Humble, Human, Humus
Reflections on Saint Francis of Assisi
Today we celebrate the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, and I want to begin at the end: with an account of the death of St. Francis on October 3, 1226. According to his first biographer, Thomas of Celano, Francis instructed his brothers, “When I am dying, lay me naked on the ground . . . and let me lie there after I am dead for the length of time it takes to walk one mile unhurriedly.”[1] Francis’ brothers honored his request and reverently placed his naked body on the ground as he lay dying. His final words were an invitation to all creatures to praise God, much as he had done during his life.
Saint Bonaventure, another early biographer of Francis, describes the gathering of larks “at the hour of the holy man’s passing . . . They came in a great flock over the roof of the house and, whirling around for a long time with unusual joy, gave clear and evident testimony of the glory of the saint, who so often invited them to praise God.”[2] The larks gladly responded to St. Francis’ invitation.
St. Francis’ death was a fitting culmination of his life, exemplifying so many of the qualities for which we remember him: his humility, his communion with all of creation, his love of God and neighbor, and his joy. The image of his naked body lying on the earth reminds me that the root of the word “humility” is the same as that for “humus,” the organic component of soil. St. Francis was not ashamed of his body or of his identity as a creature of the earth made in the image and likeness of God. He joyfully accepted his place as an integral member of the earth community, a participant in the great conversation of nature.
Many of the stories about St. Francis reflect his humility and his communion with nature. He moved freely among the poor and embraced lepers. He sought reconciliation between Christians and Muslims and between animals and humans, as in the famous story of the wolf of Gubbio. He preached the Gospel to birds and other animals, and perceived the whole creation united in a single chorus of praise to God, bound together in a common destiny of union with God in love. For St. Francis, the incarnation of Christ is the sign that God has redeemed and sanctified all of creation. All things are “in Christ,” in the ever-renewing flow of mercy poured out from the heart of the divine life.
St. Francis recognized the divine life and dignity in all things. One of my favorite stories about him is his brief conversation with an almond tree. St. Francis approached the tree in the bleak mid-winter, when it was barren, and said, “Brother tree, speak to me of God.” Immediately, fragrant blossoms burst forth from the almond tree. Even in the midst of winter, in the season of death, St. Francis perceived the flow of life, of renewal, just below the surface of our ordinary awareness.
How was it the St. Francis came to see reality in this way? What was it that drew him into such profound communion with the life of the world? It was, of course, his complete devotion to following the way of Jesus. St. Francis sought to share the consciousness of Christ. One of the ways in which he did this was through devotion to the blessed sacrament of Holy Communion, continually reaffirming his union with Christ confirmed in baptism and receiving the grace to persevere in following the way of Jesus, the way of love.
Another way in which St. Francis opened his heart to Christ was through prayer. One modern biographer estimates that Francis typically spent about half of the year in prayer, and half in active ministry. Much of this time in prayer was spent in silent contemplation in the mountains and forests of Italy. His profound communion with Christ, and with all of creation in Christ, was nurtured by his consistent practice of listening.
St. Francis took seriously the admonition of St. Paul “to let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”[3] Francis sought to imitate the humility of Jesus, expressed through Jesus’ willingness to become fully human to share God’s life and love with us. Jesus became humus, an earth creature, to share our life and death and so draw us more deeply into the very heart of God.
It is precisely this humility, this embrace of communion with all creation in love, that was, paradoxically, the source of Jesus’ power and authority. St. Paul tells us that it is for this reason that every knee shall bow and every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. This power and authority are quite different from command and control, the violence and domination, of worldly power and authority. Jesus is not like human rulers, then or now. His power is rooted in his vulnerability, his connection with others, his self-giving love.
And here is the thing: St. Paul tells us that this same power and authority is at work in us for the sake of our salvation, our wholeness, so that we might be united with God’s will and work. We have to work this it out for ourselves, no one else can do it for us. But we work it out by grace, with the help of Jesus and the saints: saints like St. Francis, who show us that it is possible to be human, humble, humus.
It is God’s work in us and for us that is the source of our power and authority: Not the circumstances of our birth or inheritance; not what we have achieved or earned; not our personality or charisma; it is, rather, the love of God in Christ, through whom all things were made and in whom all things are united. When we have the humility to realize that we are humus, earth creatures, part of the great conversation of nature, then our hearts become open to the exercise of divine power, which always takes the shape of mercy. Its sign is freedom and joy: the kind of freedom and joy that St. Francis experienced, even as he lay naked on the ground.
May we discover the authority and power of Jesus, as we work out our own salvation in the service of God’s will and work for the salvation of the world. Like the larks who soared and danced in celebration of St. Francis’ life, may we accept St. Francis invitation to praise God in union with the whole creation.
[1] Thomas of Celano, Second Life of St. Francis of Assisi, Vol. 1, CLXIII, Omnibus of Sources.
[2] St. Bonaventure, Life of Saint Francis.
[3] Philippians 2:1-13.