Feast of St. Francis - Rev. Brenda Sol

Does anyone here have a Saint Francis birdbath in your yard? Or maybe a small statue with him holding a bird in his palm, with a wolf standing next to him? I’m guessing that’s how most of us picture Francis—stoic and solemn. But, as most of you know, he was so much more than just someone who communed with animals.

Francis, for instance, stood up for peace in remarkable ways…once striding out across a war field to negotiate with a Sultan. Although Francis wasn’t actually responsible for the treaty that was already in process, he surprised the Sultan with the customary Christian greeting of: “May the Lord give you peace.” Neither of them had previously known that the traditional Muslim greeting also translates to: “Peace be upon you.” Reports say that the two conversed for days about their spiritual lives and the commonalities they found in each other’s traditions.

Francis’s life was filled with these kinds of non-violent actions. He believed at his core that when we truly understand our oneness with God and oneness with all of God’s creation, we can’t help but be more curious about, and more compassionate toward, all of God’s creatures. In a sense that is part of the message that comes through in the parable portion of this morning’s Gospel reading. When we try to use our intellect to understand the world, we miss the intricate details. However, when we take time to view the world through the eyes of a child,  to inspect the wonder of an anthill, or the beauty of a spiderweb, we come much closer to God.

In contrast, activist and theologian, Paul Enger states:

We are entering the sixth mass extinction. Ecosystems are collapsing. The coral reefs are dying, the forests are being cut, and over the last 80 years half of bird, and over half of fish populations have been wiped out…A third of the planet may soon experience drought annually.

So, as we wrap up the season of creation today, it’s important that we realize Francis didn't just talk to birds and wolves. He cared deeply about all creatures—all of creation. And his response to us and our ecological crisis would likely be the same today as he used to say in the 13th century: “Why aren’t you doing what you say you believe?”

In many ways, Francis lived out what is a very simple understanding of Jesus’s teachings. While he believed it was important to study and have an intellectual grasp of the Gospel, he insisted it was more important to live the Gospel. At the same time, Francis understood that, though that sounds easy, it’s quite challenging to actually live the Gospel.

So, he embodied this morning’s reading from Matthew: “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest…For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” This portion of the Gospel comes shortly after accounts of Jesus commissioning his disciples. They are now being assured—after first enduring another complicated parable—that not only are they being well-prepared, they won’t be alone. God will be with them, and the very spiritual practices in which they engage will create a foundation for their works of discipleship.

Francis understood that Jesus wasn’t saying, “I’ll take away all of your burdens,” rather, that the burdens will be made light, when we turn our discomfort, our worries, our frustrations over to God. Our yoked-ness to God means that we let go of the burden of trying to be someone we’re not.

There's a lot of work in hiding behind personas and the ways we think others expect us to be and do. Francis's life says: “Give it all away, and stand in your vulnerability with God.” One theologian said Francis’s Gospel-living demonstrates his belief in God’s promise that what one receives in return is far more than what one gives up. Francis renounced worldly ways only to have it all given back with joy.

There’s a statue of Saint Francis in Santa Fe, New Mexico that brings his sense of joy to life. One of his legs is kicking up behind him and his arms—which are actually wings—are thrown up in the air. When I stood in front of it, I was moved by the way this piece of art communicates so clearly that we can’t wait for the complexities of life to end before we celebrate. Rather, in the midst of the complications, we still acknowledge the beauty of God's creation and let our joy lead us in dance.

Whilen I was on pilgrimage in Assisi, Italy, on my previous sabbatical, I saw another evocative statue of Francis. With some of his friends standing beside him looking up to follow his gaze, he lies on the ground, arms behind his head, gazing at the sky. Knowing what I do about his life, it was clear to me that Francis wasn’t just enjoying creation, he was communing with God. He was engaged in what we call today, contemplative prayer.

We often think of prayer as an active conversation with God, and it is, but prayer doesn’t always have to involve words. Prayer is also simply being aware of God’s presence and letting God’s love fill us.

Francis has good company in the communion of saints—people like Martin Luther King, Jr.—who understood that practices, like contemplative prayer, nurture lives of non-violence. As I mentioned earlier, as we become aware of our oneness with the universe, perpetuating violence is no longer an option.

So, this morning as we bless our animals, we do so as a small acknowledgement of all that Francis’s life teaches us. My prayer for us is that as we make space in our understanding of the sacred, we are tapping into a deeper place that helps us expand that awareness in ways that cause others to look at us and say: “Wow! They really are doing what they say they believe.”

—AMEN