Category Archives: Reflection

News, Reflection

Forgiveness: a Franciscan reflection

FORGIVENESS: A FRANCISCAN REFLECTION
By Evan Pederick tssf
A talk given to members of the Third Order, Society of St Francis
Hobart April 2022; evanpederick@gmail.com
____________________________________________________________________________
I decided to speak this afternoon about forgiveness when I noticed that the Gospel we will hear tomorrow, the third Sunday of Easter, teaches us about the connection between forgiveness and the way of resurrection. I want to start with this, Peter’s conversation with the risen Christ over breakfast on the shore of Lake Galilee, then develop some themes on forgiveness that run through the New Testament, before exploring Franciscan teaching on forgiveness through the stories told of the life of St Francis, his own teachings and finally the more systematic Franciscan reflection on forgiveness offered by St Bonaventure. As those who know my background will realise these reflections are deeply personal to me, and so I offer them as one who has been forgiven much but who has much still to learn about the way of forgiveness.

In the Fourth Gospel Jesus appears three times to his disciples following his conversation with Mary of Magdala in the garden of the new tomb on the morning of the first day. That same evening he appears to all the disciples apart from Thomas who have locked themselves away out of fear. The first thing Jesus says to his startled disciples is “Peace be with you”, in fact he says it twice in this short passage. It’s a standard greeting – but the Greek word eirene is also the equivalent of shalom in Hebrew, God’s original blessing and intention for creation. It is also – and this is worth remembering when we offer one another the sign of peace in church on Sundays – a blessing of forgiveness and reconciliation. So Jesus blesses them with shalom, breathing on them in a clear echo of the Genesis account of the first day of creation, and commissioning them for ministry: “If you forgive the sins of any they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any they are retained”. Jesus is here inaugurating the Church as a community defined by the practice of forgiveness and love. The following week he appears to the disciples – with Thomas – and again pronounces the benediction of peace, blessing those who will come to believe even though they have not seen for themselves. The Church is now commissioned to be an agent of resurrection, to bring others to faith through its own ministry of forgiving love and by the power of the Holy Spirit.

The third resurrection appearance according to the Fourth Gospel is Jesus’ grilling of Peter over breakfast. Peter is carrying a burden of guilt so obvious that the Gospel writer doesn’t even bother to remind us of it: for each one of Peter’s increasingly desperate and self-serving denials in the courtyard of the High Priest Jesus asks him: “do you love me”? And for each one of Peter’s sorrowful replies Jesus instructs: “feed my sheep”. “Feed my lambs” (John 21.1-19). The primary purpose is not so much to make Peter squirm – although he does, and the unspoken fact of Peter’s load of guilt makes this uncomfortable reading for any of us who also recollect at this point our own failures of love and loyalty – but to confer forgiveness and with it a task. Jesus’ commissioning of Peter, and his prophecy of where in human terms Peter’s faithfulness will take him, underscore the point that while the free gift of God’s forgiveness has no strings attached our choice to receive it sets a new direction for our lives.

It’s the same point that Jesus makes in relation to the sinful woman who washes his feet in Luke 7.47: “she has been forgiven much: therefore she loves much”. Notice which way around it is? The divine initiative comes before our response is even possible. Jesus is pointing out that forgiveness reorients us to become the women and men God created us to be. In Luke’s most famous story about forgiveness, the story of the generous father of two sons – one profligate but broken and repentant, the other outwardly obedient but self-righteous and judgemental – the message is that divine forgiveness knows no limits but we need to be ready to accept it (15.11ff). For the profligate who knows his need of mercy, his father’s forgiveness is transforming and liberating – for the respectable son there seems to be a long way yet to go. In our Easter story, where Peter is stuck in his guilt and unforgiveness of himself, Jesus’ forgiveness and commissioning leads him from the death of self-loathing to new life. Where unforgiveness forecloses and kills, forgiveness opens us to new life and resurrection.

Jesus is big on forgiveness. In both Matthew and Luke’s versions of the Our Father Jesus connects our own forgiveness of others with God’s forgiveness of us. Matthew’s Jesus tells us to love our enemies and pray for those who hurt us (5.44). Luke goes even further: “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you” (6.27). Well, but which comes first, you might ask – do we learn to forgive the difficult and unlovely because of our knowledge of how much we ourselves have been forgiven? Or are we somehow disconnected from God’s unlimited and unconditional forgiveness if we ourselves are unable to forgive others? What if forgiveness is so much a part of God that it surrounds us like the air we breathe – except our own unforgiveness shuts us in and keeps us from drawing breath? Others may point out that just saying the words, “I forgive you – or her or him – or even myself” doesn’t necessarily make it true, that maybe all we can do when the hurt has been too deep is just commit ourselves to wanting to forgive – that forgiveness needs to grow, it can’t be forced. And all of these observations are true, I believe. Forgiveness, like resurrection, is a path that leads to new and transformed life. But it’s not an easy path.

The most shocking example of forgiveness is Jesus’ own prayer on the cross which Luke tells us (23.34) he prays as his executioners hammer in the nails: “Father forgive them, they do not know what they are doing”. That seems to set the bar too high for us – many good Christians try to avoid it by saying, ‘oh, this is not Jesus forgiving his executioners personally, he is leaving it up to God’. But in the words uttered on the cross you and I are privileged to listen in on the intimacy of love that is the triune life of God. In his prayer on the cross Jesus is entering fully into the heart of forgiving love that is God – there is no separation between his own will and the will of the one he calls Abba. Neither, according to Luke, is this extreme of forgiveness even something that might be possible for God but surely could not be expected of us. In the second part of Luke’s Gospel – the Acts of the Apostles, Jesus’ shocking act of forgiveness is echoed on the lips of the first, exemplary Christian martyr, Stephen: “Lord, do not hold this sin against them” (7.60).

In relation to the stoning of Stephen, Luke shows us both a victim and a perpetrator, the young Saul who while not actually casting stones is a willing part of the lynch-mob and takes care of the attackers’ coats. Saul goes on to lead the violent persecution of the early Church: raiding the houses of believers, hauling believers off to prison and “breathing threats and murder” (Acts 8.1-3; 9.1, also Gal 1.13). New Testament scholars note the discrepancy between the irenic account in Acts and the defensive tone of Paul’s own letters that suggests his later ministry was not universally accepted. Certainly there seems to have been an ongoing tension between Paul and the Jerusalem apostles with whom he had no formal contact for 14 years following his conversion, as well as Peter whom he later accuses of hypocrisy.

Forgiveness transforms and gives new life, but the scars of sin remain. How could they not, when the risen Christ still bears the wounds of crucifixion? Paul works out his theology personally, and his vulnerability is on display in his letters. He acknowledges to the Galatians he had come to them “because of a physical infirmity” (4.13) and in 2 Corinthians writes of his ongoing struggle with a “thorn in the flesh” (12.7). These statements have been a thorny problem for centuries of New Testament scholars! They seem to be referring to the same thing, and the word translated in the NRSV as ‘infirmity’ (Gk astheneia) also appears a little later in the passage from 2 Corinthians. The Greek word sarx underlying ‘physical’ and ‘flesh’ in these two verses can mean physical in the modern sense (ie. bodily) but also carries the more general meaning of the mortal human state with its mixed needs and desires. On its own the Galatians passage could perhaps be read as Paul admitting ‘I came to you as a flawed human being’ but the 2 Corinthians passage suggests something deeper and more specific – at a human level Paul experiences himself as pierced or even ‘pinned down’. We don’t know the nature of Paul’s burden but perhaps he is referring to his own corrosive self-knowledge as a violent persecutor of the Church. Today we would identify this as ‘moral injury’.

Paul is certainly aware of his own unworthiness: referring to himself in 1 Corinthians shockingly as an abortion – the NRSV supplies the polite circumlocution lacking in the Greek – “as one untimely born …. unfit to be called an apostle” (1 Cor 15.9). In his magisterial volume on Paul, James Dunn comments in passing that Paul ‘for some reason not altogether clear to us’ avoids in his letters any direct discussion of the topic of forgiveness. Perhaps as Dunn suggests Paul simply prefers to emphasise not what he has turned away from but what he is called to. But Paul’s stunning theological conclusion is that his weakness is important because it reveals the sufficiency of God’s grace: “for power is made perfect in weakness … when I am weak, then I am strong” (2. Cor 12.9-10).

One of the dangers of thinking about our own practice of forgiveness is that we slip too easily into assuming it is about us forgiving others. This is one of the reasons the Church insists on the act of confession every Sunday before we can take together the bread and wine of Jesus’ risen life. And we have much to repent of, together. As a Church, for example, we too easily pass over our corporate sins of child sex abuse, or our historic role in the dispossession of Aboriginal Australians. Or our rejection of the ministry of women, or our tacit exclusion or lack of welcome of gay and lesbian Christians. As citizens of a wealthy country that imposes cruel policies on asylum seekers, that condemns unemployed Australians to live on a benefit calculated to be inadequate and that fails to address the social sin of homelessness – we are complicit through our silence and our failure to protest.

And this is all before we even lift the corner of the veil and peer into the murk of our own personal moral conduct. What do you need forgiveness for? Or to put it another way, what is the benchmark of conduct that does impress Jesus? The obvious answer is in the uncomfortable little parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25 (v.31ff). Sheila, Matthew and Dennis Linn in their marvellous little book, Good Goats tell of a group of nuns studying this passage. “Well?”, the study group leader asked, “put up your hands. Which of you have ever given food to someone who was hungry? Or clothing to someone who was cold? Or visited someone in prison or in hospital?” Slowly, the hands all went up. “Congratulations!”, she beamed. “You’re all sheep!” But then: “well, but which of you have ever walked past a beggar in the street and not given them anything? Or not helped out at the soup kitchen when you could have? Or which of you have ever not visited that person in prison or hospital when really you could have? Even once?”. And the hands came slowly back up. “That’s not so good is it? You’re all goats”.

