CHAPTER XI.
The First Chapter.
"No rushing sound we heard,
We saw no fiery token,
Only our hearts were stirred,
For God had spoken."
The temptation to seek a life of quiet and retirement followed Francis all his days. Invariably, after any new departure or special victory he was attacked in that quarter. Why he should have been so troubled when his call to follow Christ was so clear, we are not qualified to say definitely. In all probability this temptation of his was akin to Paul's "messenger of Satan" and thorn in the flesh that buffeted him, lest he should be unduly exalted. The most interesting point to us nineteenth-century Christians is, that by the grace of God Francis never yielded to this temptation—that having once put his hand the plough, he never turned back, but remained faithful to the end.
We must take into consideration that the Order of which Francis was the founder was in itself unique. It stood alone in the annals of Church history. It was a novelty in the Church. All other existing orders followed a totally different line of action, or rather inaction. Their disciples were shut up in solitude, and devoted themselves to their own sanctification. When they worked for sinners it was by praying for them, by example, and by a little preaching. They never came face to face with the outside world. Their lives were remote, apart. These facts may have had something to do with Francis' periods of darkness and indecision. A pioneer's life has its own peculiar temptations.
Darkness.
Perhaps the worst season of darkness that Francis had was after the establishment of the second Order. An internal agony seized him. Was he, he asked himself, not trying to do something superhuman in uniting a contemplative with an active life. So often he had been told by people much wiser and cleverer than himself that the life he had marked out was humanly impossible! He wrestled and prayed, but nothing could dissipate the heavy blackness that spread itself over his pathway. He determined to appeal to his brethren and follow their advice. His appeal for help gives us a striking instance of how subtly Satan can take the form of an Angel of Light.
"My brethren what do you advise me?" he asked. "Which do you consider best—that I should attend to prayer, or that I should go and preach? I am a simple man, that speaks without art. I have received the gift of prayer more than of speaking. Besides, there is more profit in prayer. It is the source of grace. In preaching, we only distribute to others the gifts we have received. Prayer purifies the heart and affections. It is the union with the one true and solid Good. Preaching makes the feet of even the spiritual man dusty. It is a work that distracts and dissipates, and leads to relaxation of discipline. In short, in prayer we speak to God, and listen to Him. In preaching we must use much condescension towards men, and living among them it is often necessary to see, hear, think, and speak like them in too human fashion. These are very serious objections. And yet there is a reason that seems to give it most weight with God. It is that His only Son left the bosom of the Father to save souls, and to instruct men by His example and word. He gave all He had for our salvation. He kept nothing for Himself. Therefore it seems to me more in conformity with the Divine Will that I renounce a tranquil life and that I go to work abroad. But what is your advice? Speak! What do you think I ought to do?"
The respective merits of the question had been so equally weighed that it is not surprising that the brethren, one and all, declared themselves unable to give any advice. For several days they conferred, but no clear light shone upon their conferences. It was an important matter to decide, because the whole future conduct of the Order hung upon the decision. As Francis would walk, so also would tread his disciples. This fact, together with the general uncertainty, pressed heavily upon his soul. One of the most spiritual of Francis' historians says that God permitted him to pass through this darkness, because He wanted His servant whom He had already made a prophet, to learn by a striking example, that no inspiration comes to us from ourselves. And more than this. He wished the merit and glory of preaching to be consecrated by a species of oracle that could only be attributed to Him.