Today we celebrate the life of St. Francis of Assisi, 13th century saint who all over the world is being honored today, October 4--in many cases, this very way, with the blessing of our beloved pets.
Francis, as we well know, was a lover of animals, of nature, creation, of everything the world had to offer. He loved and relished it all. His first biographer St. Bonaventure said Francis considered nature to be “footprints leading to God.” Follow nature’s path … you’ll find the Creator.
Thanks to those biographers, his own writing, and the sheer force of his personality, we know a lot about St. Francis. He was born to wealth in Assisi in 1181. He fought in the Crusades (there’s something you don’t associate with a saint, right? Especially this one). He renounced his wealth as a young man, very publicly in the town square. He surrounded himself with friends who joined his life of poverty and simplicity. And he became the founder of a religious order, the Friars Minor (or Little Friars), what we call the Franciscans.
My library book pick this week--as some know I’ve been putting a book in our new church lending library for every sermon preached--my pick this week is a biography of Francis by G.K. Chesterton, Catholic writer from the mid 20th century. It’s there for you to borrow, if you want.
One thing in there that stood out was this line, which I wanted to share with you. Chesterton wrote, of Francis: “Never was any man so little afraid of his own promises. His life was one riot of rash vows, of rash vows that turned out right.”
It’s a thin line between being rash, and answering the call of the Spirit quickly before we miss our chance. Because the Spirit moves fast. It doesn’t tarry.
The word rash is actually related to an old Norse word meaning “brave,” or “vigorous.” And in that sense, Chesterton is right. Francis was brave, and vigorous, and never missed a chance to follow the Spirit’s call. Like when he stripped himself naked in the town square of Assisi and and swore his allegiance to Sister Poverty. Or danced in the woods with two sticks for a fiddle. Or responded to a voice in the church of San Damiano telling him to rebuild the church, which he took literally for a while, gathering stones from all over the Umbrian hills and actually rebuilding crumbling churches. But we know now he rebuilt the Church (capital C, the larger church) by being his spirited, wondrous, always loving, rash--as in brave and vigorous--self.
The saints’ lives are so much bigger and greater than any of ours ever will be. Still--and here’s what I want to leave us with this morning--let’s ourselves share in that courage and spontaneity of Francis.
Our animals here are good instructors in this. Maybe Francis learned it from them. Consider how they move through the world:
If you smell something good and want to roll in it, roll in it.
If something exciting passes by the door and you want to bark your head off, bark your head off.
If you want (for our cat friends) to take a big swipe at that nosy dog snout, take a big swipe.
Or, in human speak:
If a sunny patch of grass is calling you--pretend it’s yesterday’s weather, but this’ll do, too--go lie in that patch of grass and think about nothing.
If there’s somebody you admire, go tell them, now. Don’t hesitate. Don’t be shy.
If something’s bringing you joy, do more of it. Today.
(Don’t, however, take a swipe at your neighbor’s snout.)
On this Feast of St. Francis, the Spirit is calling us to be a little more rash, because--and I’m going to close here with the blessing that Father Daniel may use again after Communion, so listen well both times—because
“Life is short. And we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us. So be swift to love. Make haste to be kind. And the blessing of God, who made us, who loves us, and who travels with us, be upon [us] and remain with [us] always. Amen.”