 
ENIGMA: ST FRANCIS OF ASSISI

Chris Park

ENIGMA: ST FRANCIS OF ASSISI

Chris Park

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Chris Park

For Sofia Grace, a new generation, with love

This ebook is an updated version of the book Francis: Life and Lessons which was first published in print format by Authorhouse in 2010.

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**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

Introduction

Chapter 1. Beginnings

Chapter 2. Hopes and dreams

Chapter 3. Turning point

Chapter 4. Spirituality

Chapter 5. Poverty

Chapter 6. Community

Chapter 7. Clare

Chapter 8. Nature

Chapter 9. Mission

Chapter 10. Final days

Bibliography

**Introduction**

_It would take too long and indeed it would be impossible to recount everything Francis did, and to summarize all he taught in his lifetime._ THOMAS OF CELANO

They gathered in their thousands, from many different countries. They were quite a sight, a huge group of men of all shapes and sizes – tall and short, fat and thin, bearded and bald. They wore monks' tunics in a variety of shades of black, brown or white, and they spoke many different languages. Some talked loudly into their mobile phones, hands gesticulating excitedly, while some sent texts and emails on their Blackberries. Some simply stood and gazed at the sea of kindred spirits all around them. Some smoked serenely in the mid-day sun. Many looked like cameo monks awaiting their entry in some great movie being shot. Some walked with a pronounced swagger, enjoying not only the occasion but also the public spectacle of it all. For a religious order founded on poverty and simplicity, there were some expensive haircuts, watches, digital cameras, mobile phones and briefcases on display!

This band of religious brothers had travelled from all parts of the world as pilgrims, visiting the mother church of the Franciscan order and movement, to walk in the footsteps of their founder and inspiration – Francis (Francesco) Bernardone, better known in his day simply as Francis, and known around the world since his death as Saint Francis of Assisi.

It was Easter 2009 in Assisi, Italy. This was a Chapter Meeting, the Franciscan equivalent of a gathering of the clans, which now takes place in Assisi every ten years when representatives of the Franciscan Order in different countries meet to pray, study, and make decisions. This particular gathering was very special, because it marked the 800th anniversary of the founding of the Franciscan Order.

Apart from being a rather theatrical sight, what is the relevance of this gathering to ordinary people today, more than eight centuries after the death of the man who established their religious order? Does Francis have anything meaningful to say to us, or is he simply a voice from the past, albeit a very well known one?

Context

Francis and the Order he established were very much products of their time and place. The time was 13th century Europe, a period that, according to G.K. Chesterton – one of Francis's biographers – witnessed "a fresh flowering of culture and the creative arts after a long spell of much sterner and even more sterile experience which we call the Dark Ages." Sweeping reforms of Church discipline were under way (which included the new obligation of celibacy for priests, and new constraints on financial corruption by the clergy, for example through the sale of indulgences or pardons), and the Crusades were in full swing in the Holy Land against the Muslims. Feudalism had declined and been replaced by capitalism; a new merchant class was emerging. Donald Spoto, author of _Reluctant Saint_ , a recent biography of Francis, adds that there was also "an astonishing leap forward in what might be called the life of the mind and the spirit." Intellectual progress came as a result of the development of monastic schools, and then through the great universities of Bologna, Padua, Paris and Oxford. The late 12th century also witnessed great changes in religious life, with many monks abandoning the safe seclusion of the monastery to live alone as hermits, or in small scattered communities that rejected the wealth, land and privileges enjoyed by their abbots. Ordinary people were challenged to live in more Christian ways by the rise of lay poverty movements and the spread of independent preachers who summoned people to penance and a reformed life. This is the world that Francis was born into, and it strongly shaped all he did as an adult.

The place was Assisi, a typical medieval hilltop town in Umbria, central Italy, about ten miles south-east of Perugia and ninety miles south-east of Florence. The landscape of Umbria is littered with such hilltop towns, with building huddled together partly through lack of space but also for defensive purposes, more for defence against attacks by neighbouring towns than defence against the weather. These towns have narrow streets, steep hills and open squares (piazzas), with a skyline typically dominated by grand churches and tall stone domestic towers, built for family security but also as conspicuous displays of wealth and status.

Assisi is built on a spur on the western side of Mount Subasio, which shelters it from harsh winds. Through most of its history woodland and fields surrounded it, leading down to the Spoleto Valley below. The town is one of the oldest in Italy, and it was famous for its natural springs as far back as Roman times. It was an important Roman city, and still has remains of Roman walls and of a former Temple of Minerva, which was converted into a Christian church in the sixteenth century.

Assisi has attracted countless pilgrims over the centuries, eager to see where Francis was born, worked and lived, and to pay homage to this well-loved saint. They come alone and in groups, and they include people of all faiths and none. Shortly before he died, Francis had prayed a blessing over the city, saying "God bless you, holy city, for through you many souls will be saved, and within you many servants of God will dwell, and from you many will be chosen for the realms of life eternal." Assisi was declared a Word Heritage Site by UNESCO in the year 2000 because of its architecture, its artistic and spiritual heritage and impact, its preservation of buildings and landscapes, and as the birthplace of the Franciscan Order and movement. On 26th September 1997 a string earthquake the town and surrounding area, which damaged the Basilica of St Francis and other buildings but most of the damage has since been repaired.

Sources

Whilst Francis lived many centuries ago, we know a great deal about him; indeed, it turns out that few if any medieval lives are better documented. According to the bibliography of the Smithsonian Institute in Washington DC, more biographies have been written about Francis than about any other person. A search for 'Francis of Assisi' in the integrated catalogue of the British Library shows more than 400 entries. A search for 'Francis Assisi' in Google produces nearly two million results.

Inevitably most of this vast range of material about Francis relies heavily on the early sources that have survived. This early source material falls into two categories. First there are Francis's own writings, include his directions to the Order he founded (including the Rule, the Admonitions and his Will), the rule for the Poor Clares, and some letters to Clare and one to Brother Leo. Secondly there are two early biographies written by contemporaries who knew him.

The first biography was the _Life_ of Francis written in 1228 by Thomas of Celano (commonly referred to simply as Celano), who joined the Franciscan Order eleven years before Francis died and knew him personally. Celano's biography was rewritten in 1247 (as the _Second Life_ ) to correct some questionable passages about Brother Elias. Whilst Celano insisted that "it would take too long ... to recount everything Francis did", that did not stop him from writing with gushing enthusiasm, as one might expect from a writer whose main objective is to elevate his subject to the highest level of perfection. Christopher Stace, a recent translator of the _First Life_ , cautions us to remember that "Celano tells the truth as he sees it, the truth seen through the eyes of the thirteenth-century religious whose subject was his hero and idol." Celano's writing sits firmly in the category of hagiography (writing that deliberately idealizes a person) rather than biography, so we must treat his text with appropriate care and sensitivity.

The official biography of Francis was written by Bonaventure, a Franciscan philosopher, around 1236, shortly after Francis's death. Recent biographers insist that it frames Francis more as a miracle-worker than the man of poverty, which is how he is more generally seen today. Like Celano, Bonaventure is unashamedly positive about his subject.

More recent biographies inevitably lean heavily on these two contemporary biographers. Particularly formative has been Paul Sabatier's _Vie de S Francois_ ( _Life of St Franc_ is), first published in 1894. Although Sabatier had little empathy with Francis's religious perspective and behaviour, is book helped to open up the modern era of Franciscan study.

Appearance and character

There are many popular images of Francis, who as St Francis of Assisi has been the subject of a great deal of iconography over the centuries. The typical image is of a deathly thin monk staring out from beneath a brown hood, with a long thin face, piercing eyes, a thin untidy beard, projecting a strong sense of humility and serenity.

Celano offers a very graphic description of Francis: "[He was] quite an eloquent man, with a cheerful and kindly face. ... He was less than medium in height, bordering on shortness. His head was of moderate size and round, his face somewhat long and striking, and a smooth, low forehead. His eyes were black and clear and of average size; his hair was black and his eyebrows straight, his symmetrical nose was thin and straight. His small ears stood up straight and his temples were smooth. His speech was peaceable, but fiery and crisp; his voice was strong, sweet, clear, and sonorous. His teeth were closely fitted, even, and white; his lips were small and thin; his beard was black and not bushy. He had a slender neck, straight shoulders, short arms, slender hands with long fingers and extended nails; his legs were thin, his feet small. He had delicate skin and was quite thin."

What is believed to be the oldest surviving image of Francis was painted in about 1218 (although it is dated 1223), allegedly by a Benedictine monk during Francis's visit to Subiaco. It is in the Sacro Speco at Subiaco, and shows a bearded monk with a compassionate face. It is a representation, not a portrait in the modern sense of the word.

Most people's ideas of how Francis looked are heavily shaped by the fresco painting of him by Cimabue in the Lower Basilica at Assisi. It shows a thin, gaunt figure with pale skin, a serene look and piercing eyes, dressed in a rough brown tunic, clutching a Bible to his chest, with a bright halo surrounding his tonsured head. This image looks out at us from most of the vast range of Francis merchandise on sale today. Other representations of Francis include porcelain statues of him by Giotto and Andrea della Robbia, and Franco Zeffirelli's 1972 movie _Brother Sun Sister Moon_ which portrays him in soft focus as a quiet, rather other-worldly character prone to day-dreaming.

Celano describes Francis's character in typically gushing style: "What a fine, shining, glorious example Francis was in his innocence of life: in his simple way of speaking, in his purity of heart, in his love of God, in his charity towards his brothers, in his fervent obedience, willing submission, and the angelic expression he wore! His manners were charming, his disposition was mild, his way of talking courteous; he was most apt in exhortation, most faithful in performing any service with which he was charged, shrewd in counsel, competent in administration, and gracious in all things. Serene, sweet-natured, sober, he was rapt in contemplation, assiduous in prayer, resolute in virtue, persevering in grace, the same in all things. He was swift to forgive and slow to anger; he was quick-witted, had a tenacious memory, was subtle in argument, cautious in decision-making, and simple in all things. He was severe on himself, kind to others, and discreet in all things. Francis was a most eloquent man, and a man with a cheerful and kindly face; he knew nothing of cowardice, and was devoid of arrogance."

Framing Francis

Separating the man from the myth and distinguishing between the rhetoric and reality about Francis remain major challenges. But, as G.K. Chesterton emphasizes, although there is "a mass of legends and anecdotes about St Francis of Assisi ... nobody but a fool could fail to realise that Francis of Assisi was a very real historical human being."

Francis has been framed in many different ways and has meant different things to different people. Ian Morgan Cron, author of _Chasing Francis_ – a recent novel based on the life of Francis – points out that "Rembrandt painted him, Zeffirelli filmed him, Chesterton eulogized him, Lenin dies with his name on his lips, Toynbee compared him to Jesus and Buddha, Kerouac picked him as patron of the 'Beat' generation, Sir Kenneth Clark called him Europe's greatest religious genius."

Francis was and is loved and admired by many because of the simplicity of his lifestyle, his faithfulness to the call of God, his love of God and of his fellow humans, his non-violence and his love of nature. He interacted effectively with all sorts of people, and he continues to have a universal appeal to people of all backgrounds and religions. His strongest qualities were without doubt his dedication to God and his integrity. Francis was one of that rare breed of people – like Mother Teresa, Dr Martin Luther King Jr., and Archbishop Desmond Tutu – who have been used by God in very special ways, in serving the poor and the needy, making peace and bringing reconciliation, healing the sick and challenging received wisdoms about such things as status, wealth, and power.

Francis holds a special place in church history because of how he challenged the established church from within. Marie Dennis, in _St Francis and the foolishness of God_ , refers to Francis as the "first Protestant" because of his reform from within the body of the church, with a focus on church wealth, neglect of the poor, and neglect of pastoral responsibilities. Biographer Adolf Holl describes Francis as "the last Christian" because "no one after him worked as strenuously against the forces of modernity as he did, with his body, with his very life."

Even though he is an important figure from history, Francis stills speaks to us today through his life and works. He has much to teach the wider church today. Ian Morgan Cron underlines the fact that: "Francis was a Catholic, an evangelical street preacher, a radical social activist, a contemplative who devoted hours to prayer, a mystic who had direct encounters with God, and someone who worshipped with all the enthusiasm and spontaneity of a Pentecostal. He was a wonderful integration of all the theological streams we have today."

Enigma

All the evidence demonstrates that Francis was an enigma. By all accounts he was a simple man with a complex character.

Francis was born into a family life of wealth and privilege, yet he chose a life of extreme poverty and simplicity. He walked away from a promising career in his father's successful cloth company and became noted for his asceticism, dislike of possessions, and total dependence on God to provide for all his needs. Although his early life was defined by hedonism and a carefree attitude to everything, he grew into a person of enormous religious conviction and spiritual focus. A largely uneducated man, he nonetheless became an effective and influential preacher and teacher with a simple but powerful message of the gospel of Christ. As an adult he preferred his own company and a solitary lifestyle, yet he developed a large brotherhood and built an enduring religious order and movement. He was noted for his humility and sincerity, but still served for a period as leader of the Order. He was so kind to others, but so hard on himself.

Whilst his spiritual preference was towards prayer and contemplation, he dedicated his adult life to service and action. Although he was concerned about the spiritual state of the church, he never left it and always respected the authority of the church and its leaders, particularly the Pope. He was highly effective and successful in gathering people around him, but at the same time very single-minded and isolated within himself. He was poor in material terms, but rich in spiritual terms.

Outline of the book

This book seeks to set Francis the enigma into context, and to uncover what lessons we can learn today from his life and work. In Chapter 1 we look at his family background and early life, before moving on in Chapter 2 to examine what he believed to be his destiny as a knight. The major turning point in his life – the start of his powerful spiritual awakening – is explored in Chapter 3. The following chapters outline the major themes in his life which effectively made him the man he was and gave rise to his reputation as a spiritual giant. These deal in turn with his spirituality (Chapter 4), his approach to poverty and simplicity (Chapter 5), the ways in which he built a religious community with orders for men (Chapter 6) and women (Chapter 7), his great love of nature (Chapter 8), and his powerful drive to engage in missionary outreach through preaching and evangelism (Chapter 9). Chapter 10 describes his final days, death, and sainthood.

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Return to Table of Contents

**Chapter 1. Beginnings**

_[Francis was] the sort of teenager with whom it was easy to become impatient but who was difficult to dislike._ DONALD SPOTO

Our lives are shaped by our upbringing. To understand who Francis was and why his life was so special, we need to understand something of his family background and his early life. Francis was born in 1182 into a life of wealth and privilege, and like many of his peers, as an adult he was expected to take over the family business and cement his family's growing social standing and reputation.

Family

Peter Bernardone (Pietro de Bernardone) was a self-made man who built up a business as a cloth merchant. By the early 1180s he was successful and prosperous, one of Assisi's wealthiest merchants, and he was clearly enjoying the fruits of his labour. He was married to an attractive and supportive wife called Pica. He lived in a fine house near the centre of town, had a good income and very comfortable lifestyle, and was well known in and around Assisi. As his business prospered, he bought pastureland and orchards around Assisi, and he developed a broad portfolio of investments. Life was treating him well, and the trappings of success surrounded him, thanks to his own hard work and good business sense. He expected his family to work in the family business, and it was taken for granted that, through time, his eldest son would inherit and run it.

Peter employed many local men, and was fast becoming a pillar in local society. G.K. Chesterton describes him as "a substantial citizen of the guild of cloth merchants."

Peter was one of the most successful of a growing number of middle-class entrepreneurs in Assisi at this time. The Bernardone family business was built on the growing desire of other middle-class families to display their status and wealth through fine clothes and fabrics; this was new money. Peter was much more than just a successful businessman, he was a prominent citizen and harboured ambitions to become a local political leader. The circle in which he moved included the great and the good of Assisi. He was very much a man of his times; wealth brought power in the emerging capitalist economy of medieval Europe.

Building a successful business required Peter to travel a great deal. Several times each year, when the weather allowed, he joined trade caravans travelling to France to buy new stock; his customers wanted and were prepared to pay for the best quality and the most fashionable fabrics. He regularly visited the large cloth markets and textile fairs in French cities like Toulouse, Montpellier, Burgundy and further afield in Flanders (in modern-day Holland). He was often gone for months at a time.

Peter had married Pica sometime around 1180. It was Pica's second marriage; her first husband – by whom she had a son named Angelo, born in 1179 – had died. She is often referred to as Lady Pica, because she came from a noble family in Provence in France. She was a long way from home in her new life in Assisi, but she fitted in well. Peter had probably met her and won her heart during one of his business trips to France, and brought her to Assisi to be his partner. By all accounts, Pica was beautiful, mild-mannered, and had good taste. Little is known about her, other than that she had a strong religious faith, was blessed with a beautiful singing voice and loved to sing French ballads.

No contemporary accounts survive of what Peter and Pica looked like, but a recent life-size statue of them in a small square outside Chiesa Nouva (New Church) portray them as youthful, healthy, attractive and wealthy, dressed in fine clothes and adorned with the sort of jewellery one might expect people of status to have had in those days. The sculpture shows Peter as a confident and imposing man, Pica stands beside him holding broken chains (the relevance of which is described in Chapter 3).

We know little else about Peter, Pica, or Angelo. History tells us nothing about whether or how the Bernardone business developed further; whether Peter's political ambitions were realised; whether there were more children after Francis; what happened to Angelo; or whether Peter and Pica lived to old age. Peter reappears in Francis's story in 1206, in an incident that shaped the rest of Francis's life (described in Chapter 3) but was very different from the comfortable future that Peter had envisaged for his son.

Home

The Bernardones lived in a fine house above the cloth shop, near the busy town square (Piazza Comune) in the heart of Assisi. Typical houses of middle-class families in those days had five or six rooms and a tall stone tower to provide defence in time of need, but more importantly to serve as a conspicuous symbol of success. Such houses had very few furnishings by today's standards – the Bernardone dwelling probably had a few simple undecorated wooden chairs, benches and storage chests, and a bed. Rooms were dark because windows were few and small, with shutters rather than glass, and buildings were built very close together, allowing little sunlight to reach ground level. Houses had very simple kitchens and food was cooked on small open fireplaces. Privacy was a luxury few could afford, and sensitivities were different from today – there were no bathrooms as such, and toilets were in outhouses in open courtyards between the buildings.

The remains of what is believed to have been the Bernardone's residence and shop, where Francis lived with his parents until the age of twenty, can still be seen on the Vicolo Superiore di San Antonio. They are in the basement of the Chiesa Nuova, a small Baroque chuirch built in the seventeenth century as a place of pilgrimage for people interested in the life of Francis.

The scale of the surviving parts of the Bernardone building suggests a wealthy family, and the location close to the main town centre suggests social status and a prominent role in the commercial life of Assisi. Peter stored the many fine fabrics here that he brought back from his travels. It is also likely that he dyed cloth here, so the place would have had a number of employees, hard at work in hot, dark, cramped, and decidedly unhealthy conditions.

Birth

Early in 1182, when fair weather returned after a long, harsh winter, Peter set off on one of his regular trade missions to France. Before he returned home Pica, had given birth to their first child, a boy, in January or February 1182. Angelo, now three years old, had a half-brother.

A few writers (but neither Celano nor Bonaventure) have reported that, a short while before the end of Pica's pregnancy, a stranger arrived unannounced at the Bernardone house. He told her that the son she was about to give birth to would be very special and that he should be born in a stable, just as Mary had given birth to Jesus in a stable. The story goes that Pica's faith made her trust the prophecy, so she moved into the small stable beside the family home, where the boy was born. That place is now the tiny stone-arched oratory of San Francesco Piccolo – also known as La Stalletta, or the Oratory of St Francis – a quiet unassuming place where locals, particularly pregnant women, often go to pray.

The story of the stable bridges the worlds of this medieval baby boy born in central Italy, and that of Jesus born in a stable in the Holy Land more than a thousand years earlier. As Franciscan pilgrimage leader Roch Neimer explains, in his book _In the Footsteps of Francis and Clare_ , "as Christ was born in a stable in Bethlehem, so Francis would be born in a stable in Assisi. This speaks to the whole purpose of Francis' life, which was to walk in the footsteps of Jesus Christ as closely as possible." Such links with Jesus would be a recurring theme through the rest of Francis's days, and they were certainly strongly emphasised and possibly at times heavily embroidered by his followers and supporters. They give an early clue to the relatively unique life of this man, and provide a colourful context for the many biographers who have written about him. But the stable story needs to be treated with caution, because many believe it to be a legend started by supporters who wanted to make his life resemble that of Jesus. Interestingly, the stable story is not mentioned by either Celano or Bonaventure. A sign over the entrance of the chapel, believed to have been carved in stone between 1316 and 1354, tells (in Italian) of how, "This chapel was a stable, for ox and ass, in which was born Saint Francis, wonder of the world." The site has attracted pilgrims since the thirteenth century. However, it seems quite possible – if not likely – that Francis had a rather more mundane start in life, in the comfort of his parents' house nearby.

A few days after the birth of her son, Pica took him to be baptised in church, following the custom of the day and in accordance with her own strong Christian faith. It was done so quickly because the medieval infant mortality rate was very high. The baptism ceremony was held in the nearby cathedral of San Rufino, which was still under construction at the time (it had served as Assisi's cathedral for over a century and a half, and was completed in 1253). San Rufino still contains the font used in Francis's baptism.

Name

The baptism ceremony marked Francis's formal admission into the church, and it celebrated his official naming. Pica chose to have her son baptised with the name John (Giovanni), after John the Baptist who went before and baptised Jesus; John was a popular saint throughout medieval Italy. Donald Spoto emphasises that, "in medieval Europe as in the biblical world, enormous significance was attached to the assignment of name; it was virtually a totem, the carrier of one's destiny as much as the symbol of one's spiritual roots."

An early indicator that all would not run smoothly to plan in this tiny baby's life came when Peter returned from his business trip to France several months after the birth and baptism, and he was angry with his wife's choice of name. He rejected the name John and chose instead to call his son Francis (Francesco, the Frenchman), which was a very unusual name at that time. Pica must have been very disappointed that her preferred name had been overruled, but she appears to have accepted her husband's decision, however regrettably. A name once formally given could not be legally changed, but from that day onward the boy was always called and referred to as Francis. It may even have started out as a nickname, which was by no means in common use in those days (but it became popular after Francis's death), but it stuck. In some ways this major change foretold that Francis would not turn out to be what people expected him to be, and it was a very early sign of things to come.

Why the name change? The convention at the time was to name a child after a saint or a family member, but Donald Spoto has suggested that "Peter would not have as his son's patron the ancient desert hermit who (like Elijah in the Old Testament) had dressed in camel's hair and lived on locusts and wild honey." This would explain why he found find the name John unacceptable, but why choose Francis as a name? We can only speculate. It might have been to impress his peers in Assisi, but it seems more likely that Peter named his son after the country he so enjoyed visiting, which had provided so much of his wealth, and where the boy's mother was born.

Youth

Not a great deal is known about the first half of Francis's life because details about his childhood and youth are particularly scant. His early life was probably quite uneventful, and certainly did not attract the attention of his earliest biographers Celano and Bonaventure. Between the ages of about seven and eleven he is believed to have received the normal priest's school education of a medieval schoolboy at the chapel of St George (San Giorgio), situated on the site of what is now the Basilica of Saint Clare (Santa Chiara). By all accounts, he was an average scholar while there. His education was extremely limited, but it was typical of the times – he read and spoke in Latin, but not well, and he learned elementary arithmetic, church choir singing, and the basics of the Christian faith. He learned to read and write, but he only had four years of schooling and always found reading and writing great challenges. His lack of enthusiasm for learning was to resurface in his later life, in disputes over learning and libraries for the friars in his order.

Whilst he was clearly no great scholar and lacked any real appetite for learning, Francis nonetheless had a gift for learning languages. He learned a dialect of French, both from his mother and on the business trips with his father to France; it was probably Provencal (his mother's native tongue), the language of the troubadours. He also learned to speak new forms of Umbrian, which at that time was evolving into what is now Italian.

Like all mothers, Pica had dreams for Francis, that he would live a long and happy life, be fulfilled, and do great things. She took great pride in her son who displayed such a sensitive, caring nature, what today we might consider a strong feminine side. By all accounts, mother and son were both soft natured, and remained very close throughout his childhood. Peter appears to have been a more distant figure to Francis, with a more sober outlook and less obvious emotional attachment.

Like his peers, Francis was expected to grow up fast. In those days he would have been treated as a man by the age of about 15. Today we would think of that as a stolen childhood, but in many ways Francis was fortunate because infant mortality rates were high, few babies survived more than a few months, and most of those that did died before adolescence.

Apprentice

Francis's destiny, certainly in his father's mind, was to take over the family cloth business and continue building up the family's fortune. There was no question over the matter. His future was mapped out from his birth, and his father's responsibility was to prepare his son effectively for this future leadership role. Bonaventure tells us that, after Peter took him out of school in 1194, aged about eleven, Francis, "was employed by the father, as soon as he had acquired some knowledge of letters." Francis became an apprentice, helping his father by working in the family shop, selling fabrics and materials.

From time to time, he accompanied his father on the business trips to France and Holland, learning the trade that would be his future. Pica looked after the shop and business when the men were away.

But Francis did not share his father's work ethic, or his hunger for wealth, success and prestige. This was not because he was an ungrateful son who took things for granted, but because he had a different nature and outlook from his father. In time, this difference creates an unbridgeable divide within the family, and propelled Francis along a very different path from the one his father had in mind for him. During his teenage years, Francis's extravagant and hedonistic lifestyle frustrated and displeased his father who expected a much more serious outlook on life from his son and heir.

Social life

As a teenager, Francis lived a life of luxury, thanks to his parent's indulgence. Francis loved having money in his pocket, and it attracted the attention and friendship of many of the other teenagers in Assisi. He liked the finer things in life, and spent a fortune on fine clothes for himself. He had a reputation as lighthearted, funny, and generous.

Francis was reluctant to invest all his time and energy into working in the family business, not out of ideology or principle but because he had better things to do with his time. He was well known in Assisi, and enjoyed a busy and very public social life. He loved to sing, dress up and organize parties for his friends. He had many friends whom he loved to entertain, with the wine flowing freely. In short, Francis was gregarious and he loved to be the centre of attention. He was an exhibitionist, and played the role with enthusiasm.

Celano held a much less tolerant view of Francis's adolescence. Admittedly, it was in his interest to portray young Francis as the most wayward soul imaginable, to emphasise the sharp contrast with the Francis of later years as the ultimate servant of God. Celano writes of the youth "who from his earliest years was brought up by his parents to be self-willed and to pursue the vain pleasures of the world. And having followed their wretched way of life for many years he himself became even more worldly and loose-living than they. ... until almost the age of 25 he wasted and squandered his time miserably." Harsh words, perhaps, but Celano had much harsher words in store.

Young Francis was clearly no saint, but it raises the question of just how much of a sinner was he? The extent of his pleasure-seeking remains a matter of some debate, but there are hints in Celano's comments that "while Francis was in the heat of youth, still ardent in sin, and while his lustful instincts urged him to gratify himself in every way; and, while roused as he was by the venom of the old serpent, he did not know how to hold himself in check ..."

