Tears of sorrow blend with songs of praise in Umbria's holy hill town where Clare and Francis walked with God. They opened for us, in a world made new by holiness and hope, the Gospel of unending life. We recall that grape harvest time when Francis on La Verna's height with Scripture prayer of deepest love, and in a vision of luminous yet pain-filled ecstasy, received upon his body what long was deep impressed upon his heart - the visible signs of Christ's saving wounds. Who more than he is fit to weep with these who weep? He ever sought to console much more than to be himself consoled. He, the instrument of God's peace, forever bringing love and healing, is close to all who grieve. One broken, pain-filled heart calls out to the Seraph of Assisi more than any masterpieces of Cimabue and Giotto, priceless though they be.
We celebrate, amid the fragrant flowers and fresh new wines, the joyous yet pain-filled death of Francis. He could, in hope-filled faith, bid farewell to his little brothers and to Sister Clare and to all those he loved. In spite of pain and weakness he knew that Christ had gone to prepare a place for us so that where He was we also might be with Him. He summoned his friars, who sang his own immortal song, The Canticle of the Creatures. All the world, for Francis, was the illuminated Book of God:
". . . O Lord most powerful! O Lord most-high!
To You belong all glory and all praise.
No lips are worthy e'en to sound Your name,
All praise to You, for all your creatures, Lord.
And first, for our resplendent Brother Sun
Whose light makes day for us, O Lord through you,
Whose radiant splendour makes Him like to you.
Praise to You for wondrous moon - our sister Moon
And all the stars that glow so crystal clear . . ."
Gentle Brother Leo was so stunned by the holiness of Francis that he was filled with fear lest hope of heaven would fade from him. Francis assured him of God's mercy and everlasting love and wrote for him, on parchment, the Scripture Blessing:
"May the Lord bless you and keep you -
May the Lord show His face to you
And have mercy on you,
May the Lord turn his countenance to you,
And give you His peace . . .!"
With these words he wrote: "The Lord bless you Brother Leo!" He told him to keep these words of comfort close by him until life's end.
When the doctor made his final visit Francis sent for Brother Leo and Brother Angelo and asked them to sing for this last time his own Canticle of Joy. He composed a final verse.
". . . Praise to You my Lord for Sister Death
From whom none living can escape.
Alas for those who die in deadly sin.
Blessed are all who die in Your most holy love -
For them the second death can do no harm . . ."
He wrote a final letter to beloved Sister Clare. He raised his weak right hand, marked with Christ's wound, and blessed the holy faithful town of Assisi, forever linked to his name. Even with his sightless eyes he seemed to glimpse the beauty of Umbria's landscape and its most sacred town.
Amid the music and extravagance and carefree gaiety of his early days he had heard a call: "Francis go! Re-build my Church!" Then, as sadly now, much fabric was in dire need of renewal and repair. But his destiny was greater still . . . to make new the hearts and minds of those his life would touch. He teaches still. He guides to the message of Crib and Cross and Empty Tomb. He lends a pained and darkened world the light and peace and healing of the Risen Christ.
He could say in truth:" I have done my part. Now let you do yours . . .!" For each of us the Assisi call is clear as leaves around us fall.
He loved all animals and birds and every gift of God most high. Now as he lay dying came a portent beautiful and strange. The larks are ever birds of morning and of light. Now, as the sun was setting, myriads of larks sang loud and clear and filled the Umbrian dusk with songs of joy, as if in a chorus of welcome home to Heaven.
He calls on us to build a world of goodness and of peace. Assisi gives grateful witness that Francis has done his part as most radiant follower of Christ. While yet there is time may we do ours.