In embracing the leper, St. Francis experienced a singular moment of grace.

St. Francis of Assisi had a fear and abhorrence of lepers. One day, however, he met a man afflicted with leprosy while riding his horse near Assisi. Though the sight of the leper filled him with horror and disgust, Francis got off his horse and kissed the leper. Then the leper put out his hand, hoping to receive something. Out of compassion, Francis gave money to the leper.

But when Francis mounted his horse again and looked all around, he could not see the leper anywhere. It dawned on him that it was Jesus whom he had just kissed.

Francis believed in divine synchronicity and saw it as essential in his spiritual life. Surely it was synchronous that Francis showed up at the church of San Damiano and then listened to the guidance he received. No doubt it was synchronous for Francis to notice a leper as he traveled the roads of Umbria. Mortified and disgusted by leprosy, Francis may have wished to pass by on the other side of the road. But God’s still, small voice told him to stop, reach out, and embrace the man with leprosy.

Both the man with leprosy and Francis were transformed in that moment.

What St. Francis Learned. In his Testament, Francis wrote, “When I was in sin, the sight of lepers nauseated me beyond measure; but then God himself led me into their company, and I had pity on them. When I became acquainted with them, what had previously nauseated me became the source of spiritual and physical consolation for me.”

Francis Did More Than Meet the Leper. Francis’ embrace of the leper was not an isolated instance. No, his ministry to lepers would only expand. Francis would go down to the colony of lepers two miles below Assisi, outside the city walls. Francis and other friars continued to minister to the lepers, feeding them, while also caring for and kissing their wounds. This became an ongoing ministry for Francis and the friars.

Reaching Out to Others. There are many ways today that we can assist those whom society rejects—those with mental illness or those who just don’t fit in because of lifestyle, orientation, or religion. In the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi, we can kiss and wash their wounds. We can offer them comfort or compassion. Or we can add to this list people who are seriously ill at home or in a hospital.

Leave No One Behind. In his Testament, Francis writes, “The friars are free to engage in any other activity which is not contrary to our Rule, with God’s blessing. But if there are lepers in urgent need, the friars may beg alms for them, only they must be on their guard against money.” The great saint of Assisi wanted to make sure that his brothers were as open to embracing outcasts as he was. Francis was informed and fueled by the Gospels. The Gospel of Luke would have us heed the words of Jesus: The Kingdom is in our midst, but we truly appreciate it only if we walk with Christ in his suffering and death. By embracing his way of the cross we welcome the Kingdom. By embracing the lepers as he did, Francis was fortifying the kingdom.

WWJD? Francis goes on to write in his Testament: “The friars should be delighted to follow the lowliness and poverty of our Lord Jesus Christ, remembering that of the whole world we must own nothing; but having food and sufficient clothing, with these let us be content, as St Paul says. 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, remembering that our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the living, all-powerful God set his face like a very hard rock and was not ashamed. He was poor and he had no home of his own and he lived on alms, he and the Blessed Virgin and his disciples.”

The stories passed down about the lepers is full of emotion. We sense God’s power at work through Francis. How have you or I become isolated from the community of believers? How is Jesus calling us to reconnect? At Sunday Eucharist we’re invited to lay aside our isolation, and to witness to one another what Christ has done for us.

A Victory of the Heart

This was the first victory of his new heart. All his life he had panicked when he met a person with leprosy. And then one day on the road below Assisi, he did one of those surprising things that only the power of Jesus’ Spirit could explain. He reached out and touched such a one, the very sight of whom nauseated him. He felt his knees playing tricks on him, and he was afraid he would not make it to the leper standing humbly before him.

The odor of rotting flesh attacked his senses as if he were smelling with his eyes and ears as well. Tears began to slide down his cheeks because he thought he wouldn’t be able to do it; and as he began to lose his composure, he had to literally leap at the man before him. Trembling, he threw his arms around the leper’s neck and kissed his cheek.

Then, like the feeling he remembered when he first began to walk, he was happy and confident; he stood erect and calm and loved this man in his arms. He wanted to hold him tighter but that would only be to satisfy himself now; and he was afraid to lose this newfound freedom. He dropped his arms and smiled, and the man’s eyes twinkled back their recognition that Francis had received more than he had given. In the silence of their gazing, neither man dropped his eyes, and Francis marveled that a leper’s eyes were hypnotically beautiful.

Lord, I used to think charity meant giving away something, and it does mean that.
Thank you for enabling me to see that meaning in a new way:
Charity means giving myself away in love to you and to others.
Please keep me from being stingy in giving of myself.
Amen.

