Transitus

Francis was a complicated person. He could think big, real big. He saw the connections between all of us. He saw his imperfections. In a world populated with lepers, violence, unimaginable poverty and a very corrupt church he saw good, he saw, The Good, Bonem.

He understood how much we could love God, how much the Father/Mother loved us but he also understood the enormous difference there was between the Creator and creatures. That is what made him so focused, so impressed with the humility, the helplessness of a single baby in a manger.

And so today I am being concrete. I walked where he walked, touched his baptismal font, the walls of his home, stood in the caves he prayed in. However, today is Transitus. We remember not his sad passing from this existence but rather we celebrate his passing, the transition, to his new life. Last year I was in Saint Mary of the Angels in a valley just outside of Assisi. There I stood next to the Cappella del Transito, the site where Francis died. Days later I was at San Damiano. This is where Clare and her sisters lived. This is where Francis body was carried to so she could view the body of her beloved friend, the Father of her religious movement.

Today I am concrete. I am remembering those places and that man. I am not sad. Everybody dies, but oh how he lived!

Peace and all good,
Carl