Most biographers have tactfully avoided speculating about Francis's sex life. Nonetheless, Donald Spoto suggests that "while we should guard against overstating the extent of his sexual experience, it would be difficult to think of him as diverging from his comrades in only this one area of adolescent experimentation. This was a sexually anarchic era, and the town was full of randy, undisciplined and hedonistic youngsters." Bonaventure springs to Francis's defence, telling us that "he never suffered himself to be carried away, like the lawless youths around him, by sensual pleasure, albeit he was a gay [happy] and joyous spirit." We have no way of knowing the truth, but if Francis did indeed give in to his "lustful instincts", a sense of shame and regret may explain why in later years he had such a critical dislike for his own body. It would also help to explain why he adopted such a relentlessly ascetic lifestyle, and why he commented not long before he died that he was still capable of fathering a child.

Behind the mask

Despite his hedonistic teenage lifestyle, Francis was always charming, courteous, and generous to other people. He also started to become more aware that many people were denied the comforts and privileges that were being heaped upon him, and that he was in danger of taking for granted. His soft and caring side was never fully eclipsed by his love of la dolce vita.

One incident in Francis's youth provides a glimpse behind the mask, and it shows that he had a conscience even as a teenager. The story goes that, one day, while Francis was busy serving in his father's shop, a beggar walked in begging for money and food. Francis sent the man straight back out; it was embarrassing to have him there while he was serving rich customers. Francis later confides to close friends that he regretted acting that way; he realized that, whilst he was very generous (with his father's money) to himself and his friends, he had treated the needy with contempt and disrespect. That thought was to haunt him and challenge him in the years ahead, and it would shape his attitude to wealth and possessions.

By temperament Francis was romantic and emotional, probably something of a day-dreamer. From an early age he was also an idealist, with big ideas of what he would do and achieve. These ideas were usually very different from what his father was imagining for his son and heir. But Pica loved her son deeply and she nurtured him and encouraged him to think big thoughts and dream big dreams. His ideas and dreams during these early years, which would find expression later in his life, were shaped by his love of poetry and song, and his interest in knights and chivalry. In the former he was relatively unusual for the time, whereas in the latter he was very much a product of his time.

The troubadours were travelling poets and minstrels who wrote poems and sang songs about chivalry and courtly love, both physical and allegorical. They had good breeding – most were aristocrats or knights – and they came mainly from southern France (particularly Languedoc), northern Spain and northern Italy. They were well educated, highly creative, and much admired. They developed new forms of romantic poetry, often set to music, that were to influence the development of lyrical poetry throughout Europe. Francis learned about troubadours through his mother, who was born and raised in France. He experienced them directly during his cloth-buying trips to France with his father, and when bands of them passed through Umbria. These performing artists reflected his mother's native culture and background, appealed to Francis's romantic side, encouraged his enduring love of singing, and inspired his own later attempts to write poetry.

Francis was not born a saint, and he clearly did not behave like a saint in his early years. In later life he would have serious regrets about his youthful indiscretions and behaviour, but for now he was embarking on a life-journey that he hoped would bring fame and fortune. It would bring fame, but not for the reasons he expected. It would bring the very opposite of fortune, and in ways that young Francis could never have imagined.

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**Chapter 2. Hopes and dreams**

_There was not at this time any external sign of anything particularly mystical about the young man._ G.K CHESTERTON

As youth gave way to adulthood, Francis started to turn his mind to more serious things. What sort of life would he lead? What sort of person would he become?

By now, Francis knew that his own ambitions and his father's expectations of him were not closely aligned. It was already clear, at least to Francis, that he was not cut out to be a businessman and run the family cloth business, as his father expected. He was still the dreamer, with visions of winning fame as a poet. Like many young men at the time, he also felt drawn to the noble life of a soldier, picturing a glittering military career ahead of him.

The period between 1198 and 1205, when he was sixteen to twenty-three, was to be a formative time for Francis. It would set him on a course far removed from the life that he and his parents had envisaged.

Cult of knighthood

In those days, many young men dreamed of becoming a knight, winning in battle, being showered with fame and fortune. Knighthood was also the passport to winning the hand of a beautiful young maiden. At school, the young men learned about the legendary knights of the court of King Arthur, and about the champions of Charlemagne, who became their heroes. The cult of knighthood was an exclusive club which offered glory, prestige, social standing; every young man of means aspired to become a member of it. What better way for an attention-seeker and social climber like Francis to achieve his goals? To him, knighthood was more than just a dream; he looked on it as his destiny.

Pica approved of her son's military ambition, at least initially. She supported him as he took his first tentative steps towards achieving it. His father disapproved, still looking on him as heir to the family business, with responsibilities first and foremost to the family. Mother won, despite father's protestations. For Francis himself, it was an important part of constructing his own identity, a sense of who he was based on what he had been and who he imagined himself becoming in the future.

Rocca Maggiore

The Rocca Maggiore is an imposing stone fortress on the top of the hill above Assisi. It dominates the skyline and is visible from many parts of the city and surrounding countryside. The structure we see today was built in the fifteenth century, abandoned in the sixteenth century and restored in 1881; it replaced a much earlier structure on the same very defensible site since at least the sixth century.

By the late twelfth century, Assisi was a rich and busy trading centre, with a tradition of communal freedom. To the people of Assisi the fortress signified oppression and control by representatives of the German states within the Holy Roman Empire which governed people in heavy-handed ways, who had occupied it. Conrad of Urslingen, the unpopular Duke of Spoleto, had adopted the site as his stronghold in 1174, but his tenure was not to last long. Many towns in northern Italy rose against their imperial oppressors, and Assisi was no different.

In the spring of 1198, members of the commune of Assisi – the new bourgeoisie or rising middle-class (burghers) to which the Bernardones belonged – rebelled and rose against the occupying force. They attacked the fortress, captured it, and tore the structure down to put it beyond use. This was essentially a local civil war against oppressive feudal lords. It was a freedom fight to give the people of Assisi power over their own commercial activities, not a social revolution or a struggle over human rights. Once the fortress had been laid waste, the burghers formed a strong local government to look after the town's interests.

Francis was sixteen years old at the time, and still working in his father's shop. Age was no barrier to joining the uprising, however, and every able-bodied young man in the commune joined the siege. There is no record of what part Francis played in the attack, but the uprising would have given him his first experience of serious fighting.

The attack on the fortress probably reinforced Francis decision to become a soldier. However, this was not a good time to be a knight or member of the aristocracy in the area, because this group was evicted from their urban towers and rural castles by the people of Assisi. Most were killed. Those who escaped the massacre fled the twelve miles to Perugia, where they took refuge and joined forces with the noble aristocrats there who had long harboured resentment of what they saw as the upstart town of Assisi.

The people of Assisi later used the stones from the fallen fortress to build a wall around the city, to defend themselves from other attacks during this turbulent period in Italian history. It is quite possible that Francis helped with the construction work, gaining valuable experience of building with stone, which he would later put to good use rebuilding broken-down churches.

Perugia

In January 1200, less than two years after they had been joined by the exiled aristocrats from Assisi, the leaders of Perugia approached their opposite numbers from Assisi to explore a peaceful resolution to the ongoing tension between the cities. Such conflicts were common in those days between rival cities in Italy. The discussions failed, and in November 1202 the men from Perugia prepared to attack Assisi. A bloody battle followed.

Like generations of young men before and since, Francis (then aged nineteen) left the safety of home to go off to war, very much against his father's wishes. The youth became a man as he marched with his colleagues from Assisi towards Perugia, to join the fight. The army comprised large numbers of archers armed with crossbows, and cavalry. Francis – rich enough to afford a horse, heavy chain-mail armour, a helmet and heavy lance – belonged to the cavalry.

The opposing armies met on a hilltop at Collestrada, about three miles outside Assisi, on 12th December 1202. Many men on both sides were killed or badly injured in the brutal fighting. The men of Assisi were no match for the Perugian army and they were roundly beaten. Francis survived the battle without serious injury. It is doubtful whether he killed anyone during the fighting – he was more part of the crowd scene – but it was important for his knightly ambitions for him to be there and to be seen to be playing an active role in the conflict.

The surviving soldiers on the losing side were taken prisoner, as was customary. They were dragged off to Perugia, thrown into prison, and locked up there for almost a year. Their prison was cold, dark, damp and cramped, they had little food or clean water, and there was only very basic hygiene. Francis is reported to have kept up his spirits and remained cheerful, certainly through the early months of his ordeal. Over the year, however, he fell sick and his spirits sank. A long period of poor diet and unsanitary conditions would take their toll on anyone's health, and the young Francis was small, slim, and frail, so he was at greater risk than many of his fellow prisoners. Some biographers think that he contracted malaria in prison, because he is said to have shook for hours with fever. Others speculate that he fell victim to the wasting disease tuberculosis, which he also showed signs of many years later.

Whatever the cause, the sickness no doubt contributed to the melancholy or depression with which Francis struggled for much of his time in prison. Incarceration led to boredom and introspection. Alone with his thoughts, with no distractions and little to occupy his mind, he had more than enough time to think about his life and what he was doing with it.

Some biographers have suggested that, during this period of confinement, Francis started to realise how shallow his lifestyle was. If so, this would have weighed heavily on his sensitive mind. Here he was, locked up in prison with no freedom or privacy, and no end in sight, wracked by doubt. This was all a far cry from the luxuries of his youth and the noble life of a warrior that he had dreamed about. It has also been suggested that he felt troubled that common citizens were imprisoned separately from wealthy nobles (like him), which would be an early sign of what was to grow into a particularly strong social conscience in Francis. Now, he doubtless could also see more clearly the horror and futility of war, despite being tempted a year later to once again try his luck as a soldier.

In November 1203, the prisoners were eventually released and allowed to return to Assisi when a temporary truce was announced, probably after large ransoms had been paid by their wealthy relatives and friends in Assisi. No doubt Peter Bernardone believed that his wayward son was in his debt after he bailed him out.

On his release Francis, the failed warrior, returned home to Assisi, to be greeted by his parents. They were shocked by his poor health – he could hardly speak or walk – but relieved that he was still alive and now back home safe. His mother immediately confined him to bed to recover under her watchful eye. He remained bed-ridden for a whole year, until she had nursed him back to sound health at the end of 1204. Francis was now twenty-two years old, and less clear about what the future held in store for him than he had been two years earlier.

Convalescence was slow, but gradually his body was healed and restored. But prison had been a transformational experience that had a lasting impact on his mind and his character. His appetite for the high life had shrunk – if not disappeared – and in prison he had experienced a much simpler life. All the old certainties now looked very different, the things he enjoyed held less appeal.

By the autumn of 1204, Francis was getting stronger, but he could not shake off the apathy and depression that had engulfed him. He was bored with his circle of friends and their whirlwind social life, and haunted by the prospect of a future tied to the family business. He was still focused on becoming a knight, but as destiny more than ambition. However, could he control his own destiny? Should he expect to be able to? A nagging sense of unrest gnawed away at him, but he couldn't understand what it was or what it meant. Many of his biographers trace the start of his religious conversion to this period in his life, though Francis himself appears to have been largely unaware of it at the time.

These were challenging times for Francis, once so confident and now weighed down by uncertainty, as he sought to make sense out of the whole experience. He was apathetic and depressed, and would remain so for much of the next year. But amid all the uncertainty he remained convinced that his calling was to be a professional soldier. This confidence in his own judgment was a side to Francis's character that was to reappear time and time again throughout his life. It was to prove both a strength and a weakness.

Spoleto

Despite his experience of battle and imprisonment at Perugia, Francis had not given up all hope of becoming a knight. Early in 1205 he decided to try again. Now aged twenty-four, he met and agreed to join a nobleman knight from Assisi who was planning to go off to war in Apulia in south-east Italy. It was a battle between the Pope's army led by Walter of Brienne and the Holy Roman Emperor's army provided by the German states who ruled the province of Apulia. The Pope had declared it a holy war.

There was much at stake, and it provided a golden opportunity for Francis to prove his courage in battle and so to redeem himself. His ambition was to be tested again, but not in ways he might have predicted. For Francis this was to turn into a mental and emotional battle, rather than a physical battle.

In preparation for the trip, Francis did what came naturally to him – he bought a new outfit. Francis the exhibitionist, never one to miss an opportunity to dress to impress, bought fine new clothes and new armour for this new engagement. At least he would look the part.

The night before he was to leave for Apulia, Francis had a very vivid dream. He dreamed that a man led him into a castle, the inside walls of which were covered in the equipment of war – armour, saddles, shields and spears. In the dream, Francis asked who the weapons were for, and was told they were all his. He took this as a sign that he would have at his disposal all the resources he needed to be successful in battle, that God would provide. He set out next morning brimming with confidence, buoyed by this endorsement from God for what he was about to do. As he rode out of Assisi, he is said to have boasted, "I shall come back a great prince."

Along the road, not far outside Assisi, he came across an elderly knight who had fallen on hard times and was returning to Assisi worn out, poor and bedraggled. With more than a hint of conscience, possibly aided by a flash-back to the poor beggar he had treated so badly in his father's shop, Francis felt sorry for the old soldier and without hesitation took off his fine new armour and gave it to him. The knight's reaction is not recorded, but was no doubt surprised and delighted at the kind gesture. Presumably Francis managed to secure some replacement armour for the fight ahead.

Some biographers see this incident as a significant turning point for Francis – the start of his journey of stripping himself of all outward signs of status, wealth, power, authority. Viewed this way, the evidence suggests that Francis was already being changed within by God, being prepared for a radical change in lifestyle.

Further down the road to Apulia, the group that Francis had joined stopped for the night at Spoleto, about twenty-two miles south of Assisi. By all accounts Francis was laid low with a recurrence of the illness he had struggled with in prison in Perugia. It weakened him, gave him a raging temperature, and made him delirious. Semi-conscious, he is reported to have heard a voice, the same voice he had heard in the dream just before he left Assisi. This time, the voice asked him where he was going to. Francis outlined his plans for battle and knighthood, and the voice replied, "Who can do more good for you – the master or the servant?" Francis replied "The master", and the voice responded, "Then why are you abandoning the master for the servant?" Francis asked "What do you want me to do?" The voice told him to "Go back to your own home and you will be told what to do."

At this, Francis decided to return home to Assisi. Various explanations have been offered for this sudden decision. Francis may simply have been exhausted, not as fully recovered from his earlier illness as he had hoped. Ever one to crave affirmation and approval by those around him, he may simply have got sick of being ridiculed for his dress-sense and flamboyant behaviour by the young troops in the group. Many believe that Francis took the voice seriously, realising that it God speaking to him directly, inviting him to serve God. According to this explanation, in returning to Assisi he was simply following God's guidance.

The next morning Francis turned back and rode home to Assisi, weak and dejected. Once again, he was humiliated by failure, knowing that he would have to face the music when he arrived back. He would have to depend on his parents again, his mother for tender loving care, and his father for material support. His daydreams about knighthood and fame were shattered; it was a reality check for this saint-in-waiting. But here, for the first time, he was displaying the discernment of and obedience to God which would become hallmarks of the spiritual life he was shortly to embark on.

Once again, Francis spent time recovering at home, regaining his strength but at the same time trying to understand what was happening to him. The transformational change that had begun after he returned from prison in Perugia continued, and he started to view the world around him through new eyes. As he walked in the sun through the countryside around Assisi, he saw the beauty of nature as if for the very first time. Previously, he had been so busy enjoying himself and having a good time that he paid little attention to everything around him; he looked little and saw little.

Francis also became more aware of God's presence and goodness. Like the beauty of nature, God's presence hadn't changed, he (Francis) had. He saw God in an entirely new way, not as some abstract notion or some remote, unreachable and untouchable figure, but as real, close and accessible. Nature provided a window through which Francis could now see God and his handiwork, which was very real to him, but it was not enough. Francis now wanted to really get to know God much more closely and fully, more personally and intimately and not just intellectually. It was a very positive turn in Francis's life. It represented a significant inner change, a process not an event.

Banquet

As Francis regained his strength, he remained a restless spirit, still far from sure about what the future held in store for him. Giving in to peer-pressure, and falling back on what he knew, by summer 1205 he was drawn back into the whirlwind social life of the youth of Assisi. From time to time he hosted and paid for banquets and great parties, as he had done previously. But his heart was no longer in partying, and it didn't satisfy him in the ways it used to. Now, it all seemed so shallow and self-serving, even childish.

One particular banquet is widely discussed by his biographers. After they had eaten and drunk plenty, the young men elected Francis to lead them through the streets of Assisi, singing as they went. But his companions quickly realized that Francis was only going through the motions; his mind was elsewhere. One of his friends asked him what was distracting him so much, jumped to an obvious conclusion and asked him if he was thinking of getting married. Francis's response surprised and puzzled them. According to Celano, he announced "I shall marry a nobler and lovelier bride than you have ever seen, one who surpasses all others in beauty and excels them all in wisdom." This was a very odd reply indeed because – as far as his parents and friends knew – there was no special woman in Francis's life. The topic of marriage had never cropped up in any family conversations. This was Francis at his most obtuse. He referred to his bride as Lady Poverty, but it would be some time before it became clear what he meant by that.

Epiphany

The banquet and conversation about marriage mark a further stepping-stone on Francis's path towards developing a living relationship with God, a living faith. Franciscan pilgrimage leader Roch Neimer emphasizes the significance of the occasion: "This is a moment of God introducing himself to Francis. It might be helpful to note that this did not take place in a church, nor while on a retreat or a pilgrimage. It is not even something that Francis pursued or sought out. Rather it took place during a party, a celebration. It was something totally unexpected, a free gift. He did nothing to earn it or make it happen."

Francis realized that he was being called by God to embrace poverty – to marry Lady Poverty – and live a life based on pleasing God rather than pleasing himself.

He decided that he needed to find somewhere away from the hustle and bustle of town life in Assisi. He wanted somewhere to spend time lone in prayer, seeking guidance from God about what he was being called to do. He found the peace he needed in a small cave near Assisi, where he would go regularly.

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**Chapter 3. Turning point**

_Something happened to him that must remain greatly dark to most of us, who are ordinary and selfish men whom God has not broken to make anew._ G.K. CHESTERTON

By 1205, we find Francis at a difficult point in his life, convinced at last that his destiny was not to become a noble knight. But he was not yet sure what the future held for him. This uncertainty was soon to change, and in a most unexpected way.

Some find it difficult to make sense out of what happened next to Francis. But, to Francis himself the message and its meaning were crystal clear. It took place just outside Assisi in the autumn of 1205, when he was twenty-three years old. It was one of the most transformational events in his life, and was to have a lasting impact on him. It marks a significant turning point in his journey through life and into faith.

San Damiano

One day, Francis was walking back to Assisi after one of his regular walks through the surrounding countryside. Increasingly, he enjoyed his own company and he liked the peace and quiet of these walks, which gave him time to think and space away from peer pressure and his father's influence.

He decided to stop for a while at the tiny ruined chapel of San Damiano (St Damian's), in a clearing in the woods about a mile south of the city walls. A small wayside church had been built of rough stone on the site in the early eleventh century, and in Francis's day it belonged to the cathedral of San Rufino. It was probably a chantry chapel, in which a priest was retained to pray for the soul of a departed benefactor or their loved one. A tiny priest's house had been built against its walls.

The chapel had long been abandoned, and it was literally falling down. The walls were in a bad state, and most of the roof had fallen in. Above the broken doorway were the faded words Domus Mea (My House), which was common in country chapels in those days. Despite the decay, this unassuming and largely forgotten church was to play a formative role in shaping the rest of Francis's life.

Crucifix

Francis's story centres on the wooden cross over the altar, which was painted in red, gold and blue on linen stretched taught over a walnut frame. It shows a thin Christ with a kindly face, a well-kept beard and shoulder-length hair. He is nailed by his hands and feet to a highly decorated cross, wearing only a simple white loin cloth tied at the waist with cord. Behind him are painted scenes of richly-dressed figures. The whole image is balanced and warm, but the eye is drawn immediately to the central figure of Christ. He looks serene, gazing out from his crucifixion towards the viewer.

Francis had visited San Damiano many times before, in search of solitude. He loved the peace and quiet which offered him a place to think, reflect and pray, sitting or kneeling on the floor. He had spent many hours there, but this time was different. The cross was a familiar sight, but he looked on it as if for the first time, seeing it in a radically different way. It suddenly had a very different meaning. Previously it was something to focus his prayers on, a prop almost, but now it spoke to him, both figuratively and literally.

As he knelt alone before the cross, Francis realised that what it said in the Bible about Jesus' death on the cross was true. It had really happened, because Jesus was willing to die in the place of sinners, to allow them to enjoy a personal relationship with God, through God's forgiveness and grace. Francis is said to have stared at the crucifix, and prayed, for some time. Some reports say that he kept repeating the prayer "What can I do?", emphasizing the need for a personal response to Christ's sacrifice.

As Francis knelt in prayer before the crucifix, he felt greatly comforted in his spirit, and tears welled up in his eyes as he gazed at the cross. Suddenly, without warning, he heard a voice come from the cross. It said to him three times, "Francis, don't you see that my house is being destroyed? Go, then, and rebuild it for me." Francis was alone in the church, and the sound of the voice coming from the image of the crucified Christ had a profound impact on him. He took its message seriously. There was no doubt in Francis's mind that this was God speaking directly to him, and not his imagination playing tricks on him.

By all accounts, Francis was so overcome with joy and excitement that he danced on the floor of San Damiano. He had no idea how long he had spent there in front of the cross, but he knew he had been touched by God in a very special way.

Conversion

Francis accepted the voice as confirmation of a personal calling from God. It was to mark the beginning of a close personal relationship with God. The general view among Christians today is that God only spoke directly to people in Old Testament times and in the early church, but many have experienced close encounters with God in a variety of ways, particularly through prayer, prophecy or revelation.

Francis now had good reason to believe that he knew God, not just knew about God. There was no doubt in his own mind that he had direct personal experience of God, which was more real and much more fulfilling than thinking about God in some theoretical or academic way. What to many people must seem like a huge leap of faith was, in reality, simply God at work in Francis's life.

Direct experiences of God typically occur through the work of the Holy Spirit (the spirit of God). As Celano's put it "there came a moment when the Holy Spirit overtook the young Francis. The time had come for him to follow the impulses of his soul. He would turn to things of the spirit, putting aside the worldly concerns that had dominated his life."

This very direct personal encounter with God was to be a breakthrough for Francis – the breakthrough of his life. It gifted him with a deep and genuine faith and would propel him along a path at once so unexpected and so fulfilling. Donald Spoto describes how Francis "knew – in a way that was deeper and that surpassed all other modes of knowing – that God had saved him from turmoil and given him meaning. ... Henceforth his life would no longer be centred on himself, his needs, his past, his pleasure, his pain, his glory, his fulfilment. From this time forward, he had one goal in mind: to remain accessible to the voice that had just addressed him – to enable the conversation to continue."

Rebuilding

Three important dimensions of Francis's character help to explain his reaction to the incident at San Damiano – his literalism, his need for the tangible, and his impulsiveness. First, he tended to take everything at face value: recall how literally he took the dream before he set off for Spoleto. Secondly, he also needed tangible things and concrete experiences to confirm that he was on the right track. Thirdly, he was impulsive, and acted without delay when he had made a decision.

Francis took literally what the voice had told him, to go and rebuild God's house. He took this to mean restoring the broken-down chapel at San Damiano, so he set about rebuilding it with stones and mortar. Up to this point he had shown no particular aptitude at making things, although (as we saw in Chapter 2) he may have helped with building the town wall around Assisi after the Rocca Maggiore incident. He firmly believed that if this was what God wanted him to do, then God would provide him with everything he would need.

By all accounts, Francis ran off to Assisi to beg for stones. This surprised the people in town, who had thought of him as an easy-going and fun-loving young man. But now here he was, right in front of them, acting like a lunatic, shouting for stones. Francis was unshaken by the cryptic or critical comments people made to him or about him; he was too focussed on completing the task that God had given him. When he had collected some stones, he staggered back to San Damiano with them. This process was repeated many times, as he gathered enough material to complete the work.

By now, Francis was spending all of his time either working at San Damiano or finding material for it. He naturally needed somewhere to live, and decided to live at the building site; it would be cheap, he could save time, and he could keep an eye on the project. He asked the priest who held occasional services there to never let the lamp go out in front of the crucifix, promising that he would supply the oil himself.

The church of San Damiano survives, although the site has been developed a great deal since 1205. For example, as we shall see in Chapter 7, it was extended to house the Poor Clares. The centre-piece of the site remains the tiny chapel which Francis rebuilt, which has recently been extensively restored and its original paintings conserved. The simple church is dominated by a copy of the crucifix that spoke to Francis, hanging above the altar (what is said to be the original crucifix now hangs in a chapel in the Basilica of St Clare in Assisi).

Cloth

After Francis had heard the voice calling out to him from the crucifix, he gave the money he had on him to the priest there, and started to collect stones for the rebuilding work. He soon realized that he would need more money to fund the restoration work.

In an act that most people would question and some would be horrified at, Francis went home to his parent's house and stole several bales of expensive, very fine, brightly coloured cloth from his father's shop. G.K. Chesterton rather reports that Francis made "the sign of the cross over them to indicate their pious and charitable destination" but none of the other biographers mention this. Then Francis quickly got ready his horse, then rode off at full speed for the nearby town of Foligno, on the road to Spoleto. There, he sold the cloth in the market and – impulsive as ever – he also sold his horse and had to walk the ten miles back to Assisi.

As he approached Assisi, he went straight to the building site at San Damiano, and gave the money he had raised to the priest there. The priest was reluctant to accept the money, suspicious of how Francis had acquired it. Knowing full well what a prominent and powerful local figure Peter Bernardone was, the poor priest had no wish to get on the wrong side of him. Francis is said to have thrown the bag on coins onto a window ledge and stormed off, frustrated, heading back into the woods to pray and seek God's guidance.

Reaction

Biographers are divided over exactly where Francis spent the next ten days or so, alone. Some say that he went to a small cave outside Assisi, others that he hid in the cellar of the tiny priest's house beside San Damiano, or in the cellar of one of his father's properties. Wherever it was, he disappeared from sight for some time. Lying low was a sensible strategy, given his father's fury on discovering what Francis had done.

To say that Peter was disappointed with Francis would be a major understatement. He was incandescent with rage. Not only had his son stolen from him, but the reason he gave for doing so suggested that Francis was losing his mind. Francis was becoming a major embarrassment to the family, and any hope of him taking over the business now seemed lost. Matters were made worse by the public humiliation of the whole family; people across the area were talking about Francis's odd behaviour, and his parents were deemed guilty by association. Peter feared that the family would become a laughing-stock, and he knew that his credibility and hard-earned social standing were at risk.

Pica was worried about her son, but was more willing than her husband to excuse his behaviour. She insisted that Francis had not yet fully recovered from his illness, and she urged him to have patience with their son, but with little success.

Francis had a different view on things altogether. In his mind there was no doubt that he was well, but that he had changed. His encounter with God, in front of the crucifix at San Damiano, was a clear calling that he must obey. It is an interesting question whether the means justified the ends! Francis clearly believed they did. He believed that stealing the cloth from his father – who, after all, was rich and could well afford to lose this small amount of stock – was acceptable because it made it possible for him to do God's work. Francis presumably took matters into his own hands, rather than asking his father for money, because he knew what his father's answer would be. Francis's impulsive gene also kicked in, because he clearly felt the need to raise the money straight away, with no time to spare in begging for it or working for it.