Sickness damages more than our bodies. Here are five ways to help you cope.

Good health is undeniably one of our greatest blessings from God. Be it minor aches and pains, an annoying chronic condition, or a debilitating illness, health issues are welcomed by no one.

How we deal with our bodily ills, whether with a joyful heart or a crushed spirit, can be far more an important factor in the successful management of our health than any medicine, therapy, or physician could ever be.

This was all brought home to me one night last year when I was whisked away to a hospital after suddenly becoming seriously ill. During the next several months of treatment for a previously undetected health issue, I found great support in my faith, secure in the knowledge that no matter what course my health would take, Jesus would be at my side through it all.

So often when we pray during poor health, we ask only to be made well again. During the course of my treatment, I encountered numerous opportunities, both positive and negative, that actually served to strengthen my relationship with God and God’s people.

Here are five ways that can help you maintain a joyful heart in the midst of medical challenges.

1) Turn to God.

No matter the nature of the health issue facing us, shock and disbelief at our diagnosis are often our first reactions. We might ask ourselves, How did this happen? Could it have been found sooner? And, of course, the ubiquitous, Why me?

When coming face-to-face with your diagnosis, resist the common reaction of turning away from God, especially in anger. God is also saddened by your illness. God already knows that the road ahead of you will, at times, be a difficult one. Realize, however, that God is ready to carry you along this journey. Be open to God’s comforting embrace.

As I lay in the emergency room that night, tethered to a host of machines that beeped and buzzed with my every breath, my prayer was not “Jesus, I know that you will save me,” but “Jesus, I know that you will stay with me.”

Thankfully, he did both.

2) Give yourself a break.

We are often quick to blame ourselves for our health problems. Some thoughts that might race through our minds: I should have stopped smoking. Did I really need to drink so much? Why didn’t I exercise like the doctor told me?

While we may speak of the importance of forgiving others, we often forget to forgive ourselves. Give yourself the gift of reconciliation. Recognize your past mistakes, wipe the slate clean, and ask for God’s help in adopting whatever measures are necessary to improve or control your health situation. By showing yourself the same amount of compassion that Jesus shows us, you will be honoring both the life and the body that God has given you.

3) Always be thankful.

Though appointments, tests, and procedures may seem annoying at best, offer prayers of gratitude for the incredible knowledge and abilities with which God has gifted our physicians, nurses, technicians, and all other health-care workers.

The nurse who makes certain you are comfortable, the doctor who successfully completes your surgery, the pharmacist who puts your prescriptions in order, the receptionist who works you into the doctor’s busy schedule: they are today’s co-ministers of Jesus.

4) Step up your faith.

Frequent attendance at Mass, reception of the Eucharist, and prayer are tried-and- true ways to find solace through our faith. But do not hesitate to seek out new ways of increasing your faith experience.

A powerful way of maintaining a joyful heart through illness is to involve yourself with a local community of consecrated religious, be they male or female. As a teacher for 25 years at a Catholic high school for young women, sponsored by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Brentwood, New York, I have been fortunate to be able to share in the mission and charism of this particular community of women religious.

There are numerous communities that you might contact, such as the Franciscans, the Benedictines, the Mercies, the Jesuits, and many others. Most have programs for lay associates and co-ministers that allow you to take part in their sponsored ministries, special events, prayer groups, or meetings. If you cannot physically connect with a community, you probably can electronically. Nearly all religious communities maintain interactive websites that allow followers to join in prayer, petition, readings, videos, live chats, streaming liturgies and prayer services, commentaries, and more.

By involving yourself with a community, you will not only add a new dimension to your own faith experience, but also draw continual comfort and support. You might even find that your presence and contributions are providing the same comfort and support to others whom you are touching with your life.

Don’t forget that you may also connect electronically with all the major Catholic shrines around the world. Can’t get to Lourdes, Lisieux, Assisi, or the Vatican? Simply go online to find their live services, presentations, prayers, and soothing images.

5) Always pray.

Prayer should be at the center of our existence, no matter where we are on our life’s journey. A favorite of many in need is the beloved Serenity Prayer, which may provide just the right combination of acceptance, strength, and hope needed during any trial:

God, grant me the serenity to
accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things
I can,
And the wisdom to know the
difference.

During the 50th anniversary of a key year in the civil rights movement, St. Francis School looks to the future in Mississippi.

