St. Francis found joy in the sacrifices and austerities which to others were so painful. The predominant note is that of gladness. In the midst of his penances he is light-hearted. He interpreted more literally than we do the words, “Take no thought for the morrow.” Some things are possible in Umbria and Galilee that seem wildly impracticable under the fickle skies of New England. The sober prose of religion may be translated into all languages and verified by all human experience, but there is an idyllic poetry of religion that belongs only to the climate where that poetry had birth. “The Little Flowers of St. Francis” grew out of the same kindly soil and under the same friendly skies that nourished the lilies that Jesus loved.
St. Francis always wore his halo with an easy grace. In spite of his scourgings and fastings he was blithe and debonair. He was saint-errant, as full of romance as any knight-errant of them all. He was a lover of spiritual adventure, and delighted to attempt the impossible.
To St. Francis voluntary poverty meant spiritual freedom. The preacher was no longer dependent on powerful patrons or rich parishioners or even on the fickle multitudes. The missionary did not need a missionary board. He did not have to wait for a church building to be erected and a pulpit to be prepared. Even a hermitage was a superfluity. “The true hermit,” said St. Francis, “carries his cell about with him.” And so he and his disciples preached and asked no man’s leave. Through all the byways of Italy they wandered, proclaiming that God was in the fields as well as in the churches. Entering a village Brother Francis would say, “Love God and repent, good people. Love God and do penance.” And Brother Egidio would say, “Yes, good people, do as Brother Francis says, for he says what is right.”
And if there were no people to preach to there were always our sisters, the birds, and now and then there was a wicked wolf who would yield to moral suasion. We smile at this way of preaching to every creature, but it is as we smile at the idiosyncrasies of one we love.
Many a preacher who has confined his preaching to human kind has put less good sense into his sermons and shown less insight into the causes of sin than did Francis in his discourse to the wolf of Gubbio. The inhabitants who had suffered from his depredations hated him for his wolfish iniquities. The saint saw that the cause of the evil was economic rather than moral. He was a right-minded wolf; the trouble was that he was hungry. St. Francis entered into a covenant of peace with him.
“‘Brother Wolf, inasmuch as it pleases you to make and keep this peace, I promise you that so long as you shall live you shall not suffer hunger, forasmuch as I am aware that hunger has caused your every crime. But since I have got for you this grace, I require, Brother Wolf, your promise never again to do harm to any human being, neither to any beast. Do you promise?’ And St. Francis stretching forth his hand, the wolf uplifted his right paw and gave him the pledge of faith as best he could.”
It was in the same spirit that St. Francis went forth on his mission to the Sultan. The Crusaders had gone forth to destroy the infidels. Francis, in the simplicity of his heart, thought the better way would be to convert them. Neither way proved to be altogether effective, but certainly the latter plan was the more Christian.
In the history of preaching there have been many vicissitudes. Sometimes the preacher has been a philosopher, sometimes an advocate, sometimes he has adopted the tone of a man of business. In the preaching of St. Francis we are taken back to the time of the wandering minstrels.
“So great was the sweetness and consolation of his spirit that he called for Brother Pacificus whom the world entitled the King of Verse and Courteous Doctor of Song, and desired to send him with the other friars to go together through the world, preaching and singing the “Praises of the Lord.” And he desired that he among them who was the best preacher should first preach to the people, and when the sermon was ended all the others should sing together the “Praises of the Lord,” as the Lord’s minstrels; and at the end he desired the preacher should say to the people, ‘We are the Lord’s minstrels, and the reward we ask of you is that you turn to true repentance.’”
No wonder that the people loved Brother Francis when he brought religion to them in such a fashion, and that there would gather around him