House arrest

Peter was furious at his son's behaviour, and worried about his frame of mind. But he was not content to let him simply walk away and hide. Francis had to face the music, but first his father would have to find him and make him return home. Celano describes what happened next, in characteristically colourful language: Peter "immediately went in search of his son, not to rescue him but to destroy him. He was like a wolf pursuing a sheep. And when he found his son, he dragged him home in shame and disgrace. Without mercy or compassion, he consigned his son to darkness for days on end, determined to recover the worldly-wise child he had known and understood. At first he used words, then came physical blows and finally chains."

Peter put Francis under house arrest, and locked him up in a cramped, dark, store room in the family home, with a diet of bread and water. By nature Francis was as stubborn as his father, and here Peter was trying to break his son's spirit, partly to bring him back into line and get him to behave "properly". Peter also believe he was also protecting Francis from his delusions about being called by God. The cell where his father is reported to have imprisoned him can still be seen inside what is now Chiesa Nouva.

After several weeks, Peter went off on one of his regular business trips. While he was away Pica, worried about her son's health and state of mind, released Francis from the prison cell. This incident is portrayed in the broken chains on the modern bronze statue of Pica outside Chiesa Nuova, as described in Chapter 1. Peter's reaction when he arrived back home and discovered his wife's disobedience was typically sharp. Celano records how Peter "rushed off, ranting and raving, to St Damian's, resolved if he failed to talk Francis into returning, at least to run him out of the province." He didn't find his son at San Damiano, because he had quietly slipped away from Assisi.

Solitude

It was now late autumn 1205, and Francis sought refuge in a cave outside the city walls. We don't know whether he kept returning to the same cave each time, or exactly where it or they were. But he clearly found the peace and quiet in caves conducive to his prayer life, which was becoming more and more important to him. This time was different, however, in the sense that he knew he had reached a cross-roads with his family. He had no particular desire to leave his family and set out on his own, but he knew that he could not possibly meet the expectations his family had of him. By all accounts his time alone in the cave on this occasion was a miserable experience for him – it was damp and frosty, he found prayer difficult and sometimes impossible, and it is said that he often wept with fear.

These were testing times for Francis, but his resolve remained strong. His father had failed in the attempt to break his spirit. Quite the opposite in fact, because as the days went by Francis learned to depend more and more on God. There would be no turning back, no matter how hard the journey ahead. Solitude and prayer would become a central theme in the rest of Francis's life, as he sought ways of being close to God.

As the weather improved early in February 1206, Francis left the cave and walked back into Assisi, where he knew he would face a big confrontation with his father for stealing and selling the cloth. As he made his way back into town, people who knew him barely recognized him because he looked such a mess – he was thin and filthy, looking more like a walking scarecrow than a man. It turned into a walk of shame for him, as people shouted and laughed at him. Celano tells of how "they called him every bad name they could think of. They shouted at him, denounced him as a madman, and threw mud and stones at him." Francis did not answer back, but walked stoically onwards towards his parent's house, where he knew he would have to face the music. He also knew that he would have to stand his ground, and try to help his parents understand what had happened to him, and what it all meant for his future.

The walk back into Assisi provided Francis with an early and relatively mild form of suffering for his faith. As the years passed, he would become accustomed to public humiliation. As his faith grew stronger and deeper, he would come to regard martyrdom as the highest calling, and would long as a sign of God's approval.

Facing justice

When he arrived back in Assisi, Francis persuaded the caretaker priest at San Damiano to let him get back to the repair work. That's where Peter found him, hard at work. His father begged him to return home, but Francis refused.

Peter wanted the whole matter of the stolen cloth resolved, and quickly. He had decided to punish his wayward son by removing his inheritance. Peter decided to pursue the matter through formal channels. First, he tried the city magistrates, who declined to intervene in what they saw as a family dispute. Next, he tried criminal proceedings, but this route failed because Francis had given the money to the church, making it a matter for the church to deal with. Eventually, the case was dealt with by Guido, the Bishop of Assisi.

In those days, cases that the Bishop dealt with were heard in public, in front of family and onlookers. Peter's case against Francis was heard in front of the Bishop's Palace, Piazza Vescovado, at the opposite end of town to where the Bernardone's lived. This place was to be significant at several important stages in Francis's life: not only did the hearing mark the start of his new life as a man of God, it would also be where Francis was cared for towards the end of his life, and from which he was carried to the Portiuncula to prepare for death.

It was early March 1206, and a great crowd had gathered to witness the event. The Bishop invited Peter to speak first. Peter explained how his son had stolen the cloth and sold it, then he spoke of the dishonour this had brought on the whole Bernardone household, and said he wanted his son to be punished. Francis spoke next. He stood centre-stage, calm and composed, and announced that he would gladly give back to his father not only all the money he had made by selling the stolen cloth, but also the very clothes he was standing in.

With that, and with great dramatic effect, Francis slipped through a door into the church, stripped off, and reappeared moments later carrying all of his clothes. He confidently strode over to the bishop and handed him the neat pile of clothes, with a purse on top containing the missing money. He then addressed the crowd, and his shocked family, reputedly saying "Listen to me, all of you, and understand. Until now, I have called Peter Bernardone my father. But because I have proposed to serve God, I return to him the money on account of which he was so upset, and also all the clothing which is his, and I want only to say from now on, 'Our Father, Who art in heaven,' and not, 'My father, Peter Bernardone."

It is not clear exactly what, if anything, Francis was wearing when he reappeared carrying his clothes. Celano reports that. "he took off all his clothes ... even his undergarment ... he stripped himself stark naked in front of everyone", and Bonaventure says that he, "laid aside all his clothes", but some other biographers allow him a modicum of decency. Chesterton, for example, has him wearing a hair-shirt. Either way, it was a graphic and powerful statement – he no longer needed fine clothes as a way of defining himself, nor needed his family to support him, and he was not ashamed to admit that he was putting all his faith in God to provide for him and to guide him.

There was less shame in public displays of nudity then than now, because privacy was rare in houses which (by today's standards in developed countries) were very crowded and had only very basic toilet and bathing facilities. But the power of Francis's stand, naked as he was, lies in the fact that it reflected the nakedness of Jesus on the cross – he had nothing he could call his own, not even clothing to hide behind. He was completely devoid of status, position or power. Modelling his actions on what he knew about Jesus would subsequently become a central thread in Francis's life, what he saw as his life's calling.

The encounter had been a compelling spectacle. His parents' reactions are not recorded, but it is easy to imagine them embarrassed beyond belief, distraught beyond compare, and saddened beyond comfort. His mother, in particular, was probably heart-broken; his father may have been stunned into silence. The incident also had a profound impact on Bishop Guido who, according to Celano, "saw quite clearly that God's hand was in this, and that what Francis had done in his presence involved a mystery. And from that moment on the bishop did all he could to help Francis."

There and then, in front of his parents, the Bishop and the crowd of onlookers, Francis married his Lady Poverty, to use his language of courtly love. In this way, he was fully prepared to walk away from all the normal trappings of success and prestige, such as personal possessions, honours and privileges, and to voluntarily and freely commit himself to a life of extreme poverty.

The fact that Francis chose to make this stand in so public a manner only adds to the power of the occasion. He called on everyone present to witness what he was doing, and to hear why. It was a bold stand, from which there would be no east way back. Francis was walking into a new chapter in his life – very publicly, boldly and defiantly – but no-one, least of all Francis himself, knew where it was heading or how it would all end. He was committed to putting his whole trust in God for everything, even his food and his clothing, meeting all of his daily needs. But he also knew that he was turning his back on his family, who had given him so much and had such big hopes for him, and in doing so giving up any entitlement to his inheritance.

We hear nothing more about Peter and Pica in the accounts of Francis's life. There is no record of any reconciliation, and the nature of their later lives and of their deaths remains a mystery.

Walk to freedom

The Bishop wrapped a cloak around Francis, on the back of which Francis is said to have chalked a rough cross. After the Bishop had blessed him, the drama was complete. Francis then simply pushed his way through the crowd, without looking back, and walked out through the town gate into the fields and forests. The Bishop is said to have offered him temporary accommodation, but Francis declined the offer, insisting that he needed to be faithful to the poverty that he felt called to embrace.

After the confrontation before the Bishop, Francis did what he knew he had to do – he went away to get some peace and quiet, and spend time in prayer. He would be more than content simply being alone with God, seeking God's guidance.

Francis set out on his way, with no clear idea where he was going, but a strong sense that he was following God's calling. Onlookers, and probably his family, saw it as a walk of shame. Francis saw it as exactly the opposite, as a long walk to freedom. Here and now, for the first time in his life, he was free as a bird – free from the burden of family expectations and responsibilities; free from being dependent on material things; free from the things that normally drive people, such as ambition, fame and fortune. He was free to be himself, and to serve God as he felt called to do. Along the way he would switch his allegiance from family to faith, his priorities from self to God, his pursuit from richness to poverty, and his values from fame to humility and simplicity. It was to be a walk that lasted for the rest of his days.

To Rome

It was spring 1206, but the ground was still frozen hard. This was no time to be homeless and directionless, with no material support. On the advice of the Bishop, Francis took the road to Rome, to visit the tomb of St Peter (the first person to have made a public confession of faith in Jesus). He wore the simple clothes of a hermit, and by all accounts entertained himself by singing his favourite Provencal songs in French along the way.

In Rome he visited the church that had been built over the traditional burial site of Saint Peter, where he spent time in prayer, seeking God's guidance. The Roman building that Francis visited was pulled down in 1570 and replaced by the vast Renaissance structure of Saint Peter's Basilica, which we see today.

No-one knew him in Rome, so here he could be himself, without the burden of family history and expectations to weigh him down. It was a great adventure, a truly liberating experience for him. But it came at a cost, and the experience was to shape the rest of his life. This was yet another significant turning point for Francis.

Beggars and lepers

Francis was so moved at the few offerings left by pilgrims at the tomb of St Peter that he emptied his purse and gave what little money he had to a group of sick beggars here. Then, in a real demonstration of solidarity with the poor, he swopped clothes with one of them, and spent the rest of the day fasting among the crowd of beggars at the entrance to the church. Through this very simple, practical step, Francis was deliberately challenging himself about the poor.

There, Francis learned that he could feel comfortable among the poor, identify with them, and see the world as they saw it. The discovery of his own dependence and insignificance was transformational for Francis, and its impact would be enduring (as we shall see in Chapter 5). It confirmed what he felt about marrying Lady Poverty. To Francis, poverty combined his deep spirituality and empathy with Christ's suffering on the cross, with his unswerving commitment to action, guided by Christ's compassion to those on the margins of society. Through this experience he began to see more clearly the way ahead, that he firmly believed God had laid out for him to follow. He realised that real personal sacrifice would bring great joy and fulfilment.

On his way back to Assisi from Rome, Francis had another experience that was to affect him for the rest of his life. As he walked in the sunlight through the fields near Assisi, he noticed a leper begging, staggering along the road towards him. He was filled with fear and disgust, and his instinct was to cover his mouth and nose and keep well clear. But he fought his instincts, got off his horse, went over to the leper, embraced him, and gave him what little money he had. According to Bonaventure, when Francis rode away and turned round to take a final look at the leper, he was nowhere to be seen.

This was yet another illustration of Francis's notorious impulsiveness. But his reaction was even more remarkable because of how most people treated lepers in those days. Lepers lived in leper colonies in isolated rural areas and they were not allowed to enter towns and cities or to have contact with other people. Not everyone then described as a leper actually had leprosy; many were suffering from conditions such as eczemas and shingles, skin cancers and putrefying limbs, facial ulcers and blindness, which were often caused by eating contaminated grain as a result of famine. As they travelled about and begged for alms, they were required to keep themselves covered with whatever clothes they had, and the law required that they ring a bell or wooden clapper to warn others that they were nearby. They had no rights under law, and the Church taught that their condition was a result of sin. Ordinary folk kept their distance from the lepers, fearful of catching the contagious condition and conscious of the sinfulness it was associated with.

The incident along the road from Rome was to mark the start of a life-long commitment by Francis to caring for lepers. From that time on, he would regularly visit lepers to give them food and clothing, care for them, and show them love and affection.

For Francis to deliberately approach the leper and have physical contact with him would have been the ultimate test of faith. Anyone witnessing him doing so would have dismissed him as mad as well as reckless. But for Francis it was yet another breakthrough moment; it breathed life and meaning into Jesus' statement, "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." [Matthew 25: 40] The encounter demonstrates how much Francis had changed, from the carefree youth to the caring adult, from the lover of fine clothing to the accepter of ugliness and squalor. In the suffering and rejection of the leper, Francis also understood in a new way how Christ had been abandoned and rejected when he was crucified.

Back to building

When he arrived back in Assisi in late spring 1206, Francis picked up where he had left off, rebuilding the ruined church at San Damiano. He walked through the city begging for stones, and did all the physical work himself – carrying stones out to the derelict chapel, setting them in place, and slowly rebuilding the broken fabric of the place, keeping the original foundations and layout and restoring the overall structure. He worked alone at San Damiano, living in a small simple shed nearby.

By late 1207 Francis had finished rebuilding San Damiano. Next, he set about repairing two other small derelict churches near Assisi. First, he tackled the small tumbledown church of St Peter's (San Pietro della Spina), a few miles south of San Damiano, near some property his father owned. That was not a big project, and he completed it early in 1208.

Then, he turned his attention to the small abandoned Benedictine chapel of St Mary of the Angels at the Portiuncula (Santa Maria della Porziuncula), in a clearing in the forest, two miles south of the city. The church belonged to the Benedictines on Mount Subasio, who also owned San Damiano and San Rufino. It had been built on a small parcel of land given by the people of Assisi to St Benedict in the sixth century. The site had acquired the nick-name Portiuncula ("little portion"), and the name stuck. He built himself a simple hut nearby, and set about rebuilding it. Within six weeks the altar was made usable, and services could once again be held there.

Francis survived over this period by begging for food and materials in Assisi. Two of the three churches he repaired would have lasting associations with him - San Damiano would become the base for Clare's sisterhood, and the Portiuncula would become the base for Francis's brotherhood.

Gubbio

One famous story about Francis tells of how one day he was walking to Gubbio, about twenty miles north of Assisi. It was a journey he made quite regularly, but on this occasion he was set upon by some robbers. They stole everything he had, which was next to nothing, and then threw him into a ditch filled with snow. When they attacked him, Francis is said to have declared himself to be "the herald of the great King" (echoing the announcement by John the Baptist that Jesus the Messiah would be coming after him). After a while, Francis felt strong enough to climb out of the ditch and continue his journey, naked and freezing cold. According to Celano "his heart was bursting with joy, and he began to sing praises to his Creator at the top of his voice as he passed through the wood."

Further along the road, he came upon the old Benedictine monastery of Santa Maria di Valfabbrica, where he sought shelter from the harsh winter weather and floods. The monks were suspicious of this unexpected naked visitor, who looked like a homeless beggar. They took him in but offered barely any hospitality. They gave him no fresh clothes and very little food (their provisions were in short supply because of the long, harsh winter). He was put to work for a few days in the kitchens, as a dishwasher, in return for bread and soup.

When he finally reached Gubbio, Francis met a friend who gave him his first religious clothing – a hermit's tunic, a leather belt, sandals and a walking stick. Then he set off back to Assisi, to resume the rebuilding work.

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**Chapter 4. Spirituality**

_We can follow, in the main only his outer life. Of that long companionship with God which was his inner life, and which supported and enriched his indefatigable labours in the world, we shall not find the footmarks, because they are in the skies_. ERNEST RAYMOND

The key to understanding Francis the man is his spirituality. His faith, and how he lived it out on a day-to-day basis, defined everything he was, everything he did, and how and why he did it. Francis was a true man of faith, a spiritual giant, who lived out daily and very publicly what he believed.

True and humble faith

Faith means belief that is not based on logical proof or material evidence. In a religious context faith refers to belief in God. In the New Testament, faith is described as, "being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." [Hebrew 11: 1]

To many people faith can go way beyond simply believing in God – as in knowing about God – to encompass actually knowing God. The difference is important, reflecting the difference between intellectual knowledge and a personal relationship. As Roch Neimier emphasises, "one of the most exciting aspects of Saint Francis, as so many of his writings testify, is that he actually met and experienced God in his life and surrendered himself to God completely."

Francis believed what the Gospels told him about the life and death of Jesus, as Christians have done through the centuries. He believed that God loved the world so much that he sent his son Jesus to live the life of a human (the Incarnation); that although Jesus led a sinless life he was crucified on the cross for the sins of others; that three days later he rose again (the Resurrection) and lives again, now in heaven with God for eternity; and that Jesus' death provides a way of restoring a close personal relationship with God, for all who believe in him.

Francis also believed, and knew from experience, that it is through the Holy Spirit that God created the world, Jesus was able to do the work of God, and which was given to the early church at Pentecost. It is through the same Holy Spirit that God operates today.

Bonaventure tells of how, "having withdrawn one day to a certain solitary place, to mourn over his past life in bitterness of heart, [Francis] was filled by the Holy Ghost with extraordinary gladness, being assured of the full remission of all his sins." He also notes that Francis had many direct encounters with God through the Holy Spirit, through which he could enjoy ecstatic transcendent experiences of spirituality, so that, "he was often raised to such a height of contemplation as to be carried out of himself; and experiencing something beyond human sense, he became unconscious of what passed around him." G.K. Chesterton argued that "we shall miss the whole point of St Francis ... if we do not realise that he was living a supernatural life", led by the Holy Spirit.

Francis adopted the cross as a reminder of how and why Jesus died. But he adopted the Tau cross – a simple T-shaped wooden cross, without the upper vertical section which appeared in later medieval art, and has been in common use ever since (yet, curiously, the crucifix at San Damiano which spoke to him has the upper section). The design of the Tau cross reflects the shape of a monk wearing a tunic with his arms stretched out sideways, in the shape of a living crucifix.

Faith was the foundation of everything that Francis did, after the incident before the crucifix in San Damiano in 1205. To him, faith was a living thing, based on direct personal experience of God. It was about developing a close personal relationship with God, not simply being aware of God's existence or being familiar with what the Bible says about God. Faith allowed him to trust God to lead him and to provide for all his needs.

To Francis, faith meant more than simply focusing on God – it meant denying the self and putting God first, no matter what the personal cost might be. As Jesus had prayed to God at Gethsemane shortly before his arrest, "yet not as I will, but as you will" [Matthew 26: 39], echoing his own prayer to God, his Father, "your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." [Matthew 6: 10]

Francis took an uncompromising stand on obedience to God. Speaking of God, he told his followers that "nothing ... must keep us back, nothing separate us from him, nothing come between us and him. At all times and seasons, in every country and place, every day and all day, we must have a true and humble faith, and keep him in our hearts where we must love, honour, adore, serve, praise and bless, glorify and acclaim, magnify and thank, the most high supreme and eternal God ... without beginning and without end, he is unchangeable, invisible, indescribable and ineffable, incomprehensible, unfathomable, blessed and worthy of all praise."

Imitating Christ

In 1219, Francis told his followers "God has called me by the way of simplicity and humility ... And the Lord told me what he wanted: He wanted me to be a new kind of fool in this world." The foolishness he had in mind was to imitate Jesus as closely as he possibly could.

In his earnest desire to please God, what better role model could there be for him than Jesus? As Bonaventure points out "this great servant of God had neither master nor teacher to guide or instruct him, save only Christ our Lord". Celano adopts a more gushing tone in describing how Francis, "bore Jesus always in his heart, Jesus on his lips, Jesus in his ears, Jesus in his eyes, Jesus in his hands, Jesus in his whole being."

Francis was under no illusion that his commitment to imitate Jesus would cost him dearly, and not just in material terms. In and of itself the imitation of Christ would not guarantee salvation for him, which was a matter of faith not of works.

As we saw in Chapter 2, as Francis was growing up he had displayed his impulsiveness, literalness and need for tangible expression on numerous occasions. This side of his character was perhaps too well-established to abandon in his adult years. But living a life modelled on the life of Jesus would at least allow Francis to feel closer to God.

Francis was probably more successful at imitating Christ than most others have been through a combination of two things – his unswerving dedication to the cause, and the fact that he and Jesus had a number of important things in common.

Both men were born into respectable middle-class families, although both chose poverty as a way of life. Both spent forty days in their own wildernesses, confronting temptation but not giving in to it. Both liked to spend time alone, in isolated places where they were not disturbed, in prayer by themselves. Both were itinerant preachers, travelling freely through the countryside and passing through towns and villages along the way. Neither owned a home as such, although both had home towns or bases from which they travelled out and to which they would frequently return (Capernaum for Jesus, Assisi for Francis). Both were guided directly by the Holy Spirit in what they thought, said and did. Neither thought of himself as good, and both were humble and unassuming. Each saw himself as a servant of the people, there to serve not be served. Both were driven by compassion, and were drawn to the poor and the oppressed, which became a central focus of their life's work and their teaching and ministry. Both talked, preached and taught a great deal about the Kingdom of God, and about God's grace. Both taught about the need for all people to recognize their sinful nature and ways of life, to turn from them, accept God's forgiveness and redemption, and henceforth lead "renewed" lives. Both were powerful and effective preachers, who often had a profound impact on those who heard them.

While they clearly had a lot in common, there were also some significant differences between Francis and Jesus. For example, John the Baptist went ahead of Jesus, announcing he was to follow, whereas Francis just arrived on the scene unannounced. We know very little about what Jesus did for the greater part of his life, before he started his public ministry around the age of thirty. Francis started his public ministry earlier in his life, and continued it much longer. Jesus chose his disciples and invited them to follow him, whereas Francis received whoever felt called to join him. Jesus liked socialising and hospitality; Francis was more reluctant and he much preferred his own company. Jesus was, by all accounts, a charismatic figure with a towering presence and magnetic personality; Francis comes across as more self-conscious, and he was probably a rather uncomfortable character to have around. Jesus spent much of his time challenging the religious leaders of the day; Francis always recognized and respected the authority of the Pope and the bishops, and he was careful not to do anything that might undermine the authority of the church. Both preached extensively, but they had very different styles of preaching – Jesus often taught through parables or stories to explain things clearly to people, whereas Francis preached the basics of the Gospels in plain and simple language, using illustrations from his own life.

Challenges

Imitating Christ would mean many things for Francis, including personal sacrifice, purity of heart, humility, compassion, poverty and joy.

Francis knew that, if he wanted to be free to fully follow Jesus, he would have to abandon all the baggage of his earlier life. That included ties with his family. Jesus told his disciples "anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me" [Matthew 10: 37], and he expected them to have "left home or wife or brothers or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God". [Luke 18: 29] Jesus taught that those who hear and put into practice God's word are his brothers and sisters [Matthew 12: 50], and that the only father we have is the one in heaven. [Matthew 23: 8-9] But recall that Francis had already literally walked away from his family after the meeting with the Bishop and his father, so it was no real sacrifice for him because these expectations had already been met.

Francis reminded his followers that Jesus taught "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God" [Matthew 5: 8]. He added that "the pure of heart are those who despise earthly things and seek those of heaven, and who never cease adoring and looking with pure heart and soul upon the Lord God living and true."

Humility was a vital part of Jesus' character, and Francis warned his followers not to boast because – as Jesus had said – "the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve." [Matthew 20: 28] Francis expected the same humble response from himself and his followers.

Francis warned of the dangers of doing things to impress other people rather than doing what is right, and of seeing praise from our fellow humans as a measure of what is right. Thus he expected his followers to do what Jesus had told his disciples to do – "be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. ... when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets ... so that your giving may be in secret" [Matthew 6: 1-4]. Jesus also told his disciples "when you fast, do not look sombre as the hypocrites do ... put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to men that you are fasting" [Matthew 6: 16-18], and, "when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father ... And when you pray, do not keep babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words." [Matthew 6: 5-8]

Everything that Jesus did he did out of compassion or sympathy for the suffering of others, most obviously when healed the sick and fed the large crowds. Francis sought to show similar compassion. He saw serving others as serving God, reflecting the story Jesus told in which God said to those who he had blessed "I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in. I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." [Matthew 25: 35-36]

Francis saw in Christ the epitome of willingness to sacrifice self for the benefit of others, and as an adult he embraced poverty with the same zeal with which he embraced other dimensions of Christ's life, as we shall see in Chapter 5.

One might expect Francis to have been ultra-serious and rather dull, given his commitment to imitating Christ and to living such an austere lifestyle, but nothing could be further from the truth. By all accounts Francis loved happiness, and found it in the simplest of things and in the most unexpected places. This paradox – a man with literally nothing, thinking himself totally fulfilled and rich in spiritual things – is one of the more remarkable aspects of Francis, particularly given the extreme contrast to his self-centred, materialistic, and hedonistic youth. Francis also expected his followers to enjoy and appreciate life, even the austere lifestyle they had freely chosen for themselves.

Scripture

Francis used the Gospels as his road-map. He reminded his followers that "blessed are those religious who have no joy or delight except in the most holy words and works of the Lord, and who use them to lead others to the love of God in joy and gladness."

His dependence on the Gospels reflected the simple fact that, as he saw it, "no one showed me what I was to do, but he, the Most High, revealed to me that I was to live according to the form of the Holy Gospel." Here was Francis, once again, through obedience following the guidance that he felt God was giving him.

Perhaps the most graphic illustration of his commitment to live the Gospel life was what happened after he heard a reading from Matthew's gospel during Mass on the feast of St Matthias (12 February) 1209. In the passage, Jesus tells his followers to, "take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff." [Matthew 10: 10] Taking the text literally, Francis does exactly that – he sets out to preach the gospel with only the clothes he stands up in.

Francis was not interested in learning for its own sake. He saw studying, learning and human knowledge as nothing but vanity. He was guided only by scripture and revelation from God; these would be enough to show him and his followers how they should live, and what they should say to non-believers. He instructed his followers "if you do not have book-learning, do not be eager to acquire it, but pursue instead what you should desire above all else, namely, to have the Spirit of the Lord and his grace working in you." Although he only had a basic education, Francis could read and remember what he read. Bonaventure tells of how "he read continually the sacred books, and what had once entered his mind he retained firmly in his memory."

Francis realised the importance of not trusting in our own understanding, insight and knowledge, but of relying on God's revelation both directly, and through Scripture and prayer. It is the difference between wisdom and revelation, which underpins Paul's instruction that we should "live by faith not by sight". [2 Corinthians 5: 7]

Spiritual warfare

Bonaventure tells of how one night, when Francis was in Rome, "as he desired to take some rest after his prayers, the demons arose in great fury against the Soldier of Christ, and having severely beaten him, they left him as it were half dead." This sounds dramatic. Perhaps he had had a nightmare, or some form of mental illness. What was going on there?

This was an example of spiritual warfare, the battle between good and evil. In Francis's day, many people believed the so-called the Albigensian heresy, which argued that matter is evil and spirit is good, and the two must be kept very separate from each other. Although (as we shall see later in this chapter), Francis treated his own body with contempt, it would be wrong to conclude that his beliefs mirrored the heresy. Like Jesus, Francis recognized the inter-relationship of body and spirit, and the power of evil spirits (demons, Satan, the Devil) to harm people, God – through Jesus – has the power and authority to drive them away. Hence spiritual warfare is a struggle between good and bad, with good ultimately winning.