It’s not as if St. Francis of Assisi School hasn’t struggled before. Back in 1951, in rural, segregated Greenwood, Mississippi, the very idea of a school for black children run by northerners (Catholic priests and nuns) was an affront. Yet the Franciscans stood by their witness at St. Francis of Assisi Mission, supported the civil rights movement—in which Greenwood played an important role—and participated in the change and growth of their community.

Sixty-seven years later, though, Greenwood’s Leflore County has the lowest-ranked public school system in Mississippi, which means it’s one of the least effective in the United States. Even so, St. Francis School, an alternative for the local black community, and increasingly for Hispanic immigrants, struggles to stay alive. “It’s been precarious from the get-go,” observes Brother Craig Wilking, OFM, a parish staff member. “Now we’re at a stage of listening to the community again and helping them to craft a solution.”

Place in History

St. Anthony Messenger took a trip to Greenwood to see for ourselves this ministry of Franciscans and their partners, the Franciscan Sisters of Charity and the lay staff of St. Francis School. It is a dark, evening drive from the interstate for over 100 miles across the countryside into the edge of the Mississippi Delta, along the Yalobusha River. Greenwood is 130 miles from Memphis and 90 miles north of Jackson, the state capital. A welcome sign, through a rainy windshield, declares Greenwood to be the “Cotton Capital of the World.”

Greenwood, population 16,000, was the cotton capital of the world in the 19th century, which made it a center of slavery. Dramatic change has come over the decades since the civil rights movement, but still, says Father Joachim (Kim) Studwell, OFM, the church’s pastor, “Everything is seen through the lens of race.” For example, he says, there are still people in town who resent that, 50 years ago, then-pastor Nathaniel Machesky, OFM, took sides in favor of racial equality, helping to organize the 20-month-long Greenwood Movement boycott.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. himself visited St. Francis of Assisi School in March 1968, only three weeks before his Memphis assassination. During the Greenwood boycott, which was reenergized by his death, shots were fired into the church, the Ku Klux Klan distributed anti-Catholic pamphlets, and even a firebomb was directed at St. Francis Center, a community outreach facility. Later that year, the Greenwood Movement resulted in changes in hiring practices and “the use of courtesy titles with black customers,” according to February’s anniversary story in Greenwood’s daily, The Commonwealth. That tiny step is a clue to the intransigence of racism here.

These days, according to art teacher Brother Patrick McCormack, OFM, most young people who have a chance move out of town as soon as they can. But not everyone. Tonight at St. Francis Mission, young ones in Greenwood are celebrating their history in a school performance to a packed church full of parents. We find a space near the edge of a brimming parking lot as the annual Black History celebration is finishing up.

There have been speeches (“I Have a Dream” and others), dances, and songs from the children, and the entire school has just sung the civil rights movement anthem, “We Shall Overcome,” joined by a glowing audience of family and friends. As parents and children mill about in the church-become-theater, Brother Mark Gehret, OFM, pushes a dust mop along the altar floor, cleaning up after the excitement (he keeps the facilities in good shape here). Tomorrow morning there will be Mass for the children.

Faith-Based Education

Among those who grew up and stayed in Greenwood is the principal of St. Francis School, Mrs. Jackie Lewis. She, her mother, and her daughters are all graduates of the school. Lewis returned two years ago because the school needed her help as resources became fewer and fewer, she says. “My two oldest ones attended up until eighth grade. We still had eighth grade then, but for the two youngest ones, it was sixth grade.”

It was a different school for her. “We had basketball, we had a band, but we were fortunate enough to have more Franciscans,” she says.

Jackie had retired as a public school administrator, returning to St. Francis first as a fifth-grade teacher, then as principal of the 89 students. “It’s a challenge,” she says. “It’s very different from public school, where you have various people on the top levels who assist with different things” such as financial planning and curriculum. “Here you are everything, from the janitor, the cook, all the way up to the principal—and everything in between!” she says with a laugh. She calls the school a “real gem” in the community. “I’m so invested in the school, in the parish, that I don’t want to see it just dwindle away.”

St. Francis School ends after sixth grade, and most students can’t afford the local charter (private) school. But for the children attending seventh grade in substandard public schools, the efforts of St. Francis School have not been wasted. “You’re going to have some children who are going to perform regardless,” she observes. “They’re not going to be a discipline issue, and they have developed morals and standards at St. Francis. I think when you learn those things early on, they stick with you.” Many St. Francis students eventually make it to Mississippi Valley State University. Something has worked.

