Church Welcome

I recently received a very warm welcome, and a disappointing one.  One was in a church, the other in a pub.  Guess which was which!

The disappointing one was in a place of worship (which I won't name).

A friend and I met to catch up.  And what do ministers do when they get together?  Well, we went to a cathedral hoping to sit quietly for a few minutes, talk about stuff and pray for one another.

But the entire worship space was blocked off by a series of partitions.  A young guy in a black coat told us we couldn't go any further without paying the entrance fee.

Really?  People can't just sit in a section  near the back, enjoy the quiet, lift a prayer book and get down on a kneeler?  We didn't want the run of the place, just two seats in a house of prayer.

Now I'm reasonably sure if we'd told this guy we're clergy in that denomination, we would've got in for free.  But 'Do you know who I am?' - nobody wants to be that guy.

I totally understand charging for tours and even self-guided visits to cathedrals that need the money to keep functioning.  And of course there should be a jar for 'offerings'.  But surely places of worship can let worshippers and seekers take a pew for a few minutes without buying a ticket?

Mainline churches complain that we can't attract people through the doors these days.  So, isn't it counter-productive to put off the curious by asking for money just to get past the door?

Cathedral worship is a significant growth area these days.  It appeals to post-moderns, whether for the sense of mystery or anonymity that big, dark, old buildings seem to foster.  Shouldn't we be encouraging drop-ins?

I mean, what is the church for in the first place?

We didn't pay.  We went to the pub instead.

Hanging outside a church in DC

We were greeted warmly, and shown seats.  OK so the drinks weren't free, but we found a space in the city centre where we could talk and pray. 

On holiday in the USA a while back, I was struck by the consistent strapline: 'The Episcopal Church welcomes you'.

Pretty much every Episcopal church, high or low, displayed the word 'welcome' somewhere prominent.  And most places allowed you to wander in, wander around, sit and pray.  Often, there was someone volunteering on the 'welcome desk' (not ticket desk), greeting people as they entered, encouraging visitors to take a walk around.

I liked the 'welcome' idea.  The displaying of signs in English and Spanish - not forbidding trespassing on private property or warning that CCTV is installed or reminding people not to make a mess.  No, telling the homeless when they could come to pick up a 'brown bag lunch', or just reassuring visitors that everyone is welcome for some time out with God, wherever they currently are in their journey.

For example, Saint Bart's on Fifth Avenue, NYC.  A homeless guy having a sleep on a back pew, beside a big, unambiguous sign reading 'Everyone needs a place'.

I like that.  Everyone needs a place.

We found one that day.  But sadly, not in the church.

Joseph and All God's Favourites

A Sermon on Genesis 37: 1-4; 12-28

JACOB AND THE PROBLEM OF FAVOURITISM

Way, way back, many centuries ago,

Not long after the Bible began

Jacob lived in the land of Canaan –

A fine example of a family man.

So begins ‘Jacob and Sons’, a song from the musical Jacob and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice.  (I’m not going to sing it!)

The lyrics are ironic: Jacob is never going to win Dad of the Year.  He certainly won’t get a vote from eleven out of 12 sons, at any rate.  You see, Jacob has a track record of favouritism.

Stretch your mind back to some of the Bible stories we learned as children.  Do you remember how Jacob was his mother’s favourite son?  Rebekah conspired to trick Esau her eldest out of the family blessing, which Jacob got instead.  Brothers Jacob and Esau didn’t speak for decades after that.

And then Jacob had two wives, Leah and Rachel.  Rachel was the love of Jacob’s life.  And boy did Leah know it.  Leah gave Jacob ten sons, but she could never compete for Jacob’s affections.

When Rachel gave birth to Joseph, suddenly Jacob’s ten other sons were also-rans in the competition for Dad’s attention.  As the song goes:

Joseph’s mother, she was my favourite wife,

I never really loved another all my life.

And Joseph was my joy because he reminded me of her.

Through young Joseph, Jacob lived his youth again,

Loved him, praised him, gave him all he could, but then –

It made the rest feel second-best.

And even if they were brothers,

Being told we’re also-rans

Does not make us Joseph fans.

Some of you might know the damage it can do to a family when one child is singled out as the favourite.  The long-burning resentment, the festering wounds.

And sometimes, as in the story of Joseph, it gets violent.

HAS GOD A FAVOURITE TRIBE IN NORTHERN IRELAND?

Now, at this point, we have to grapple with a difficult question.  Does God have favourites?

God indeed works through Joseph especially during this period in Israel’s history.  It’s how the Hebrews end up in Egypt where they grow into a sizeable nation.

And the Bible says God has chosen Israel, of all the nations.

Throughout history, we humans have misunderstood God’s choosing.  God often had to remind Israel that he chose her to be a light to other nations, to share God’s blessing.  It doesn’t make chosen people superior.  When God chooses people, it is in order to bless others more widely.

