St. Francis in Full
Daniel P. Horan
Many people are
familiar with the popular stories and legends about St. Francis of Assisi. If
pressed, a fair number of Christians could rattle off such classics as the
story about him taming the wolf of Gubbio, hearing Christ at the crucifix of
San Damiano, encountering Sultan Malek al-Kamil in Egypt and recreating the
Christmas crèche in Greccio, as well as any number of his interactions with
animals, lepers or others.
But now that the Feast
of St. Francis is quickly approaching, I have been thinking about the stories
that are not typically known, the narratives most people have never heard. Many
of these lesser-known stories come from the early Franciscan friars and sisters
who knew Francis personally and who recorded them for posterity.
What is striking about
these stories is that they do not always portray Francis in the best light. At
times, he even comes across as not very saint-like. Whereas the earliest
biographies sought to portray Francis as holy for the sake of a quick
canonization, which was the request of Pope Gregory IX, these other stories by
“those who were with him” (as the texts were often credited) were meant to
present a more multidimensional person: a holy man for sure, but also a complex
and fully human one, too.
Take, for example, the
story of Francis and Brother James. James was responsible for the physical care
of some lepers and served as a kind of nurse for many people with terrible sores
and wounds. One day, Francis returned home after being away to find that James
had brought a leper into the chapel from the leper hospice. When Francis saw
this, he snapped at James and reprimanded him for bringing the leper around the
friars’ place of prayer. The text explains that Francis reproved James because
he did not want to see lepers with “severe sores outside the hospital” left
alone in the chapel where other people often came because “people usually
abhorred lepers who had severe sores.”
This is certainly not
the open-armed, warm and embracing Francis of Assisi we are used to imagining.
Or how about the time
when the kitchen in a friary caught fire. Sound familiar? Don’t worry; it
wouldn’t be to many people. The story goes that Francis and a companion went
into the kitchen after prayer. The text of the Assisi Compilation continues:
When blessed Francis
came to eat in the cell where the fire was lit, the flames had already reached
the roof of the cell and were burning it. His companion tried his best to
extinguish it, but could not do it by himself. But Blessed Francis did not want
to help him: he took the hide that he used to cover himself at night, and went
into the forest.
Rather than help his
brother put out the fire, Francis puts on a blanket and goes outside by
himself, leaving his brother to fight the growing fire alone.
This is certainly not
the considerate, helpful and generous Francis of Assisi we are used to
imagining.
Why tell these
stories?
First, it is important
that we remember not only the good works and extraordinary acts of the women
and men we venerate as saints but also their weaknesses, failings and
imperfections. This helps provide us with a fuller and more honest picture of
what makes these figures so venerable in the first place. They were just like
you and me, sinful and struggling at times. But they also had the chance, as we
do, to respond to God’s grace in this world and make a positive difference despite
inevitable stumbling and failures.
Second, we tell these
stories to see what the saints did afterward, for it gives us a clue to how we
might live. After Francis publicly shamed James and the leper out of his own
insecurity and fear, the would-be saint went to both men and apologized, asked
forgiveness and made amends. After Francis wandered into the forest without
helping his brother fight the fire, he later returned to confess that he did
not want his favorite blanket to be destroyed and again sought reconciliation
and gave his blanket away as penance.
Like Francis, we will
struggle and sin. But also like Francis, we have the opportunity to surrender
our egos, be vulnerable and seek reconciliation. Being a saint isn’t being
without sin; it’s about not letting sin have the last word.
Daniel P. Horan,
O.F.M., a Franciscan friar and author, teaches theology at the Catholic
Theological Union in Chicago. Twitter: @DanHoranOFM.