Yet hurdles remain. Persuading the parents toward faith-based education is harder these days than it was in the past, Lewis observes. Oh, and there’s money. “If we had more dollars available, we could probably serve those people who desire to bring their kids here but can’t,” she says. And she would have a stronger teacher-recruitment program. The traditional source of teachers, those retired from the public schools, has dried up. “Teachers are so burned out when they leave public schools, they’re not going anywhere but home.” Higher salaries might draw them out.

We got to see a bit more of the school’s can-do attitude about an hour later, when the children celebrated the 85th birthday of their retired pastor, a fixture around the school. Father Camillus Janas, OFM, had been honored at Mass earlier. Now, Principal Jackie, along with the Franciscan staff (including Father Camillus himself) serve ice cream as the children come through the cafeteria line, one class at a time. At Mass earlier, as a few of the young students had proudly come forward with grateful testimony, this stalwart friar actually choked up—the accolades were a surprise. But soon he was back to his homily and giving the students wise advice: Work hard, keep studying, be kind to one another. The ice cream seems a reward for that.

‘Children of God’

St. Francis School hangs on a thread these days, but that doesn’t deter Franciscan Sister of Christian Charity Kathleen Murphy. Her Wisconsin-based congregation serves communities in need in various parts of the United States. She and her sisters are part of the fabric that has held things together here. They’ve been at St. Francis Mission for 35 years, teaching in the school, serving the parish, doing community outreach, and nurturing a group of Secular Franciscans, which has grown since the parish’s earliest days. In addition to working as religious-education director, she teaches kindergarten. “These are amazing children of God. There’s a lot of hunger—and I don’t mean for food. In so many cases, there’s a lack of supporting families.”

There’s a lot of “social suffering,” she says, “a lack of understanding of black and Hispanic culture. . . . I think that is something that education can address.” To her, it’s all within a greater context of evangelization, “such a fertile field here,” she says.

Educational segregation is still the norm in Leflore County, she observes, with black and Latino students in the public schools and white students in private ones—a long-standing arrangement for decades in much of the South, including the Mississippi Delta. Before the civil rights era, black children were in segregated schools with leftover resources from the white public schools. After federally mandated public school integration, most white families headed to private schools. Funding for public schools then declined. “I don’t think they [white community leaders] really care about it,” Sister Kathleen says.

“For many of our kids,” she says, “this is their faith experience, ” a key component of St. Francis School. The number of unchurched families has grown in recent years, she notes. “We teach the Catholic faith, whether the students are Catholic or not. Most of ours are not, but nonetheless they receive daily religion class,” she adds. “They go to weekly Mass, have reconciliation prayer services, have their throats blessed, receive ashes on Ash Wednesday, and so on.”

At St. Francis School, there’s also a “sense of safety” and “a sense of community,” she says, that you won’t find in the local public schools. “They’re well educated here. That’s something the parents know.” It’s all about the test in the public schools, she notes, referring to competency tests associated with public school performance. At St. Francis, there are strong academics, “but they need to love learning first.” That’s what she tries to achieve in her kindergarten classes.

“We feel as Franciscans that this is a home for us. You know it, it’s a perfect fit, and our sisters, no matter who have come, end up being in love with the people.” Her sisters, she says, journey with them. “Francis didn’t try to fix the world,” she explains, but rather, “he would walk with people; he would change their bandages.” That attitude drives her work.

Uncertain Future

The Franciscan Friars of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary Province (OFM), based in Franklin, Wisconsin, have operated this mission since its 1951 beginning. But ministries such as this school compete both for friars and for funding as resources diminish.

In fact, the school, funded these days in part by several Franciscan provinces as well as by outside donations, is now living on a year-to-year basis, its future in question. The friars, sisters, tuition-paying parents (as well as those paying partial tuition), and the Diocese of Jackson are all considering whether the school will continue.

But the need is still there. “Racism is more covert today,” says Father Kim, pastor. Institutions, such as a local hospital, needed to integrate to maintain federal funding. “But every hospital room is a private unit,” keeping races apart. There’s an academy for white students of means.

“This is the reality we live in, and we’re trying to provide an alternative,” says Father Kim. One of his challenges is to engage the families more fully financially, which was not as strong an emphasis in the past.

“We basically are trying to move from a paternalism model to co-responsibility,” he says, an initiative started through efforts of the school principal. She launched a school advisory council—a new idea here. Father Kim observes that some of the families find resources to send their children to the private charter academy after sixth grade; he’s leaning on these families to pay more while they’re still at St. Francis School.

