4 October, the Franciscans come to Mount Alvernia, VII: Welcome, Francis!

And when that they were come about halfway up the mountain, as the heat was very great and the ascent was weary, the peasant became very thirsty, in such sort that he began to cry aloud behind Saint Francis, saying : “ Woe is me, for I die of thirst; if I find not something to drink, I shall choke outright.” Wherefore Saint Francis got down off the ass and fell on his knees in prayer and remained so long kneeling with his hands lifted up to heaven, until he knew by revelation that God had heard his prayer. Then said Saint Francis to the peasant; “Run quickly to that rock, and there shalt thou find the living water, which Jesu Christ in this hour, of His mercy, hath made to come forth from out that rock.” So he ran to the place that Saint Francis had shown him, and found a fair spring that had been brought out of the hard rock by virtue of the prayer of Saint Francis: and he drank his fill thereof and was comforted.

And it doth well appear that this spring was brought out by God in miraculous fashion at the prayers of Saint Francis, seeing that neither before nor after was there ever seen in that place a spring of water, nor any living water near to that place for a great space round. This done, Saint Francis with his companions and the peasant gave thanks unto God for the miracle shown forth to them, and then went they on their way.

And as they drew near to the foot of the rock of Alvernia itself, it pleased Saint Francis to rest a little under the oak that was by the way, and is there to this day; and as he stood under it, Saint Francis began to take note of the situation of the place and of the country round. And as he was thus gazing, lo! there came a great multitude of birds from divers parts, the which, with singing and flapping of their wings, all showed joy and gladness exceeding great, and came about Saint Francis in such fashion that some settled on his head, some on his shoulders, and some on his arms, some in his lap, and some around his feet.

When his companions and the peasant marvelled, beholding this, Saint Francis, joyful in spirit, spake thus unto them: “I believe, brothers most dear, that it is pleasing unto our Lord Jesu Christ that we should dwell in this lonely mountain, seeing that our little Sisters and brothers the birds show such joy at our coming. And said these words, they arose, and went on their way and came at last to the place that his companions had first chosen. And this is the first reflection, to wit, how Saint Francis came to the holy mount of Alvernia.

Advertisement

March 16. Before the Cross III: the Centurion, 2.

The second part of Rupert’s reflection on the Crucifixion.

The Centurion by Rupert Greville.

Luke’s Gospel records that it was on seeing the signs that followed Jesus’s death that the centurion declared him to be “a righteous man”. It seems likely to me that he might also have witnessed the conversation between the two thieves and Jesus, and that if he had heard it, he would not have been unmoved by Jesus’s extraordinary compassion.

We led him out beyond the city gate

Onto the hill, where women wept for grief,

And mockers jeered and spat with studied hate;

We nailed him there, with either side a thief.

 

Our dismal task, on raising up the three,

To watch them writhe and die in sickening pain;

But now a thief, bound fast against his tree,

Enrolled himself in this Messiah’s reign.

 

A merciless morning sun in that place of death

Had welded wounds to wood; scourged back with torn skin

Glued, then prised away each laboured breath;

Now all was dark. He turned his face to him.

 

He spoke as one who knew him, one who cared,

And promised paradise with him that very day;

In shameful death he blessed! I stood and stared,

Seized by the power of what I’d heard him say:

 

Words of life. But I Rome’s servant sworn –

A lifeless soul, unmoved by death or pain:

That cold indifference died, and hope was born

There on that hill and in this man we’d slain.

Rupert Greville is a member of the L’Arche Kent Community.

The print that illustrates yesterday’s post and today’s can be found in the public domain at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. 

September 1: L’Arche and Care VI – to be a Thirsty Pilgrim

When L’Arche celebrated forty years in Kent and Britain, we joined the gathering of hundreds walking down the hill from the University to the Cathedral, but until this year we had never joined the annual pilgrimage.