Although Jesus was unique in being able to live without sinning, like all humans he nonetheless faced temptation, none more so than during the forty days he spent in the wilderness after John the Baptist had baptised him. But he resisted all temptation. Francis also faced many temptations, particularly during times when he wanted to be alone with God, and he wanted to be like Jesus and resist them all. Celano tells of how Francis "would go off alone at night to pray in derelict churches or those which stood in remote places, and there, with God's grace as protection, he mastered many fears and anxieties. He fought hand-to-hand with the devil, who not only assailed him inwardly with temptations in such places, but terrified him also with the sudden collapse and ruin of the buildings around him."

Francis was particularly strict with himself and his Brothers about idleness. He taught his followers, "above all things to avoid idleness, as the sink of all evil thoughts, showing by his own example how to tame the lazy and rebellious flesh by continual discipline and useful labours." He referred to his own body as Brother Ass, saying it was, "to be laden with heavy burdens, beaten with many stripes, and fed with poor and scanty food". He referred to any of his Brothers who he thought were being idle as Brother Fly "because doing no good himself, he went about spoiling the good done by others."

He was also strict about relationships with women. In language that today would be regarded as sexist and patronizing, Bonaventure describes how Francis instructed his followers "carefully to avoid all needless intercourse [interaction] and familiarity with women, which is an occasion of ruin to many; ... He affirmed that it was a frivolous thing to converse with women, except in the confessional, or to give them some short instruction, profitable to their salvation and suitable to religious modesty."

As an adult, Francis looked upon himself as "the greatest of sinners", not because he sinned more seriously or more often than others, but because he recognised how vulnerable he was to pleasing himself rather than pleasing God. According to Bonaventure, Francis once said "if Christ had shown to the most wicked man on earth such mercy as He has shown to me, I believe assuredly that that man would have been far more grateful to God than I have been."

Francis's emphasis on personal repentance and God's forgiveness contrasts sharply with the church practice of the day which involved the selling of pardons for sins committed (indulgences). Through this the church became wealthy but also corrupt, and whilst to those who could afford it buying salvation was a great attraction, the practice was unbiblical, divisive and fuelled corruption within the church.

One of Francis's lasting legacies is the so-called Portiuncula Indulgence. According to tradition, one day while he was praying at the Portiuncula, Francis saw Jesus appear in front of him and offer him whatever favour he liked. He asked Jesus to forgive and pardon anyone who visited the little chapel at the Portiuncula and confessed their sins. Jesus is said to have agreed to the request, on condition that the Pope ratified the Indulgence. The Pope did ratify it, but he only allowed it on one day each year. On that day (later fixed as 2nd August), people can receive the Portiuncula Indulgence, or – as it is commonly known throughout Italy – Il Perdono d'Assisi. The history of the indulgence is shrouded in mystery, because there are no documentary records of it in the papal or diocesan archives, and it is not mentioned or alluded to in any of the earliest biographies of Francis, or in contemporary documents. The first record of it appears to be about sixty years after Francis died.

Mortification

Francis chose to lead a life of austerity, to help him stay close to God by imitating the life of Jesus. But he made a virtue out of austerity in ways that went far beyond what Jesus did or felt was necessary. Francis was deeply committed to mortification (the control of physical desires and passions by self-denial), which was a common practice amongst the religious fanatics of the day. According to Celano, he taught his followers "not only to mortify vices and to curb fleshly urges, but also to subdue even the outward senses themselves, through which death enters the soul."

Not for the first time in his life, Francis took things to the extreme. He looked on his own body as a weak shell, through which temptation could get hold of him and attack him, causing him to sin. His response was to punish his body, and he did so in a number of ways. Bonaventure tells us that Francis believed that he who sought a life of perfection "must cleanse his conscience daily with abundance of tears", which he did and which might explain why he was to suffer from serious eye problems later in his life. Bonaventure also notes how Francis took to eating very little, insisting that "it was hard to satisfy the necessities of the body without indulging the inclinations of the senses." Thus began Francis's habit of spending long periods fasting. Francis slept on the ground, on bare soil, using either a stone or a block of wood for a pillow, covered only by his tunic. When he faced temptation to sin in a sexual way, Francis is said to have beaten himself with his own belt, saying, "Bother Ass, thou dost deserve to be treated, thus to be beaten. Thou art unworthy to wear the religious habit, the sign of purity."

Francis's dislike of his own body (Brother Ass) was almost pathological. The story goes that on one occasion, when he was wrestling with "temptation of the flesh", he went outside into the fresh snow, and made seven snowmen (representing a wife, two sons, two daughters, a servant and a handmaid). He told himself that he faced two choices – to accept responsibility for providing for their needs, or to serve God as fully as possible. It is said that the cold extinguished the "fire of temptation" inside him, and he returned peacefully to the little hut where he lived near the Portiuncula.

Countless other examples could be given of Francis's extreme austerity, demonstrate that he had a commitment to self-denial that was bordering on the obsessive compulsive. Yet this was neither an unhealthy fixation with self, nor exhibitionist behaviour of the type he often displayed as a youth. He seems to have had deep-rooted anxieties that he was not punishing or humiliating himself enough, seemingly forgetting that salvation is achieved through God's grace and not people's actions. Today someone like this would be in danger of being taken into care for their own good. At least they might be dismissed as an eccentric, or a madman.

No doubt from time to time Francis looked back on the hedonism of his youth, quite probably with regret, and this might have coloured his views on physical pleasures. Interestingly, towards the end of his life Francis asked Brother Ass to forgive him for having treated it so harshly.

Francis warned his followers to follow the spirit of his example but not to slavishly copy him. They were to take into account what their own bodies needed, and "avoid exaggerated abstinence". He warned them, for example, "in eating and drinking, in sleeping and satisfying the other necessities of the body, you should take the measure of your own physical tolerance, so that Brother Body doesn't rebel." He also wanted to respect the views of people who offered him hospitality, eating what they offered him but resuming his regime of abstinence when he was on his own again.

One of many paradoxes surrounding Francis is that, much as he liked life, he increasingly looked forward to death. He looked upon death not as an end to things, but rather as the doorway to an even closer relationship with God. Like many believers at that time, Francis believed that being willing to die for one's faith was the highest calling for the devout believer. Indeed, G.K. Chesterton characterises the whole span of Francis's life as "the Search for Martyrdom". Francis yearned for martyrdom, not to ensure for himself a place in history but to allow him to follow the example of Jesus, by sharing in his suffering.

Prayer

Francis liked nothing more than prayer. He took it seriously, and was deeply committed to it. His whole adult life was steeped in prayer. He saw prayer as the key to developing a close personal relationship with God, talking and listening to God as one would to a close friend. He was motivated more by a deep respect for who God is, than by any thoughts about what God can do for us. Celano writes of how "his safest haven was prayer, not prayer of a single moment, or idle or presumptuous prayer, but prayer of long duration, full of devotion, serene in humility. Walking, sitting, eating, or drinking, he was always intent on prayer."

Francis much preferred praying alone, unseen and unheard by others, where he could engage with God without getting distracted. Then, Celano tells us, he could surrender "his whole self to the presence of God, unembarrassed by tears, by shouts, by words spoken aloud to the Lord. He would petition his father, talk with his friend, and be joyful with his spouse. He sought not to pray but to become a prayer."

He often chose solitary places in which to pray, where he could concentrate totally on God. He usually prayed outdoors, whatever the weather. As well as his own personal prayers, he was committed to praying the Divine Office – the official set of daily prayers prescribed by the Catholic Church to be said at set times.

Francis was way ahead of his time in how he prayed – silent rather than spoken, lengthy rather than brief, talking directly to God rather than simply repeating set prayers, using everyday language rather than religious recitations, and focussed always on Jesus on the Cross. He prayed directly to God, with whom he enjoyed a close personal relationship, rather than through Mary or the saints as intermediaries, as was the custom of the day.

Solitude

All the early sources tell of Francis' great love of going off alone to quiet places, such as the caves near Assisi, to pray, reflect, contemplate Christ and the cross, and seek God's guidance. This practice was a central thread in his spirituality, and a key part of him as a person.

In retreating to quiet solitary places, Francis was once again simply copying what he knew Jesus did. Time and again we are told in the gospels that Jesus withdrew from the crowds and went off to quiet places where he might spend some time alone in prayer. For example, he often retreated to the mountains in and around Galilee, or sat by a lake. Likewise, Francis sought solitary places, and he founded a number of hermitages high on mountain slopes – such as those at Rietti, Greccio, Fonte Colombo, La Foresta, and Poggio Bustone. As Celano describes it, "he made himself oblivious to external turmoil diligently watching over his senses, and keeping his emotions under control, so as to live wholly absorbed in God."

One place that has a special place in Francis's life story is Lake Trasimeno, a large lake just north of Perugia. He spent some time there in 1211, after two difficult years of itinerant preaching throughout Italy. He rowed out to a small uninhabited island (Isola Maggiore) in the lake, to spend forty days alone there during Lent praying and fasting in preparation for Easter. In this he was following the example of Jesus, who retired to the desert for forty days. Francis made a rough shelter of branches as a base (a small chapel now stands on the site), and is said to have survived on a single loaf of bread and some rain water.

Mountains held a particularly special place in Francis's life and spirituality. Roch Neimier has even suggested that Francis developed a special type of mountain spirituality because he "experienced God on a mountain at Poggio Bustone ... was inspired to finalise his Rule from a mountain at Fonte Columbo ... was also inspired to re-enact Bethlehem on a mountain at Greccio ... met Christ crucified on a mountain at La Verna ... [and] experienced God in prayer on numerous other mountains: the Carceri, Speco di Narni, Bellagra, Celle di Cortona, to name a few."

La Verna is a particularly important site associated with Francis. Known in his day as Monte Alverna, it lies about seventy km north of Assisi, in the Apennines of Tuscany, in what is now the Casentino National Park. It was a particularly isolated mountain peak, wild, rocky and wooded – an ideal retreat base for Francis and his followers. It was given to Francis in 1213, by Count Orlando of Chiusi, as a place of sanctuary. The site attracts vast numbers of visitors and pilgrims each year, eager to see for themselves where Francis is said to have received the stigmata (which we will look at in Chapter 10).

Spiritual solitude is not about seeking peace and quiet for its own sake, but about finding time and space to be with God, uninterrupted, away from the busyness and concerns of daily life. Jesus did it, Francis did it, and countless other people have done it through the ages. The practice lies at the heart of the reflective life.

Contemplation or action

Many devout men in Francis's day felt called to escape from the sinful world, adopt the formal religious life of a monk, and live within the enclosed world of a monastery. They would lead a life based on prayer and contemplation, free from the pressures of society and largely sheltered from temptation.

Francis must have been tempted to go down the same route, which offered peace and quiet, and structure. He knew that he could devote himself more fully to God in the secluded world of the cloisters. Celano describes how Francis and his companions "discussed among themselves whether they should live among men or take themselves off to somewhere solitary."

Despite the attraction, Francis knew that God was not calling him to the monastic life, nor to the solitary life of a hermit. Monks and hermits were isolated from ordinary people and could not help them to deal with temptation and sin or help them along the path to God, except through prayer. Instead, Francis and his followers felt called to serve others. They chose the freedom of poverty to enable them to show solidarity with those on the margins of society – the poor, the sick, the unwanted and the needy.

Francis's approach to combining contemplation and practical service was multi-faceted; it embraced poverty (Chapter 5), fellowship and community (Chapter 6 and Chapter 7), preaching and outreach (Chapter 9). But Francis was also committed to work, not for material gain but as an example of humility and to keep idle hands from mischief. He told his followers of how "I used to work with my hands, as I still want to, and I want all the other brothers to work at a task which is honest and becoming to our manner of life. Those who do not know how to work should learn, not because they are eager for the pay due their labour, but for example's sake and to banish idleness. And when we receive no pay for our work, let us have recourse to the table of the Lord, begging alms from door to door."

After a number of years of active service, having established his Order and after he had been given La Verna, Francis had a period of doubt about the true nature of his calling from God. He started to wonder if he was really cut out to preach and to lead such a rapidly-growing organization. He was "longing for peace and solitude and blissful communion with God"; the contemplative life now looked very attractive. Francis did what he always did in times of doubt, he prayed about it. But he got no clear guidance from God, so he sought guidance from two people he trusted deeply – Sylvester (one of the brothers in his Order) and Clare. Both of them prayed about it, and both told him that he must go out and preach, "for he was sent into the world for the salvation of souls." They impressed upon him that this calling was not for his own spiritual benefit, but for the spiritual benefit of others.

Church

Francis believed that the church represented Christ on earth, so it is no surprise that Celano reports that he "maintained that the faith of the Holy Roman Church should be preserved, honoured and obeyed ... [and] he revered priests, and indeed had the greatest affection for all ecclesiastical orders."

While he respected the institutional church, Francis was also a revolutionary, ready and willing to challenge the orthodoxy within it. Key areas of contention were the sale of indulgences, the role of priests as mediators between people and God, and the wealth and political power held and used by the church. As Cron reminds us, at that time, "anyone who had a different viewpoint to what the Catholic Church taught would be treated as a heretic, and would probably be burned at the stake (as many were) and become a martyr, so Francis was making a very bold step in what he did, and he did so consciously and freely, believing it was simply the right way to go."

Unlike many religious reformers in his day, Francis succeeding in treading a fine line between orthodoxy and heresy. His doctrine remained that of the church. He never felt called to be a priest himself, and his companions knew that although he never explained why. Suggested reasons include not thinking himself worthy enough to become a priest, and wanting to avoid being thought of as special. He respected the authority of the pope and often looked to him for guidance, and he sought the blessing and formal approval of the bishops and the pope for his Order.

Peace and reconciliation

Yet another paradox in the life of Francis is the way in which his earlier ambition to become a famous knight was turned on its head as he followed God's calling to preach the gospel of peace and reconciliation. Francis's approach to peace, and his teaching on it, anticipated later proponents of non-violence such as Mahatma Ghandi and Dr Martin Luther King Jr. He saw conflict as simply wrong in God's eyes, and he took literally the teaching of Jesus that "blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God." [Matthew 5: 9] Insisting that we need to follow the words and not just admire them, Francis told his followers to "go and bring to all a message of peace and penance, that their sins may be forgiven."

Francis had learned, from his experiences as a soldier and prisoner, that the only way to peace is to achieve peace of heart by overcoming the natural aggression within people. Peaceful attitudes and behaviour reflect inner peace. That's why he urged his followers "not to quarrel or argue or judge others when they go about in the world; but let them be meek, peaceful, modest, gentle, and humble, speaking courteously to everyone, as is becoming ... Into whatever house they enter, let them first say: 'Peace be to this house!'"

He also knew that peace is about much more than just the absence of conflict; it was a matter of justice and love. He saw peacemaking and reconciliation as a particular form of healing, which was significantly more challenging but essential than mere peacekeeping.

Francis's views on peacemaking are clearly expressed in the so-called _Prayer for Peace_ which is widely attributed to him, but for which there is no record before about 1915:

O Lord, make us instruments of Thy peace.

Where there is hatred, let us sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love;

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

The spirit of the prayer is certainly Franciscan, even if the actual words are not.

-o0o-

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**Chapter 5. Poverty**

_[Sacrifice and austerity were] the least imitated part of the life of Christ which Francis most closely imitated._ MICHAEL DE LA BEDOYERE

The most striking of Francis's many qualities as an adult was his attitude towards poverty. It grew logically out of his spirituality, and shaped just about everything he did after about 1206.

To appreciate more fully the man and his legacy, we need to understand his ideas about poverty and appreciate why it was important for him to actually be poor and not simply help the poor. He chose to be poor, as a positive thing not a sacrifice; it became the focus of his being, a way of imitating and serving Jesus. His approach to poverty may be extremely challenging to us, but to him it was a calling from God that he simply could not ignore. As John Kirvan points out "the key to Franciscan spirituality ... [is his] almost relentless emphasis on real poverty and its necessary companion, humility."

Poverty and the poor

Francis lived in an age when poverty was widespread, and he was no stranger to it, despite his privileged upbringing. In the towns and across the countryside, there were large numbers of poor people with few possessions, no security, and little hope. With no support available from the state or local authorities, and little offered by the Church, the poor were dependent for their survival upon public kindness and compassion.

In the gospels, the term 'poor' includes but is not restricted to those who were economically deprived. According to Albert Nolan 'the poor and the oppressed', to whom Jesus paid particular attention, included "the poor, the blind, the lame, the crippled, the lepers, the hungry, the miserable (those who weep), sinners, prostitutes, tax collectors, demoniacs (those possessed by unclean spirits), the persecuted, the downtrodden, the captives, all who labour and are overburdened."

Whilst such people in Jesus' day and in Francis's day survived on very little, and often went hungry and thirsty, they seldom starved. They often suffered as much from shame and disgrace as from material deprivation, dependent on the charity of others, with little if any status or identity.

We have already seen a number of incidents in which Francis was challenged by his encounters with real poverty – such as confronting the beggar in his father's shop, and meeting and joining the beggars in front of the church of St Peter in Rome. These really challenged his thinking and his attitudes about the poor. We have also seen his commitment to rebuilding the ruined church at San Damiano by begging material and surviving on meagre rations, his proclamation about marrying Lady Poverty, and his willingness to embrace the leper and give him his purse.

Perhaps the most telling and graphic illustration is the incident before the Bishop in which he stripped naked and gave everything he had back to his father. As Ian Morgan Cron sees it, this "symbolised his rejection of his country's manic pursuit of wealth and status. He didn't want anything to do with the materialistic, middle-class world he'd been raised in. From that moment, he committed himself to living a life of poverty and serving the poor".

Through these and similar experiences, Francis accepted his own humanity with simplicity and humility, and without shame. This was a long way away from the life of comfort and privilege he had been born into, but it was genuine, and it underpinned and informed the rest of his life.

Gospel calling

A major turning point in Francis's understanding of the true meaning of poverty, and an affirmation of his calling to embrace poverty, came one morning early in 1208 while he was attending Mass at the Portiuncula. It was the Feast of St Matthias (24th February), and Francis was twenty-seven years old.

The elderly priest read the gospel reading from the gospel of St Matthew, which had been set for that day. The text recorded what Jesus said to his twelve disciples as he sent them out to preach: "As you go, preach this message: 'The kingdom of heaven is near.' Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give. Do not take along any gold or silver or copper in your belts; take no bag for the journey, or extra tunic, or sandals or a staff; for the worker is worth his keep." [Matthew 10: 7-10]

The words of Jesus made a deep impression on Francis, who felt that God was speaking directly to him through them. To make sure that he had understood the message properly, at the end of the service he went up to the priest and asked him to explain what the words meant. He sensed that God was calling him to trust him, live by faith, and go out and about preaching the good news of the gospel, his only possessions the clothes he stood up in. He is reported to have cried out, "This is what I want. This is what I seek, this is what I desire with all my heart."

Francis the literalist took the text to mean exactly what it said, Francis the activist committed himself to doing it, and Francis the impulsive decided to start right there right then. He took off his leather belt and replaced it with a length of simple rope. He gave away one of his two tunics, and threw off his shoes. He put down his staff, emptied his wallet and gave away the money he had in it. He had entered the church that morning with next-to-nothing, and left it a short while later with even less.

He swapped the tattered hermit's clothes he had worn since restoring San Damiano for a simple tunic made of coarse material, with a hood to cover his head. As Celano describes it, Francis "made himself a tunic bearing the sign of the cross ... and he made it out of the roughest stuff, so that it might crucify the flesh with all its vices and sins ... [and] he made it as mean and shabby as possible, so poor a garment that no one in the world could ever covet one."

Then Francis set out bare footed to preach repentance as an itinerant preacher, as the Gospel had directed him to. As biographer Michael de la Bedoyere wrily but perceptively notes, at that moment "Francis had become the first Franciscan."

Jesus' teaching

Francis wanted to follow Jesus' example and teaching on poverty and possessions. No other role model would do for him.

Jesus' teaching on possessions was very clear but also very challenging. In a nutshell, he pointed out to his followers that they must choose carefully what mattered most to them, warning his disciples that "no man can serve two masters. ... You cannot serve both God and money." [Matthew 6: 24] He advised them not to "store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." [Matthew 6: 19-21]

Jesus' message was simple – focus on God and his kingdom, not on material things, because "blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." [Matthew 5: 3]

Jesus also told his disciples not to worry about material things, because God will provide all that they really need. He instructed them not to "worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? ... Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? ... seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." [Matthew 6: 25-33]

Jesus went further than simply encouraging his followers not to focus on material things, or worry about them. He advised them to give away all of their possessions, which can cloud our vision of God and tempt us away from trusting him for everything we need. He said "if you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." [Matthew 19: 21] Again his message was simple – trust God, not your own abilities, and follow God's agenda, not your own.

Jesus also advised his followers to be generous in sharing with others whatever possessions they had. In the story of the widow's offering [mite], Jesus told his disciples "this poor widow has put more into the treasure than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything – all she had to live on." [Mark 12: 43]

Francis wanted to prove to himself and others that God alone was enough for him; he did not need to be concerned about anything else. Francis the literalist threw himself into a life of austerity and extreme poverty, with his usual enthusiasm. He had already given up all of his earthly possessions, his family and his inheritance, but he always strove to deny himself and put God first. Recall that he lived in a time when many people believed that the material world is evil, so Christians should have as little contact with it as possible. Francis took this to the extreme, and it showed in much of his behaviour. Chesterton gives us two graphic examples: "he was always careful to beg for the blackest or worst bread he could get, for the stalest crusts or something less luxurious than the crumbs which the dogs eat, and which fall from the rich man's table ... [and] according to one story, he changed clothes with a beggar; and he would doubtless have been content to change them with a scarecrow."

Some biographers have questioned whether Francis went too far in adopting such an extreme form of asceticism, with its emphasis on discipline and self-control. Francis believed that he and his followers were called to a life of absolute poverty, although as Donald Spoto reminds us "there is ... no biblical evidence that Jesus and his companions lived in absolute poverty, as though it were something to be constantly refined, like a talent. On the contrary, they had a common purse for their modest daily needs, even though they chose the wrong man to look after it."

Francis was a simple man, uncomplicated by learning or theology. Michael De la Bedoyere suggests that "so unread was he and so unfamiliar with elementary Scripture that he accepted the single text [do not take long any gold or silver or copper ...] as Christ's sole direction for a fully spiritual life, completely ignoring other texts which make it clear that Christ did not condemn all use of money, but gave advice varying with different vocations and circumstances."

In this sense Francis, in seeking to imitate Jesus, went beyond what Jesus taught and how he lived. His insistence on absolute poverty was to create major problems during the early years of the development of the Franciscan Order.

Motives

To appreciate the significance of Francis's approach to poverty, we need to consider what his motives were, particularly in adopting such an extreme form of asceticism for himself and his followers.

In many ways, Francis was in a privileged position because he could chose poverty, and it was a deliberate choice. The poor had no option, it was thrust upon them, and they had no choice in the matter. In renouncing his family and inheritance, he was deliberately walking away from a life of privilege and material comfort. It was a radical decision, but Francis did not act out of guilt nor saw his choice as a sacrifice. Quite the opposite, in fact. To him, poverty was part of his calling, to live out the gospel on a day-to-day basis by imitating Jesus. Paradoxically, Francis chose poverty because it promised him happiness.

Francis did not embrace poverty out of social conscience, but purely and simply because he felt that God was calling him to do so. He chose poverty out of love of God and compassion for people. As Franciscan priest and writer Murray Bodo points out "his poverty is a way of acting, of choosing, rather than a passive victimhood that lets things happen to him. It is love and not, as is sometimes thought, self-hatred or the desire to punish himself for his sins that impels him to embrace Lady Poverty."

Francis saw his call to poverty as a call to simplicity; Bonaventure calls it "the treasure of simplicity by the love of most deep poverty." He saw himself as living life to the full by concentrating on the things that really matter, without being weighed down by other things. It today's language, he got rid of the clutter from his life and down-sized (admittedly in an extreme way).

Francis was always very careful not to judge others. Despite his own commitment to poverty, he did not criticise other people who held different views about possessions, and neither did he despise others their wealth. As Donald Spoto notes "material things were not, in and of themselves, the problem; rather, Francis's attitude to them was. At last he had come to understand that the impediment to his happiness lay not in his father's profession or riches but within himself."

Francis was well aware that his approach was particularly strict and challenging, but he nonetheless expected those who chose to follow him to embrace poverty in the same way, to serve as witnesses to God's love and faithfulness. He warned his followers against judging others by their own demanding standards, telling them "not to condemn or look down on people whom they see wearing soft or gaudy clothes and enjoying luxuries in food or drink; each one should rather condemn and despise himself."

Approach

Francis's approach to poverty was both enlightened and effective. It was also very progressive, and it contains valuable lessons for us today.

Francis knew full well that not everyone is called to embrace poverty. Whilst he saw it as a privilege, central to his calling by God, he also recognized the dangers of idealising poverty or glorifying destitution. To him it was a means to an end, not an end in itself. Albert Nolan reminds us that "Jesus did not idealise poverty. On the contrary his concern was to ensure that no one should be in want, and it was to this end that he fought possessiveness and encouraged people to be unconcerned about wealth and to share their material possessions. ... His motive here again is his boundless compassion for the poor and the oppressed."

Francis saw a willingness to embrace poverty as an external expression of spiritual change within, reflecting particularly the humility of imitating Christ and recognising dependence on God. According to Bonaventure, Francis told his followers that "poverty is the special way to salvation; for it is the food of humility, and the root of perfection, whose fruits, although hidden, are manifold." He also advised his followers to "seek to humble yourselves in all things, and do not glory in yourselves or rejoice inwardly, or exalt yourselves for the good words and works or, indeed, of any good which God sometimes says or does or works in you or through you."

Francis saw that there were those who were poor in material terms (they had nothing) and those who were poor in spirit and were blessed. He saw material poverty, voluntarily embraced, as a necessary but not sufficient condition of inner poverty or poverty of spirit, or as he called it poverty of heart. Roch Neimier explains that this went way beyond "emptying one's heart of all attachment to earthly goods. Francis also wanted his followers to empty their hearts of all immaterial goods as well, that is, of all values of which a person can be inwardly proud. Francis encouraged the brothers to let go of other inner possessions such as anxieties of the heart, anger, hatred, envy, ambition or any attitude that turned one's attention to the self. And finally, Francis wanted his brothers to empty their hearts of all spiritual security as well. He wanted his brothers to stand naked before God with outstretched arms, in complete nakedness of spirit."

It was a lot to ask of his followers, but Francis was committed to doing this himself, and he expected no less from them.

His approach also challenged the orthodoxy of the day, in the church and wider society, by both insisting and demonstrating that poverty can be liberating. As he saw it, people can all too readily become slaves to their ambitions and appetites, and to the relentless pursuit of material success. Having faith in God's love and goodness, and trusting God to provide for all he needed, seemed to Francis a much more sensible basis for living than chasing fame and fortune.

After Francis had established the Order, Guido (Bishop of Assisi) was concerned about the hard life the Brothers were expected to lead, with no possessions, little comfort and no material security. He grew increasingly concerned that their austere way of living without money or possessions was simply not practical, and he was not alone in thinking that. Francis is said to have replied "If we had possessions, my Lord, we should need arms to protect them. Possessions cause disputes and lawsuits, troubles well calculated to destroy the love of God and our neighbour. That is why we are agreed about having no worldly goods in this world."