Let us not be seduced with the notion that our church, our culture, our type of people, are God’s favourites and somehow superior.  In Israel’s history, all the tribes would be liberated from bondage in Egypt, all would receive their inheritance in the Promised Land.  God would expect them to work together as they settled, built new cities, cultivated the land. 

Nobody would be permitted to say, We are descendants of Joseph.  We are the favourite tribe.  Or, we refuse to work with others, because of what their ancestors did to ours many years ago.

No.  God would later expect the descendants of all the brothers – all twelve tribes – to get on with it and build a prosperous future.

Might there be a lesson there, in times where old nationalisms have resurfaced, rhetoric about manifest destiny, exceptionalism, our status as natural rulers and leaders in a world of many nations.

A lesson, too, for us in Northern Ireland, where two tribes still argue about who has the more legitimate claim to the land.  Where we are scared to work together in case past injustices are forgotten.  Where some people actually claim they are on God’s side and have been chosen and favoured over and against others.

THE RUBENS, THE JUDAHS, THE QUIET ONES

Back to Joseph.  The attempted murder in today’s story has been coming for a while. 

First, Joseph comes home to Jacob with bad reports of his brothers.  He tells tales.  The Bible says he was a ‘helper’ to them, but instead of helping, he’s telling tales on them.  The Bible doesn’t actually say that his brothers working in the fields were doing anything wrong.  Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t.  But talking badly of other people is just not helpful.  It gets us all into trouble.

Second, Jacob gives Joseph a coat of many colours: an amazing technicolour dreamcoat, if you like.  Walking around in his fancy coat, a coat you couldn’t ignore if you tried, it’s obvious to all that he gets Dad’s preferential treatment.  Now, in any society, if some people get more than others, if they’re treated better than others, you’re going to end up with trouble.

So, the Bible says, ‘they hated him and could not speak peaceably to him.’  The relationship has broken down.

But it’s when Joseph tells his brothers about his dreams that they decide to kill him.

In one dream, all twelve brothers are down in the fields gathering sheaves.  Joseph’s sheaf stands up straight and rises above the others, and the others’ bow down to his.  Hardly subtle.  Or tactful.  And if we talk and act like we’re superior to others, guess what, it’ll lead to – you got it – trouble.

In the next dream, the sun, moon and eleven stars bow down to Joseph.  This time, even Jacob scolds Joseph for having notions above his station.  The Bible says that Jacob ‘kept the matter in mind’ – so maybe at last he realizes he has spoilt his son.

But it’s too late.  It wasn’t difficult to hatch the plot among themselves.  Joseph was at home with his father while the others worked in the fields.  They knew he’d be sent to report on them soon enough, and then they’d have their opportunity.

They say, ‘let’s kill him and bury the body in a pit’.  Perhaps only one actually said those words, but they collectively agreed to go along with it.  There’s no use in pointing the finger at one when they all colluded.

Reuben speaks up.  ‘Let’s not actually kill him.  We’ll throw him down a dry well and leave him.’  The others are persuaded – maybe thinking Joseph will die anyway, and technically they won’t have committed murder but manslaughter.  In a side note, the Biblical author tells us that Reuben intended to go back later and rescue Joseph, once he got the opportunity.

Judah sees a train of camels on the desert horizon, and hatches a new plan.  Why not cash in on Joseph’s demise?  ‘Let’s make some money out of this.  If he dies, we’re rid of him.  If we sell him, we’re rid of him, and we’re quids in.’  The others agree.  They sell Joseph as a slave for 20 pieces of silver.

Old jealousies easily become open conflicts.  It’s no wonder that stories like this one, about a Bronze Age clan in the early days of agricultural society, are still told today.  They speak powerfully of the human condition. 

We know Reubens today.  Anxious to temper the violence around us, but not quite brave enough to lift their heads above the parapet and oppose violence, perhaps in case he becomes a target himself.

We know Judahs, too.  People who think, since we’re in this situation anyway, we may as well make the most of it, exploit it for our own ends.

There are plenty of people in the anonymous ‘them’, the nameless brothers who simply go along with the crowd.  None can individually be blamed for what happens, they might think. 

Where’s the brother who stands up and says, ‘He’s our brother.  No matter what an idiot he’s been, no matter how we feel about him, we can’t do this.  We can’t murder him.  It’s wrong.’

There is no such brother in the story.  And so Joseph is sold into captivity in Egypt.  As we know as readers, of course, that action will have repercussions down the generations, and all the descendants of all the brothers will end up slaves in Egypt.  What we sow, we reap.

FLASH FORWARD TO RECONCILIATION

I’m going to spoil the story, now, by telling you how it ends.  Because we’ll have episodes from the Joseph story as Old Testament readings for several weeks more, but I’m not sure whether the Dean or Revd Olie will preach on them.

And also, because the direction the Joseph story takes links it to today’s Epistle reading.

The years will pass.  Jacob, believing his favourite son was killed by wild animals, will never get over the grief.  The brothers will continue working the fields and growing the family business.  Until there’s a famine, and they have to travel to Egypt to buy grain.  And who will sell it to them?  Joseph.