So, what’s Jesus going to make of us? Let’s face it, we’re all sheepish goats. Good thing the judge in this story is big on forgiveness!

We Franciscans often shake our heads at St Francis who frankly does seem just a bit too radical, too literal in his interpretation of poverty and discipleship. We love him, and his recognition that at the heart of everything is Christ, and his understanding that we are brothers and sisters with everything in creation because we all come from the same heavenly Father. But he does seem a bit extreme sometimes, doesn’t he?

In relation to forgiveness, Francis typically wants to put the fox in charge of the hen-house. There are a couple of stories which I’m taking from the 13th century work, The Little Flowers of Saint Francis, by Br Ugolino. And the first story is the rather famous one about the wolf of Gubbio – a wolf who, being rather elderly, had started preying on the livestock and even the people themselves, of the little Italian village of Gubbio. Legend has it that Francis, ignoring their concern for his safety, went out to remonstrate with the wolf. It crept up to him and put out its paw as if asking for forgiveness. Addressing the wolf as Frate Lupo (Brother Wolf), Francis told the animal that its behaviour was wicked and must stop. But, he said, I know that you are only doing it because you are hungry, and a wolf must eat. So he led the wolf back into the village and made a deal. The wolf would stop eating livestock and villagers, and in return the villagers would feed it every day, enough for its needs. Thereafter wolf and villagers lived in peace for about two years until the wolf died of old age. According to a recent biographer, in 1872 the skeleton of a large wolf was in fact dug up in Gubbio outside the chapel of San Francesco della Pace.

Leaving aside the (possible) historicity of the legend, the story is also directed at persons of a ‘wolfish’ nature who nevertheless may also be persons in need. Also in the Flowers we find another suspiciously similar story. In this one Francis visits a Franciscan hermitage that is being harassed by robbers living in the forest who have been terrorising visitors and coming to the hermitage demanding food. On learning that the robbers had been sent away from their latest raid empty-handed, Francis demanded that the guardian of the hermitage, Br Angelo, go after the robbers with food and wine and ask their forgiveness for his hardness of heart. After eating of the bread of charity, so the story goes, and witnessing the repentance of Br Angelo, the robbers sought out St Francis who admitted them forthwith to the Order.
This story is also recounted by the 19th century Franciscan friar, Fr Pamfilo da Magliano, who places it directly after the story of the wolf of Gubbio and significantly also gives to the robber threatening the hermitage the name of ‘Lupo’. According to da Magliano it is Francis who tames the human Frate Lupo with ‘a few gentle words, such as had perhaps never been addressed to him since he lay in his mother’s arms’. The point which da Magliano’s creative editing clarifies is that even wolfish behaviour may stem from deep human needs and that perpetrators too may be victims. Forgiveness must come with concern for the boundaries and practical needs of both parties.

It is in the Admonitions of St. Francis that we see the saint’s practical and pastoral yet most challenging teaching. The Admonitions also relieve us of any idea that the early Franciscan community was peaceful and perfect! In many of these short teachings Francis directly addresses the challenges of forgiveness, with its related themes of humility and peace: for example in his teaching on self-control he cautions friars against blaming others for their own sin – these days we would call that projection, when we react with offence at others who seem to be acting out what we deny in ourselves. Before we cast blame on others we always need to examine and ask forgiveness for ourselves. In the admonition against anger Francis points out that our anger at other people almost always covers our own sinfulness! Avoid sin, Francis teaches, by investigating what makes you angry. In his discussion of this teaching, John Talbot acknowledges the place for righteous anger but points out (from ps. 4) that it too must come from a heart of stillness. Control of our emotions is never easy but it is specifically forgiveness that cures anger. Forgiveness sets both us and those around us free from sin. By contrast, judgement sets like cement, locking us up in anger and not allowing others the possibility of change.

In his admonition on correction, Francis instructs his friars to bear correction from others as patiently as if it was from themselves, even if it is for something they didn’t do! Friars should be always willing to be corrected without making excuses. In our self-entitled age this is so much harder than it looks! And as for cheerfully accepting undeserved blame – but the point is that the spirit of true forgiveness is not about getting the recognition we deserve or credit for doing well, but about real humility which as men and women created out of dust is the only right attitude for disciples who want to grow in love. The word humility, incidentally, comes from the same root as humus, good compost-y soil. It’s not a way of saying we are worthless, but points us to an eco-spirituality of knowing ourselves not as self-sufficient individuals but as part of the more-than-human ecology of creation.

By the time of St. Francis’ death in 1226, the Order he founded had begun to tear itself apart. With thousands of friars across Europe, the Order had bogged down in a mess of administrative problems including institutional needs for finance, education and formation. Even worse, Francis’s own legacy and rule of life was bitterly contested. The so-called “spirituals” insisted on an ever-stricter interpretation of Francis’ rule of poverty, and inspired by the sensationalist 12th century apocalyptic vision of Joachim of Fiore proclaimed Francis as the angelic harbinger of a great cosmic conflict, setting aside both Old and New Testaments and ushering in the end of time. The seventh Minister-General, the brilliant and pious St. Bonaventure inherited in 1257 a sadly divided Order riven by mutual excommunications and condemnations.

Factionalism and loss of unity in a community of faith is nothing less than a turning away from resurrection. If we are no longer seeking unity we are no longer, strictly speaking, the Church. This is also a sad reality for us today. Bonaventure would prove himself an able administrator and peacemaker, establishing a narrative about Francis that was able to unite the warring factions as the Order continued to grow apart from the radical vision of its itinerant founders. I have previously suggested that his major work of spiritual theology, the Itinerarium Mentis in Deum, written in the first two years of Bonaventure’s installation as Minister-General, was a major step in crafting a unifying institutional spirituality suitable for a no-longer itinerant and marginalised community. A close reading of the text also reveals that it is constructed as a via pacis, or handbook of practical reconciliation. In this work Bonaventure invites his reader to inwardly retrace the steps of Francis and to be re-formed in the image of Francis as a person of peace, prayer and contemplation oriented to the image of Christ crucified. Bonaventure’s interpretation of Francis in the Itinerarium develops a theology of peace culminating in the penultimate event of Francis’ life, namely the reception of the stigmata. Bonaventure scholar Jay Hammond points out that the spiritual exercises of the Itinerarium are constructed so as to guide the contemplative friar through and beyond both outer and inner landscapes through the reconciliation of opposites led by the persona of Francis himself. In doing so, Bonaventure sympathetically reframes and incorporates the apocalyptic theology of the “spirituals” into his interpretation of Francis and particularly the meaning of the stigmata. Here the way of reconciliation is practically conceived as that of prayer, and in particular the reorientation of the images of our own minds into a focus on the ultimately unifying image of the crucified Christ. Bonaventure understands that practical reconciliation in the community of faith can never come about through the winning of arguments, or by decree, but only by fixing our gaze together on the one who in his death and resurrection embraces and collapses all our partial truths and contradictions.

Bonaventure’s formal theology of forgiveness is helpfully teased out from a variety of sources by Theodore Koehler. Bonaventure’s primary theological methodology is the metaphysic of exemplarity – meaning that he builds on the Christian neo-Platonism of St Augustine – and this leads him to see Christ as the Exemplar and Image of divine Love, the cosmic centre and coincidentia oppositorum or paradoxical union of the opposites of eternity and creation. Bonaventure begins the historical Franciscan theological emphasis on the primacy of Christ, which is to say that the Incarnation of divine love is the reason for and the ground and culmination of creation itself. As Richard Rohr expresses it, ‘everything in creation is an example, manifestation and illustration of God in space and time’. What this means is that the divine intention for the whole of creation is to be gathered together into Christ in the triunity of divine love.

As creatures made in the image of the Exemplar of divine love our human vocation is to imitate Christ. In relation to mercy and forgiveness Bonaventure discerns three movements which in God’s triune life are indistinguishable (but in our case need a little extra work). Firstly is the distinction between mercy (misericordia) and justice (justitia). While divine justice is conceived by Bonaventure as the ‘proper application of divine goodness’, mercy is the love and compassion that arises viscerally (per viscera misericodiae Dei nostri) – through the divine bowels, or as Bonaventure more delicately interprets it, the womb of God. In other words mercy arises when we are affected by the wretchedness of another and respond out of pity. Glossing Psalm 25.10, Bonaventure writes that mercy and justice are indistinguishable in the divine life, and that in human life mercy completes justice because both must find their appropriate balance. As an example of the indistinguishable operation of divine mercy and justice we might consider the parable of the vine (John 15.1-5): “He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes”. Divine mercy comes with necessary limitation! In human life Bonaventure distinguishes between giving alms because it is right (justice) or because we are moved by another’s misery (mercy).

The third divine attribute for our imitation is piety (pietas). The Latin word connoting the duty owed to those with whom we share a blood relationship is defined by Bonaventure as a gift (donum pietas) of the Holy Spirit by which we see in another the image of God. Whereas mercy looks at the misery in a fellow human creature, piety looks at the image of God in the one who is wretched. This is Bonaventure at his most Franciscan: we recognise our own kinship with the other as a child of God, and even more importantly we recognise the crucified Christ in the face of the one who suffers or is alienated by sin. Mercy and forgiveness that is based in piety is an identification both with the creature who is made in the divine image, and with the suffering God who is found in solidarity with all who suffer.