To Francis, poverty was a blessing because it brought joy and release, freedom from the things that weigh us down. As Michael de la Bedoyere puts it, "his mind, ever since his turning to God, had been preoccupied with the paradox that in detachment, poverty and penance were perfect joy to be found."

Not surprisingly, he did not reach that state of grace easily and without struggles. Celano describes how Francis's "chief desire was to be free from everything in the world, so that the serenity of his mind might not be troubled even for a moment by the taint of any earthly defilement. He made himself insensible to the clamour of all outward things, and checking all his outward senses by an immense effort of will and suppressing his natural instincts, he gave himself up to God alone."

Francis saw charity as a very special form of Christian service, because he knew that in serving the poor, the sick and the homeless he was also serving Christ. As Jesus had told his disciples, "whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." [Matthew 25: 40] Put simply, Francis knew that as God reaches out to us, so we should reach out to others. According to Celano, Francis said "when you see a poor man ... you should see in him Christ and his mother. It is the same when you come across a sick person. See in him Christ and consider the infirmities that Christ took upon himself for our sake."

But, to Francis, poverty meant much more than just doing good deeds, acting charitably. The experience of the crucifixion at San Damiano helped him to understand that the essence of poverty was not about helping the poor, but about being poor. Francis felt very strongly that he belonged with the poor. Being poor himself allowed him to identify with them, not in any patronizing way but simply because he believed that was where God has called him ... which was ironic given his privileged family background and early life.

Francis was aware that his place was with ordinary people, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them. He told his followers "I judge it far better that he who is to give an example to others should ... dwell humbly among the humble in humble places, that he may be able to strengthen those who suffer poverty and are ill at ease, seeing that he endures the same things himself."

In his humility, Francis would always put others first, so that for example he freely gave whatever he had (and he really had very little) to those in need. Bonaventure tells of how he "spared nothing, neither cloak, nor tunic, nor books, nor even the ornaments of the altar, but would give all these things to the poor to fulfil the office of mercy. Oftentimes when he met a poor man on the way, laden with a heavy burden, he would take it on his own weak shoulders and carry it for him."

Francis also visited poor priests and helped meet their needs "so that he might ... bear his part in the divine worship and provide for the needs of the ministers of God", according to Bonaventure.

Whilst his work with and amongst the poor drew strength and direction from his spirituality and his own inner journey towards God, Francis was careful not to let it become all-consuming and take over his whole life. He recognized his complete dependency on God's goodness, and always made sure he allocated enough quality time to prayer. In today's language, he had a good work-life balance.

Bonaventure notes how he "so prudently divided the time allotted him here for merit, that he spent the one part of it in labours for the good of his neighbour, and devoted the other to tranquil contemplation ... [when] he would endeavour to purify his spirit from any dust which might have adhered to it in his conversation with men."

Here again we see how Francis juggled the competing demands of action and contemplation.

Francis also had a very clear work ethic, and would only condone begging if it was absolutely necessary. He expected his followers to behave the same way. Thomas Okey notes how "it would be a grave misconception to assume that the Franciscan friar was essentially a beggar. Poverty, not mendicancy, was the ideal of St Francis, who repeatedly urged the friars to earn their living by honest work and to beg only exceptionally."
To Francis, it was important to work one's passage rather than add to the charitable burden of others.

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**Chapter 6. Community**

... _a kind of society was forming around a man who was a contemplative hermit, an itinerant preacher and a restorer of churches._ DONALD SPOTO

Francis's most tangible and enduring legacy is the religious order he founded, which still carries his name and ensures his place in history. By the time he died in 1226, the order had changed a great deal from when it was established in 1209, and in the eight centuries since then it has changed further. But the essence of Franciscanism, the values in which Francis started his movement, has survived, even if some of the extreme austerity of the early days soon gave way to a more sustainable lifestyle.

Companions in faith

Francis never intended to be a recluse and hide himself away. Recall how, in his youth, he loved the company of like-minded people. Whilst as an adult he enjoyed his own company and liked to spend time alone in prayer in isolated places, he sensed that others would want to join him on his journey with God. He knew, too, that Jesus had told his disciples "where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." [Matthew 18: 20]

By 1208, after Francis had begun preaching in the open air in and around Assisi, people started to understand what he was saying about the kingdom of God. Many were challenged by the teaching. Some were drawn to join him and live a life of simplicity, work and sacrifice. They sensed it as their calling from God, just as Francis had felt called by God.

We have already seen numerous ways in which Francis committed himself to imitating Jesus; the gathering of followers is yet another example. Jesus called each of his disciples in turn by simply saying "Come, follow me" and he expected them to follow him straight away, even if they had unfinished business to deal with; for example, one man wanted to first go and bury his father, and another wanted first to go back and say goodbye to his family.

But Jesus selected and called his disciples whilst Francis simply accepted those who asked to join him. Jesus was active and Francis was passive. Francis did not seek companions or invite people to join him; they chose him, he didn't chose them. As Donald Spoto points out "it was perhaps to be expected that so engaging a person would begin to attract the transiently curious and some serious followers, although Francis flatly refused to see them as anything other than companions in faith."

While he was happy to allow individuals to join him, Francis had not envisaged a large group forming around him. He certainly did not feel called or equipped to lead such a group. His calling, he felt certain, was not to lead but to serve.

Celano mentions "a man of pious and simple character [who] was the first devoted follower of Francis", but his identity remains a mystery. The first two companions that we know about were Bernard and Peter. The first to join Francis was Bernard of Quintavalle, a wealthy merchant and magistrate in Assisi. Like Francis, Bernard was born into one of Assisi's wealthiest families. Unlike Francis, he came from noble stock. He was well educated, and was by nature a quiet man, who keeps his thoughts to himself. Unlike impulsive Francis, Bernard would always weigh up the evidence before making decisions. As Roch Neimer puts it, Bernard "was puzzled by the change in Francis, unable to understand what was taking place. Francis's humility, firmness of purpose, joy of spirit, somehow gave Bernard the feeling that Francis had discovered a hidden treasure. So Bernard decided to look into the matter."

Bernard invited Francis to his house, and they talked together for many hours. The story goes that Bernard asked Francis to stay the night. When the lights were out he noticed that Francis had climbed out of bed, knelt on the floor, and prayed there for a long time. This persuaded him that Francis was genuine, so he decided to join him. Bernard sold his house and business, gave the proceeds to the poor and stepped forward into a life of poverty and service, as a follower of Francis.

Next came Peter Catanio, a doctor of law, who had studied at Bologna. Peter was a mature man, a lay canon at the cathedral and a candidate for the priesthood. He knew that Bernard had been thinking of joining Francis, and when he heard that he had done so, he abandoned his plans and joined Francis too.

Third to join was Giles (Edigio) of Assisi, a serious 18-year-old with ambitions to become a knight, just like young Francis. He had no family and was described by Celano as "a simple, decent, God-fearing man."

Francis was surprised that these three men were willing to put their trust in him, a poor uneducated man, to lead them. But he was delighted that they were willing to freely give up all they had and commit to his idea of poverty and freedom, and to do so in such a public manner. Bernard and Peter had each given up a great deal to join him.

Francis and his three companions split into two pairs and, continued the public preaching and teaching that Francis had started. G.K. Chesterton emphasizes that they "were not monks ... (but) solitaries living together socially, but not as a society." This would change as the numbers grew.

Guidance from scripture

Francis was determined to serve God as faithfully as he possibly could, and he regularly turned to scripture for guidance. Perhaps surprisingly by today's standards, he did not search the Bible systematically, but instead followed the custom of his day and opened it at random, effectively letting God do the guiding.

Donald Spoto reminds us us that "the random opening of the Scriptures for spiritual advice was a common but not entirely sanctioned practice in the Middle Ages: called the _sortes apostolorum_ , it was a custom based on the devout (if somewhat superstitious) belief that if one by chance turned to the same or similar passages three consecutive times, it was a clear sign of God's plan."

One Sunday in April 1208, Francis attended mass at the church of St Nicholas (San Nicolo) in Assisi, accompanied by Bernard and Peter. It was his own parish church, and he would have known the parish priest well. After the service had finished, Francis sought guidance from the Scriptures, and asked the priest to open the gospels in the Bible three times. As Murray Bodo emphasizes, "it is of no little significance that Francis asks the priest to open the Gospels", reflecting his views on the calling and authority of the priesthood. The so-called Missal of San Nicolo (the Bible used that day) has survived, and is on display at the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, Maryland.

The first page the Bible opened at contained the story of Jesus telling a rich young man that he is inviting to join the disciples, "if you wish to be perfect, go and sell all your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then and come, follow me." [Matthew 19: 21] On the second page Jesus tells his first disciples, as they set out to proclaim the good news about the Kingdom of God, to "take nothing for the journey - no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra tunic." [Luke 9: 3] On the third page Jesus said to the disciples, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me." [Matthew 16: 24]

Francis and his companions were struck by the consistency of the message given in the three passages, opened apparently at random. They were left in no doubt about what God was asking them to do. Francis – impulsive as ever, literal as ever, and trusting God as ever – was now more certain than ever about his calling, and clear what the band of brothers was meant to do. These three texts formed the basis of the initial Order that Francis took to Rome the following year, seeking Papal approval.

In many ways, this was a honeymoon period for Francis and his small band of companions. They were clear what they were being called to do, and simply got on with it. They lived very simply, without possessions or income, worked and begged for food, and devoted much of their time to itinerant preaching and caring for lepers. Their evenings were devoted to personal prayer. It was a brotherhood of like-minded men, bound together by a shared love of God and commitment to poverty. Whilst they were authorised by the church, they were not bound by vows or ties to any bishop, and had great flexibility in how they organised themselves and went about their business.

Rivo Torto

By the summer of 1208, Francis had completed the rebuilding work at the Portiuncula. He and his companions were living in small makeshift shelters nearby. It was a temporary arrangement and they had no permanent base.

A year later, in Autumn 1209, after returning from Rome, they moved to a small rough shelter at Rivo Torto (Twisted Stream), about two miles outside Assisi. It was a remote and inhospitable place, at that time a small clearing in the woods. It was near the leper hospital of San Lazzaro, which they visited regularly.

Rivo Torto became the first base of the Franciscans, although in keeping with their commitment to poverty they neither owned it nor regarded it as theirs. They were simply making use of it while it was available. The frugality of the place suited them perfectly. Celano tells of how "the shack which sheltered them was so cramped that they could scarcely sit down, let along sleep, in it ... [and Francis] wrote the names of the Brothers on the beams of the shack so that each of them had his own place to go if he wanted to pray or to rest."

Meals there often consisted of little more than turnips they begged for.

Francis and his men were busy but contented at Rivo Torto. By day they cared for lepers, or worked in the fields for local farmers, gathering olives and wood. In the evenings they walked through the wood and up the hill to Assisi to preach in the squares, then return to their base and spend hours at prayer under the stars. Francis often preached early on Sunday mornings in the Church of San Rufino.

In Francis's day, the Rivo Torto site contained only their simple hut and some rough shelters that some of the companions slept in. But after his death many pilgrims visited Rivo Torto – effectively the birthplace of the Franciscan movement – and there has been a church on the site since the fifteenth century. Inside the church, today, is a reconstruction of what the small hut might have looked like where Francis and his brothers originally lived, containing a small room, chapel and kitchen.

Building community

Although Francis never planned for it to happen, more and more men joined him. The group grew, slowly at first but then with gathering pace. What drew them in was a mixture of Francis's character, beliefs and behaviour.

As Donald Spoto puts it "it seems clear that Francis must have been an especially charismatic individual, one who had an abundance of intelligence, warmth and insight. He offered his followers, quite simply, a better life, a more joyful life, one that provided the kind of satisfaction that comes from a commitment to something other than money. They found him and his message irresistible."

By early 1209, there were ten brothers. As well as Bernard, Peter and Giles, the group comprised Sylvester (a priest), Morico (a member of a religious order that cared for the sick), Philip (a lively and effective preacher), Juniper (a man of patience and humour), Leo (an ordained priest, who became Francis's confessor, secretary and close friend), Masseo (a tall, good-looking man, who Francis chose as his travelling companion on many preaching tours), and Rufino (a shy young nobleman). Others who joined the group over the next few years included Elias (who some were later to compare with Judas who betrayed Jesus), Illuminatus, Pacificus, Leonard, John of Cappella, and Barboroso, Sabbatino and Bernard Vigilante.

Just as Jesus' twelve disciples came from different backgrounds, and had different strengths and talents, so also did the group that gathered around Francis. It was very much a community of equals, with no hierarchy or privileges. What brought them together and bound together was a love of God, a commitment to be led by him, a desire to imitate Christ and a trust in Francis to lead them. The group would offer each other companionship and support, as they followed their calling to be poor and to preach the kingdom of God.

In typically gushing prose, Celano describes the virtues of the men who chose to follow Francis: "their embraces were chaste, their disposition benign, their kisses holy, their conversation agreeable, their laughter modest, the appearance genial, their gaze honest, their spirit humble, their speech conciliatory, their answer soft, their purpose single, their obedience swift and their efforts unflagging."

As the group started to grow in numbers, Francis somewhat reluctantly accepted responsibility for leading it and giving it shape and direction. Francis had no desire to found a new monastic order, or start a reform movement. He was well aware of other reform movements that were gathering pace in Italy at that time – particularly the Waldenses (poor men of Lyons), the humiliati of Milan, and the Cathars/Albigensians (called Paterini in Italy) – who were posing serious challenges to the established church by their separatist approaches. As Michael De la Bedoyere notes "how significant is it, then, that Francis, whose mind was clearly working along similar lines of evangelical reform, and who knew little of theology and scripture, was not tempted to make contact with them?"

As we saw in Chapter 4, Francis had great respect for the church. He wanted to remain loyal to it, even though the church's behaviour in relation to wealth and power politics clearly did not reflect what the Bible taught about authority and possessions.

Francis realised that the group would need some guidelines to live by, but he was reluctant to over-formalise things by constructing elaborate governing structures. In his mind, God had brought the group together, God had called it to gospel poverty, and God would direct it. There was no need for detailed rules and regulations. Nonetheless, he recognised that it would be useful for them to have a framework by which they should live, so he drafted a Rule for the group. The rule was doubtless very short and simple, perhaps little more than the three Bible verses to which his attention had been drawn at St Nicholas. Celano tells us that, "he wrote it in simple, concise language, using chiefly the words of the Holy Gospel, for it was the perfection of the gospel alone that he yearned for." The text has not survived in its original form.

Donald Spoto notes that, on the basis of the Rule that Francis had drafted, the distinctiveness of the group "was immediately evident – there was nothing monastic about it. It had a revolutionary freedom precisely because it was apostolic in form. ... Without specifically naming it, Francis clearly envisaged a code of spiritual living that left his companions remarkably free – they could live in hermitages when they felt the need for intense prayer, or they could choose to be day labourers, nurses, or wandering preachers. This degree of freedom alone comprised a quiet revolution. Up to that time, those who wanted to devote themselves to a religious life had to join a formal religious Order and obey its particular system of laws and regulations."

The norm in those days, for men who wished or felt called to live the religious life, was to join a monastic order and live the life of a monk. They would remain unmarried, commit to a life of poverty, chastity and obedience, and devote themselves to a life of religious service, involving contemplation, prayer and work. They would live separately from the rest of society as hermits, either alone or with some other monks. Francis's idea was radically different – his brothers would lead an itinerant and mendicant life, having no fixed base and owning no property, working or begging for food. They would be friars not monks. As individuals and as a group, they would put themselves entirely at the mercy of God, who they trusted to provide for all their needs. At that time, there were no female equivalents to the monks or friars.

The lifestyle of the companions was rooted in sharing, solidarity and community, and focussed on simplicity and poverty. Celano tells how "as followers of poverty they had nothing, and loved nothing, and so had no fear of losing anything. They were content with a single tunic which was sometimes patched inside and out. ... They wore belts of rope and undergarments of cheap material. And it was their pious resolution to remain in this state and to have nothing more. So they were entirely secure, with nothing to fear."

When they entered the brotherhood, each man was required to give up all his worldly goods. They wore the simple brown tunic that Francis had adopted. They were to travel light, taking just the clothes they stood up in. They were to walk everywhere, and could only travel on horseback if they had no alternative. Francis declared that "in return for the work they have done, the brothers may receive whatever they need, except money. And when the need arises, they may beg alms like other people. And they may have the instruments and tools required for their trade."

Francis's approach to living in community was much stricter than how the first Christians lived together in Jerusalem, sharing everything they had and needed. They sold their possessions, and shared out the proceedings among themselves according to what each one needed. They did not sell the houses in which they lived, but the land they owned. They did not all live together, but met in one another's homes. Albert Nolan points out that "what they sold must have been the houses they had rented out to others. In other words they sold their real estate, their capital or investments. These were their possessions, their surplus, the extras which they did not really need."

Francis went a critical step further, insisting that his brothers owned nothing at all, other than the few clothes they stood up in. They were to be entirely dependent on God for everything.

Francis called his band of companions Jongleurs de Dieu (jugglers/comedians of God) because he wanted them to engage with ordinary people and capture their attention. As Ian Morgan Cron points out, Francis wanted them "to see themselves not only as Troubadours but also as wandering jesters proclaiming the gospel. This is why the early Franciscans used songs, storytelling, impromptu dramas, and poetry in their preaching rather than philosophy, logic or theology."

Establishing the Order

As the number of followers grew, Francis realised that they would need to seek formal permission from the church to live the way they felt called to. In the spring of 1209, he set out from Assisi with eleven companions to walk the hundred miles or so south to Rome. There, they hoped to get their simple rule (since referred to as the Primitive Rule) accepted and formally recognized by the Pope.

It may not have been mission impossible, but they knew that getting the Pope to accept their very harsh regime as the basis for a religious order would be a major challenge. Nonetheless, they set out with great enthusiasm, and kept their spirits high along the way by singing and praying. They were offered food and shelter along the way. Francis was reluctant to be or be seen as the leader of the group, and Bernard was elected leader, but it was clear that Francis should act as spokesman for the group when they got to Rome.

They got a rather cold reception from the church authorities in Rome. The Pope (Innocent III) was reluctant to allow them to meet with him, because the Church had had to deal with many problems of heresy – particularly by the Albigenses, who preached a gospel of poverty but were openly critical of the Church – and he assumed they would be the same. Bonaventure tells of how Francis was taken before the Pope, who was "walking on a terrace of the Lateran, in deep and serious meditation, and seeing the servant of Christ to be an unknown stranger, he indignantly repulsed him [sent him away]." The Pope's religious advisers, the Cardinals, were summoned to consider Francis's request. Most of them believed that the proposed Rule was too demanding for the brothers to follow, and were concerned that it would not attract future brothers and thus not be sustainable. They dismissed it as unworkable.

All looked lost, but that night the Pope is reported to have had a very vivid dream. He dreamed that he saw the huge church of St John Lateran, the very heart of the Catholic Church, lean badly and look about to fall over. When he looked closely, he saw a small human figure propping it up with his shoulder, and stopping it from collapsing completely. Looking closer still, he realised that he was looking at the little poor man he had turned away on the terrace. The Pope took the dream seriously, as a sign from God that Francis had been sent along to stop the collapse of the church (spiritually as well as physically). Without hesitation, he changed his mind and accepted the rule.

The Pope gave verbal approval to the Rule, and promised to endorse it completely if the movement grew in size. Verbal approval was enough for Francis; the group was now formally recognized as an Order of the Catholic Church. Before they left Rome the Pope gave the brothers (now technically friars) approval to preach, and he sent them off with his blessing. As a sign of their formal status, the brothers received the tonsure, the ritual shaving of the crown of the head of a monk as a sign of humility and religious calling. As Spoto points out, this "must have caused Francis and his friends some dismay, for he had no desire to become a cleric and ... he neither required, expected nor preferred candidates for his company to take that step."

Francis realised that receiving Papal blessing for the Order was very much a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it brought approval for and recognition of the Order, and was effectively a licence to exist. On the other hand, they were now formally part of the established church. As such, they were liable to be judged in the same way as the main Catholic Church, which was widely perceived as corrupted by power, wealth, arrogance and pride – the very things that Francis's movement worked so hard to avoid.

Francis called his companions the Friars Minor (Little Brothers), and he required them to take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience (which monks had all been required to take), and to follow a simple life of humility. It is believed that he chose that name for his Order, after the minores (lower classes), to remind them of their humility. After all, hadn't Jesus said "whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."? [Matthew 25: 40]

After he returned from Rome, Francis's status had changed. Here he was, now leader of a proper religious Order. He was invited to preach in the churches and even in the cathedral in Assisi; previously he was only allowed to preach outdoors. By all accounts, he was a powerful and effective preacher. He challenged a great many people to rethink where they stood before God.

Portiuncula

The Friars Minor continued to live at Rivo Torto for two years after the Order was established. But, one day early in 1211, a peasant with a donkey walked up to the small hut and claimed the right to use it. Francis and his brothers quietly left to find a base elsewhere. About two miles away in the same woods was the Portiuncula, which Francis had restored in 1208. This seemed like an ideal place for them to set up camp.

As we saw in Chapter 3, Francis had rebuilt the abandoned chapel at the Portiuncula. The Benedictines, who owned it, offered the use of it to Francis. Grateful as he was for the use of it, Francis would only accept it as a loan, not a gift. He insisted on paying the monks a yearly fee of a basket of fish caught in nearby Lake Trasimeno. In the spirit of the contract, the abbot sent back a jar of oil each year.

Donald Spoto reminds us that "the place marked as the cradle of Franciscanism stood in stark contrast to the vast abbeys and great cathedrals that were the centres of medieval religion." This was the simplest of places for the poorest of people, and it met their needs perfectly. The site centred on the simple, restored, stone chapel, and they built a small hut for meetings. Rough huts made from woven branches and mud – each the simplest of hermitages – were added as the numbers grew. All of the buildings had earth floors and mud and branch roofs; they were plain and had only the most basic of furnishings. The brothers slept on sacks of straw. Meals were eaten sitting on the ground. There were no chairs, tables or other furniture. The huts were deliberately built plain and simple, and they were always seen as temporary shelters. The brothers were not to regard it as a permanent base, and they owned absolutely nothing.

Michael De la Bedoyere writes of how "their common life [there] was most certainly one of constant prayer, discomforts, and self-imposed austerity ... [but] they were happy and very ebullient Italians whose peace with themselves expressed itself in a jolly companionship as they toiled in the fields ... or sat around a crackling fire of a winter's evening gossiping with a full heart."

While the Friars Minor owned nothing, and led an itinerant (mobile) and mendicant (begging) lifestyle, the Portiuncula was to become their unofficial base, and home to the Order. The brotherhood took shape and grew there. Chapter Meetings (regular gatherings of members) were held there to make decisions about how the Order should develop. The brothers were sent out from there on preaching missions across Europe and further afield, and they returned there to share experiences and be spiritually nourished.

The Portiuncula was to become the heart of the Franciscan movement. Significant events included receiving Clare into the community on Palm Sunday 1212, Francis receiving the promise of the pardon (the Portiuncula Indulgence) there, and Francis death there on 3 October 1226.

Although Francis's body was taken into Assisi after his death, over the centuries many pilgrims visited the tiny chapel of St Mary of the Angels at the Portiuncula to pray. After the Council of Trent, in 1568, it was agreed that a large church should be built over the original chapel. The basilica is everything that the tiny chapel wasn't – large, ornately decorated, ostentatious. It has had to be rebuilt several times after being damaged by earthquakes. Inside the basilica is the Chapel of the Transitus, built on the site of the original infirmary of Francis's community, the simple wooden hut where Francis died. Adjacent to the basilica is the Rose Garden. According to tradition, the deep red coloured roses there grew without thorns after Francis had thrown himself into some rose bushes there as an act of penance, tearing his flesh and making his blood drip onto the plants. In front of it is a large piazza where the Chapter Meetings were held, attracting crowds of up to 5,000 friars in Francis's day, and where the gathering described at the opening of the Introduction was held.

Lifestyle

Prayer and preaching were the primary responsibilities of members of the Order. Like Francis, his followers were to imitate Christ wherever they went and whatever they did. This was for their own spiritual benefit, but also for the spiritual benefit of everyone they encountered. They were to be poor, so that they could engage and embrace the poor. Their task was not only to tell people about the Kingdom of God, but to demonstrate it by the way they lived. Talking about it would not be enough, they had to show it and live it out.

Poverty and humility were key to their lifestyle. The brothers were not only to wear their poverty and humility on their sleeves, they were to live it out daily, so that other people might be drawn to God through them. Francis called this "the highest summit of poverty", and he enshrined it in the Rule of 1223, which states that "The brothers shall acquire nothing as their own, neither house, nor place, nor anything else. Instead, with all trust, let them go begging alms as pilgrims and strangers in this world, serving the Lord with poverty and humility, and without shame, since the Lord made himself poor for us in this world. This is the highest summit of poverty, which has made you, my most beloved brothers, heirs and kings in the kingdom of heaven; it has made you poor in material things but exalted in virtue."

Francis knew well the real challenge of acting humbly in all circumstances, even when facing provocation or disappointment. He taught his brothers "you do not know how much patience and humility you really have as long as everything goes along according to your own satisfaction. But when the time comes that instead of receiving your due, you get just the opposite, as much patience and humility as you have then is what you really have, and no more."

He also warned them of the dangers of pride, urging them to "beware of all pride and vainglory. Keep yourselves from the wisdom of this world and the prudence of the flesh. ... the Spirit of the Lord wants the flesh to be mortified and despised, worthless and rejected."

Willingness to forgive one's enemies and love them was particularly important to Francis, who reminded his brothers "our Lord says in the Gospel, love your enemies. A man really loves his enemy when he is not offended by the injury done to himself, but for love of God feels burning sorrow for the sin his enemy has brought on his own soul, and proves his love in a practical way."

Francis wanted and expected his followers to be careful in their speech, telling them "blessed are those servants who do not talk in order to gain something and who do not reveal everything about themselves and are not quick to speak, but wisely consider what they are going to say and how they are going to answer."

He also urged them to avoid arguments, instructing them to "guard against speaking falsely of anyone and are to avoid verbal disputes. Rather, let them seek to keep silent whenever God gives them the grace to do so. And they are not to argue among themselves, nor with others, but they are strive to respond with humility."

Francis liked silence, and he certainly preferred it to careless talk; he urged his Brothers to "carefully abstain at all times from evil words, seeing that they must give account thereof at the Day of Judgment."

He also expected his brothers not to get angry but stay calm, urging them "no matter how someone else sins, if you let yourself be upset or angered over it, except for charity's sake, you store up for yourself – like a treasure – the sin of the other. But, servant of God, if you do not become angry or indignant over someone else, you are living justly and poorly, that is, without claiming anything for your own."

His warning to his brothers "when you travel through the world ... do not quarrel or argue or judge others; rather, be meek, peaceful and modest, courteous and humble, speaking honourably to everyone" echoes similar themes.

Francis also recognized that the men might be so focussed on ministering to other people that they might run the risk of ignoring their own spiritual needs. He taught that "those who are preoccupied only with knowing and pointing out the way to salvation to others, and neglect their own, will arrive naked and empty-handed before Christ's judgment seat. They will bring with them nothing but bundles of shame, disappointment, and bitterness."