“We want to get away from the mission mentality,” says Brother Craig, who oversees fund-raising for the school, “but you also have to see that we’re in one of the poorest places in the country.” There will be no quick fixes. Brother Craig, a nurse by training who came to St. Francis from a rural health clinic in nearby Tutwiler, Mississippi, agreed to move here because the school needs him. His cool reasoning and fact-dependent approach from nursing may well be the medicine St. Francis School needs at this precarious time.

“Our hope is to discern what God wants to do with what we have here,” says Father Kim. Then this joyous man quips, “I have no idea!” He’s only partially kidding. Once again serious, he offers, “As St. Paul says, ‘We walk by faith, and not by sight.'” Then Father Kim adds, once again laughing, “I identify with that!” These are days of uncertainty at St. Francis Mission.

A few weeks after our visit to Greenwood, Brother Craig sent an e-mail after Principal Lewis had talked with parents, one family at a time: “We will be open again in the fall.” The staff at St. Francis of Assisi school will continue to teach, Father Kim and Brother Craig will continue to develop a sense of co-responsibility among the families and in the parish, and they all will continue to discern the next steps for St. Francis of Assisi School. As Sister Kathleen would say, “That’s the spirit of what we do.”

_{Photography by Andy Lo.}

As a Catholic, I often find these sorts of Zen koans, or teaching riddles, frustratingly inscrutable. But this one spoke to me immediately.

On one level, “chopping wood and carrying water” represents the small, necessary day-to-day tasks that support our lives; the modern version might be “changing diapers and doing dishes.” In an age when some priests-in-training claim that “these hands are for chalices, not calluses” (when I worked at a Catholic seminary, I heard that very phrase) and when our secular prophets foresee a world where automation will free us from all labor, I really appreciate the reminder that spirituality isn’t about escaping this world through some sort of esoteric transcendence. It’s about engaging our responsibilities with a new perspective, seeing them as the sacramental gifts that they are. It’s a blessing and a privilege to be alive in this world and to do the work we are given to do—dirty fingernails and all.

There’s another meaning to this saying, though. Not only does it keep spirituality firmly tethered to earth, but it also puts the kibosh on ambition. Chopping wood and carrying water are, after all, very humble tasks.

I’m beginning to see how much I’ve been driven by the idea that enlightened people end up doing great things. They have big visions and big dreams—and they deliver. After all, Paul’s zeal ultimately helped convert the entire Roman Empire to Christianity. Martin Luther King Jr. brought about tectonic changes in civil rights. Gandhi freed an entire nation from British colonial rule. The mea-sure of one’s spirituality, in other words, is what one accomplishes.

Part of my midlife journey is the struggle to let go of such ambition, which comes from the ego, not from God. What a profound relief might it be simply to do what I discern is mine to do, however small it seems, and leave the rest to God? What if that simple approach is actually the deepest form of discipleship and even delight, both for God and for me? What kind of lovely world might we have if we yearned not to escape it or to impose our grand plans upon it, but simply to dwell in it gratefully and gently?

Your Spiritual Path

1. Jesus spoke in parables, which are very similar to Zen koans. Look up a few koans online and see if you can find any parallels with Jesus’ teachings.

2. What are the humdrum tasks in your life that you’d like to leave behind? For a day or a week, could you do them as if they were an essential part of your spiritual path?

3. An essential part of spirituality is radical self-honesty. What ideas or ideals do you hold about holiness that may actually get in the way of authentic spirituality?

She gave up a world of privilege for a world of poverty. Her profound faith is a model for us all.

In every age, a saint is born. Not that someone is born a saint, but there is something about him or her—a characteristic or trait that distinguishes a person. Clare of Assisi is one such person. Born in 1194 to a family of nobility, Clare was the first of three children. It is said that her mother was apprehensive about Clare’s birth and went on pilgrimage to pray for her safe delivery. While she was at prayer one day, she heard the words: “O Lady, do not be afraid for you will joyfully bring forth a clear light that will illumine the world.” The word for clear in Italian is chiara; hence the name Clare, or “bright one.” Clare grew up in a household of holy women, including her mother, sisters, and cousins.

Poverty and penance were practiced at home among the women, and Clare gained a reputation for holiness at a young age. While she probably heard Francis of Assisi preach at the local church of San Rufino in 1208 or 1210, it is likely that her religious vocation was in place long before their encounter.

