COMMENTARY: Far beyond the gentle image of the saint preaching to birds, St. Francis presents a demanding vision of joy grounded in the Cross and complete trust in God.
Pope Leo has proclaimed the year of St. Francis, and as I think about the saint of Assisi, Franciscan joy comes immediately to mind, as well as a lesson he gave on that topic. What would the joyful beggar say true joy is?
I imagine that the “saint of the birdbath” probably has a lovely vision of joy as springtime in a meadow, preaching to the birds and the other adorable woodland animals. Quiet, calm and serene joy is probably the subject of his meditation.
According to the story, St. Francis begins by asking Brother Leonard to write down what he says.
He begins: If all of the great theologians and scholars of the Church at all of the most important universities were to become Franciscans, would that be true joy?
That’s not exactly the springtime vision, strolling through the woods and glades and enjoying nature, but it does sound pretty good. St. Francis says, however, that is not true joy.
His next suggestion, as he dictates to his brother, is that all of the bishops and archbishops and all of the potentates throughout Europe — even the kings of England and France — become Franciscans and join the order.
That sounds amazing! Surely this would be true joy for St. Francis. He says, however, even this would not be true joy.
Okay. Maybe he is working up (or down) to the humbler vision of preaching to the birds.
His third candidate for true joy is that he has converted the whole world to Christianity and that he has the power to heal the sick and perform many miracles.
Of course! This must be true joy, right? Christ’s glory displayed in the world.
This, too, he says, would not consist of true joy.
Well then, St. Francis, what is it? What would be true joy?
He then imagines returning from a journey to his little chapel. It is the dead of night and it is wintertime. It is so cold that icicles are hanging from the bottom of his habit. The ice is cutting his legs and his blood flows down them.
This sounds gruesome. Whatever happened to birdbaths, Brother Sun and Sister Moon?
And he imagines arriving at the chapel, knocking on the door and then waiting, covered in mud and ice. When a brother finally arrives at the door, he explains that he is Brother Francis, and he asks to be let in. The brother who answers the door turns him away. He knocks again and pleads to be let in. The brother tells him that this is not a decent time to be out, and that they cannot accept beggars at this time. They already have too many like him in the house, and they do not have room for any more.
St. Francis says that if he could meet this situation with peace and serenity, without getting upset, then he would have true joy.
Wow. This all sounds extreme and, frankly, somewhat crazy. For us moderns, who practically worship comfort, it is next to impossible to embrace this lesson presented to us by St. Francis. But if we take St. Francis and the Gospel seriously, then we must pay close attention to what this beggar of Assisi is trying to teach us.
It is not that true joy consists in nearly freezing to death; rather, it is the state of soul — the trust and surrender to Jesus that could bear such rejection — that consists in true joy. Joy is not a set of exterior circumstances or results, but an interior disposition — complete and joyful surrender inspired by the Holy Spirit. It is not what happens to a person that makes true joy, but the kind of person to whom anything can happen and who still maintains trust in God.
What might that look like today? What would it look like for me as a father? Translating the vision of rejection into my own life, if my wife and children all abandoned the faith and left me alone, helpless and despised, and I could receive that scorn with peace of heart and mind, maybe that would be true joy. Obviously, I do not wish that they leave the faith (it would be a sin to wish for that), but true joy would reside in my soul if I could face even that situation and still place my hope, my love and my serenity in God.
Obviously, St. Francis as the Christian garden gnome does not do full justice to his spirituality. Our one hope, our one goal, our single occupation must be the love of Jesus.
Does this all sound extreme? St. Francis pushes us to see that the Gospel is extreme because the Cross is extreme. But it is to that crucified life of Jesus living through us that we are called, surrendering all to Jesus — and receiving true joy in return.