He expected complete commitment from those who chose to join the Order. According to the Rule of 1223 "it is absolutely forbidden to leave the Order."

Although Francis had taken the lead in drawing up the rule for the group, and in seeking Papal approval for the establishment of the Order, he never saw himself as its natural long-term leader. The responsibility of leadership became a great burden to him. According to Bonaventure, he would ask God in prayer "Lord, why have you laid this burden on me? Why have you made a simple, unlettered, wretched creature like me the head of this Order?" and God would reply "I have placed a man like you over this Order to show that what I achieve in you is of my grace and not a human accomplishment."

1220 Chapter General

Once the Order had been formally established, the group grew rapidly in size and started to disperse to preach across a wide area. It soon became necessary to arrange occasional meeting to bring the whole group together in one place. The purpose of these Chapter Meetings was to share news, pray together for God's continuing guidance, and make decisions about future direction.

The Chapter Meeting held in late May 1220 is often referred to as the Chapter of Mats or the Assembly of Straw Huts. The names came from the woven reed roofs on the temporary shelters made from branches in which the brothers stayed in the fields and woods around the base at the Portiuncula.

On this occasion, about five thousand friars are said to have gathered there from Italy, France and Spain, along with around five hundred people who had applied to join the order. They were all housed in tiny huts made of branches and mud. The story goes that, for some reason, Francis had not made arrangements to provide the huge gathering with food and water, but the local people stepped in and brought all the provisions that were needed. It was, by all accounts, an amazing display of local solidarity. G.K Chesterton describes how "knights and nobles waited on them gladly ... The whole countryside came down like a landslide to provide food and drink for this sort of pious picnic. Peasants brought wagons of wine and game; great nobles walked about doing the work of footmen."

Francis, then about forty years old, had not long returned to Assisi from a missionary visit to the Holy Land in 1219. He had been told about some serious problems that had arisen in the Order while he was away, while the Order was overseen by two leaders (Matthew of Narni and Gregory of Naples), called Vicars General. The Chapter Meeting would be the ideal opportunity to try to resolve four particular problems – poverty, authority, learning and the priesthood.

While he was away, plans had been made to build large mission houses for the friars, across Italy. The houses would be held in common by the community as a whole, and the brothers could live in them like the Benedictines or the Augustinians. Francis had always believed that his group should be itinerant, mendicant friars, not settled monks. As such, they should have no possessions, even those held in common, so this development was a direct challenge to his vow of poverty.

The Vicars General, acting under the authority of the Pope, had also taken steps to bring the simple Franciscan Rule more in line with the more structured rules of the older orders. In particular, they added new fasts and regulations, along with strict punishments for enforcing obedience. The Pope insisted that only those who had completed a one-year novitiate (period of preparation) could be received into the Order. Cardinal Hugolin had gone as far as drafting and introducing new regulations for the Poor Clares (which we will look at in Chapter 7), which effectively turned them into Benedictine nuns. Francis truly believed that God had called his group to be different, and not to be rule-bound, so this development was a further challenge to his authority within the Franciscan movement.

By now, the Order was attracting people – clerics, students, and highly educated men – who liked studying, and expected to be able to continue their studies within the Order. Many of the new recruits wanted to be able to study like the Dominicans, who had access to libraries and time to study, and were encouraged to do so. Francis believed that most people "were pursuing learning for self-decoration, and not for wisdom." Francis's views on learning and study were being directly challenged.

The priests who were being attracted to join the Order in significant numbers had their own particular needs, and were concerned about their somewhat ambiguous status. As Donald Spoto points out "they needed books, vestments and clerical paraphernalia, as well as assignments to a church or oratory. Francis always accepted priests, but he asked of them the same freedom from possessions that he requested from the humblest friars, and he granted them no special privileges."

Even though, under the spirit and letter of the Rule, the brothers were expected to be courteous and respectful throughout discussions at the Chapter General, the atmosphere must have been rather strained. Those who had joined the Order in the early days would have stood firm in support of Francis. After all, it was his personal views and behaviour that drew them into the group in the first place. Many of the newcomers probably had more of a reformist attitude, believing that the Order would only have a future if it moved on from its extreme austerity and adapted to changing needs and opportunities. Cardinal Hugolin was also pursuing a personal agenda, because he wanted the Order to be transformed to bring it closer to the older Orders, based on Dominican ideas and practices. This would make it much easier for Rome to manage and control the Franciscans.

Resignation

Francis failed in his attempt to persuade the members of the Order to return to his original ideals, and was resigned to handing over leadership of the group to someone else. That someone was Cardinal Hugolin, who had known Francis for many years and who Francis believed would be a sound pair of hands to entrust his band of followers to. Hugolin (who became Pope in 1217, and died in 1241) provided a close link with the Pope and with Rome. He was appointed Protector of the Order in September 1220.

With a new leader ready to assume responsibility for the running and development of the Order, Francis could step down from leadership and resign the office of Vicar General, which he did at the 1220 Chapter Meeting. It is important to note that he chose to go, he was not voted out or forced to stand down. Peter Catanio (the second man to join Francis's group) was appointed Vicar General in succession to Francis, but he died less than a year later, in 1221. Peter was succeeded by Brother Elias, who held that position until after Francis died.

After his resignation, and more than a decade as leader, Francis remained committed to helping the Order in whatever ways they thought appropriate. He was doubtless heartbroken at what had happened within the Order, and his inability to restore it back to what he had felt led to create. But there is no record of him saying anything critical or judgmental about the leadership who had introduced the changes while he had been away.

Despite the disappointment, and the sense of personal failure, it is quite possible that Francis heaved a sigh of relief at not having to shoulder the burden of responsibility for the group any longer. He had never enjoyed being a leader. It never came naturally to him. He knew from experience that he had neither the ability nor the desire to organize a group of people as large as the Order had grown into. His heart lay elsewhere, in personal devotion and prayer. At least now he would have the time and freedom back to do the things that mattered so much to him spiritually. He was also not in the best of health at this time – his eyesight had deteriorated badly, and he may also have been struggling with a recurrence of the malaria that had affected him some years earlier. He probably welcomed the reduced workload and stress as a blessing.

Rules

As we noted earlier, Francis had drafted the so-called Primitive Rule for his band of men, which had accepted by the Pope when he approved the establishment of the Order in 1209. That rule has not come down to us. As the Order grew in scale and complexity, it became clear that the original rule would need to be revised to accommodate situations that were not envisaged when the group was small and just starting out. In 1221, Hugolin asked Francis to draft a new rule. It was a bold request, because as Ernest Raymond reminds us "Francis was about the last person in Christendom to invite to make a Rule. First, because he hadn't a legal mind, or even a mind that reasoned well, and secondly, and more fundamentally, because he didn't believe in rule, but in inspiration."

Coming as it did after he had resigned as leader, the request must have given Francis great encouragement. Here was the new leader, a Cardinal in the Church (and so one of the Pope's trusted advisors), asking him to define what the Order should be and how it's members should behave. Francis may have lost the battle, but he had clearly not lost the war.

Francis went off on retreat with a handful of his faithful brothers, to a little hermitage on Monte Rainerio, to spend time in prayer. While there, he also revised the original Rule of the Order, informed by discussions that had been held at the May 1221 Chapter Meeting. The new Rule –called the Regula prima (First Rule, or Earlier Rule) – was a revision and extension of the Primitive Rule, made up largely of Bible passages and statements about living a virtuous life. This was classic Francis, once again reaffirming how he felt called by God to live. But, as Donald Spoto points out "the friars who wanted a document with finely tuned rules, ordinances, schedules and statuses were dissatisfied; most of all, Francis had refused to provide what every religious Rule had had since the days of Saint Benedict: chastisements, punishments and the primacy of authority rather than love. Francis wanted the fraternity to survive and grow by encouragement and example, not by threats and sanctions."

The Rule of 1221 never received papal approval. It was much too long and too vague to serve as a formal rule for the Order, and did not address all of the issues that had been discussed at the 1221 Chapter Meeting. In 1223, Francis spent some time in Fonte Colombo (a hermitage near Rieti) rewriting it. He is said to have given the revised draft Order to Brother Elias, who lost it. So Francis returned to the hermitage and wrote the rule out again, making it shorter, and incorporating some revisions suggested by Hugolin. It was based on vows of obedience, poverty and chastity. Its opening words are "The Rule and Life of the Lesser Brothers is this: to observe the Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ by living in obedience, without anything of their own, and in chastity."

The Second (or Later) Rule – the Regula Bullata – was discussed at the Chapter Meeting at the Portiuncula in June 1223. It was approved by Pope Honorius III at Rome on 29th November 1223, and published at the Chapter Meeting in June 1224. It has been in use ever since by the First Order of St Francis, the main body of Franciscans.

Second and Third Orders

Through time, the First Order grew in numbers, became more visible, preached more widely and was well accepted by the general public. The appeal of living like Francis spread, and more and more people asked to be allowed to join. But the Order had been established and approved to accept men only, and specifically men who were willing to give up everything and live the religious life full-time.

Francis never envisaged women wanting to make the harsh sacrifices required of his brothers. That was to change after he was approached by Clare Offreduccio, daughter of a wealthy family in Assisi, who wanted to adopt the same ascetic lifestyle that the Franciscan friars were living. The story of Clare, and the development of the Second Order of Poor Ladies, is told in Chapter 7.

Francis spent much of his time away from Assisi, on preaching tours throughout Italy. He was well known as a powerful and effective preacher and teacher, and he attracted great crowds to listen to him talking about the Kingdom of God. Many people were converted through his preaching, and wanted to become his disciples and follow him. But many of them were not in a position to give up everything they had – homes, jobs and families – and take the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience that Francis expected of his friars.

One day, Francis preached in a field outside a town called Cannara. It is said that the whole town turned up to hear him. Ernest Raymond describes how "such was his fervour and force that the whole congregation, swept up in some sort of herd movement, wanted to make their vows straightaway. But even the impractical and outrageous Francis felt it would be unwise to empty a village of its people and lead them away behind him like a Pied Piper, so, smiling on them, he told them to go back to their labours for the present, while he thought out some scheme which would enable those who were sincere to stay where they were and be his followers also."

Through time, Francis came to recognise the need for an Order suitable for lay members. These people would commit themselves to following the spiritual practices of the friars, and live lives of humility and simplicity, whilst remaining in their jobs and homes and continuing to support their families. Thus the lay Third Order – the Order of the Brothers and Sisters of Penance – was established in 1221, to sit alongside the First Order of Friars Minor (for men), and the Second Order of Poor Ladies (for women).

As Thomas Okey records, members of the Third Order vowed "to make restitution of all ill-gotten gain, to become reconciled with his enemies, to live in peace and concord with all men, to pass his life in prayer and works of charity, to keep certain fasts and vigils, to pay tithes regularly to the Church, to take no oath except under exceptional conditions, never to wear arms, to use no foul language, and to practice piety to the dead."

The earliest surviving Rule for the Third Order is dated 18 August 1228. The Rule that formally established the Third Order was approved by Pope Nicholas IV in 1289, sixty-three years after Francis died in 1226.

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**Chapter 7. Clare**

_From [the moment she took the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience] till her death, she was a true Bride of the Poor Christ, the most faithful daughter of St. Francis_. MURRAY BODO

The community that grew up around Francis was initially for men only, like the monastic orders of the day. But Francis recognized that the ideals of poverty, charity and ministry that characterized his order were also likely to appeal to women. He also had a much more positive view of women than was common at the time. In contemporary interpretations of Genesis Eve was held responsible for Adam's downfall, whereas Francis put it down to Adam's pride. He treated men and women as equals, and had women among his closest friends. Besides which, had he not married his Lady Poverty?

Francis's preaching and teaching attracted the attention of both men and women. Just as men were drawn to join him, so too some women must have sensed a calling from God to live that way. One such woman – a young heiress of eighteen called Clare – fell under his influence, and was to have a transformation influence both on Francis and on the way his community developed.

Background

Clare (Chiara) was born on 16 July 1194, into one of the noblest families of Assisi, the Offreducci. Her mother Ortolano, of the noble Fiumi family, had married Faverone d'Offreduccio, a Count and a wealthy businessman. She had two younger sisters (Agnes and Beatrice), and two brothers (Boso and Penanda).

The family lived alongside other nobility in Assisi, by the Piazza San Rufino in front of the cathedral where, like Francis, she had been baptized as an infant. They had fled from Assisi to Perugia in 1198, when the people of Assisi rose up against the nobility (as we saw in Chapter 1). The father died soon after they returned to the family home in Assisi in 1205, and Clare was placed under the protection of her uncles.

By all accounts, Clare was beautiful. She had an oval face, clear skin, and long golden hair. In typically gushing style, Celano describes her as "noble by birth, but nobler for her grace; a virgin in body, but most chaste in her heart; young in point of years, but ripe in spirit; she was unwavering in purpose, and most ardent in her longing for the love of God. She was endowed with great wisdom, and pre-eminent in humility."

She is said to have inherited a strong religious conviction and a love of gardening from her mother, and a strong character from her father.

Clare was a very determined young woman. It was common in those days for daughters to be married, by the age of twelve or thirteen, to prominent men through arranged marriages; marriage for love came many centuries later. It was the custom for older daughters to marry before their younger sisters. Clare was to embarrass her parents and disappoint her sisters, by refusing to follow convention. It is said that she had already turned down two suitors before she met Francis, when she was eighteen. Her explanation and defence was that she had committed herself to God, and had no desire to marry anyone. She saw a life of prayer as her calling.

Vocation

Francis was twelve years older than Clare, but their paths probably crossed many times in Assisi as she was growing up. Their families probably knew each other well, but by 1212, when Clare reached eighteen, Francis had long since left his family. By then, he was establishing a reputation for himself as a powerful preacher, and leader of the band of brothers who were living in the woods around the Portiuncula.

Clare and her family regularly attended services at San Rufino, a short walk from their home, where by then Francis had been granted permission by the canons of Assisi to preach. She was both moved and challenged by his preaching during Lent of that year.

Some biographers believe that Clare fell in love with Francis there and then. Others think that Clare saw in Francis a role model for a religious way of life that made perfect sense to her. Both claims are probably true. Ian Morgan Cron insists that "the two of them had a profound love for each other, but it never crossed the border into being romantic. It was more mystical and sublime. They were soul mates who wanted to help each other grow in their common love for Jesus; their relationship was less important than their calling."

Clare was eager to learn more from Francis about how she might live the life of the gospel, as he and his brothers were doing. She began to visit Francis at the chapel of the Portiuncula to discuss religious matters, accompanied by her aunt Bianca Guelfuccio as chaperone. Clare recognised the hold that Lady Poverty had over Francis, and that Lady Poverty was the only one who could make him happy. She was jealous only that Francis was able to live the life he wanted to with Lady Poverty. Her thinking was probably also influenced by two of Francis's companions, Sylvester and Rufino, who appear to have been distant relatives of hers.

Inspired by his example, she asked Francis to help her, by guiding her towards the way of life that he and his companions were living, based on prayer and poverty. This, she knew from the bottom of her heart, was her true vocation, her calling from God, just as Francis knew it was his. She told Francis that she had many friends who were also longing for God, and begged him not to neglect them, but to seek God's will on the matter.

As Francis talked with Clare, he realised that this was no impulsive decision. She had thought long and hard about what she was prepared to commit herself to. He was impressed by her dedication and determination, which he felt were stronger even than his. He also knew that, because of her family background, if she chose to live her life this way, she would be giving up at least as much as he had. She was willing to give up her wealth and status, sacrifice marriage and family, live a celibate religious life, and dedicate herself to gospel poverty and the service of the poor. He knew, too, from personal experience, that her decision would have a significant and lasting impact on her family, who clearly loved her and wanted only the best for her. It was not a decision to be made lightly.

At Clare's request, Francis set about developing a plan for her to live in a way that was consistent with the Rule of his Order. The problem was that Clare could not join the men-only Order of the Little Friars, and it would not be appropriate for her to enter one of the established convents for nuns. Francis the impulsive decision-maker struck again, and he quickly made preparations for Clare to be admitted into the religious life, where she could abandon the things of the world and live the Gospel life fully.

The turning point for Clare was to come on Palm Sunday (the first day of Holy Week), which celebrates Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. It was one of the most popular church services in the year, and the Offreduccio family joined the crowds who packed into the cathedral for Mass. Clare must have been weighed down with thoughts and worries about what lay ahead. Unusually, she did not walk up to the altar with the rest of the congregation for the blessing of the palms, so the priest (Bishop Guido) walked down to her and placed one in her hand. Clare took this to a sign of God's approval, confirmation that she was right to make the bold step of following Francis. That resolve would be seriously tested, within a matter of hours. The plan was about to unfold.

Exodus

Just before midnight that night (Palm Sunday, 18 March 1212), as planned, Clare crept quietly through the family house. She was determined not to wake anyone as she secretly left home under the cover of dark. Rather than leaving through the main entrance, which was probably guarded, she escaped through the little door that every medieval house had for taking out the coffins of the dead, and crept out into the street behind the house. Her aunt Bianca was waiting there to meet her, as arranged, and together they raced as quickly as they could through the town, down the hill, and through the woods towards the Portiuncula. It was the dead of night, but the sky was cloudless and the moon shone brightly.

They made their way through the woods towards the Portiuncula, and were relieved to be guided by lamps lit by Francis and his companions. It is said that they could hear the chant of Matins in the little chapel, with Francis singing louder than the rest, in typically exuberant style. Francis and his brothers dashed out to meet them when they got close to the Portiuncula, and they greeted their visitors with great warmth and enthusiasm.

Without delay, Clare and her aunt were ushered into the chapel. There, Clare prostrated herself in front of the altar in submission to the will of God. She prayed and invited God to accept her, and take control of all aspects of her life. There was no set ritual for consecrating a woman in those days, so Francis made up his own. He cut off Clare's long blond hair, as a sign of giving up everything in order to follow Jesus, imitating the tonsure that new monks and friars received on being formally admitted into a religious order. Francis then covered Clare's head with a veil, placed a sackcloth robe over her shoulders, and gave her a cord belt, and a pair of rough wooden sandals. Gone were the fine clothes of a wealthy nobleman's daughter; she could now dress more or less the same as the Friars Minor, and literally wear her poverty on her sleeve. Thus Clare joyfully embraced the beginning of her new life and took the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, just as the men had who joined the Order of the Friars Minor.

Clare's treatment in committing herself to the religious life was as close as Francis could make it to the way in which the friars formally joined his Order. But some aspects of the Rule could simply not be applied to Clare's situation. In particular, it would not be possible for her to live as an itinerant and mendicant, much as she wanted to. Instead, they must find a way for her to live the Franciscan life, but in a safe environment, probably within an enclosed order.

It was agreed that Clare should start her new life at the Benedictine Convent of Saint Paul, which would provide at least a temporary refuge, until more permanent arrangements could be made. The convent was situated in the fields outside the village of Bastia, about three miles west of the Portiuncula. At dawn the next day (Easter Sunday, symbolizing a new start for Clare) she was escorted by the friars to the convent where the nuns had agreed to take her in. There, she could start her new life as a nun in an enclosed order.

Before long Clare was joined in the convent by her sister Agnes (later to become St Agnes of Assisi) who was also drawn to the Franciscan life and wanted to embrace it as unconditionally as Clare had done. Clare's widowed mother Ortolano joined them, and the three of them formed the core group out of which the new order (for women) was established.

Understandably, Clare's family were both shocked and disappointed to discover that she had left home so suddenly, without warning, committing herself to such a dramatic and drastic change in lifestyle. Surprise quickly gave way to anger, and her brothers rode to Bastia to find her, and bring her back. Their reaction should not surprise us; it would be like an anxious family wanting to rescue a loved one from the clutches of a cult, these days. But Clare's reaction spoke volumes. She is said to have held on tight to the altar rails in the convent, when her brothers forced their way in to retrieve her. When they ripped off her veil and saw her shorn head, they knew that she was a lost cause, and returned home without her.

San Damiano

Francis had chosen the life of an itinerant preacher and a mendicant, rather than the life of a contemplative recluse. Much as she had wanted to, Clare was unable to follow that thread of Francis's calling. Instead, she had to content with the life of a recluse, in a closed community of sisters with little direct contact with the outside world. She willingly accepted that as her calling, and embraced it enthusiastically.

Francis and Clare were both grateful to the Benedictine nuns at Bastia for their hospitality at such a formative time in Clare's new religious life. They both believed that her calling was to establish a different form of religious community for women, based more closely on the spirit and letter of the Rule of the Franciscans. To make that possible, it was clear that Clare would need to be based in a place of her own, where they could uphold the values of the Franciscans and imitate their way of living as best they could.

When they heard that Clare and Agnes were in need of a base, the Benedictines of Mount Subasio, once again showing great respect for and solidarity with the Franciscans, offered Francis the use of the chapel and priest house at San Damiano on a permanent basis (six years after he had restored the chapel there). This could only have happened with the permission of Bishop Guido. A few simple cells were built alongside the chapel there, to house Clare and her initial band of companions. All the buildings were furnished in the most basic of styles.

A start had been made in establishing the new closed community for women. It was not long before others chose to join Clare in this most challenging approach to the religious life. Within twenty-five years, the community had grown to fifty women.

As he had done for the brothers when the group first started to grow, Francis drafted a simple rule of life for the sisters. He also promised that he and his friars would keep watch over them and take care of their needs. Ernest Raymond explains how "the brothers would do all their begging for them, since women could not wander alone in those turbulent and licentious times, and the sisters in return would do all the sewing for the brothers, and weave the cloth for their habits and embroider altar linen and vestments which they would use in their own little chapels or give to the poorest churches. And the brothers would seek out the sick poor and send them to San Damiano, where the sisters would nurse them. It should be a hospital and convalescent home for the poorest, and an infirmary, sometimes, for the brothers."

From this point onwards, the lives and activities of Francis and his brothers, and Clare and her sisters, would be closely intertwined. Francis saw the sisters as equals to the brothers, just living out the gospel in different ways, out of necessity. Clare expected her sisters to live simply without personal or communal property, just as Francis expected his brothers to.

The love of gardening that Clare had inherited from her mother was put to good effect when she made for herself a small garden near her cell at San Damiano. It was built on a terrace, with walls on three sides. In it she grew creepers and planted her favourite plants – the lily (symbol of purity), the violet (symbol of humility) and the rose (symbol of love for God and man). According to tradition, Francis composed his _Canticle of the Creatures_ (which we will look at in Chapter 8) in that garden, while he was recovering there after an eye operation.

Second Order

A formal rule for the sisters was written by Cardinal Hugolin in 1219, replacing the simple rule Francis had drafted in 1212. It was accepted by Francis, and confirmed by Pope Honorius III. Thus was established the Second Order of Franciscans, the Order of Poor Ladies – better known today as the Poor Clares. It was the first order specifically for women amongst the modern religious orders. Clare founded it and led it until she died in 1253.

Clare willingly embraced the poverty, simplicity and austerity that Francis expected of his brothers. Murray Bodu quotes what she wrote in one of her letters "What a praiseworthy exchange: to leave temporal things for those that are eternal, to choose heavenly things for earthly goods, to receive a hundredfold instead of one, and to possess a life, blessed and eternal."

She was determined to preserve what she called "the privilege of poverty", with no possessions, income, or material security. Unlike the brothers, who could beg for alms if they failed to earn food through their work, the sisters living in the enclosed world of the convent had no contact with the outside world. Like her spiritual mentor Francis, Clare put her trust in God to provide everything she and her sisters would need. She and her sisters dedicated themselves to prayer. They survived by charity and their own labour (needlework, making altar linens, gardening), and while they always remained extremely poor, they embraced their poverty as an act of service, and looked upon it as a willing sacrifice to God.

As Donald Spoto emphasises, "her life, at her own request, was extremely rigorous in every way." But while she took her vows very seriously, she stopped short of the ultra-harsh treatment of her own body, the mortification that Francis was so keen on. It is said that she walked around her convent each night, making sure that the nuns' bedclothes were tucked in properly.

The sisters lived in a very egalitarian way. They were all equally poor, and there was no strict hierarchy reflecting social background, as was typical in monasteries at that time. Although Clare was regarded as mother of the community, she had no privileges but dedicated herself to the well-being of her Sisters.

Roch Neimier contends that Clare "modelled Francis' vision more closely than any other ... After Francis died, Clare carried on his vision. She lived a life of poverty like no other, a life of prayer, penance, service, love and healing, a life of evangelical perfection. The brothers would come to her for spiritual guidance as they struggled to make Francis' vision a reality."

San Damiano became the first convent of the Poor Clares. Celano describes how "in this tiny place, the blessed virgin Clare enclosed herself for love of her celestial bridegroom. Here she made herself a prisoner for the span of her lifetime, and took refuge from the tempestuous doings of the world. In the crevice of these rude stones, the silvered dove made its nest, and generated a family of virgins for Christ, founded a sacred monastery, and brought into being the Order of the Poor Clares."

Death and sainthood

Clare lived the enclosed life of a poor nun at Sam Damiano for the next forty-one years. She died there on 11 August 1253 aged fifty-nine (a good age for that time), after being bed-ridden for many years. She passed away having outlived her spiritual mentor Francis by twenty-seven years.

She received the Papal Bull (a charter or privilege issued by the Pope) finally granting the Order permission to live a life of total poverty, on her death-bed. In it she read, "The sisters shall own neither house, nor convent, nor anything, but as strangers and pilgrims shall wander through the world, serving the Lord in poverty and humility." Better late than never. She died, contented, a few hours later, having been granted her dearest wish – permission to be a true daughter of Francis.

Clare's death was a bitter-sweet time for the sisters. They had lost their beloved founder and spiritual leader, but they rejoiced in her life of service to God, her transformational impact on their lives. They were comforted by the knowledge that she had been raised to heaven to join Francis in the presence of God.

She was quickly made a saint. A team of papal investigators interviewed many people who knew her, and collected evidence of her life and its impact. As Donald Spoto points out "there was complete unanimity concerning her profound and humble dedication to her community, her exemplary life and her ability to shape an authentic renewal of cloistered nuns at a time when they were often as lax and renegade as their male counterparts."

Like Francis, Clare was canonised (declared a saint) by Pope Innocent IV two years after her death, in 1255.

Basilica

Four years after her death, work began on building a basilica in her name in 1257. The church of St George (San Giorgio) was enlarged and remodelled, to create the Basilica of St Clare (Santa Chiara). Building work took three years, and the basilica was opened in 1260.

St George's figured prominently in Francis's life on a number of occasions – he went to school there; he gave his first sermon there; and after he died his body was kept in the crypt there while his own basilica was being built.

The Basilica is built of striped stone, and it has a bell tower, an elegant rose window and three huge flying buttresses. The only part of the building that Francis would have known is the plain section on the right-hand (western) side, which in his day was the chapel of St George and included a hospital and the school run by the canons of San Rufino.

After Clare died, San Damiano was felt to be too isolated for the sisters to remain there, so it was exchanged with the canons of San Rufino for the chapel of St George. The Poor Clares moved to a newly-built convent at the Basilica when it opened in 1260. They have remained there ever since. They took with them from San Damiano the crucifix that had spoken to Francis. It has since been kept in the Basilica of St Clare, where it is on display above the altar in the Chapel of St George (also known as the Chapel of the Crucifix). The chapel was damaged by an earthquake in 1997, but has since been fully restored.