Clare was 17 when she met Francis in 1211. According to “The Acts of the Process of Canonization,” Francis had already heard of Clare before their first meeting. It is unsure what the meetings between Francis and Clare involved, but it is likely that he spoke to her about following Christ and living the Gospel life. At about the age of 18, with the consent of Bishop Guido of Assisi, Clare decided to devote herself to a kind of penitential life closely linked to Francis and his brothers, whose form of life Pope Innocent III had approved orally only a few years before. On the night of Palm Sunday 1212, Clare ran away from home and was received into Francis’ fraternity at the small church of the Portiuncula, below the town of Assisi in the Umbrian valley.

The Italian scholar Maria Pia Alberzoni says that the beginning of religious life for Clare, as for Francis, was obscure since there was no clear path to follow. After Clare joined Francis and the brothers at the Portiuncula, where Francis began his movement, Clare received the tonsure and dressed as a penitent. Francis then placed her in the monastery of San Paolo delle Abbadesse, where she was received as a servant, since she had given away her belongings to the poor and had no dowry to warrant entrance into the monastic community.

The sources indicate that her family opposed her radical choice of life and tried to get her to abandon it by use of force, but without success. After some time, Clare moved to San Angelo in Panzo, where she was joined by her sister Catherine (who would be known in religious life as Agnes). Although their uncle Monaldo tried to capture Catherine and bring her home, he was unsuccessful. Both Clare and Catherine eventually moved to the convent of San Damiano. There, they would devote their lives to poverty.

Clare, the Radical

We read daily about poverty around the world. Sometimes the stories are directly beneath the stock market quotes or surrounded by stories of the world’s wealthiest people. The juxtaposition may be coincidental or purposeful. I tend to think the latter is true because poverty makes us nervous.

The unnerving quality of poverty makes St. Clare’s emphasis on poverty difficult to grasp. Her desire to be poor, however, was not a glorification of human deprivation or neglect, but her desire for God.

Had she not beheld the poverty of God as the immensity of divine love, I wonder if she would have pursued a life of poverty so vigorously or urged Agnes to do so. In her first letter to Agnes, she writes, “You have rejected all these things and have chosen with your whole heart and soul a life of holy poverty and destitution.”

It is difficult to understand how a woman of the aristocracy could choose a life of destitution and be happy, unless she had an understanding of poverty beyond material means. Clare had a God-centered understanding of poverty. For Clare, the logic of poverty was the logic of love. She saw the poverty of God as a fountain of love—a love that brings us into being, sustains us, and yearns for us. Her emphasis on the centrality of love is characteristic of Franciscan spirituality.

‘Become Poor’

How do we center ourselves in the love of God? Clare’s answer is simple and disarming: Become poor. Clare encouraged Agnes to pursue a life of poverty. It is hard to admit in a consumer culture that poverty is the key to the fullness of life. To the secular mind, it seems absurd. Western culture is immersed in a capitalism based on the idea that worldly success is a blessing of God. The type of poverty that Clare and the Franciscans speak of is opposed to the spirit of capitalism and self-sufficiency. It means to be dependent on others. That is exactly what Clare and Francis saw in the mystery of Jesus Christ.

In his Rule, St. Francis writes: “They must rejoice when they live. . . among the poor and the powerless. . . . Let them . . . remember, moreover, that our Lord Jesus Christ . . . was not ashamed. He was poor and a stranger and lived on alms.”

Francis perceived that Christ lived dependent on others so that God’s goodness could be revealed. When we allow others to do things for us, God’s goodness shines through them. Poverty is not so much about want or need; it is about relationship. Poverty impels us to reflect on our lives in the world from the position of weakness, dependency, and vulnerability. Poverty calls us to be vulnerable, open, and receptive to others—to allow others into our lives and to be free enough to enter into the lives of others. While Clare and Francis call us to be poor so that we may enter into relationship with the poor Christ, they also ask us to be poor so as to enter into relationship with our poor brothers and sisters in whom Christ lives.

In her second letter to Agnes, Clare writes that she is to “gaze upon him [Christ].” Although she does not explicitly link poverty and gazing upon Christ, the foundation of poverty in her first letter and the call to “gaze upon him” in her second letter suggest that poverty is the basis of spiritual vision or contemplation. To gaze is not simply to see, but to see with the eyes of the heart. It is the vision of the spiritually poor person who is inwardly free to contemplate the presence of God. If we are to enter into real relationship with God, we must become poor; we must embrace our poverty.