Canterbury being Canterbury, any way into it can be a Pilgrim’s Way, including the official one! L’Arche choose a different way each year, keeping away from traffic as far as possible. Over four days people pray, play and perambulate around Kent, through forest, field and fountain. We don’t do moor and mountain hereabouts in the Garden of England, and after a very dry winter, the mud from the springs and fountains was not in evidence. I’d used some of the paths before and come home knee-deep in clay. Well done the Pathfinders for a dryshod walk in lovely countryside!

As we got further off the beaten track one of the core members in our small group got further and further out of her comfort zone. At prayer time Kate had spoken of how, when she was mending a broken vase, success came when a friend held it steady as the last shard was eased into place. With a little help from my friends …

Now the rest of us had to help our friend with the promise of ‘pub, pub’ getting closer.

It did help that we were one of the groups that did not get lost! And she enjoyed that cooold cola when she got it!

MMB.

13 June, year of Mercy: Mercy in Ruins

When we travel, we hope that when the heat gets too much or we feel hungry and thirsty, God’s Providence may bring us a friendly face and a chance of hospitality. But tourism takes us through areas of ruined classical cities, where once was a lively population and hospitality was likely. However, that population died long ago, and all they have left is the skeleton of a dwelling. This picture reminds me of a similar doorway, to a house which no longer existed, when I visited Athens in my late teens, when a military junta ruled Greece.

I had taken a bus from the airport into Athens in the early hours. By five in the morning it was light, and beginning to be warmer. I had planned to visit the Parthenon before the crowds arrived, so I sat down on the step in front of a doorway like this to gather my wits for the climb up the hill. But there was an old wooden door in the doorway, and this suddenly opened behind me. A fellow traveller, an American I think, emerged, wished me good morning and went on his way. He had slept the night behind a door and a door frame.

It was a comical, theatrical moment, as if an ancient Greek house servant had come back to life to greet me.  Like Silas and St. Paul, I was wondering what signs or messengers might show up in my dreams, to send me off on a more purposeful path.

 

CD.

Advent Hitch Hiking Reflection 4 – All the Way

“All the way” by NAIB

Nicodemus had it all. He was a man in a man’s world. He was rich in a land of teeming poor and the blood of God’s chosen people ran in his veins. As a Pharisee he enjoyed social prestige and spiritual authority. Presumably, his life was upright and free from scandal. Above all, his heart was tender and open. What more could one ask for? Jesus entered the assured world of Nicodemus and nothing was ever the same again. What drove Nicodemus to leave his comfortable home and seek Jesus out on the road at night? He came with questions, perhaps driven by the unsettling conviction that his journey was not, after all, complete and he was offered what every traveller, spiritual or temporal, longs for. The car slowed to a stop before him. The door swung open and the smiling driver said, “Get in. I will take you all the way there.” Instead of getting in Nicodemus stood in the road and questioned the driver. Why? Perhaps it was because of all that he had. He was a man. He was rich. He was an upright son of God’s chosen people. He had a car of his own parked in the garage back home and second thoughts about riding with strangers.

The Samaritan woman had nothing. It would be difficult to imagine a person more marginalized. She was a woman in a man’s world. She was a poor villager in an occupied country. Her race was apostate and outcast and even among her rejected people she was a pariah because of her immorality. She met Jesus on the road by accident. Perhaps she was too weary even to extend her thumb. Without being asked Jesus offered the Samaritan woman what he had previously offered to Nicodemus. She had no car and lived in a world of strangers and so eagerly accepted his invitation to ride all the way to Heaven. Was the Samaritan woman better or, in some hidden way, more worthy than Nicodemus? The logic of the world would shout a resounding “No!” while the logic of fairytales would reveal her as a princess in disguise or a virtuous victim. Neither is correct and the truth is far more astounding. This is no unflappable Cinderella labouring in the serene moral certainty that she deserves better.

The Samaritan woman lived in desolation and her only possession was emptiness. Driven by a thirst that staggers the imagination she could not afford to deny that awful self-knowledge. To do so would be simply to die. She had learned the hitch hiker’s hardest lesson and accepted the friendly invitation without a second thought.

 

TJH.