Claire's body was moved from San Damiano to the Basilica on 3 October 1260. It is now on display in the crypt there, having been uncovered during an excavation on 23 September 1850 after having remained hidden for six centuries. The crypt also contains a display of items alleged to have belonged to St Francis, including a habit, a cord to tie it with, and his Bible.

The Basilica of St Clare is smaller than, but of a similar style to, the Upper Basilica of St Francis. The two great basilicas, which each attract vast numbers of pilgrims and worshippers, sit opposite each other, at either end of the city, like two large book-ends.

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**Chapter 8. Nature**

_With God he found beauty in the natural world because it spoke to him of utter dependence on divine providence._ LAVINIA BYRNE

Francis is well known for his love of nature. He loved the great outdoors, cherished the freedom of the open countryside and was uplifted by its beauty. He spent much time walking through the fields and woods around Assisi, and climbing Mount Subasio, pleased to be immersed in and surrounded by God's creation. As we saw in Chapter 4, he sought out isolated caves, islands and mountain retreats where he could spend time alone in prayer and contemplation, focussing on God, free from distractions. Nature fuelled his sense of freedom, and it allowed him to worship God freely and unselfconsciously.

To Francis, nature was much more than simply the backdrop to the drama of his life. It was fundamental to his very existence. Recall (from Chapter 2) how, in his youth, he had loved spending time wandering through the countryside around Assisi, content with his own company, day-dreaming about his future as a famous knight. Some biographers believe that his depression during imprisonment in Perugia was fuelled partly by being locked up, away from the countryside he loved so much. After the incident with his father and the Bishop, where Francis renounces all his earthly possessions and embraces a life of poverty (which we looked at in Chapter 3), where does he head for but the countryside?

Creation

There was much more to Francis's love of nature than simply viewing the world around him through a rose-tinted lens. To him, nature was tangible evidence – if any were needed – of God's goodness and his creative and sustaining power. It provided a window through which God could clearly be seen at all times. He believed that, if you love God, you will also love nature, his handiwork. As Celano put it, Francis "saw the Maker in all that he had made. He rejoiced in the works of the Lord and looked through them to see the source of their being and their life. ... To him, all things were good because they had been created by goodness itself."

In his adult life as an itinerant and mendicant, Francis lived close to nature and was directly dependent upon it. He rejected all creature comforts and relied entirely on God's grace and goodness.

As with all things in his adult life, in his approach to nature Francis took his lead from Jesus. In adopting the ascetic lifestyle he chose for himself and his full-time followers, he had taken seriously Jesus' teaching to his disciples to be aware of how nature coped with uncertainty. Jesus had told them to "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin." [Matthew 6: 26-29]

Francis also knew that God's plan covered all of nature, not just people. After the flood, had God not made a new covenant with Noah, emphasizing that it was "between me and you and every living creature." [Genesis 9: 12]?

Francis's views on nature and creation differed from the notion of a hierarchical Great Chain of Being which was popular in the Middle Ages. The idea was that the chain starts from God and progresses downward through angels, royalty, ordinary people, animals, and plants, to inanimate stones and minerals. Through the chain, all things were believed to be bound together, so that each part of the chain is interdependent with all the other parts. By including supernatural elements as well as natural ones, the notion of the Great Chain of Being goes far beyond what today we might call the 'circle of life' or what scientists call ecosystems.

Significantly, Francis did not view the natural world in such a hierarchical way. To him, all of nature was created by God, and it all had equal status and value. He did not view elements of nature as a type of ladder to God. They simply were, because that's how God had created them. Thus, to him, a worm was as important as a man. Both were loved equally by the God who had made them, continued to watch over them, and met all their needs.

Compassion

Because he found God in all things, Francis treated nature with great care and sensitivity. Celano gives numerous examples. For example, Francis would not extinguish lights, lamps or candles which he regarded as symbols of Eternal Light. He walked lightly and stepped carefully on stones because they represented God the Rock. He told his brothers never to cut down a whole tree, to allow it to grow back. He asked those who looked after the vegetable garden to leave the border undug, so that grass and wild flowers would grow there and reveal the beauty of the creator of all things.

The way in which Francis treated nature illustrated his compassion, not just for people, but for all of creation. Whilst he loved animals, unlike modern-day animal welfare campaigners, he loved them not for their sake or for his own, but purely and simply because they are part of God's creation. He loved and treated all creatures the same. Celano tells of how he took pity on the simplest of them – for example, he would pick up tiny worms off the road and move them to safe places where they would not be trodden on, and in winter he would provide honey or wine for the bees to prevent them from dying of the cold.

Because he saw God in all things, Francis would preach to wildlife, and he wanted them to join him in thanking and praising God for creating them. He treated all creatures as his equals, and preached to them as if they were people. After all, hadn't Jesus told his disciples to "go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation." [Mark 16: 15]? Francis expected all of creation to worship God, each in its own way. As Paul wrote in his letter to the Christians in Rome [Romans 8: 19-22], "the creation was subjected to frustration ... [it] will be liberated from its bondage to decay ... [and] the whole creation has been groaning," because of human sinfulness."

Celano records that Francis "had a special love of flowers. He preached to them and invited them to praise the Lord as though they could understand. He urged cornfields and vineyards, stones and forest, and everything green, gardens, fountains and fields, earth, fire, wind, and water, to love God and serve him willingly."

Nature stories

Some of the more colourful stories about Francis centre on how he enjoyed the company of nature, and how – like an early Dr Doolittle – he talked with it, preached sermons to it, and expected it to worship God and thank God for creating it.

Perhaps the best-known nature story of Francis is the wolf of Gubbio. After he had stripped in front of the Bishop and his father, he walked away from Assisi through the countryside towards Gubbio, about thirty miles to the north. The story tells of how, while he was there, a wolf began attacking livestock in the surrounding fields. It then began to kill and eat humans, waiting for its prey outside the city gates. Anyone who tried to capture it or kill it was added to its tally, and soon the wolf had the whole town under siege. Francis announced that he would go out and calm it. So he made the sign of the cross, walked through the gate, and approached the wolf, making the sign of the cross once again in order to protect himself from whatever might happen. He commanded the wolf to stop its attacks, in the name of God. The wolf is said to have walked calmly up to him, sat down by his feet, and put its paw in his hand as if to shake on the peace agreement.

Another popular nature story associated with Francis involves him preaching to a group of birds. One day, Francis was walking with a companion in the countryside near Assisi when they came across a huge gathering of different types of birds. He thought they were waiting for him, so he ran towards them. But, instead of flying away, the birds stayed calmly where they were. Francis preached a sermon to them, and according to Celano the birds acted most strangely, "stretching their necks, spreading their wings and opening their beaks and gaping at him, and Francis went to and fro among them brushing their heads and bodies with his cloak." The birds listened attentively as Francis preached to them. Then he blessed them, and they flew peacefully away. Afterwards, Francis is said to have criticized himself for not having thought of preaching to the birds earlier, given how attentive they had been to him this time.

Bonaventure tells a different story in which, one day, as Francis and a companion were out walking by a marsh, they saw a large flock of birds singing amongst reeds. Francis declared "our sisters the birds are praising their Creator. We will go in among them and sing God's praise, chanting the divine office." They did that, but the birds were making so much noise that the two men couldn't hear themselves think, let alone say the office. Francis said to the birds "my sisters, stop singing until we have given God the praise to which he has a right." The birds fell silent, and remained that way until Francis gave them permission to sing again.

There are many other bird stories. For example, one day, while Francis was crossing a lake in a rowing boat, a fisherman is reported to have given him a live waterfowl as a gift. He opened his hands to let it fly away, but it stayed there and snuggled down as if in its own nest. He prayed over it while it stared at him, as if listening to every word he spoke, and then he blessed it and it flew away.

On another occasion, Francis had gone to a hermitage to pray. Nearby there was a falcon and its nest. The bird spent much time watching Francis, and they often ate their meals together. The story goes that the falcon then started to wake Francis up at the time to pray (at midnight and at dawn). Once, when Francis was ill, it let him sleep through the night and wake up as normal at dawn.

The nature stories are not confined to wolves and birds. For example, one day Francis spotted a grasshopper on a fig tree near his cell at the Portiuncula, singing its heart out. He stretched out his hand and asked it to come to him, which it did. Then he asked it to sing joyfully to God, its Creator, and again it obliged. It is said to have only stopped singing when Francis sang his own praises to God. When he stopped it started again. The grasshopper stayed by that tree for a week, singing every time Francis asked it to. On another occasion one of Francis's companions caught a rabbit and gave it to him. It was trembling with fear. But when Francis spoke to it gently, it jumped onto his lap and snuggled down peacefully. He stroked it gently, then let it go. But it jumped back into the safety of his arms. Eventually, he had to ask one of his companions to take the rabbit into the wood and set it free there. A third example concerns a lamb that was given to Francis at the Portiuncula. The lamb is said to have learned to walk into the church and bleat when it heard the choir of brothers singing in worship, and to bend down reverently during Mass.

The nature stories became more frequent after Francis resigned as head of the Franciscan Order, in 1221. They form the basis of the anecdotes related to in the _Little Flowers of St Francis_ , but they must be treated with some caution.

People often read these nature stories and smile at them because, by today's standards, many of them sound rather fanciful. They look more like the creative writing of his hagiographers than events that actually happened, and have the status of legend or folklore rather than fact. Few recent biographers mention them. But, the very fact that the nature stories were created and have been passed down, speaks volumes of how the early biographers wanted to project Francis.

Donald Spoto cautions that "any overly literal reading of the episode of the preaching to the birds risks trivialising the importance Francis had for those without power, influence, prestige or political strength – precisely the people symbolised by the birds, and the group that most welcomed his message. ... [he emphasises that] the metaphorical point of the incident of Francis and the birds ... may well be that in his preaching and in his fraternity, he often had more success with the lowest levels of society – the poor and disenfranchised manual workers, poetically symbolised by birds – than with the rich and powerful (the clergy and nobility). This interpretation assigns Francis a far richer and more compassionate sensibility than being simply a friend of birds, and thus offers a view consistent with his concern for and identification with the poor."

Canticle of the Creatures

Although the jury remains out on the origin and authenticity of the nature stories, some texts exist that Francis is known to have written himself. These include rules, letters and prayers.

The best known piece by Francis is the _Canticle of the Creatures_ (also known as _Canticle of the Sun_ ), in which he praises God for having created the universe and everything in it. It sounds like a prayer but is in fact a poem, the earliest surviving poem in Italian. As we saw in Chapter 7, he composed it in the garden of the Poor Clares convent at San Damiano in the spring of 1224. When he had finished it, he called his companions together and they all sang it together. Francis added the last verse, about Sister Death, on his death bed. The English translation of the canticle runs as follows:

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord! All praise is yours, all glory, all honour, and all blessing. To you, alone, Most High, do they belong. No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.

Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendour! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness. Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in the heavens you have made them bright, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance. Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure. Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong. Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth, who feeds us and rules us, and produces various fruits with coloured flowers and herbs.

Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you; through those who endure sickness and trial. Happy those who endure in peace, for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.

Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whose embrace no living person can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Happy those she finds doing your most holy will. The second death can do no harm to them.

Praise and bless my Lord, and give thanks, and serve him with great humility

The most striking thing about the poem is the way in which Francis describes different aspects of creation in human terms, as members of his family. Thus the moon, stars, water and death are seen as sisters, while the sun, wind, air and fire are brothers, and the earth is mother. This is an interesting form of anthropomorphism (attributing human qualities to non-human things). But, it wasn't just a case of finding colourful ways of talking about the natural world, it was a true reflection of how Francis saw nature. He called all creatures brother, for example, because he felt that close to them. As Cron points out, Francis genuinely believed that "everything we see in creation is a reflection of the Creator, just as we are. Francis treated everything in creation as if it were his brother or sister, because we all have the same Parent."

Nature mystic

Francis's egalitarian and inclusive approach to nature was to foreshadow the recent development of ecology as a branch of science and environmentalism as a political movement. It helps to explain why, in 1979, Pope John Paul II designated him the patron saint of ecology.

But, to regard Francis as the first ecologist or environmentalist, is to miss the point by failing to recognize Francis's unique spiritual vision and commitment. Roch Neimier emphasizes that his "love and praise of nature ... are more comprehensive than a modern environmentalist's concerns. The creatures are loved in themselves because they share their creaturehood with us and are therefore parts of our family, and for the way they can lead us to God."

Some people have confused Francis's attitude towards nature with pantheism, the view that God and nature are the same thing and thus nature is sacred. But, although he expressed it more passionately and vocally than most have done before or since, Francis's views were essentially Biblical. He acknowledged that the physical world was created by God but it is not God, and that God is the creator and the world is what he created. Thus nature is sacred, not in its own right, but because God created it and thus endowed it with sacred qualities. Cron makes it very clear that "Francis didn't worship God as creation – he worshipped God through creation."

Some people think of Francis as a mystic, because he went beyond the liturgical form of worship of the mainstream Catholic Church, sought deeper meanings in the religious doctrine of his day, and regularly engaged in practices like prayer and meditation to heighten his spiritual awareness. Murray Bodo insists that he "is more than some nature mystic; he is a mystic of the soul who communes with God through nature as a mirror of his own soul."

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**Chapter 9. Mission**

_Probably no one was more surprised than he was when, almost from the start, his preaching enjoyed a popular success ... because of its novelty, freshness, passion, and charm._ ERNEST RAYMOND

Francis took seriously, and literally, Jesus' command to his followers to "go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation." [Mark 16: 15] Preaching and mission work were at the heart of his personal calling to live out the gospel, and he expected his brothers in the Order to engage in them enthusiastically. In Chapter 8 we saw some examples of how Francis preached to all creation. Here, we focus on preaching to people.

Preaching

To Francis and his companions, preaching was less about delivering formal sermons than about calling on people to love and fear God and to repent of their sins, as they passed through small villages and towns. Celano records how Francis told the friars to go "two by two into the world and announce to everyone peace and repentance unto the forgiveness of sins." As modern evangelists do, they were to proclaim the Word of God, and call on people to repent, believe, and be baptized.

Preaching was an important way for Francis to actively engage in the spiritual warfare going on all around him. The goal and reward were the winning of souls, because as Bonaventure emphasises, "it was made known to him by divine revelation that he was sent by God to win back to Christ the souls which the devil was seeking to carry away."

As the Order grew, they were able to engage in mission work over increasingly large areas. Pairs of friars would be sent out from the Portiuncula to preach the gospel of repentance and forgiveness, initially throughout Italy, then increasingly further afield. Given Francis's obedience to the authority of the church and its leaders, they were instructed never to gather people together and preach to them without permission from the local bishop.

The brothers would be away for months on end, but they usually started heading back towards Assisi in the springtime so that they could spend the summer months in their simple huts in the woods around the Portiuncula. Chapter Meetings were held while the friars were gathered at their spiritual base.

The sisters, in the Order of the Poor Clares, were confined to their convent, so they could not join the brothers in their itinerant preaching and mission work. But they supported them in prayer, and looked after any who fell ill or were infirmed.

The friars were to live as travelling pilgrims, and – as the Rule said – they "should be delighted to follow the lowliness and poverty of our Lord Jesus Christ ... having food and sufficient clothing, with these let us be content ... They should be glad to live among social outcasts, among the poor and helpless, the sick and the lepers, and those who beg by the wayside. If they are in want, they should not be ashamed to beg alms."

As they went around preaching, they lived simply and took nothing with them other than the simple clothes they stood up in, sleeping in haylofts, grottos, or church porches. They worked alongside the labourers in the fields. When there was not work to be done, they would beg for food.

Francis had a very distinctive approach to preaching. In sharing the good news of the gospel, he lead people to Jesus, rather than just pointing them to him. Much of his teaching and preaching involved a combination of personal testimony and simple explanations of the gospel. The brothers were judged as much by what they did as what they said, as they demonstrated their commitment to living out the gospel on a day-to-day basis, in extreme poverty. This expectation was built into the Rule of 1221, which instructs that "all the brothers are to preach by their works."

Like the early Christians at the time of Jesus, Francis believed that the kingdom of God would come when the good news had been preached to the whole world. Hence the Great Commission, in which Jesus told his followers to "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." [Matthew 28: 18-20]

The approaches to preaching of Jesus and Francis had much in common. Even before Jesus, John the Baptist (after whom Francis had originally been named) had preached about repentance and taught that the kingdom of God was near and was coming through Jesus. Jesus preached essentially the same message. He preached in towns, villages and the countryside, over a wide area. He usually preached outdoors, in public places. He preached with authority, and the people who heard him were amazed at the power of what he said and how he said it. He instructed his followers to preach the same message, and sent them out to do so. He told them to travel lightly, to "take nothing for the journey – no staff, no bag, no bread, no money, no extra shirt." [Luke 9: 2-4]

Jesus initially baptized people in the River Jordan, as a sign of their individual personal repentance. But he soon gave up the practice and there is no evidence that, after he left the Jordan and the desert, he ever baptised anyone or even sent them to be baptised by John or by anyone else. There is no mention of Francis baptizing his brothers or the people he converted. Similarly, unlike Jesus and his disciples, there is no mention of Francis and his companions healing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing those who have leprosy, or driving out demons.

Francis preached in a different way to Jesus. Jesus is well known for teaching through parables – stories of everyday things which were easy for people to follow but which illustrated sometimes quite sophisticated underlying themes. Well-known examples include the Parable of the Mustard Seed and the Yeast, the Parable of the Weeds, and the Parable of the Wedding Banquet. Francis had a much more straight-forward style, and he used a lot of personal testimony in his preaching and testimony. As Ian Morgan Cron puts it, Francis, "avoided preaching doctrines and dogma, because he believed conversion happened more on the plane of experience than reason." In this Francis was simply copying Jesus, who had told his disciples "we speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen." [John 3: 11]

Francis's preaching had a number of important qualities. In particular, it was clear and accessible. He no doubt used all the tricks of the trade that he had learned from watching the troubadours, as a youngster, for winning and keeping people's attention. He was authentic, because he only spoke of what he knew, which was his own life. He kept his preaching brief and stuck to the point. He preached in an accessible way, speaking in the Italian dialect whereas preachers in church spoke Latin.

Francis was a powerful and persuasive preacher, and his preaching had great impact. He preached, not as Celano puts it "by persuading people with words of human wisdom, but with the knowledge and the power of the [Holy] Spirit." If Celano is to be believed, one day when Francis was preaching outdoors in the city of Ascoli "a change came over almost everyone who heard him and the right hand of the Most High filled them with such grace and devotion that they actually trampled on each other in their eagerness to hear and see him. It was at that time that thirty men, both clergy and lay, received the religious habit from him."

Francis's style of preaching was in marked contrast to most other preaching during the Middle Ages which as Cron emphasizes "was pretty manipulative. It was all about the threat of damnation, hell, and judgment. That's how the church kept people in line and protected its power base. Clerics wanted people to believe the church held the keys to heaven, and that there was no hope of being saved without the church's help. Francis wanted no part of that. He was always courteous and respectful and spoke endlessly about the mercy and kindness of God – a God who was willing to enter human history [the incarnation] and rescue us, a God who was intimate, not distant and aloof."

Nativity

One thing for which Francis is particularly well known is the nativity scene he arranged to be built at Greccio, about thirty-five miles south of Assisi. It brought together in one rich drama his love of Jesus, his passion for preaching the gospel, and the skills he had displayed in his youth as a showman and entertainer. It was a daring adventure for Francis and a moving and memorable experience for those who witnessed it.

The incident took place in December 1223. Earlier that year, Francis had travelled to Rome to seek the Pope's approval for the written rule of the Order. While there, he received the Pope's permission to celebrate the nativity in some physical way which portrayed the events that had happened in Bethlehem on that first Christmas, when Jesus was born in a stable.

As Celano reports, Francis's aim was "to do something that will recall to memory the little Child who was born in Bethlehem and set before our bodily eyes in some way the inconveniences of his infant needs, how he lay in a manger, how, with an ox and an ass standing by, he lay upon the hay where he had been placed."

His primary objective was to celebrate the Incarnation, God born in human flesh, as the ultimate sign of God's great love.

When Francis was in Greccio, again in the autumn of 1223, he asked a local nobleman John Velita (Giovanni di Velita) to help him find a place where he could build a nativity scene. John was happy to help, and found him a rocky place with no shelter from the winter weather. Francis told John that he wanted the nativity to be realistic, so John built a wooden crib and filled it with straw, and took along an ox and an ass. Francis had asked for volunteers from the town to act the main parts – Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the angels, and the Magi – and a doll took the part of the baby Jesus.

Many people from the surrounding area made their way by torchlight to the site of the nativity on Christmas Eve. The huge crowd waited, excited and expectant. Through the live tableau, the emotion and significance of the nativity jumped out of the pages of the Bible, and appeared before their very eyes. Francis read the gospel and preached the sermon, as they celebrated the Christmas Mass outdoors over the crib. He was said to have been almost overcome with emotion, particularly when he said the words "and the Word became flesh." He felt that he really was looking at the baby Jesus.

Celano describes the scene for us: "the manger was prepared, the hay had been brought, the ox and ass were led in. ... The night was lighted up like the day, and it delighted men and beasts. The people came and were filled with new joy over the new mystery. ... The brothers sang, paying their debt of praise to the Lord, and the whole night resounded with their rejoicing. The saint of God stood before the manger, uttering sighs, overcome with love, and filled with a wonderful happiness."

Francis made the Incarnation – God on earth as a person, in the shape of Jesus – real and immediate, using props, in order to shake those who witnessed it out of their complacency. They already knew the basic stories in the Bible, and doubtless thought that they understood the nativity and its relevance. But Francis wanted them to feel the story, to catch the emotion of it, and not just know it. Celano even claimed that sick people and animals who came into contact with the hay from the manger were miraculously healed.

This was the first known nativity play, but as Donald Spoto reminds us "Francis was not the inventor of the Christmas crib; it was already part of the holiday customs at the cathedrals in Rome and elsewhere."

A chapel (the Chapel of the Presepio) was build on the site of the 1223 nativity in the latter part of the thirteenth century, and a simple new church was built there in 1959. The site continues to attract large numbers of pilgrims and visitors, all eager to see for themselves the site of the famous live drama of the nativity.

Mission

Francis and his companions took Jesus Great Commission seriously, and over time Francis progressively extended the range over which his friars were sent out to preach. They started out preaching in and around Assisi, and before long they had spread across Umbria, and then throughout Italy. The friars were sent out in pairs and travelled lightly. Their hallmark was to live simply and act humbly at all times.

By 1212 Francis, then thirty-one years old, felt called to extend their mission work overseas. He obtained permission from the Pope to preach in the Holy Land, and try to convert the Muslims there. Evangelising Muslims in the Holy Land had never been attempted before, and with the Crusades once again in full swing it would be a risky trip. But, Francis was ready and willing to accept martyrdom if it came his way, as a sign of his commitment to follow Jesus. As Donald Spoto puts it "rejecting arms and the Crusaders' quest for riches and honour as well as the desire for indulgences and thus heavenly rewards, he entertained higher goals – the establishment of peace and the conversion of Muslims, both of which meant risking his life for Christ in an ultimate act of chivalry."

Francis also welcomed the opportunity to walk where Jesus had walked over a thousand years earlier.

Francis set off for the Italian costal port of Ancona, where he planned to catch a ship to Syria, full of enthusiasm and hope. But the ship soon ran into violent storms, and it got no further than Slavonia on the Dalmation coast. Francis had no option but to return to Assisi, having failed in his mission.

The following year (1213), Francis set out for Spain and Morocco to preach there and evangelise the 'infidels'. Bernard went with him. Between June and September – the height of summer, with unbearable heat and aridity – they walked along the traditional pilgrim route, from Assisi north to Florence and Pisa, further north to Lyons in France, west across the Pyrenees into Spain and on towards Santiago de Compostela. By the time they had reached Compostela, Francis was ill with a recurrence of malaria and what appears to have been a stomach ulcer, and possibly also a minor stroke. He had to abandon the plan to travel on to Morocco, and returned once again to Assisi.

Between September 1213 and November 1217, Francis spent much of his time confined to the Portiuncula, resting and regaining his strength. His persistent poor health caused great concern to his companions, who attributed much of it to his punishingly regime and ascetic lifestyle. By early, 1216 Francis was so badly affected by malaria that he accepted the invitation of Guido to spend some time resting and recovering in the Bishop's palace in Assisi (the very place from which he had set out on his journey of faith, quite a few years earlier, as we saw in Chapter 3). He refused to take any medication or painkillers, partly because he saw them as the realm of the wealthy but also because they might compromise his desire to follow God's calling.

Despite the fragile state of his health, Francis was determined to keep up his evangelistic mission trips. Later in 1216 he set out once again for the Holy Land. This time, he travelled to Syria with Brother Illuminatus. His aim was to meet the Sultan of Babylon, share with him the good news of the gospel of Jesus, and try to convert him and his fellow Muslims. He was knowingly putting his life at risk because, as Bonaventure reports, the Sultan "had made a cruel decree, that whoever should bring him the head of a Christian should receive a golden bezant [coin] as his reward." There would be a price on his head, literally, but Francis pressed ahead with the trip with little concern for his own safety. The Sultan agreed to meet Francis, but whilst he was very impressed by his humility and dedication, he remained unmoved by what Francis told him. Once again, Francis returned to Assisi disappointed, his mission having failed, at least in his own eyes.

Chapter Meetings

Many matters relating to the organisation and future of the Order were discussed at the first Chapter Meeting, held at the Portiuncula in May 1217, including how best to meet the expectations of the Great Commission. By now there were more than three thousand friars, and if they were to be effective in preaching the good news of the gospel "to all the world", they would need to approach the task in an organised way.

A key decision was made to create a proper structure for the Order, with both geographical and hierarchical dimensions to it. The (First) Order would be divided into eleven geographical provinces – either regions (such as Tuscany and Lombardy in Italy, and Provence in France) or countries (such as France, Spain and Germany). Each province was to be supervised by a named friar, titled the Provincial Minister. A General Minister would oversee the whole structure, not in any superior capacity, but to minister to the provincial ministers and be responsible for the overall organisation. Within each province, particular centres would be looked after by Custodians. Local residences, hermitages and friaries would be the responsibility of Guardians.

Francis set out for France, with Sylvester. They had only got as far as Florence when Francis was persuaded by Cardinal Hugolin (who had been made protector of the order in 1216, and was to become pope in 1217) not to continue. His plans dashed yet again, he returned to Assisi and sent Brother Pacifico in his place. Other pairs of friars were sent out to Italy, Spain, Portugal, Germany, Hungary, Greece, Tunis, the Holy Land and England.

Only the mission that Bernard led to Spain had any success. In some countries – particularly France, Germany, Hungary and Portugal – the brothers were mocked, and beaten. They were ill-treated mainly because they had no possessions, and begged for their upkeep, in marked contrast to the sophisticated and well-fed church people the locals were more used to seeing. Many of the friars returned to Assisi downhearted and disappointed.