With this observation, Bonaventure takes us back to the beginning of our reflection. Forgiveness draws us together into the heart of God. Where at the outset I claimed forgiveness as the practice of resurrection, we end with a model of deep forgiveness as creation participating in the triune life of God.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
References

Br Ugolino. The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi. New York: Heritage Press, 1930.
Da Magliano, Pamfilo. The Life of Saint Francis of Assisi and a Sketch of the Franciscan Order. Kindle Facsimile. New York: P. O’Shea, 1867.
Delio, Ilia. Simply Bonaventure: An Introduction to His Life, Thought and Writings. New York, NY: New City Press, 2001.
Dunn, James D. G. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. Grand Rapids, MI: W.B. Eerdmans, 1998.
Hammond, Jay M. “A Historical Analysis of the Concept of Peace in Bonaventure’s Itinerarium Mentis in Deum.” Saint Louis University, 1998.
House, Adrian. Francis of Assisi. New Jersey: HiddenSpring, 2001.
Koehler, Théodore A. “The Language of St. Bonaventure and St. Thomas: A Study of Their Vocabulary on Mercy.” Marian Library Studies 29, no. 29 (2010): 11–24.
Linn, Dennis, Sheila Fabricant Linn, and Matthew Linn. Good Goats: Healing Our Image of God. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1994.
Pederick, Evan. “St Bonaventure’s Itinerarium as a Bridge: From Francis to the Franciscans.” Third Order, Society of St Francis (blog), August 28, 2021. https://tssf.org.au/2021/08/.
Rohr, Richard. “Christ Is the Template for Creation.” Center for Action and Contemplation, 2018. https://cac.org/.
Talbot, John Michael. Francis of Assisi’s Sermon on the Mount: Lessons from the Admonitions. Kindle edn. Brewster, Massachusetts: Paraclete Press, 2019.

Reflection

The Church’s Underbelly

Church.Underbelly

The Church and its “Underbelly”
By Charles Ringma tssf

This heading may strike you as rather strange. You may even think that there is something underhanded or even sinister about this. Or you may think that with the reference to underbelly that I am referring to something like a corrupt cohort of police in a police precinct or the mafia in a society, and that this somehow refers to the church. I have no such thing in mind. But there is something strategic and counter-cultural at play here.

I use the term underbelly, deliberately and provocatively. And this is because with our focus on the institutional nature of the church we often neglect thinking about the laity and their role in the kingdom of God and the goodness they bring to society. They might as well be the underbelly.

Let me get straight to the point. It is evident that more and more the church and its other institutions will have to function under increasing governmental regulations. I am not suggesting that this is bad. It is simply a fact of contemporary life, and these institutions should be safe and accountable entities.

However, there are a number of concerns. 1. Church and its related institutions will need to spend more of its time and resources on governmental compliance issues. 2. This could result in this becoming the “main” game. 3. And as consequence, the main game of being a servant of Christ and a witness to the world could get lost or compromised.

In the light of the above, I wish to suggest that the church and its related institutions should develop more of an underbelly. This underbelly is the laity as the “scattered” faith-community doing its informal activities such as friendship building, caring, practising hospitality, mentoring, praying, and acting into the world. All of this, while under the nurturing care of the church, is beyond any regulation by the state or other entity. No one can stop me from bringing someone home for help, or providing food for a needy neighbour. And above all, no can stop me praying or mentoring a friend or colleague. And building families of safety, nurture, care, and resilience with spiritual values, is thankfully also something one can do without outside regulation.

While the church and its related institutions, particularly as these continue to get government support, will need to be compliant because these are professional and social entities, there is another dimension to the church. This is the members of the church as they live their lives at home, at work, and in the neighbourhood. And these members can do a lot of good both informally, practically, and strategically.

These members of the faith-community constitute the “informal” face of the church – the underbelly. They are the “non-professionals” in the art of loving care.

What I am discussing here is something we see in the general community when there are bushfires or a flood or a drought. Ordinary people in these circumstances do a lot in helping their neighbours and they do so alongside of the governmental and other social-group supports that are provided.

We also see this in the life of the church. There are all sorts of friendship and other informal “groups” that exist in the broader life of the church, and there are many individuals who act on their own to help others.

Historically, when Hong Kong was to be handed back to China, the churches did a lot to form informal care and nurture groups in the life of the church. And in the long history of Christianity groups have been formed alongside of the parish church – including cenobitic communities and groups like the Clapham “Sect” just to name two.

Now it is true that over time informal groups can become institutionalised as was the case with monasticism, just to mention one. But this makes my central concern all the more pressing. And that is that we need to continue to facilitate, train, nurture the informal activities of the “scattered” church in its activities of Monday through to Saturday. And this means the empowerment of the laity. And it also means that members of the church need to gain a new identity – no only longer consumers of religious services by Christian professionals, but full participants in the joy of seeing the seeds of the kingdom of God springing up everywhere.

If this underbelly is not nurtured, then my concern is that the institutional church of the future may become a more and more hampered institution concerned with its own survival and less with its mission in the world.
And who would say that the church as institution only can do more than the combined activities of its members in the art of care and influencing others with the gospel and caring love?

Charles Ringma

Reflection

Being priestly, prophetical and kingly

Christ: Prophet, Priest, King: Where Does That Leave the Church?
By Charles Ringma tssf

I believe that it is pretty much a given that Christ has everything to do with the church. In theological jargon, this is expressed as follows: Christology forms and shapes ecclesiology.

This simple phrase has several important dimensions. First, the person and work of Christ is the source and foundation of the faith community. People come to faith in Christ and form a community reflecting Christ. Second, the way of Christ in the world is the way the church is to be as disciples of Christ. If Christ is indeed the Prince of Peace, then the church should be a peace-making community. Third, what the church is, reflects back on Christ. The church as the “body of Christ” is a second “incarnation” of Christ. Thus, the church is to be an embodiment of and witness to Christ. Here the church is called to great fidelity.

In Christology, we speak of Christ as being Prophet, Priest, and King. And we usually spell this out as follows: 1] As prophet, Christ is the voice and reflection of God to humanity. He brings the new word, the new vision, the new way. And as prophet, Christ critiques the old way and its pretentious powers and shows the new way of redemptive suffering and the bliss that is to come in God’s final future. As prophet, Christ is the great disturber, the one who disrupts the status quo. 2] As priest, Christ is the bridge between God and humanity in his healing and restoring activity, and in his intercession for the church and world. As the Great Priest, Christ, agonises into birth the kingdom of God in people’s lives and in the world. 3] As King, Christ is Lord not only of the individual believer, and of the church, but also of the world and the world to come. Here there is the call for a faithful following of the one whose rulership is so different to that of the nations. He is the Servant-King and as the Lamb that was slain, he demonstrates a generative rulership which seeks to bring into being a whole new world.

So, what about all of this in relation to the faith community? What does Christ as Prophet, Priest, and King have to do with the church? Simply put, everything! If its true, as we have said, that Christology impacts ecclesiology then ecclesiology should not impact Christology. In other words, we can’t be reductionistic in making Christ fit our church paradigms. And we can’t favour the one ministry of Christ to the neglect of the other ministries.

Yet, this, seems so often to be the case. Let me illustrate this at a very broad level.

Roman Catholic and the mainline Protestant churches have tended, in their long commitment to the Christendom project, to emphasize the kingly work of the church in forming churches and institutions that seek to have social clout. This approach operates on the notion that the more powerful the church can be in society, the more good it can do. In this model, the church is always seeking political and social “capital” and influence. We have seen this with Evangelicals during the Trump presidency and with the Roman Catholic church in Poland.

Pentecostal and Charismatic churches while increasingly seeming to move in the same direction as described above, have traditionally emphasized the priestly ministry. They have sought to be a healing and restorative presence for people and have outworked in the broader community. In this, they have tended to be more a-political.

The prophetic ministry has tended to be more the domain of fringe groups such as the Anabaptists, Quakers, and para-church groups such as Sojourners, along with many other similar groups. Their orientation has been to question the major dominant paradigms in both the churches and the world, and to call for a new way of being in the world. Rather following the “triumphant” Christ into the world, they have tended to follow the “suffering” or “bitter” Christ into the world.

So, you may want to think about where you fit? Where does your church or organisation fit? And more importantly, where should you and I fit?

In wrestling with this, here are a few thoughts –
1] If Christ is indeed Prophet, Priest, and King, then the faith community should reflect these three “ministries” of Christ.
2] Can these three be held in creative tension?
3] Karl Barth, in formulating a theology that had to do with calling the church to resist the church’s Nazification, made the claim – not surprisingly given his context – that the prophetic work of Christ was primary for the church and the other “ministries” had to be understood in the light of that prophetic work. What do we think of this?
4] Does this mean that in differing settings, a differing ministry need to be the major focus?
5] And finally, how are we to discern in our world what is most pressing regarding the way the church is to be in the world?

Charles Ringma tssf,
Emeritus Prof. Regent College, Vancouver; Research Fellow Trinity College, Queensland; Hon. Assoc. Prof. The University of Queensland; Adjunct Faculty Asian Theological Seminary, Manila.

Reflection

St Bonaventure’s Itinerarium as a bridge from Francis to the Franciscans

by Evan Pederick tssf, Perth WA, July 2021; evanpederick@gmail.com
Talk given to the Perth Third Order members

Abstract
In this paper I look at the spiritual theology of the 13th-century theologian, St Bonaventure. I suggest that because of the arguments affecting the Franciscan order at the time Bonaventure becomes Minister-General in 1257, his major work of spiritual theology is designed to establish a narrative about the meaning of St Francis’ life that would ensure the long-term future of the Order by allowing for lay participation and more moderate ways of following the Rule. I also suggest Bonaventure’s spiritual theology makes use of the mystical teaching of St Clare which is better suited to a non-itinerant Franciscan lifestyle.