Poverty Equals Truth

Economic poverty is not difficult to attain. Spiritual poverty, however, can be. It means relinquishing that which we possess to smother the ego or barricade it against the intrusion of others. It is the antidote to human violence—to the need to assert ourselves over and against others. Gazing upon the crucified Christ gave Clare insight into the human person. She realized that becoming poor is not contrary to the fulfillment of human nature, but rather the very fulfillment of our humanity.

Christ reveals to us that the human person is poor by nature. Our poverty, however, is a forgotten poverty because the sin of self-centeredness has made us “grabbers” and “graspers.” That is why conversion is the movement toward poverty: Poverty is the basis of authentic humanity. To be truly human is to be poor.

Poverty means that human life, from birth to death, hangs on the threads of God’s gracious love. While we may enjoy a wealth of goodness today, we may lose that wealth tomorrow. Life is radically contingent; nothing has to be the way it is. Everything is gift.

Poverty reminds us of the deepest truth of our human existence: that we are created by God and are dependent on God in an absolute sense. It is the sister of humility since it prompts us to recognize that all we have is gift. Humility is the acceptance of being what we are, with our strengths and weaknesses, and responding in love to the gift of being. Humility can open one to the renewing spirit of grace and make possible the return of creation to the Father.

Dependence on God

Thomas Merton said that if we were truly humble, we would not bother about ourselves at all—only with God. Such an idea seems possible only for the saints. Yet when we are free from attachments, we are able to pursue our spiritual goals, to really live in love and devote ourselves to a life of adoration. This does not mean turning our attention away from earth to an imaginable place called heaven. Rather, to adore God is to see the goodness of every created thing on this marvelous planet. It is to realize that everything is created by God, reflects the power, wisdom, and goodness of God, and is destined to share life in God.

Poverty allows us to contemplate the goodness of God in creation because it makes us free to see things for what they are: unrepeatable, unclonable, loved-into-being gifts of God. Only one who can taste the world and see it as an expression of God’s love can renounce the spirit of possessing it. In human relationships, poverty allows us to be open to one another, to receive and share with one another.

“Poverty is the basis of authentic humanity. To be truly human is to be poor.”

Clare of Assisi did not elaborate on the poverty of the human person, but she knew it in the depths of her soul. She fought for the “privilege of poverty” because she knew that if she failed to be dependent on others, she would ultimately fail to be dependent on God. Like Francis, she firmly believed in a God enfleshed in fragile human nature—the Incarnation. Had she sought a nice, clean, minty type of God in heaven, she might have opted for more autonomy. But she believed that God has come among us and revealed to us, in the poverty of being human, how to live united in love to God and to one another.

She realized that only the poor and humble can share in the poor and humble love of God. Clare’s path to God through the depths of poverty impels us to admit that real relationship with God requires humble humanity. Only when we come to the truth of who we are (and who we are not) as poor persons can we come to that place of vulnerability in our lives where God can enter. Only then can we know what it means to be a human being embedded in a world of goodness.

This article was adapted from the book Clare of Assisi: A Heart Full of Love.

If we look at Jesus as human, as his earliest disciples did, it may change the way we follow his teachings.

The late author Father Ed Hays often reminded us, “Jesus’ first followers imitated him long before they worshipped him.” Why have many of us reversed that chronology? Is it possible Jesus’ divinity has actually become an obstacle to our carrying on his ministry?

Given the only material we have to work with, we can’t be certain when the disciples of this first-century itinerant preacher began to suspect that there was something very different about him. This is not surprising, especially since Scripture scholars can’t agree on when Jesus himself initially became aware of his divine prerogatives, or even when he actually became God.

Our Christian sacred authors differ on the timing of that latter event, something the late biblical scholar Father Raymond Brown referred to as the “Christological moment.” While we traditionally ask, “When did Jesus become human?,” our biblical writers ask, “When did he become God?”

We See Him as Divine

Though most followers of Jesus today are convinced he existed as God for all eternity, such a belief wasn’t always an essential part of Christian faith. We need only read the Christian Scriptures carefully to confirm that point.

Paul, our earliest Christian writer, states in Romans 1 that Jesus only became God when God raised him from the dead. According to Paul, this Galilean carpenter was just a human being during his earthly ministry and was eventually rewarded for that ministry by being raised as God. Mark, the first evangelist, appears to place that life-changing moment at Jesus’ baptism, when God proclaims from heaven, “You are my beloved Son! “

We might get into heaven just by worshipping Jesus, the Son of God. But we’ll only change the world for the better by imitating Jesus, the prophet.