These were difficult times for the Order. Preventing morale from sinking would prove to be a major challenge. In retrospect, the failure of most of the missions to other countries should not have come as a surprise, given that the friars had no knowledge of the local language, customs or culture in the countries they were sent to. Michael de la Bedoyere writes of how "no preparations seemed necessary to [Francis] ... God would guide and guard – and if they fell by the wayside, He would care for them on earth or in heaven. No one before Francis, and no one since, had planned the future of an organisation with such sublime abandon."

A second important Chapter Meeting was held at the Portiuncula in late May 1219. More than three thousand friars met there. Discussion centred on matters relating to the growth of the Order, including recruitment, prayer, the development of a formal Rule, and the sending out of missionary groups to other countries. A large group of friars was dispatched to Germany, and others were sent to Spain, France, Hungary and elsewhere. Despite the failure of his earlier trip to the Holy Land, Francis remained fully committed to evangelising 'the infidels', so he sent a mission headed by Giles (the third Franciscan) to Tunis. Another group, which would produce the first five Franciscan martyrs, was dispatched to Morocco.

Holy Land

Francis led a mission to Egypt, accompanied by twelve Brothers. The aim was to preach to the Christian soldiers who had been holding Damietta (a port at the mouth of the Nile) under siege for more than a year, during the Fifth Crusade. The group travelled by ship from Ancona to Cyprus, then on to Acre and Egypt. When he arrived at Damietta, he parted company from his group and succeeding in obtaining an interview with Sultan Malik al-Kamil, ruler of Egypt, Palestine and Syria.

The Sultan received Francis courteously, and Francis eagerly explained the gospel of Christ to him. Francis's objective was to convert the Muslims peacefully rather than allow them to be killed violently by the Crusaders; it was part of his peace-making mission as well as his evangelistic outreach. It is said that Francis was so intent on converting the Sultan that he offered to throw himself into a raging fire to prove that God would protect him because of his faith. He even challenged the Sultan to do the same, but the Sultan politely declined the invitation. The Sultan was a devoutly religious man and he listened politely to Francis, but he remained unmoved by Francis's attempt to convert him to Christianity. Celano reports that the Sultan was astonished when Francis resolutely refused to extravagant gifts that were offered to him.

But, whilst Francis succeeded neither in converting the Sultan nor stopping the bloody battle, nor won the spiritual prize of martyrdom, the visit was not a complete failure for him. The Sultan promised him that captured Christian soldiers would not be treated with the customary brutality (often death), and gave him safe passage back to the Christian lines, along with permission to travel freely through Muslim lands. The Sultan reportedly said to Francis when they departed "Do not forget me in your prayers, and may God reveal to me the faith which is most pleasing to Him."

After Damietta, Francis travelled on to the Holy Land to walk in the footsteps of Jesus. It is not known how long he spent there, where he went or what he did. It is likely that he visited Bethlehem and Jerusalem. But the silence of contemporary sources on this is curious given the amount of detail his early biographers give of other experiences he had, and their determination to portray him as an exceptional man of God.

In the spring of 1220, Francis returned to Acre, from where he set sail back to Italy. He hurried back, having learned the sad news of the savage death of the five brothers in Morocco and the challenging news of the growing problems within the Order. The journey home took many weeks, because of strong head-winds. Francis resigned as leader of the Order of Friars Minor at the 1220 Chapter Meeting.

Franciscanism landed on English soil in September 1224, when nine Brothers landed at Dover. Friaries were quickly established in Canterbury, London, Oxford and Northampton. Within two decades, forty friaries had been established throughout the country. By the turn of the century, there were around fifteen hundred Franciscans in England.

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**Chapter 10. Final days**

_[Francis] knew that Christ had passed through this darkness, and he was not unhappy to be passing through it, since he desired so passionately to equal his Lord._ ERNEST RAYMOND

By 1222 Francis was forty-one years old, and entering the final phase of his life. As he looked back on what he had achieved, being the humble man that he was he probably saw his failures much more clearly than his successes.

Personal struggles

Francis had established a unique religious Order, with an enclosed variant for women. Having established the Order, he was to see problems develop within it as it grew rapidly, particularly in the move away from religious poverty, as a result of which he stood down from leading it. A few of his closest companions (particularly Giles and Leo) remained loyal to him and supported him as, for the first time, he could now live a more solitary and contemplative life.

He had also had grand plans to evangelise throughout and beyond Italy, but in this too he had met with mixed success. He was particularly disappointed with the failure of his missions to the Muslims in the Holy Land. By now he was also frail, having suffered on and off from a variety of illnesses over many years

Francis was, as Donald Spoto puts it, "uncertain about his past and confused for his future." He was wracked by doubt. Had he heard God correctly, when he sought God's guidance? Despite his commitment to listen to God and to do what he felt God was calling him to do, had he unknowingly allowed his own vanity to get in the way? Had he, after all, been pursuing his agenda and not God's?

Yet, even as he struggled through this 'long dark night of the soul', his faith held. He knew that, if it was God's will that he should be stripped of everything he had (including his eyesight, which by now was fading fast), he would accept that, and be thankful for it.

Relieved of responsibility for leading the Order, Francis now had more time to spend in prayer and contemplation, spiritual practices to which he had long been resolutely committed. He also sought guidance from those whose spiritual discernment he trusted and valued, particularly Clare, who by now was living the enclosed life of a nun.

La Verna

One of the most striking and most widely debated events in Francis's life happened in 1224. To some people it marked him out (literally) as uniquely special, and confirmed how well he had succeeded in his aim of imitating Christ. To others, the incident poses more questions than it answers.

Francis did not attend the 1224 Chapter Meeting, which was held as usual at the Portiuncula, in the early autumn. This was the first one he had missed, although why he missed this one is not recorded. He may well have been suffering from a recurrence of the illnesses that had regularly struck him down. He may also have been low in spirit, after giving up the leadership of the Order a few years earlier.

Francis did what he often did when he wanted to spend time alone with God – he went off on retreat to pray, listening to God, seek his guidance and thank him for the beauty of his creation. Three of his closest companions (Leo, Masseo and Angelo) made the journey with him to La Verna, in the full heat of late summer. The friars had built a small hermitage on the rocky mountain top there, with some small simple huts scattered through the beech and pine woods around it. It was the ideal place for solitary prayer and contemplation.

The plan was to spend forty days at La Verna alone, praying and fasting. Francis would reflect on Christ's Passion, between the Assumption (15th August) and the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (14th September). He wanted no distractions, so Masseo took him bread and water each day, but otherwise his companions left him in peace.

That Francis was at La Verna at that time is not in dispute, but exactly what happened there has been a matter of discussion and conjecture ever since. According to tradition, the night before the feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross, Francis got little sleep. He was tormented by thoughts of his sinful and selfish past.

At dawn the next day, while he was praying, Francis asked God for two favours. In Michael de la Bedoyere's words "the first was that before he died, he should feel in his body, as far as might be possible, the actual sufferings of Christ's Passion; and the second was that he might feel the very love which had caused Christ to undergo this sacrifice for mankind."

As he prayed alone on that bare mountain-top, Francis is said to have seen a vision of a seraph (an angel with three pairs of wings) standing above him, with its feet together and its hands stretched out straight in front. As he gazed at it, he noticed the image of a man – Jesus – hanging on a cross between the pairs of wings. Donald Spoto suggests that "the vision was not an external apparition perceivable to the senses but an internal, spiritual experience, though none the less real for that." It is believed that, after seeing this vision, Francis began to go blind. But the immediate impact was much more striking and significant.

Stigmata

According to tradition, Francis stared at the angel, which he believed was a direct encounter with Jesus. As he stared, he felt a sharp pain in his hands and feet, and felt warm blood running from open wounds there.

Celano describes the wounds in graphic detail: "his hands and feet seemed to be pierced by nails, the heads of the nails appearing on the inside of his hands and the upper side of his feet, and their points protruding on the other side. On the palms of his hands these marks were round, but on the outer side they were longer, and there were little pieces of flesh projecting from the surface which looked like the ends of nails, bent and hammered back. So too there were the marks of nails imprinted on his feet, and the flesh was swollen where the nails appeared. His right side was scarred as if it had been pierced by a spear, and it often seeped blood, so that his tunic and undergarments were frequently drenched in it."

The wounds are said to have been stigmata, physical marks in the same places as the five wounds that Jesus received when the nails were driven into him as they hung him on the cross at the crucifixion. The miracle of the stigmata has been taken as clear evidence of just how much God must have loved Francis. As Thomas Okey puts it, "his spiritual anguish was sealed with the material wounds of Christ's passion." Lavinia Byrne, another biographer, writes of the wounds as "another glorious gift from God, the final stamp, the final seal on his life of dedication and trust." Ernest George describes how "the unity of his soul with the Saviour's became manifest in the unity of his soul with his own body."

Francis is the first person since Christ who is reported to have received the stigmata. Little wonder this incident has attracted its fair share of controversy over the years, and continues to do so today. There are two key questions to consider – did he in fact receive wounds like the ones Jesus received, as is alleged? And, if he did, what caused them?

Donald Spoto stresses that "Francis never claimed he had received an impression of the wounds of Christ, nor did he ever utter to word 'stigmata'." In fact, Francis kept the wounds – if they existed – a closely-guarded secret. According to Celano "he never became conceited at heart and never sought to please anyone by revealing his secret for the sake of vainglory. Rather, to prevent worldly adulation from robbing him of the grace he had been given, he did everything he possibly could to keep it hidden."

The general consensus is that there were few direct witnesses to the wounds that Francis is reported to have received miraculously at La Verna that day. Brother Leo is said to have witnessed the stigmata at the time Francis received them. He left a clear account of it in which he describes an open wound on Francis's right side, which looked as if it had been made by a lance or sword, and he describes black nails of flesh through Francis's hands and feet, with the points bent backwards. Celano tells us that Elias saw them later, as did Rufino who actually touched them. Bonaventure claims that the wounds were seen by many of the Brothers, several Cardinals, the Pope, Clare, many of the Sisters, and a number of the citizens of Assisi after his death.

Significantly, as Donald Spoto emphasizes, "the existence of the stigmata was denied by those interviewed for Francis's canonisation, and even his good friend Ugolino – who became Pope Gregory IX in 1227 – flatly disbelieved the report for a decade. His proclamation of Francis's canonisation ... makes no reference to the stigmata, and it is unlikely that an element so dramatic would have been omitted, for this alone might have made the extraordinary holiness of the man a self-evident truth."

The oldest known painting of the saint – a fresco in the chapel of St Gregory of the Sacro Specco, Subacio – shows him without the stigmata. Although there are a number of paintings and frescos have survived that show Francis either receiving or with the stigmata, the earliest one was painted by Berlinghieri in 1235, a full nine years after Francis died. Giotto's later paintings were based on Bonaventure's accounts of the life of Francis, not on the evidence of any eye-witness.

Despite the lack of hard evidence, and the lingering doubts about the reality of Francis's alleged stigmata, some recent biographers conclude that the wounds actually existed, and were caused by divine intervention. Michael De la Bedoyere, for example, argues that "either there was a conspiracy of lying, in which Francis took part, or the phenomenon (however we explain it) was true. ... there can be no doubt whatever about the essential truth of this whole strange and wonderful episode."

R.E.G. George writes of the wounds, "which, for so long thought incredible, are now accepted as an historical fact. ... researchers of recent years have corroborated the evidence," although, curiously, he fails to go into any detail about what that evidence is.

Some commentators have serious doubts about the authenticity of the stigmata. For example, G.K. Chesterton concludes that "the story of the stigmata is not a legend but can only be a lie. ... it is certainly not a late legendary accretion added afterwards to the fame of St Francis; but is something that started almost immediately with his earliest biographers."

Chesterton admits having difficulty in understanding why the early biographers "should be trusted as eye-witnesses about one fact and not trusted as eye-witnesses about the other" and he concludes that "what it was exactly that happened there may never be known."

Francis may well have ended up with marks on his body, but they appear to have been seen by only two or three people at most,. If such marks existed, it is by no means certain that they developed suddenly at La Verna in 1224. There is no record of them being subjected to detailed examination after Francis died. As Donald Spoto comments, the marks were described in all the earliest accounts as "blackened excrescences, which are not inconsistent with diseases such as leprosy."

If the early biographers were economical with the truth about Francis's wounds, it raises the question of why they would feel justified in behaving that way. What would their motive be?

Donald Spoto goes straight to the heart of the matter, pointing out that "not surprisingly, those who believed that Francis's commitment to Gospel living repeated the life of Christ were inclined to interpret his last years as a new Passion. ... the only way the medieval artist and commentator could make that idea concrete was in the brilliant symbol of the stigmata – the miraculous piercing of Francis's hands, feet and side, as if by nails, replicating the wounds of Jesus crucified. For centuries, very many people of goodwill took the description of these wounds literally, as have most artists when depicting Francis of Assisi."

The Catholic Church has always taken a very cautious approach to claims of people having received the stigmata. Spoto stresses that "among the more than 300 cases of reported stigmata since Francis, the Church has never officially pronounced on the origin, nature or authenticity of any of them, including Francis's."

Failing eyesight

By late 1220, Francis was suffering badly from an eye complaint which had flared up while he had been in Egypt. His eyes burned and were very sore, and sometimes he could see nothing at all. Some have suggested the problem was either glaucoma or cataracts. Donald Spoto argues that the diagnosis that best fits the symptoms is trachoma, a highly contagious eye infection caused by bacteria and spread by flies and direct contact, that can lead to blindness if not treated properly.

In the summer of 1225, Francis spent some time convalescing in a small simple hut built of branches (like the ones at the Portiuncula), which Clare had prepared for him in the garden beside her convent at San Damiano. He was there for two months. This was when he composed the Canticle of the Creatures. He was very weak. His eyes were so bad that he could not tolerate the light of the sun or even the light from a candle at night; he lived there in virtual darkness. He was also low in spirit, and often wondered why God had apparently deserted him. He is said to have kept repeating to himself "my God, my God, why have you deserted me?", the very words that Jesus had uttered as he hung on the Cross.

By September that year Francis, now almost blind and tormented by searing headaches, had been moved from San Damiano at the insistence of Cardinal Hugolin and Elias. He was carried on the back of a donkey to the hermitage at Fonte Columbo near Rieti. Here, he could receive specialist treatment from a famous doctor, to try and prevent him from losing his sight altogether. Biographer Thomas Okey describes the gruesome treatment, all done without anaesthetic (which was yet to be discovered), in which "in accordance with the savage surgery of the time, a red-hot iron was slowly drawn across his face from ear to eyebrow, and his already debilitated body was bled again and again; plasters and eye-salve were liberally applied."

When they took the red-hot iron brand from the furnace, just before they dragged it across his face, Francis is reported to have said "Brother Fire, God made you beautiful and strong and useful: I pray you be courteous with me". Even more astonishingly, according to Bonaventure Francis told the surgeon "if the flesh is not sufficiently burnt, burn it again."

The treatment was not successful. Indeed, Celano comments that "he made no progress and in fact almost every day was getting worse." Francis remained at Fonte Columbo through the winter of 1225-6, while all other known treatments were attempted, but without success. A second course of treatment, this time at Siena, also failed. To make matters even worse, by early 1226 Francis was also struggling with a debilitating attack of malaria, which made him very weak and anaemic, and caused him to cough up blood.

Return to Assisi

By the spring of 1226, it was clear to Elias that life was slipping away from Francis. Heart was weak, his sight had gone, and he could barely eat anything. The sensible thing was to let him return home to Assisi, where he could die in peace.

In April that year, his party travelled from Rieti to Cortona, about forty miles north-west of Assisi. They rested a while there, at the friary at El Celle. Francis had ridden on a donkey, and his condition remained serious. Celano reports that "his stomach swelled, his legs and feet puffed up, and his stomach condition steadily deteriorated to a point where he could scarcely take any food." It is believed that he dictated his _Testament_ there, which sets out a few clear principles designed to guide his friars and followers.

After they left Cortona, the group made a detour through Gubbio, and then travelled on to Assisi. They were accompanied much of the way by an armed guard sent by the Assisi authorities, who were anxious to prevent Francis's body from being snatched by men from the nearby city of Perugia. They feared the body being sold as relics, which was a lucrative trade in medieval Italy and a potentially devastating humiliation for Assisi. Ernest Raymond points out that, at that time "every church within a city desired to have its own particular treasure. Many churches were not even started until a suitable corpse had been purchased, or, if a whole body was too dear, a portion of one. A good corpse was a source of immense revenue to any church."

The final stage of the trip also involved a long detour and a circuitous route, again designed to make it hard for the Perugians to attempt a hijack.

There is a curious symmetry in this, Francis's final journey. He had set out from Assisi to Gubbio all those years earlier, naked but free, after the incident with the Bishop and his father. He returned through the same gate through which he had left.

When they reached Assisi in July, Francis was taken to the Bishop's palace where Guido had arranged for him to be looked after. Again, the fact that this was the very place in front of which he had stripped naked would not have been lost on Francis. It is interesting that he was taken there, rather than the Portiuncula which would have been a more obvious choice of final resting place. The palace was chosen by Elias because it had strong walls and strong men to guard them. Herein lies a great paradox – here was Francis, who had established an Order committed to extreme poverty and the rejection of possessions, now being treated as the property of the Order.

The paranoia over body-snatching continued, because Francis's frail body was guarded day and night in the Bishop's palace. Francis is said to have asked the doctor who was looking after him there how long he may have left to live, and was advised not long. It was there that he is said to have added the last line to the _Canticle of the Creatures_ :

Praise to you, my Lord, for our Sister Death, for no one can escape her. Alas for those who die in mortal sin! Happy are those whom she finds following your holy will, for a second death will not harm them.

Portiuncula

Francis asked to be carried one last time to the Portiuncula. He wanted to die where God had shown him his calling, and where his Order had been born. The place meant a great deal to him, and he told his followers to "never, never give up this place. If you would go anywhere or make any pilgrimages, return always to your home; for this is the holy house of God."

On the way down the hill, through the woods, he asked the men carrying his stretcher to lay it down on the ground for a short while, near the leper hospital. He turned his head back towards Assisi, although he was by then blind, and managed to sit up a little, in great pain. Then he prayed a blessing over the city: "God bless you, holy city, for through you many souls will be saved, and within you many servants of God will dwell, and from you many will be chosen for the realms of life eternal."

After giving the blessing he fell back exhausted, and was carried onwards to the Portiuncula.

He spent his final days in a simple wooden hut near the chapel at the Portiuncula, which served as an infirmary. That place has been preserved and is now the Chapel of the Transitus, the spot where Francis passed into heaven. He was visited there by his friend from Rome, the rich noblewoman Lady Jacoba of Settisoli, whom he had first met when he was in Rome in early summer 1212. Like Clare, she was devout and became one of his spiritual daughters. Unlike Clare, she did not give up all of her possessions and walk away from a life of privilege and luxury.

Anxious to make sure that all of the members of the Order knew he bore no grudges and was at peace with them, Francis announced "I forgive all my brothers, whether present or absent, all their offences and faults, and as far as I can, I absolve them. And I bless them as much as I can, and more than I can. Tell them this everywhere, and bless them all from me."

The night before he died, Francis asked for bread to be brought to him and broken – just as Jesus had done over a thousand years earlier on the night before he died, at the Last Supper. He shared the bread around those who were present, and blessed all the other brothers in the Order.

On the Saturday morning, Francis asked for the Passion according to Saint John to be read to him. He found the strength to say out loud Psalm 141, which opens with the words, "O Lord, I call to you; come quickly to me. Hear my voice when I call to you." Towards the end the psalmist says "But my eyes are fixed on you, O Sovereign Lord; in you I take refuge—do not give me over to death."

Celano describes Francis' final hours at the Portiuncula: "as he was wasted by that grave illness which ended all his sufferings, he had himself placed naked on the naked ground, so that in that final hour, when the Enemy could still rage, he might wrestle naked with the naked. The fearless man awaited triumph and, with hand joined, held the crown of justice. Placed on the ground and stripped of his sackcloth garment, he lifted up his face to heaven as usual, and, totally intent upon that glory, he covered the wound on his right side with his left hand, so that no one would see it. Then he said to his brothers: 'I have done what is mine; may Christ teach you what is yours!'"

Having granted Francis the symbolic act of once again making himself naked before God, as a sign of his total poverty and dependence, the Superior of the Order gave him back his ragged clothes. As he did so, he said to Francis, "in the spirit of Holy Obedience, take this tunic and this cowl. I lend them to you and I forbid you, since they are not your property, to give them to any other person." Francis appreciated this final acknowledgement of his poverty, and allowed his companions to put the clothes back on him.

Death

Unlike his role model Jesus who was crucified, Francis died peacefully. It happened during the night on Saturday 3rd October 1226, twenty years after his conversion. He was forty-four years old.

Death was rather a mundane matter by Francis's standards. Not for him the martyrdom he had yearned for. He had to be content with death by natural causes, most likely the tuberculosis which had laid him low on numerous occasions during his adult life. Donald Spoto reminds us that "today we would count him as a man cut off in his prime; at that time, he was considered fortunate to have survived so long."

Celano describes how Francis "left the prison of the flesh and soared happily to the abodes of the heavenly spirits ... [and] his holy soul was released from the flesh and passed to the kingdom of heaven." One of the Brothers is reported to have seen "the holy father's soul rise over many waters straight to heaven. It was like a star, yet somehow as big as the moon and as brilliant as the sun and borne aloft on a small white cloud." Bonaventure also tells of how Francis appeared to the Bishop of Assisi in a vision the night before he died. When the Bishop later told his companions what he had seen, it turned out that the vision coincided with Francis's death.

Francis had left instructions with his Brothers. After his death, they were to carry his body back to Assisi, past San Damiano. They were to lay him before the window in the convent there, so that Clare and the sisters would have an opportunity to say their farewells, through the grill which separated them from the outside world. This they did the following day (Sunday), as his body was carried in a procession into Assisi, pausing briefly at the convent.

The body was placed initially in the crypt of the church of San Giorgio (St George). Four years later, in 1230, it was moved into the new Basilica of St Francis. San Giorgio now forms part of the Basilica of St Clare.

Sainthood

Canonisation is the declaration by the Catholic Church that a deceased person is a saint, and had been a saint beforehand. Francis was canonised less than two years after his death. By today's standards, this is remarkably quick, but it was probably not unusual in his day. Three factors helped make that decision almost inevitable – he had support from the very top of the Catholic hierarchy; by the time he died his piety and devotion to God was well known throughout Italy; and a number of miracles had been associated with him during his life.

The case for canonizing Francis was no doubt helped when Cardinal Hugolin (who had long been one of his greatest supporters) became Pope Gregory IX, in 1217. The Pope canonised Francis at St George's on 16 July 1228. On the same day, he laid the first stone of what would become the grand Basilica of St Francis, constructed in honour of the new saint. That same year he also instructed Thomas of Celano to write the _First Life_ of Francis, to make sure that Francis's life and works would be known to succeeding generations.

Miracles (supernatural acts attributed to a divine agent) were more commonly witnessed and believed in Francis's day than in ours, but they are key requirements in the canonization process. Jesus performed many miracles which are recorded in the gospels, including turning water into wine, walking on water, calming the storm, feeding crowds with loaves and fishes, healing the sick, and raising the dead.

Many types of miracle were attributed to Francis while he was alive and after his death. For example, Celano describes instances of the miraculous healing of cripples, restoration of sight to the blind, speech to the dumb and hearing to the deaf, release of people possessed by demons, the curing of lepers, and a host of other healings from medical ailments and conditions. Celano reports that Francis "even turned water into wine, when he was in the throes of a grave illness ... And as soon as he had tasted it, he made such a speedy recovery that everyone considered it a miracle."

Bonaventure offers a catalogue of miracles attributed to Francis after his death, including miracles associated with his stigmata, numerous examples of dead people who were brought back to life and people who were saved from death by miracles. There were also people who were delivered from shipwrecks or miraculously released from imprisonment, women delivered from the dangers of childbirth, and blind people whose sight was restored.

Whilst many of the miracles attributed to Francis might today be explained in less supernatural ways, and the hagiographic agendas of his early biographers must not be overlooked, the miracle stories were numerous and powerful enough to guarantee that Francis's name was added to the canon of recognized saints. Quite what Francis might have made of such elevation is not known, but it is not difficult to picture him objecting to it, given his humility and his complete dedication to extreme poverty and simplicity. His goal in life had been to please God not impress people, and he doubtless achieved it.

Basilica

It was entirely consistent with Francis's humility and approach to poverty, and his wish to be like his role-model Jesus who was crucified at Golgotha, that he had asked to be buried on a bleak hill outside Assisi called Hill of Hell (Colle d'Inferno) where criminals were executed and buried. This is where the basilica that bears his name was built, under the direction of Elias. Ironically, the huge building project was funded from the sale of papal indulgences, pardons from purgatory.

The basilica is situated at the northern end of Assisi, the opposite end to the Basilica of St Clare. It was built on land that then lay just outside the city walls, which was donated by a citizen of Assisi. When building work began, the name was changed from Hill of Hell to Hill of Paradise.

The basilica is a striking and imposing building, built on two levels. It contains a series of colourful and historically important frescoes which were begun soon after the basilica was completed. They illustrate important episodes in the lives of Francis and Jesus, and were painted by five of the greatest artists of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries – Cimabue, his pupil Giotto, the Lorenzetti brothers, and Simone Martini. Some of the frescoes were destroyed or badly damaged by an earthquake which damaged a number of important buildings in and round Assisi on 26th September 1997. A number of them have since been restored.

One particularly famous part of the fresco in the Lower Basilica was painted by Cimabue in around 1280. It shows Francis standing to one side, with the tonsure, displaying the stigmata. This is the face of Francis that was described in the Introduction, and is widely used on promotional materials.

Work on the basilica began on 17 July 1228, as soon as Francis had been canonized. What is today called the Lower Basilica was originally planned and built as a stand-alone construction, the final resting place of the saint. Francis's remains were moved there on the 25th May 1230, three and a half years after he died, and just months before the (Lower) Basilica was completed. Elias instructed that the move should be done in secret, to minimize the risk of body-snatchers capturing it for relics. The remains were concealed in the stone fabric of the church, beneath the high altar. The exact location of the tomb was lost for many centuries, and only finally rediscovered on 12th December 1818. The tomb now lies on a solid stone above the altar, behind an iron grille, visible to the many pilgrims and visitors who spend time there in the small chapel. Around Francis's tomb in the Lower Basilica are the tombs of four of his closest companions – Rufino, Angelo, Masseo and Leo. The tomb of Lady Jacoba is nearby.

Whilst the Basilica provides a spectacular setting in which to view Francis's tomb and the elaborate frescoes, it would certainly have been far too ornate and ostentatious for Francis's taste. Michael de la Bedoyere argues that "Francis himself would have been horrified by the size and richness of the immense baroque canopy which has preserved the humble Portiuncula by sheltering it from the ravages of the nature which Francis so much loved."

He would have been particularly uncomfortable that the grand structure was funded from the sale of indulgences, which he regarded as a corrupt practice.

The basilica provides one more graphic example of how Francis, humble and deeply committed to poverty as he was, became a commodity – a brand even – that was carefully managed by the leaders of the Order he founded. The Order was taken away from him. It could be argued that, after death, his humility and dignity were also taken away from him. There is little doubt that Francis himself would have preferred a simple pauper's grave as his final resting place.

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