Introduction
It is often observed that St Bonaventure places philosophical and theological structure on the lived spirituality of Francis of Assisi – perhaps some modern Franciscans wonder whether that was such a good thing! In this talk however I want to suggest that it is entirely a good thing, because Bonaventure provides a vital bridge between the early Franciscan radical performative reenactment of the Sermon on the Mount and a lived spirituality accessible to generations of non-itinerant and lay tertiaries.

As an academic theologian Bonaventure must have seemed to many an odd choice as the seventh Minister-General of the Franciscan Order in 1257 – though he had an unimpeachable reputation for zeal and holiness. Brilliant and pious while theologically conservative, Bonaventure was thrust into the leadership in the middle of a fierce debate over the figure of Francis himself, interpretation of his Rule of Life and the possibility of lay participation in the Order.

By mid-13th century the Franciscans had grown beyond all expectation – but seemed about to implode. After Francis’ death in 1226 what had begun as an improvised way of life for his small group of friends had morphed into an international order with thousands of friars, creating massive administrative problems and institutional needs for education and formation. At the same time, Francis’ legacy was hotly contested. The so-called Protospirituals, furious at what they saw as the lax disregard of Francis’ teaching on poverty, latched on to the sensationalist 12th-century apocalyptic vision of Joachim of Fiore to declare Francis the angelic harbinger of a great cosmic conflict, setting aside both Old and New Testaments and ushering in the end of time. Bonaventure’s immediate predecessor, John of Parma, had resigned in disgrace due to his own association with the hotheads.

Bonaventure soon proved himself an able peacemaker. Researching his life of Francis in the year he became Minister-General, Bonaventure visited one of Francis’ original companions, Brother Giles, who asked him suspiciously, ‘Can a simple person love God as much as a learned one?’ ‘Even more so than a master of theology’, Bonaventure responded diplomatically – and in his Life of Francis notes that Giles himself while simplex et ignota (simple and unlearned) ‘lived among people more like an angel than a human being’.

Nevertheless, Bonaventure had a fight on his hands to establish a narrative about Francis that could provide a long-term future for the Order as it continued to grow apart from the radical itinerant lifestyle of its founders. I suggest that an integral part of Bonaventure’s response to the problem is to be found in his works of spiritual theology penned over the first two years following his installation as Minister-General. I will make this argument, firstly, by thinking about the general shape of Bonaventure’s spiritual theology, which marries the time-honoured three-fold neo-Platonic way of ascent pioneered by the 5th century Dionysius with new and distinctly Franciscan thinking. I will then turn to a closer examination of Bonaventure’s major work, the Itinerarium Mentis in Deum, or the Soul’s Journey to God, to show how Bonaventure constructs a template for Franciscan spirituality from his interpretation of Francis’ vision on Mt Alverna. Finally, I will suggest how Bonaventure derives his novel elements from Clare of Assisi via his contact with Brother Leo.

The Triple Way
We live in remarkable times. For four dollars you can buy on Kindle and read on your smartphone Bonaventure’s entire Mystical Opuscula , the three works that form the essence of his spiritual theology: the Lignam Vitae (Tree of Life) that anticipates St Ignatius’ way of meditating on the life of Christ in Scripture by four centuries; de Triplica Via (Threefold Way) which insists that love remains even when the intellect is plunged into the darkness of unknowing and that the apotheosis of love is the Crucified Christ; and the Itinerarium Mentis in Deum, (Mind’s Journey into God) which is both a pilgrim’s progress through the whole of the created order into identification with the Crucified One and simultaneously a reinterpretation of Francis’ vision on Mt Alverna as a template for contemplation. All three of these works were written between 1259 and 1260.

Firstly a couple of words about the Triple Way, the last of these works and a practical primer for novice friars. In this little work Bonaventure builds on the threefold mystical hierarchy first expressed seven centuries earlier by Dionysius. It consists of three ways and three exercises. The ways are the purgative (ie. the way of moral virtue or asceticism), the illuminative and the perfective or unitive – the first way leading to peace, the second to truth and the third to love. The exercises are meditation (eg. lectio divina), prayer and contemplation (confusingly, what the Western spiritual tradition refers to as contemplation is more often referred to as meditation in our own day). In the classical Neoplatonic pattern, the three stages take us first outward, then inward, then upward – away from the love of creatures, purifying the intellect and volition and into the unknowing of divine darkness. Bonaventure, however, following the love mysticism of the 12th century Hugh of St Victor, reinterprets the drily intellectual Dionysian ‘unknowing’ (apophasis) as the love that alone can persist when knowledge is extinguished, and adds a twist by using the erotic imagery of the Song of Songs to build up a theme of loving desire between the soul as a bride and its divine Spouse. Finally, in the Triple Way, Bonaventure makes another move that neither Dionysius nor Hugh could have imagined – equating the pinnacle of loving desire with devotion to the cross through which the soul’s identification with Christ is made complete. As I will suggest later this identification with the crucified Christ as the epitome of love joins together the lived experience of St Francis with the mystical teachings of St Clare.

The Journey
When in 1259 he sits down to write his most important work of spiritual theology, the Journey of the Mind into God, Bonaventure also uses the three-fold division of Dionysius but this time he has a very important practical problem to address. In this work, written on Mt Alverna where Francis received the stigmata along with the vision of the six-winged seraph in 1224, Bonaventure sets out to establish Francis’ vision as an eschatological event – which is to say an event that draws the Franciscan Order and through it the whole Church into its apotheosis. Like the Protospirituals, Bonaventure has some sympathy with the apocalyptic theology of Joachim of Fiore – unlike the Protospirituals he sees the significance of Francis not as a cataclysmic event that ushers in the end (ie. finish) of the world but rather an event that ushers in a renewed creation and a reformed doxology. Thus, Bonaventure has both a political purpose of importance to the future of the Franciscan movement and a spiritual purpose to reveal in the life of Francis a pattern of growing conformity to the crucified Christ as a template for an accessible Franciscan spirituality. In the Prologue of the Itinerarium Bonaventure reveals that the journey he is about to describe is a mystical journey into the heart of crucified love, based on Francis’ own journey as icon and exemplar.

In this work, Bonaventure again adopts the Dionysian pattern of outwards, inwards and upwards – it should be said that for Bonaventure these are never stages in the chronological sense that you leave one behind to go on to the next – but doubles each of the stages to correspond with the six wings of the seraph in the form of the crucified Christ. Bonaventure achieves this doubling in a way that emphasises that this is a journey from created being to eternal being, considering the divine presence in each stage as Alpha (initial cause) and Omega (final cause).

The first stage corresponds to what Bonaventure calls the Book of Creation – here, God is known in and through the creatures as Alpha and Omega. By this, Bonaventure means that as we study creation we may see the vestigial fingerprints of the Creator – the Alpha – and we may also see the God made known through the creatures as their final cause or Omega – for Bonaventure this means we reflect on how we are drawn to know God through the deep patterning and order of the external world. If you read this as a 21st century Franciscan expecting a lyrical meditation on the ways God’s beauty is reflected in the natural world and its creatures you might be disappointed – there is definitely scope here for an ecotheological updating of the Journey reflecting on the goodness and beauty of the natural world and its eternal valuation! However in his medieval language we see Bonaventure’s use of the Orthodox notion of theosis – the eternal drawing together of all things in Christ in the service of another Franciscan theme: the vocation of all things for praise.

In the second stage Bonaventure invites us to contemplate our own human soul – again, both as an image of God in its creation – Alpha – and in its eternal vocation of praise and union with God through faith, hope and love reformed by grace – which is the Omega. In this section Bonaventure makes full use of the erotic Spousal imagery from the Song of Songs to depict the soul’s yearning for God. He also describes the soul as a mirror illuminated through scripture and reflecting divine Wisdom.

Thus restored to its proper likeness the soul in the final stage can turn toward God, firstly considering God as Being – the One who gives existence to all things (ie. as Alpha) and then considering God as the Good. Bonaventure uses a number of analogies throughout the Itinerarium – for example that of ascending Jacob’s ladder, then in the fourth chapter the entry into the heavenly Jerusalem before introducing at the end of chapter five the metaphor of the soul as the temple of the Holy Spirit. This metaphor dominates chapters five and six, where Bonaventure tells us we have already entered the atrium and the holy places of the temple but now must enter the Holy of Holies. What follows is the description of a sort of mandala, the Holy of Holies inhabited by twin cherubim gazing at the mercy seat between them, that awesome place in the temple in Jerusalem where God’s presence dwelt as a sort of fecund absence. We are meant, I think, to construct a visual image of this, as we contemplate firstly the cherubim who proclaims the name of God as Being: I am that I am – the Alpha of all creaturely existence – and then turn our inner eye to the second cherub on the other side of the mercy seat who proclaims the name of God as the highest Good. This name of God necessarily requires as to think of God as a loving trinity whose own life is characterised as a flow of self-giving love. Goodness, identified as the procession from Being to Being-For or Being-Towards or even Being-Given – draws all things to their true end or Omega in loving union.

