(My friend Brian who runs the "Defending My Beanfield" blog posted this powerful reflection on St. Francis, though he's not sure of the author. Does anyone recognize it? It's a real wake up call for some of us who unknowingly, or knowingly, "sanitize" the saints.
"Save us from the birdbath Francis!"
THE REAL FRANCIS
There you stand, O prophet of God
Placid in the sun-drenched garden
And never in the cold dank cave
Or bleeding amidst the thorns.
There you stand, poised and sanitized
Air-brushed with the birds
Who once opened their beaks to praise their Maker
And then stood silent to hear His Holy Word.
Why do you too stay silent
Exiled to sacred niche and abandoned
Upon some plaster pillar?
You who glowed naked ashen upon the barren earth
Now need vigil light and fresh white linen?
What is the weak reason everyone loves you?
And who are you, you little wounded man
That everyone crowns your weary wet head with gold?
Are you not a lion now made mascot or lapdog?
Your bitter life has been made palatable
And burlap garb soft to the touch.
Marketed for the masses
You stand sweet and surreal upon the tattered page.
How do you feel being everyone's plastic saint?
Pulled this way and that
Like puddy shaped
and shoved into the mold of many little minds.
Everyone: old-timers and new-agers,
Left wing liberals and right wing Republicans,
Industrious Amish and lazy agnostics,
Catholic school kids and Protestant preachers;
Yes, the whole lot of us who make up life;
Communists, ecologists, vegetarian, veterinarians, silver-haired hippies and bow tied bankers,
Everyone owns you as no one knows you.
Yet God knows you, you broken tiny man.
And you know Him, do you not?
Resting in crib or burning on a cross,
Hidden behind wafer and wine and Holy Word.
So, as you now stand, pale and listless
so too my poor soul,
far from the sharp thorns and the bright snow
Where you found your Christ.
Yes, you who stumbled along Assisi's stone streets,
And wept while staggering like a drunken man,
Speak to me, a sinner, who feasts on rich fare.
Speak to me of the poor God - of GOD!
Will the real Saint Francis please kneel down?
3 comments:
Rarely do I disagree with anything in this blog, but I sort of disagree with this poem, people love St Francis, not because he has been watered down, they love him because everyone loves the beauty of truth, it's the same as The lord of the Rings, all shapes and sizes love it, because they love beauty.
I hear you, and well said. The transcendentals of Truth and Beauty and Goodness are what attracts hearts as well as Lady Poverty and the Broken Beggar. I think the poem speaks as Christ did often, in Rabbinic language, using harsh images to shock us from slumber. But a point well noted! THANKS!
I think the point is that, if someone comes to St. Francis without an already converted heart, they tend to "luv" him like they "luv" pizza or puppies. He only validates whatever incomplete Christianity they already leaned toward.
Chesterton defined heresy as "... the exaltation of something which even if true, is secondary or temporary in its nature against those things which are essential and eternal." In this sense many folks today (although not necessarily overlapping much with this blog's readership) hold ecology, or ecumenism, or pacifism, in a heretical way. When they come across St. Francis, they find only support for their views and aren't inclined to see the full picture of St. Francis's life.
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