Matthew and Luke seem to agree that he was conceived, with no preexistence, as both God and human in his mother’s womb. John, however, writing his well-known prologue in the mid-90s CE, trumps his biblical predecessors, declaring that Jesus was God for all eternity—from the “beginning.”

As we discovered in our grade school religion classes, mainstream Christians eventually overlooked or forgot all other scriptural opinions and bought into John’s theology, a theology that opens the door for us to worship long before we imitate.

Yet we can never forget two important points. First, every writing in the Christian Scriptures was composed after Jesus’ resurrection. Second, we have absolutely nothing written by anyone who actually experienced the historical Jesus. Our sacred writings were produced by second- and third- generation Christians, individuals who experienced only the risen Jesus, a person whom they regarded as being divine—no matter when his Christological moment took place. That train had already left the station, whether it pulled in at his resurrection or had been on the tracks forever.

They Saw Him as Human

Scholars wouldn’t even be discussing the Christological moment if Jesus’ immediate, first-generation followers had known about his divinity. They followed him not because he was God, but because he offered them a way of living more fulfilling lives than anything else that had come their way. We can only presume they regarded him as the latest prophet in a long line of biblical prophets, starting with Moses.

Prophecy was the normal biblical way for Yahweh to convey his will to the chosen people. That meant, in order to surface God’s will for the community, one first had to surface the prophets Yahweh had embedded in every community. These unique individuals were the people’s conscience, pointing out the future implications of their present actions. Contrary to modern belief, rarely did any of them predict future events. They were concerned with the present, stressing what God demanded of the Israelites here and now. No wonder so many died with their sandals on. People who had successfully muted their consciences also did what was necessary to mute the prophets.

As far as we can tell, the people of faith who encountered Jesus during his historical ministry simply regarded him as one of Yahweh’s prophets. Matthew 16:13b mentions this. When Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say I am?,” they respond, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” The vast majority of Scripture scholars presume Peter’s answer— “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God”—is a post-Resurrection statement of faith read back into the Gospel. If Jesus hadn’t yet risen from the dead, no one would, or could, have come to that conclusion.

Though widely rejected, biblical prophets always attracted a small band of followers who cared for the prophets’ physical and psychological needs. Since no prophets actually wrote the biblical collections of oracles attributed to them, they had to have some disciples who did write down and order their sayings, eventually publishing them in the format that we access today. But none of these followers ever seem to have regarded any of their mentors as God. In their minds, the prophets were simply humans, like themselves, who were commissioned by God to pass on God’s will to his people. They faithfully carried on the prophets’ ministry by making certain others would hear that word in the future and also carry it out.

Jesus’ original disciples fall into this category. Though he, like all prophets, ministers against the background of others who also claim to be proclaiming Yahweh’s word, his followers see in him something they don’t see in those others. He, unlike the “court and shrine” prophets of his day and age, constantly takes them back to the beginnings of their faith, reminding them of the just relationships with others that God originally demanded of his people. Like his authentic prophetic predecessors, Jesus not only doesn’t profit from his ministry, he suffers—to the point of being crucified—for passing on God’s word.

True Disciples

The only way someone can validly be a disciple of a prophet is to follow through with the prophet’s oracles, especially what he or she says about relating with others. But if they do, they’ll also suffer as the prophet suffers. Jesus’ historical disciples quickly discovered this. As the late peace activist Father Daniel Berrigan often reminded us, “If you’re serious about following Jesus, you’d better look good on wood.”

Obviously some individuals who claimed to be Jesus’ disciples eventually created a moral loophole for themselves once they discovered his divinity. They got off the hook by substituting worship for imitation. One need only glance at the signs outside many Christian churches. I constantly see the times listed for “worship” services. But I don’t ever recall seeing an “imitation” service advertised.

Perhaps the only thing we’re consistently imitating is the behavior of many ancient Israelites. Karen Armstrong hit the nail on the head in her landmark book A History of God. Speaking about those whom the eighth-century BCE prophet Amos addressed, she points out: “They preferred a less demanding religion of cultic observance, either in the Jerusalem Temple or in the old fertility cults of Canaan. This continues to be the case: The religion of compassion is followed only by a minority; most religious people are content with decorous worship in synagogue, church, temple, and mosque.”

We might get into heaven just by worshipping Jesus, the Son of God. But we’ll only change the world for the better by imitating Jesus, the prophet. Which do you think he prefers us to do?