At each stage of the journey the mind is drawn from outer to inner and from beginning to end until finally in the seventh chapter the soul is able to follow the gaze of the cherubim and contemplate the mercy seat. This is the empty place above the altar in the Holiest of Holies filled with the invisible presence of God, in the Itinerarium made shockingly visible in the form of the crucified and lifeless Christ. The journey reaches its culmination (which Bonaventure refers to as a Passover) In the soul’s contemplation of the crucified Christ – at this point God remains unknowable but able to be embraced in love.

In his Life of St Francis (Legenda Maiora) Bonaventure had named Francis as the ‘hierarchical man’, who bearing the marks of the stigmata is be identified with the angel ‘having the seal of the living God’ in the apocalyptic vision of Revelation 7.2. And so the Itinerarium begins with the intention expressed by Bonaventure in the Prologue to understand and retrace the journey of Francis, and ends with an image of Francis’s contemplation and embrace of the Crucified made visible for us in the stigmata. It is here that the intellect enters the darkness of unknowing – but following Francis we are able to so identify in love with the crucified Christ that Bonaventure bids us rest with him in the darkness of the tomb.

For Bonaventure, then, Francis represents a sort of icon for our meditation, a window into Christ who is himself an image of the invisible God. The importance of his project in the Itinerarium is to offer a way of imitatio Francisci that does not involve stripping yourself naked before the bishop, renouncing all possessions and undertaking a lifelong performative re-enactment of the Sermon on the Mount. By mid-13th century the life of Francis had already begun to recede into highly contested and even mythologised history. However, Bonaventure suggests that through contemplating the image of Francis stigmatised we ourselves may see Christ – so Francis is both an example of perfect human union with God and a visible icon for our own journey into the heart of Christ.

Clare’s way
Less obvious is that in this project Bonaventure also interprets the penultimate experience of Francis’ life using the techniques passed down from Clare of Assisi. As has become well known, Clare and her sisters lived a life very different to the mendicant performative imitation of Christ lived by Francis and his companions. Enclosed in community and refusing even to work or beg for alms, Clare’s community practised a poverty possibly even more extreme than that of their brothers. Better recognised now, thanks to writers such as Ilia Delio, is the interior poverty and contemplation focussed on two central images developed in Clare’s letters to Agnes of Hungary: Christ as Spouse and as Mirror. The spousal imagery drawn from the Song of Songs and also found in St Paul’s letters and the early Church Fathers, is beautifully drawn in Clare’s first letter to Agnes in which the embrace of poverty becomes a form of union with the “poor Crucified”. As I noted earlier, this imagery is also central to Bonaventure’s spiritual writing.
In her second and third letters Clare combines the spousal imagery with that of the mirror, inviting Agnes to ‘gaze, consider, contemplate, desiring to imitate your Spouse’. This movement from gazing into the mirror of Christ, to considering, contemplating and imitating becomes a sort of interior journey that functions like Francis and his brothers’ literal, performative representation of Christ’s itinerant life. As Jay Hammond notes, although Clare probably first receives the mirror metaphor from earlier Cistercian sources her development in the letters to Agnes is unique and personal because she lacks access to a library in her monastery. In her fourth and final letter to Agnes, Clare provides a deeper reflection on the journey of contemplation, describing the mirror of Christ as giving access to the entire mission of the Incarnate Word as the radical poverty of God giving Godself away in love. Clare in this letter invites Agnes to transform herself into the image by gazing into the mirror which is Christ, in whom we also see the image of ourselves as we are created to be.

In the Itinerarium, Bonaventure notes that his work is based on conversations he had with Brother Leo who was with Francis when he received his vision. There is no record of Bonaventure having personally met Clare, who died in 1253. However, in a letter to the Abbess of the Monastery of St Clare in Assisi written in the same year as he composed the Itinerarium (1259), Bonaventure writes that he has also received news of the sisters from Leo. Using similar terminology to that of Clare’s letters to Agnes Bonaventure in this letter enjoins the Abbess to contemplate the mirror of Christ. The case for Bonaventure having been made aware of Clare’s contemplative imagery through Leo thus seems fairly strong.

In the Itinerarium, Bonaventure integrates the theme of the mirror with that of Francis’ beatific vision, writing that the wings of the Seraph are mirrors through which we can gaze on Christ. By this he refers to the mirrors of creation and of the human soul which reflect their Creator. He writes that these mirrors reflect the light of Christ so that to gaze at creation is to recognise the presence of Christ in all things – though in the Prologue he also cautions that these mirrors must be cleaned and polished before we can see clearly in them! Ultimately in Bonaventure’s vision it is the Crucified Christ himself who is the perfect mirror of God, and the stigmatised Francis who becomes for us a mirror of Christ.

Conclusion
Bonaventure, as one commentator notes, is both more and less than Francis! He leaves us wanting more of the immediacy and freshness of Francis’ perception of reality – while Francis himself maybe leaves us wanting something more suitable for everyday practicality! Bonaventure is primarily writing for the needs of his own mid-13th century community trying to find a settled narrative and a way forward from self-defeating disputation. However in the Itinerarium he also provides a road-map for a Franciscan spirituality that by drawing on the mature spirituality of both Francis and Clare is able to be emulated by future generations.
*** +++ ***

References
Ables, Travis. ‘The Apocalyptic Figure of Francis’s Stigmatized Body: The Politics of Scripture in Bonaventure’s Meditative Treatises’. In Reading Scripture as a Political Act, edited by Daniel McClain and Matthew Tapie. Fortress, 2015. 25/6/2021.
Bonaventure. Itinerarium Mentis in Deum. Edited by Stephen Brown. Translated by Philotheus Boehner. Works of Saint Bonaventure, Translation from the Latin Text of the Quaracchi Ed. Saint Bonaventure, NY: The Franciscan Institute, 1998.
———. Mystical Opuscula. Translated by José Oscar de Vinck. Kindle edn. The Works of Saint Bonaventure: Cardinal, Seraphic Doctor and Saint, vol. 1. Edinburgh: CrossReach Publications, 2017.
———. ‘The Life of St Francis (Legenda Maior)’. In Bonaventure: The Soul’s Journey into God/The Tree of Life/The Life of St Francis, translated by Ewert Cousins, 179–327. The Classics of Western Spirituality. New York, NY: Paulist Press, 1978.
Cousins, Ewert. Bonaventure and the Coincidence of Opposites. Chicago, IL: Franciscan Herald Press, 1978.
Delio, Ilia. Clare of Assisi: A Heart Full of Love. Cincinnati, OH: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2007.
———. Franciscan Prayer. Kindle. Cincinnati, Ohio: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2004.
Hammond, Jay M. ‘Clare’s Influence on Bonaventure?’ Franciscan Studies 62 (2004): 101–17.
Hayes, Zachary. Bonaventure: Mystical Writings. New York, NY: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1999.
Hughes, Kevin L. ‘Francis, Clare, and Bonaventure’. In The Wiley-Blackwell Companion to Christian Mysticism, edited by Julia Lamm, 282–96, 2012. www.academia.edu.
McColman, Carl. The Big Book of Christian Mysticism: The Essential Guide to Contemplative Spirituality. Kindle edn. Charlottesville, VA: Hampton Roads Pub. Co, 2010.

News, Reflection

Christians: The third Race?

A Divided Christendom. Can the Idea of a “Third Race” Help Us?

by Charles Ringma tssf

We seem to be living in a very different time to the 20th century when churches were concerned about the lack of unity of the church and its implications for the witness of the church in society. This concern seems to have disappeared.

Today, the splinterization of Christianity continues with many solo churches coming into being and Christian para-church groups continuing to proliferate. Also, many Christians now prefer to be part of informal “groups” or as alienated from the church while continuing to maintain their Christian faith.

All of this is overlaid with the reality that churches are not only divided along doctrinal, but also along ethnic and economic lines. We have Chinese and Vietnamese churches and churches predominately of the well-to-do.
What all of this indicates is that the concept of church, as the Body of Christ, has become a pragmatic and functional reality with little biblical/theological depth. That being the case, we have freed ourselves to “play church” at will, and our little sense of cooperation has not only led to duplication, but also competition. And with the lack of growth of the church in the West, “branding” has become a dominant operational motif. We have to show how we are different, and move you to join our more desirable form of church.

All of this should be of great concern. While this brief reflection does not provide the space to develop a theology of the faith community, some basic comments can be made.

Being linked to Christ involves the double movement of being “baptized into Christ Jesus” (Romans 6: 3) and being baptized into the faith community: “in the one Spirit we were all baptized into the one body – Jews or Greeks, slaves or free” (1 Corinthians 12: 13). This means that God’s reconciliation in Christ is both vertical and horizontal – we are joined to Christ and linked to one another. Solo Christianity is a postmodern fiction. The heartbeat of our faith is relationality – joined to God, the faith community, and our world.

This Christological community in the Spirit is a community where traditional social categories are overcome through a spiritual unity expressed in a concrete life together: “there is no longer Jew or Greek…slave or free…male or female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3: 28).

This does not mean that these ethnic and social distinctives disappear in the faith community, but that they are no longer determinative. Christ is the new centre. And as such Christians are a corporate identity and are called “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people” (1 Peter 2: 9).

It is therefore appropriate to ask the question whether in Christ a new “race” has come into being. Are Christians, as distinct from Jews and Gentiles, to be regarded as a Third Race?

The writer of the Epistle to Diognetus seems to think so. The writer speaks of Christians as “this new race or way of life” that has come into the world. The author continues: while they “follow the local customs in dress and food and other aspects of life, at the same time, they demonstrate the remarkable and admittedly unusual character of their own citizenship.” They live in countries as “non-residents,” and “every foreign country is their fatherland and every fatherland is foreign.”

