Last full day in Assisi

There is a story about St. Francis that a bird in one of his retreat settings woke him for Matins, except when Francis was ill or especially tired.

I had intended to get up and go to Lauds and Mass at Santa Chiara. But I woke with only enough time to get to Mass in the crypt of the St. Francis Basilica. I must have needed the extra sleep.

After Mass and breakfast, I went to leave some laundry to be washed. I thought of going to Rivo Torto, the Holy Hovel, but decide to wait until the afternoon.

Wanting through the crooked streets of Assisi, I ran across the tiny chapel of San Francesco Picollino. It's almost literally a hole in the wall.

One tradition is that Francis was born there in a stable - according to the early lives that tried to make Francis an other Chrixt, alter Christus. Another tradition is that this is where his father, Pietro Bernadone, had his fabric shop.

Neither tale may be true - or both may be. It doesn't matter because here is a holy place, simple and small, befitting the memory of Il Poverello, the little poor man.

I sat and prayed, reveling in the presence of God.

After lunch I decided to go to Rivo Torto, walking by way of San Damiano. God had other plans.

I started to go the way my guide sheet said, but decided it was too far and it was better to stop and pray at San Damiano. But I did have the blessing to encounter a beautiful sculpture of Francis praying, in a meditative stance. It touched me deeply.

And so I ended up sitting for a good time in San Damiano, praying quietly, with no one to disturb  me. The peace was palpable.

I returned to Assisi and walked, read, relaxed until I headed to Vespers (Evening Prayer) in the chapel of San Quirico which is a Poor Clare monastery.

What a center of peace. As Vespers began, one of the sisters brought a simple monstrance  with the Host and placed it on the altar, while the sisters sang an Italian version of Adoro Te, devote, accompanied by what was probably a psaltery. (It reminded me of a hammered dulcimer but was plucked, rather than struck.)

The prayer was heavenly.

I left, had dinner, finished Carlo Caretto's I, Francis, and went to sleep.

Friday Mass at the Basilica was followed by my departure for Rome.

I left grateful, finding here an oasis of peace, that nourished my spirit and challenged me to live out a Franciscan life of being with the little people of the world, trusting in a God who is our real security.

Ash Wednesday in Assisi

To celebrate the the beginning of Lent, I got up early and walked to San Damiano, the small church where Francis heard his call to repair the church.

Lauds and Mass were simple, sung by the friars and the congregation, mostly women religious. The priest was young and gave a short, to the point, homily. Then ashes were blessed and we came forward to be signed. I was surprised when the ashes were dropped on the top of the head, instead of being put on the forehead. But the symbol spoke clearly.

After Mass I walked back to the guesthouse for breakfast and spent th day visiting a few places.

But most of all it was a day, dry like a desert. Tuesday had been full of strong emotions, but the strongest I experienced Wednesday was homesickness for Honduras. I really missed home.

But I also became aware of the way I look for and want security and control. From my reading I am beginning to see that a central part of Francis' message of poverty is the need not merely to relinquish stuff, but more important to live in the precariousness of life with faith in the providence of God.

Francis was so intent on poverty because he feared that houses and books would lead people to seek their security there, rather then in God. The poor don't have that type of security and neither did Jesus.

So, to seek things is to look for other sources of security. And,  Francis once said, if we have possessions, we will need weapons to protect them!

So, I struggled Wednesday.

But the day ended well, with Evening Prayer at Santa Chiara.