There are some places which stay with us long after we have visited them. One such place for me is Assisi in the Umbrian region of Italy. Back in 1996 Raewyn and I rode our heavily laden bikes into this historic hill-side town and it made quite an impression.
I remember the long steep climb to the camp site in the late evening light.
I remember the massive city walls, the houses built from local stone with their terracotta tile roofs, and I remember the numerous narrow alleys linking the various streets.
But what I remember most is the sheer beauty of the landscape.
As we rode out of town through an archway in the wall I recall thinking of St Francis’ poem ‘Canticle to the Sun’. Calling to mind the sun and moon and stars, the wind and air and earth, all God’s creatures, he wrote: ‘All praise be yours, My Lord, through all that you have made.’
The memory of this poem and of our visit to Assisi comes to mind for a very good reason. Yesterday, in the church’s calendar, was the feast day of St Francis, and the days either side, Friday and today, are days of prayer for the Care of Creation. But more than this, I want to suggest that Francis is a saint relevant for our time.
Let me explain why.
It doesn’t take much to recognize some of the major ills of our age. The global financial crisis, the degradation of our planet and the impact of climate change, and the plight of millions stuck in poverty are to various degrees the consequence of human greed and the corrupt use of power.
The scope and seriousness of these ills would have been unforeseen by St Francis, but his message and lifestyle provides us with an alternate set of values to what we see around us. His concern for other human beings, his attitude towards wealth and material security, and his love of the natural world, though considered by some as extreme, offer us hope in an age of despair.
St Francis was born in 1181. The son of a wealthy merchant, he enjoyed much privilege.
But a turning point in his life came one day when he was out riding. He came across a leper covered in horrific sores. Overcoming his initial repulsion, Francis got off his horse, gave all his money to the leper, and kissed his hand. In a manner reminiscent of stories from the gospels, Francis reached out across accepted social norms to share the love of Christ with this person.
On another occasion Francis was on pilgrimage to Rome. Having emptied his purse at St Peter’s tomb, he went outside, and seeing a swarm of beggars there, he gave his clothes to the poorest. Then, dressed in the beggar’s rags, he stood there for the day with his hands outstretched.
What Francis shows us is the meaning of compassion. Just as Jesus, as Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, did not snatch at equality with God, but made himself nothing so that we might know the fullness of God’s love for us, so Francis became like those he served, seeing the world from their perspective, and was able to speak into their lives with a message of good news.
It makes you think about our attitude towards others. Are we aware of the need around us? Are we ready to reach out with empathy and love to those on the fringes of our society? And are we willing to use our skills, our resources, and our time to help make a difference in other’s lives?
Francis’ love of the least is matched by his commitment to a life of poverty.
Once, as he was praying in the small derelict church of St Damian, he felt the eyes of Christ gazing upon him from a crucifix on the wall and he heard a voice say three times, ‘Francis, go and repair My house, which you see is falling down.’ Francis took this to mean fix the church he was in. Thus with singleness of mind he went home, took a horse-load of cloth from his father’s warehouse, sold it at a market in a neighbouring town, along with the horse and cart, and then proceeded to present the money to the poor priest of St Damian.
But wisely the priest didn’t accept the money, and the incident led to the famous scene before the bishop of Assisi. The bishop ordered Francis to return the money to his father. This he did, but went even further. He said ‘my clothing is also his’ and stripped off all his garments. Francis was then given a grey-brown peasant’s smock which he marked with a cross and put it on.
Now we may not condone Francis’ actions and we may feel some sympathy for his father. We may also not wish for ourselves, or for anyone, a life of poverty, but his rejection of the trappings of wealth and his embrace of a life of simplicity need to be heard perhaps more than ever.
It makes you think of our own life choices. How much emphasis do we put on material security? Have we been lured into a trap of always wanting bigger and better? Or can we be content with less - small is beautiful - living simply so that others may simply live?
As the Maori proverb says:
He aha te mea nui o te ao? What is the most important thing in the world?
He tangata! He tangata! He tangata! It is the people, the people, the people!
Above all else, Francis is best known for his love of the natural environment. This is evident in his poem ‘Canticle of the Sun’. And it is also evident in a collection of stories, legends and folklore, called ‘The Little Flowers’. One such story tells of how once Francis was travelling with his companions when they came upon a place in the road where birds filled the trees on either side. On seeing them, Francis said to his companions, ‘wait for me while I go preach to my sisters the birds’.
Then, as the birds gathered round him, he spoke:
‘My sister birds, you owe much to God, and you must always and in every place give praise to Him; for He has given you freedom to wing through the sky and He has clothed you… you neither sow nor reap, and God feeds you and gives you rivers and fountains for your thirst, and mountains and valleys for shelter, and tall trees for your nests. And although you neither know how to spin or weave, God dresses you and your children, for the Creator loves you gently and He blesses you abundantly. Therefore… always seek to praise God.’
It may seem a folksy sort of story, evoking images of Francis beside bird baths. But it does present us with a way of being that isn’t centred on us. It recognizes that God is the centre of all things, and through grasping hold of the beauty of our world we are drawn into the love of God.
The Bible gives such love of the world’s beauty a special place. We see it in the poetic language of creation and of the prophets and wisdom writers. We see it in the expressions of praise found in the psalms. And we see it in Jesus’ life and his teaching; in particular, his comments about learning to imitate the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, and not worrying about tomorrow.
Simone Weil, the twentieth century French philosopher, writes of the love of the beauty of the world as one of three ways we can come to experience God’s love directly. She speaks of its place in scripture and in the lives of such saints as Francis and John of the Cross. But she also remarks that since their time it has been largely absent from Christian thought and practice.
Thankfully this is beginning to change.
For example:
The spiritual leader of the three million Orthodox Christians has been dubbed the ‘Green Patriarch’ for his stand on ecological issues. It was he who in the mid-nineties declared ‘crime against the natural world… a sin’.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, in his Christmas address last year, told his hearers that the planet should not be used to ‘serve humanity’s selfishness’.
And our own bishop, at the yearly gathering of clergy and lay representatives in September spoke in his charge of our need to think and act ‘green’.
Francis’ carbon footprint must have been almost non-existent. But he didn’t act in this way to save the planet; he genuinely was in love with the world around him.
It makes you think. How attentive are we to the beauty of the world? Do we, as Simone Weil wrote, sense Christ’s tender smile for us coming through matter? And will we do what we can, including to consider the way we vote, to ensure the earth is protected for generations to come?
Well, Francis died in 1226. But the legacy of his life lives on. Within two years of his death he was made a saint and each year since he has been remembered in the church’s calendar.
So, let us not lose sight of his vision in our own day.
Let us reach out with Christ’s love to those we meet on our travels.
Let us live simpler lives, placing our trust in God above all else.
And let us tread lightly on this earth, attentive to its beauty and seeking to preserve its integrity.
And in all things, may our attitude be like St Francis, who put flesh to the words he wrote: ‘Praise and bless my Lord, and give him thanks, and serve him with great humility.’ Amen.

A sermon preached in St Alban’s Anglican Church, Eastbourne, on Sunday 5 October 2008, by The Ven. Damon Plimmer .