What we may draw from the above biblical passages and from this epistle is the following –
1. Christians are a distinct spiritual and social entity in society.
2. Their identity in Christ is not limited to their particular church.
3. Their identity is also national and global.

Let me draw some possible implications from these most basic points. First of all, Christians need to think about commonalities and sharing across denominations in their particular localities. Secondly, churches should exercise common concerns for the nation as a whole in which they find themselves. And thirdly, and most fundamentally and controversially, Christians need to find commonality with other Christians across the world.

Majoring on this last point, I believe that we need to rethink our order of priorities. If Christians are indeed a Third Race as a spiritual/social entity in Christ, then my priorities cannot be Australia first, the USA first, or China first, and then my commitment to Christ. Instead, the priority is Christ first, and then my commitment to local, national, and global Christian communities.

This means that I need to question what my country is doing in its policies towards other countries which will also affect my Christian brothers and sisters in that country. Put in the starkest terms I may need to become an “enemy” of my country if my country’s actions hurt another country and its faith community.

While this may all sound far too grandiose or abstract, let me make a simple point. If a church community in Australia forms a link with a church, in say Timor Leste, then the Australian church would have to take an interest in Australian Government policy towards that country and the church may well need to raise its voice in prophetic protest and work hard in expressing caring and practical solidarity.

And moving in the other direction, our solidarity with a faith community in Myanmar or Nigeria or Bolivia could open our eyes to things we are not properly seeing because of our cultural blinkers and arrogance.

All of this does not in any way suggest that we neglect responding to our neighbours and institutions in the general community. Love of God involves love of neighbour. But love of neighbour does not cancel out love of brothers and sisters in the faith in other parts of the world for with them we have a Christo-centric common identity. Paul’s words ring loud and clear: “So then, whenever we have opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family faith” (Galatians 6: 10).

What could it look like if the local cooperation of faith communities could propel us out of our myopic perspectives and liberate us to embrace a global concern of Christians as a Third Race?

Charles Ringma, tssf,
Emeritus Professor Regent College, Vancouver; Honorary Research Fellow Trinity College Queensland; and Professor in the PhD program in contextual theology at Asian Theological Seminary, Metro Manila.

News, Reflection

Mary and her place in scripture

Mary and Her Place in Scripture
by Pirrial Clift tssf
I have barely touched on Mary’s Place in Scripture, the topic of this second part in a series about Mary of Nazareth. I chose to attempt to unpick just a few words in Luke’s Gospel. Not being a theologian myself, I have leaned on D.W. Allen and Max Thurian’s work.

Before the Enlightenment common life and language understood softer boundaries between spiritual and physical realities: the liminal qualities of human existence were acknowledged. Metaphor, allegory, myth, poetry, mystery and hidden implications, spiritual powers, heavenly beings, dreams and visions, instinct and bodily knowing; all were considered valid vehicles of God’s revelations.

The woof and warp of salvation history is a tapestry rich in people who heard God’s voice, responded to dreams, entertained angels, conveyed God’s words to others and performed wonders and miracles: some followed stars or heard voices from a burning bush… a donkey… a cloud… Powerful myths containing kernels of essential knowledge were woven into history, preserving tradition and God’s laws through the spoken word; whilst poetry, running through scripture like a golden thread, opened hearts and souls to truths not easily expressed. Parables – and many other parts of Scripture – present truths packaged like Russian Babushka dolls, inviting the hearer to venture ever deeper into their veiled meanings. It need not surprise us then, that Mary’s place in scripture is woven with similar threads.

Mary’s place is central to the Biblical narrative of salvation history. Abraham, who appeared at the beginning of salvation history, held God’s promise that through him every nation would be blessed. Israel repeatedly failed to be receptive to God’s words. D.W. Allen posits Mary as fulfilling Israel’s supreme vocation when she received the living Word, enabling the birth of the long-awaited Messiah. Isaiah’s prophecy ’Behold a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and he shall be called Immanuel [God-with –us]’ was fulfilled in her.

Luke’s Gospel posits her as the link between the old and new covenants. To him she embodies Israel’s vocation, co-operating with the Creator in carrying the Living Word to full term; bringing God-in-Jesus among us for the salvation of all peoples.

Hail
At the Annunciation the Angel Gabriel speaks: ‘Hail (or Rejoice), favoured one’.

‘Hail’’ appears in the NRSV as ‘Greetings’, which does not adequately convey the original meaning, according to Max Thurian, who refers to OT references including Zephaniah 3.14-18 and Zechariah 2.10. ‘Hail’ is used specifically to address the ‘Daughter of Zion’ a female metaphor personifying Israel. He says: ‘the Daughter of Zion is … mystical in that it concerns the union of the Virgin, the Daughter of Zion, with the Lord, her husband: and also eschatological in the sense that it represents the motherhood of the Daughter of Zion and her painful deliverance of the Messianic Hope, or deliverance of the people of God by the coming of the Messiah’. Mary herself, and Luke’s first readers, would have been cognisant of the hidden layers of meaning in that single word of greeting in a way that escapes contemporary readers.

Allen again: ‘Actually at this moment Mary is herself mysteriously Jerusalem and the Temple, the Holy of Holies and the Ark of the Covenant’. He echoes St Francis’ Salutation to the Virgin Mary: ‘Hail, his Palace! Hail his Tabernacle! Hail his Dwelling! Hail his Robe! Hail his Servant! Hail, his Mother!’ Mary, wherein dwelt the King, the Holy One of Israel; covered him with her body, then later became mother and servant to him.

Full of Grace
The particular word meaning full of grace (sometimes translated favour) addressed to Mary, is found in Ephesians [1.6] to describe the abundance of grace poured out through Christ to all the members of his Body, the church. Mary however, is addressed as ‘the’ full of grace; the type or exemplar, of grace.

The Lord is with you
The Lord was with Moses in the ‘thick cloud’ on the mountain when he received the Law of the Covenant and with his people in the OT in the heart of the covenant community, When the Ark of the Covenant was set in the tabernacle, ‘the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle.’ Now Mary stands as the new Temple – having been overshadowed by the Holy Spirit, the Presence of God dwelt deep in her body. She is the new Ark, the new dwelling place of God on earth. Jesus, the promised Messiah, is the personification of the New Covenant. As the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle, so Jesus, the Incarnation of God’s glory, filled Mary.

Both Jews and Christians being accustomed to being described as ‘children of Abraham’ i.e. inheritor’s of Abraham’s renowned faith. Mary realised God’s promise to Abraham by giving birth to the promised Messiah, whose sacrificial love delivered the promised blessing to all nations.

Mary’s inspirational faith and trust in God are marked by Elizabeth’s prophetic greeting to her in the hill country: “…blessèd is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Mary ‘treasured all these things’ – the prophetic utterances experienced in angelic visitations, Elizabeth’s prophetic greeting, Simeon and Anna’s’ prophecies and Jesus’ only recorded childhood utterance – ‘in her heart’. God’s word spoken and written and God’s Word become incarnate in her womb were treasured by Mary.

In Mary’s, faith and grace, she is blessèd indeed. Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Pirrial Clift. tssf

Reflection

Learning from the Desert

2021 Day of Penitence, St. Francis College, Milton, 13th March “Transformation within the desert” in this time of the pandemic.

Talk 3 – Learning from the desert by Ray Clifton tssf

Introduction

When I was in Formation at St. Francis College, I would have a personal retreat in the summer break at the Old Friary at Brookfield. On one occasion I joined Midday prayers in the Chapel. During Prayers, I was surprised when I saw Brother Noel Thomas pray the Cross Prayer with arms outstretched. That day, I learnt something about trusting God and the need to let go of my false humility. Even though I had heard a call to be a Tertiary, I thought I wasn’t good enough to follow Jesus in the company of Francis. I saw in this action, the vocation to desire to be shaped by the cross and Divine Compassion, not for my sake but for a call to live the Gospel and embody it (however imperfectly).

What are we noticing as we emerge from Pandemic? In this talk, I would like to reflect on our shared experience over the last year and the call to witness to a life of Penitence and shaped by Divine Compassion.

During the Pandemic we saw rapid the uptake of technology to fill the void for relationships, communities, education, and business. Churches challenged by closures and finding ways to provide support and worship, adapted to technology where possible. This adaption brought forward the long forestalled virtual, connection to a wider group of people for worship groups, communication, and support.

In May last year, while working from home, I was pulled up short by the change to sounds in our garden. Because of border closures and restrictions on travel there was little noise from traffic and no roar from jets overhead or in the distance from the airport. For the first time it was possible to hear more birds in the garden than the usual crow, magpie, kookaburra, or noisy minor bird.

The Environment benefited with cleaner air and lack of noise pollution. Last year, Earth Overshoot day was later than 2019 because of less emissions. It was held on August 22 three weeks later than 2019 because of decreases calculated in CO2 emissions. Many were hopeful that these things would open an opportunity for change and point to a different future.

The Pandemic has shone a light on the precarious nature too of employment, under-employment, and unemployment; especially as the numbers of people with little or no work swelled through the pandemic. Concern has emerged too over proposed Industrial Relations Law changes and their flow on to vulnerable workers. The imminent withdrawal of financial support for business and workers has been highlighted as an opportunity to reassess support for the vulnerable as well as fairness in the workplace.

The Younger Son – What does this change

. 17But when he came to himself, he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’”

The younger son stranded in a foreign place, after spending his share of inheritance is destitute and isolated. Forced to accept degradation as a swine herder he is humiliated and willing to shamefully accept his status of being culturally and legally dead to his father because of his insult. The son is prepared to be treated as a slave and not a son. He is prepared to do the work of a slave on his father’s property just to have shelter, purposeful work, culturally appropriate food, and fair treatment. Perhaps even be near his father.

