation and serenity, intimacy and expansive fraternal communication, simple expression and brilliance of clear understanding, risky adventure and grateful celebration of living even in the most extreme restriction. Francis is in love with Jesus Christ! In the Legend of the Three Companions (1246) a curious episode is recalled that tells of the beginning of his conversion process, shortly after a festive meeting; his friends of that time were witnesses of Francis’s absorption when in his inner silence he experienced the sweetest joy of the extraordinary discovery that revealed his evangelical path to him. The former leader of the youth celebrations in the city of Assisi was asked by his companions, surprised by the change in his meditative behavior, if he was thinking of getting married, and Francis, with the metaphors of his troubadour language, replied: “You are right, because I am thinking of taking a wife as noble, rich and beautiful as you have never seen another.” A troubadour of a new romance, as G. K. Chesterton astutely points out in his biography of the saint published in 1923, Francis of Assisi was “in love in reality and truly” with the specific person of God and, furthermore, as a natural consequence of this, his being in love extended to everyone, and thus he lovingly recognized the divine image in every human being with the attention and careful fraternal-maternal treatment, especially of the poor and most excluded from society – his tender kiss of peace to the leper is paradigmatic in this sense – which undoubtedly “implies a much more singular mystical vocation.” The experience of the lover in the light of the Gospel completely defined his outlook and shaped his actions and his mission, which called for the conversion of the heart of all people. Thus, he was fascinated and overwhelmed by the kenosis of Jesus (Philippians 2:7), the incomparable loving gift of God in his Son, who chose to live among us for our salvation. As the historian Giovanni Miccoli rightly points out in Francesco d’Assisi. In his book Realtà e memoria di un’esperienza cristiana (1991), Francis’ entire existence corresponds coherently to the “logic of the Incarnation,” and it is this that explains his complete dedication at all times to following Jesus—“poor and crucified,” as the Poverello continually insisted—as well as the respective enlightened meditation: the (re)discovery of God the Father and of his Son Jesus, our elder brother, present in the Word and in the Eucharist, whom he does not separate from his Mother, the Virgin Mary, the first follower of Christ and “clothing of God,” as he beautifully says in one of his praises.
This enthusiastic response of faith by St. Francis truly constituted a renewal of the Christian experience of his time and even of the theological perspective, which also opened up new, feasible and interesting alternatives on the path of the lay faithful, a proposal that reaches down to our days. The Gospel is always new news, which demands our rereading and dedication to its meaning. However, throughout history, the inertia of certain ways of seeing or practicing religion has often clouded attention to the truth, and the 13th century in which Francis lived was particularly critical in this regard. Once again, Chesterton, in his book on St. Thomas Aquinas (1933), makes an original comparison of the Angelic Doctor and the Poor Man of Assisi, almost associating them as spiritual twins, despite the fact that they belong to different generations and their paths present existential manifestations so different from each other. In the spiritual crisis of the 13th century, when the pressure of deep-rooted beliefs and seductive pagan ideas confused the evangelical faith, the memorable life of St. Francis and the work of St. Thomas “reaffirmed the Incarnation, by bringing God back to earth,” Chesterton tells us with subtle precision: “they led the Christian people to Christianity.”
Eight hundred years later and on the day of the saint’s day, October 4, isn’t the key to that simple and direct vision of love in Francis of Assisi a suggestive invitation to face the intense challenges of our problematic 21st century?
