By Darleen Pryds, Ph.D., FSPA affiliate
For many years, in the interior courtyard of Old Mission Santa Barbara in California, there stood a statue of St. Francis of Assisi. Around 10 feet tall, the figure is carved out of decaying driftwood, weathered by the salty water of the Pacific Ocean and persistent Southern California sun. At first, because of its size, the statue made an impression on me. During a week of residence there, as I studied the figure more closely, my mere academic interest in it as a piece of Franciscan art gave way to a deeper awareness of its poignant encapsulation of living into the spirituality of the saint’s Canticle of the Creatures.
One afternoon, during a retreat I was facilitating at the mission, I took the participants out to the statue. As we gazed upon the figure, we took turns reciting lines and stanzas on the Canticle:
“Most high, all-powerful, all-good Lord … Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures … especially Sir Brother Sun … through Sister Moon and the stars … through our Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us …”
As Francis’ words wafted over us in our different voices with varying pitches and timbres, some of us closed our eyes to feel the soft ocean breeze mixing with the gentle warmth of the sun. Others turned to the birds gathered to pick up seeds from the ground. A few wandered to smell the short-lived cactus flowers that had blossomed overnight; blooms that would wilt by dusk and wither by morning. My own eyes were fixed upon the figure of the “poor man” from Assisi that loomed over us.
The statue depicted Francis dressed in a habit with a cord, his hair shorn into a tonsure, with the requisite bird on his shoulder. At first, except for the driftwood from which it was carved, the figure seemed to be a typical portrayal of our favorite saint. The weathered wood, mixed with the recitation of the Canticle, jolted me into a deeper understanding of the path we take when we self-identify as “Franciscan.” This was no charming or sentimental depiction of Francis … it was not the image I was used to seeing.
Instead, during those days, the authenticity of the figure’s worn features opened my ears and heart to hearing the Canticle in a new way. Rather than a light-hearted song of a young “Troubadour of God,” it sounded like the wisdom harvested from a life that had been seeded by struggles and sown by faith; a life that had incrementally cleared its soil of stones and weeds to make room for growth in God.
As is well known, Francis composed the Canticle in increments between 1225 and 1226, the last year or so of his life. The song was the work of his mature faith. But this does not mean the words came suddenly to him at that time. Instead, from a combination of lived experience, scriptural reflection and fervent prayer, the Canticle had stirred in Francis for years. Francis sought not so much to study scripture but to allow scripture to live inside him, especially as he lived his final years full of letting go.
What would happen to any one of us if we heard and prayed the cosmic words from the Book of Daniel, 3:56- 78, and let them dwell inside of us?
Such discernment, for Francis, may have surfaced something like this:
As he retired from leadership of the order in 1220 and observed the brotherhood change in ways he may not have chosen, he may have sung, “Blessed are you in the firmament of heaven, praiseworthy and glorious forever.”
He likely reflected upon “Bless the Lord, all you works of the Lord …” as he accepted the papal approbation of the Rule of 1223 that directed his followers in a new, legal direction.
He might have exalted, “Angels of the Lord, bless the Lord, praise and exalt him above all forever,” when, in December of 1223, he sought comfort with the people of Greccio, whom he loved and admired for their faith.
He may have reminded himself, “You heavens, bless the Lord …” when he felt ill and experienced depression. When it rained and he was cold, he likely sang out to lighten his spirits: “All you waters above the heavens, bless the Lord …”
“Ultimately, Francis found reason to praise God all around him.”
When distraught by the constant civic tensions and violence, he may have sighed, “All you powers, bless the Lord; praise and exalt him above all forever.”
When making his way to La Verna, where he would receive the wounds of Christ, he would have urged, “Cold and chill, bless the Lord … Dew and rain, bless the Lord.” And yes, when he accepted the demands of his brothers and sought painful, medical care for his eyes, he may have prayed, “Sun and moon, bless the Lord … Fire and heat, bless the Lord …”
These words from scripture had become so much a part of him and his lived experience that by the time he was convalescing at San Damiano, in the care of Clare and the sisters, all he could do was to sing out these words that had become a living part of him and compose anew. “Praised be you, my Lord, through Sister Water … Brother Fire …” He eventually added, “Praised be you, my Lord, through Sister Bodily Death…”
In the last six years of his life, Francis let go of everything. He found his most authentic self by emptying himself to live through the scriptures he had read, prayed and breathed in adulthood. Ultimately, Francis found reason to praise God all around him.
As I began to understand and sense the depth of the Canticle that summer in Santa Barbara, I realized how the dilapidated statue, scorned as ugly by many, poignantly displayed the real meaning of this spirituality that we share. There, in the heart space of the figure where most of the deterioration occurred, was the only part of the redwood where we could see its authentic color. Similarly, Francis composed the Canticle only after letting go of all the details of life that had interfered with his living fully into his love of God and all that had separated him from sensing God. It was by loosening his attachments that he was able to see, in everything around him, a reason to praise God. There is real beauty in that way of letting go that we, too, can live into when we give ourselves space and time to sense all of creation.
Photos by Darleen Pryds, FSPA affiliate