The younger son’s desert brings him to himself and a longing for the familiar even if on different terms. The son’s realisation, while filled with shame, begins to turn him to desire change. He realises that there is no right to any claim on his father. However, he hopes for mercy and nothing more. The son’s road to new hope starts with confession of the pain and insult caused to his father and trusting in mercy.

The wisdom of the insulted father

But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.

We are told the father runs to greet his son when he is still far off. In the joy of this time, with the memory of the pain he bore, the father’s action is vindicated. The extravagance of his love shown in the trust and freedom offered to the son finds its fulfilment.

The father shows the depth of longing and love which greet his son when he says, ‘24for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!”

The father brings from his desert experience of aching for his son, wisdom. The wisdom of risking trust on a son turned in on himself and his desires. The wisdom of allowing the son to make his own mistakes and respond to the consequences.

The father’s words reveal the presence of grace and unconditional love in response to the humbled son. It’s worth asking though of the son, what next? What are you going to do now that you know what you know and are sorry for the things you did?

Learning from this desert time leaves us with the same question. Now we know what we know from this experience, what will we do to show we are penitent and have a desire to live the Gospel in a new way?

Francis and Penitence

St. Francis would often pray with arm’s outstretched and as Brother Bernard discovered, would pray, ‘My Lord and my God.’ The Divine compassion was so important to Francis. It’s as if he embodied the cross to remind himself of God’s extravagant love.

Francis’ response to Divine Compassion in the cross is not just recognition of need for God’s grace but also the ways in which our lives obscure God’s image in us. God’s Love calling us to repentance, calls us to live lives of abundant love in newness of life.

For Francis, to live fully was to live the Gospel in ways which reveal that God is present and active in the world. Francis sought to cooperate with God’s action and to be more and more moulded into the image of God in him. He knew that there was a need to acknowledge those things which obscure or distort that image.

The way to living the Gospel wholly, was through a life of prayer and penitence. Not penitence in the sense of self-punishment or self-loathing but turning to God in humility and trusting in love and mercy.

Penitence then is an active thing. For Francis, living a penitent life included humility and joyful thanksgiving for God’s forgiveness. The Fruit of which is a life overflowing Love.

This Love, the Divine compassion, Francis met and responded to in his relationships with the Creation and in solidarity and care of the poor and vulnerable. Whether singing the praises of God, preaching to the birds, speaking to the wolf of Gubbio or sitting and begging with the poor, Francis embodied God’s Love and responded to it around him.

Penitence was not passive for Francis. Penitence was visible in renewed living as a disciple of Christ. Living humbly from what he learnt from the Gospel and his own mistakes.

Conclusion

This Pandemic time has shocked us. Settling into the challenges of the Pandemic has pared back our lives. We have learnt from the characters of the story of the Prodigal Son about love and mercy meeting us in that vulnerable space.

Francis gives us the pattern to live penitent lives, humbly and generously. Being conformed to the cross and shaped by Divine compassion we are called to serve God and in solidarity with others.

* Where is God inviting you to know the welcome of mercy and love?
* Where are you called to be open to the cross and Divine Compassion and be shaped or deepened in your response to others and witness to God’s love?

Reflection

Exploring the Strange Land

2021 Day of Penitence, St. Francis College, Milton, 13th March “Transformation within the desert” in this time of the pandemic.

Talk 2 – Exploring the strange land, by Ray CLifton tssf

Introduction

“Li Wenliang, an ophthalmologist at a hospital in the city (of Wuhan), became one of the most visible figures in the early days of the outbreak when he tried to warn the world, but was reprimanded by police for ‘spreading rumours.’

The 34-year-old’s death from the virus on February 7, 2020 led to an outpouring of public mourning and rare expressions of anger online.

Days later he was hailed a ‘hero of China’ by renowned epidemiologist Zhong Nanshan.

But when President Xi Jinping honoured the ‘heroes’ of the ‘people’s war’ against the virus in September, there was no mention of Li’s contribution.” (Quote from MSN News 6/2/21)

This one quote, a year after Dr. Li’s death, shows up the myopathy of power against the courage self-sacrifice and concern for others. The compassionate and professional actions of an individual against the narrow control of a regime.

Settling into this desert space meets us each differently. In the midst of settling are the currents of self-centeredness and openness. These currents run through our Gospel story too.

Settling into the Pandemic

As the Pandemic spread last year, everyone, including Governments with their political ideologies, had to find their own way of settling in this strange land. There were many challenges and discoveries each with their shocks and surprises.

One of the first shocks was the strange but necessary intervention of ‘physical distancing’ and ‘quarantine’. Each brought levels of distress and discomfort. The human need for connection and physical contact were missing as we knew it. Gradually as people settled and technology was picked up some solutions became available to keep people in touch. Yet isolation is still a large experience for many in the world. The scars and hunger of isolation will be present for a long time.

In lockdowns and under various restrictions, we saw varying responses. From denial, fear, and panic to slowing down, giving with generous hearts, and taking risks, people started to feel the effects of this new place.

The focus of the everyday with all its commitments was narrowed. With this came the contradictions of panic buying and the generosity of Communities supporting the vulnerable. Friends and strangers volunteered to check on older neighbours. The contradictions of the fear of missing out and mistrust of others at the same time as open hearts and mutual responsibility.

With life being limited to the home, people made the rediscovery of simplicity. There was time to bake sourdough bread, spend time with children and less in the diary. This was accompanied by a re-evaluation of the quality of life lived and its purpose in face of mortality and seeing what is essential.

Individually and as a community we were sometimes overwhelmed by the high death and infection rates. We were shocked too by the size of the economic collapse and unheard-of unemployment. Although Government stimulus and support was provided, the effects on individuals and families and businesses will go on for a lot longer than the pandemic.

Alongside protests about the perception of government limitation of liberty, we witnessed in this city and around the world, the dedication, self-sacrifice and professionalism of frontline health and emergency service workers risking their own lives for the sake of others.

Two views of the land

The younger son

The son’s decision propelled him on an adventure to a faraway land with the cash to enjoy it. Severing his ties with his family, without regard for the insult caused, this son set his sights on his dreams. Home and thinking about others were a long way away. It wasn’t until his cash ran out and all his new friends disappeared that the reality and isolation of his actions set in.

The isolation was acute. He found himself feeding pigs and eating their food. In these circumstances, poor and destitute, the son felt the depths of the consequences of his selfishness and decisions. To add to his predicament, the son suffered the indignity and offence as a Jewish person of living with pigs.
His myopia led to degradation and being religious defiled.

The Father

When confronted by his younger son, the father had every right to banish him from the family without the inheritance he asked for. The son’s action was as good as wishing his father was dead. The son had religiously and culturally offended his father in the worst way imaginable. Perhaps everyone in the family and in the community were waiting to see if the father would do what was demanded by honour.

Everyone was shocked at the father’s reaction. The father gave the younger son what he had asked for. Some may have been puzzled and even angry with the father’s action. Others may have thought him weak and unable to say no. Still others would have expected the father to disown his son and consider him dead.

It is always dangerous to project something onto a character in scripture. However, given the father’s response later in the story, there is an extravagance in the father’s love which defies understanding and honour, but invites the gaze to something else.

We are invited to look past the insult and the money to the relationship between a father and a son and the way the father offers the son space and the freedom to choose. The choice for the father is painful. However, the pain is carried with hope for the son. Hope that the son will find himself and return to Love.

The father had to trust his choice to allow his son to go his own way and above all trust in Love.

What looks foolish and extravagant in the eyes of the world was Love. Love freely given without expectation of anything in return.

Francis

Story of Francis and the brother hungry in the night

One night Francis and was woken from his sleep by one of the Friars. The man was crying out, “I’m dying, I’m dying.”
Francis called for a lamp to be lit and then asked him in a kind voice, “What is the matter my brother? Why do you think you are dying?”
“I am dying of hunger,” the weeping man said.
Francis immediately asked for a meal to be prepared. And so, the hungry brother wouldn’t have to eat alone or be ashamed that he was so hungry, Francis asked all the Friars to eat too.
Afterwards he said to them, “Everybody is different and has different needs. Some people need to eat more than others.” He then went on to say, “I want you to allow your bodies what they need in order that you may serve God to the best of your ability. God wants kindness and mercy and not sacrifice.”2

Francis was committed to living the Gospel. At times the passion for this met with the different abilities of other people to follow with the same passion or capacity. When the brother cried out there was a choice between two ways; highlight the brother’s frailty or have compassion. It’s easy to become preoccupied with the fear of our own need not being met or a passion for a practice or belief. Sometimes we are reminded of what happens when we impose these things on others or without regard for them.

Francis chose compassion and community. He listened to the brother and responded with the generosity of something to meet his need as well as the solidarity of a community.

Conclusion

The father and Francis point to a way of being in the strange land of the desert. The father bore his own pain and disappointment and yet offered freedom and choice to his son. While Francis’ actions for his brother provided for a need and connection to a community.

This time presents us with choices in challenging circumstances.
* When have you noticed the struggle to choose love of others over desire or gain?
* What thanksgiving can you offer for the gifts God has given in this time?

Reflection

The Shock of the Desert

Ray Clifton tssf gave three talks for the Day of Penitence for Queensland-B Tertiaries. We post them here because many more Tertiaries will benefit from them.

2021 Day of Penitence, St. Francis College, Milton, 13th March “Transformation within the desert” in this time of the pandemic.

1

Talk 1 – Eucharist – ‘The Shock of the Desert’
Introduction

I would like to thank the Regional Team for inviting me to offer these reflections with you over this quiet day. I offer these little words and the invitation to journey with me in the company of Francis and in the Holy Spirit to reflect on the heart of our call to live the Gospel in these challenging times. We will have the opportunity to recognize where we have wandered in search of our own agenda, resented others and denied others grace. We will also have the space to see the ways God invites us to return to serving others where we are called, joyfully and generously.

In these talks we will use the metaphor of the desert and look at the Story of the Prodigal Son to reflect on the experience of the Pandemic. We will take what we have learnt from the desert of the Pandemic as we look to emerge into a changed place. The talks will lead us from ‘The Shock of the Desert’ to ‘Exploring the strange land’ and onto ‘Learning from the desert’.

The inherited European view of Desert in Australia thinks of Desert as a place of vast space, no life, a thing to be conquered and dangerous. To first nation peoples, the desert is a place of life, song lines and stories as well as resources.
David Attenborough at the beginning of a series on Deserts says, “A third of the land on our planet is desert. These great scars on the face of the Earth appear to be lifeless. But, surprisingly, none are. In all, life manages somehow to keep a precarious hold.”

In the desert, a variety of plants, mainly cacti, range from the tall and spiny to small and very low (almost submerged). These symbols of resilience and adaption to the harsh environment, all have ways of capturing water, protection from predators, and flowers to attract pollinators.

This view of deserts gives us, along with the challenges to life of this Pandemic time, a new way of seeing possibilities and of ‘being’ people of hope and life living in solidarity with others facing the same challenges.

For billions of people, 2020 is a year best forgotten. However, as we reflect on the last year and our continued experience of the Pandemic, we continue to live with unprecedented change and uncertainty. Nations, communities, and individuals, we all live with the scars of the experience and long for a return to how things were pre-COVID.

The great shock of the Pandemic, as it gathered pace, reached into every community and home. Even without the confronting experience of contracting the virus or the loss of someone close to us, we have all been affected.
During the Pandemic, some people experienced isolation. This was accompanied by fear of COVID and lead to separation at critical times of need such as funerals, sickness, and older people living alone. There were protests at restrictions of movement and being, forced to quarantine. A great number of people lost jobs and livelihoods. We also found ourselves confronted by panic buying.

Life was being pared back to basics.

A Tale of Two Sons – Broken Paradise
The Younger Son

In the familiar story of the Prodigal Son, the younger of them said to his father,
“Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” …A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.’

The son consumed with dreams and his own desires let loose a shock wave through his family and community and one which would consume him too. This younger son, oblivious to the effect on his father and everyone else leaves home with paradise in his eyes and ultimately plunges himself into isolation.

At first this desert place is a rich place full of exotic experiences. A place where he immerses himself in the pleasure and people money could buy. This oasis is only full of the paradise he desires, as long as his resources last. Very soon, this place becomes a broken paradise.

This desert now becomes an empty and isolating place. The shock settles in for the younger son as he is left with no one and nowhere to go. No way out.

The older son

In this story we only find out at the end what the impact has been for older son of this shock experience of desert time in the family. The older son returns from a day’s work to find his brother, not only home, but being treated with a ring, fine clothes, and a feast. It’s unbelievable, unjust, and insulting. The older son reveals the anger and hurt he has held since his brother left when he replies to his father, ‘ “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”

The shock of this desert time for this older brother is that his belief in duty owed to his father and toiling for reward weren’t required. Duty and working hard, as important as they might be narrowed his focus, lead to angry judgements, and displaced the reason for respecting his father – Love.

Francis

Francis’ experiences of chasing pleasure and chivalry lead to his desert where the true focus of his life would be exposed. Francis, the ringleader of parties and carousing, the dreamer who pursued fame and heroism as a knight was gradually pared back by God. The isolation of Francis’ imprisonment in the war between Assisi and Perugia while he waited for his father to pay a ransom, his illness and the dream on the eve of battle as a knight, began to expose the emptiness of his quest and begin the journey to desire God alone.

Gradually this journey would turn Francis from selfishness to making God known through compassion and solidarity with others and all living things. Francis would be shaped by the shock of his desert and find springs of joy and life overflowing in in that same place.

Conclusion

As we reflect on the Pandemic and our experiences at this Day of Penitence, may we see afresh. To see the life-giving gifts of this uncomfortable desert and respond to God’s call to live a new life acknowledging those things that brought us disconnection from our communion with God, those around us, the environment and ourselves.

* What was your experience of the Pandemic?
* Which son do you identify with as you grappled with the shock of the ‘desert’?
* Like Francis, in what ways has this pandemic exposed your plans and desires or resentment?

News, Reflection

Mary of Nazareth: The Franciscan Connection

Mary of Nazareth
Part One: the Franciscan Connection
by Pirrial Clift tssf

The approaching Feast of the Annunciation [25th March] prompted me to write something about Mary, the Patron Saint of all Franciscans – and the Franciscan connection seems an obvious place to begin.

Devotion to Mary has been part of Christian praxis since very early times, however at times it has been spread a little too thickly on the daily bread of the Church, which led to a virtual abandonment of Marian devotion from many Anglican circles. However Mary was not totally forgotten, as evidenced by the little side-chapels dedicated to the glory of God in her name, beautified with fresh flowers, where candles are lit and prayers rise heavenwards. Mother’s Union keeps her memory alive too, honouring Mary as the Mother of God; and dedicates their work to the support and spiritual care of families, always remembering Mary’s vital part in Jesus’ life.

St. Francis’ devotion to Mary is patently clear when we consider that he wrote the antiphon ‘Holy Virgin Mary’ which was recited at both beginning and end of the seven Daily Offices – that’s 14 times each day!

Antiphon: Holy Virgin Mary
Holy Virgin Mary, among the women born into the world there is no-one like you. Daughter and servant of the most high and supreme King, and of the Father in heaven; Mother of our most holy Lord Jesus Christ, Spouse of the Holy Spirit, pray for us with Saint Michael the Archangel, all the powers of heaven and all the saints, at the side of your most holy beloved Son, our Lord and Teacher.
Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.
[Francis of Assisi. Early Documents. The Saint. Ed. Regis J Armstrong et al P 141, and see footnote.]

The Angelus – also known as The Memorial of the Incarnation – has been chanted by laity, clergy and religious throughout Christendom at dawn, noon and sunset for hundreds of years, accompanied by the ringing of bells in sets of three, symbolising the Trinity. It began as the repetition of three Hail Mary’s and the tolling bell after Compline in monastic communities, and gradually developed into the form we know. It is documented as being used as early as the twelfth century by Franciscans. The Angelus uses Bible quotes interspersed with the Hail Mary [which is itself the combination of a bible quote and a prayer] to recount Mary’s fiat and Jesus’ birth, death and resurrection, concluding with a humble prayer to be made worthy of Christ’s promises.

Some historians suggest that St Francis popularised it as a way of sanctifying the hours, influenced by hearing the Islamic ‘Call to Prayer’ when he visited the Sultan. Be that as it may, St Francis’s theology is certainly incarnational – he loved to reflect on and speak of Jesus’ life on earth; and saw Jesus’ face reflected in the faces of those he met, especially after his encounter with the leper. Jesus’ life and passion were frequently on his mind, and simple things such as the sight of a couple of crossed sticks or a lamb triggered the remembrance of his sacrificial love and suffering.

Many religious still follow this tradition – I imagine the First Order Brothers at Stroud continue to do so. Across Europe when the bells rang people paused in their work to pray and remember that God is with us. During my Monastery years I followed in Sr. Angela’s footsteps and was frequently joined by Monastery guests praying along or simply listening – often asking questions later. These days Brigid the cat accompanies me onto the veranda first thing each morning to pray the Angelus. Sadly, we have no bell.

The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary,
and she conceived by the Holy Spirit.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
blessèd are you among women,
and blessèd is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.

Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord,
let it be to me according to your Word.
Hail Mary…

The Word became flesh,
And dwelt among us.
Hail Mary…

Pray for us, O holy Mother of God,
That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

We beseech you, O Lord,
that as we have known the Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ
by the message of an angel,
so by his cross and resurrection
we may come to the glory of the resurrection. Amen.

The Salutation of the Virgin Mary

Hail, O Lady, Holy Queen,
Mary, holy Mother of God, who are the virgin made Church, chosen by the Most High Father in heaven, whom he consecrated by his most holy Beloved Son
and the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, in whom there was and is all fullness of grace and every good.
Hail, his Palace! Hail his Tabernacle! Hail his Dwelling! Hail his Robe! Hail his Servant! Hail, his Mother! And hail, all you holy virtues, which are poured into the hearts of the faithful through the grace and enlightenment of the Holy Spirit, that from being unbelievers, you may make them faithful to God.
[Francis of Assisi: Early Documents. The Saint, Ed. Regis J. Armstrong et al. P163]

Part one – The Saint – in the trilogy ‘Early Documents’ describes this piece, written by St. Francis, as a ‘litany of greetings describing Mary’s role in the plan of salvation’. We will take a closer look at ‘The Salutation’ next time.

William Short OFM writes that the simplicity, poverty and humility of God revealed in Jesus are found in the Eucharist and in Mary, especially through the feast of Christmas. [Poverty and Joy. William J Short OFM, p40-42] Mary’s simple trust in God, revealed through her humble acceptance of God’s will at the Annunciation, and her lived poverty, echo Jesus’ abandonment of his own will and life to God: she becomes a model of discipleship. Was she the first Christian? Mary gave her life to Jesus, following him faithfully all the way to the Cross – and beyond.