In the intervening decades, Joseph has risen from the status of a slave to that of governor under the Pharaoh.  Without Daddy’s special treatment, Joseph had learned tact and humility and service of others.  His brothers have come to regret their dark family secret.

The scene is set for reconciliation: there’s forgiveness, hugging, kissing, reuniting.  Read it for yourself – it’s a great story, no wonder it made for a huge hit as a West End musical.

THE TECNICOLOUR CHURCH IN ROME – AND FERMANAGH

The apostle Paul is writing in the Epistle reading to the Church in Rome, which is an amazing, technicolour church.  Slaves and free, rich and poor, men and women, dark skin and light skin, ethnic groups from all over the Empire and beyond lived cheek by jowl in the Capital.  And that was reflected in the church there.  Ripe for jealousy, for one group thinking they were God’s favourites, better than others, or more entitled somehow.

But one division was wider and more destructive than any other at the time: the split between Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians.  Each interpreted the facts differently.  Jews were rightly proud of their history and special role in salvation history.  Gentiles felt they were the new favourites, chosen from other nations because the Jews had failed in their mission. 

And Paul writes to answer the question, Who is God’s favourite?

Paul answers: There is no distinction between Jew and Gentile; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him.  For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’

‘Who is God’s favourite?’  We are all God’s favourites.  He is generous to all who call on him.

The Roman Christians will just have to overcome their ancient disputes and listen to each other, and worship alongside each other, and live together as one – not just live parallel lives and tolerate the other, but love one another.  Because they are all God’s favourites.

Who are God’s favourites in Fermanagh?  Protestant and Catholic, black and white, gay and straight, Brexiteer and Remoaner, whatever it is that divides us - God loves us every one, and wants to reconcile us to himself and to one another.  The same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. 

Lectio Divina

Friday 24th January 2014

A Time of Lectio Divina

GREETING          

The Lord be with you.

                        And also with you.

PREPARING OUR HEARTS

Our souls long for your presence, Lord. 

When we turn our thoughts to you, we find peace and contentment.

Lord, help us to know what you want to say to us.  Help us to notice your words of reassurance and challenge.

We ask for the grace to be free from our own concerns,

and open to what you would say to us.

We turn our thoughts to you, Lord.  We leave behind our chores and preoccupations.

We will take rest and refreshment in your presence, Lord.

                               

MEDITATING ON SCRIPTURE

This ‘King Melchizedek of Salem, priest of the Most High God, met Abraham as he was returning from defeating the kings and blessed him’; ² and to him Abraham apportioned ‘one-tenth of everything’. His name, in the first place, means ‘king of righteousness’; next he is also king of Salem, that is, ‘king of peace’. ³ Without father, without mother, without genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God, he remains a priest for ever.

⁴ See how great he is! Even Abraham the patriarch gave him a tenth of the spoils. ⁵ And those descendants of Levi who receive the priestly office have a commandment in the law to collect tithes from the people, that is, from their kindred, though these also are descended from Abraham. ⁶ But this man, who does not belong to their ancestry, collected tithes from Abraham and blessed him who had received the promises. ⁷ It is beyond dispute that the inferior is blessed by the superior. ⁸ In the one case, tithes are received by those who are mortal; in the other, by one of whom it is testified that he lives. 

(Hebrews 7: 1-8, NRSV)

One group member reads the scripture portion aloud, followed by silence.  What word or idea strikes us?

A second member reads aloud, followed by silence.  Where is Christ in what we read?

A third member reads aloud, followed by silence.  What does Christ call me to do?

A brief time of sharing follows.

PRAYING FOR ONE ANOTHER

                                Informal prayer in pairs

                                The collect of the day

                                Our Father in heaven …

DISMISSAL

The Lord be with you.

And also with you.

Let us go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

                        In the name of Christ.  Amen.

Acknowledgements

Front cover image accessed 23^rd January 2014 at www.decorative-films-by-maryanne.com

Prayers and service format based on Sacred Space, accessed 23^rd January at www.sacredspace.ie

Other liturgical material from BCP (2004) and New Patterns of Worship (www.churchofengland.org/prayer-worship)

Reproduced under licence from CCLI, Licence Nos. 1344568 and 1344575

Celtic Evening Prayer

A Celtic Evening Liturgy

for the Week of Prayer at

St Augustine’s

Welcome to our Celtic Evening Liturgy.  

In this last event of a busy Week of Prayer, we take time to listen for God’s heartbeat in our lives and in our city.  What has he said to us in the past few days?  What does he call us to do next?

This simple order of evening prayer allows time to listen throughout.  It is based on a liturgy used by the Iona Community in the Western Scottish Islands.  The same Saint Columb who established a monastic site where we sit this evening, took Christianity to Scotland.  From Iona, the Celtic church spearheaded mission into Northern England and across Europe.

Tonight, we pray in that living tradition of St Columb.  It is a tradition that belongs to all Christians in these islands, and which is especially significant for us in this place.

CHANT                 

The congregation repeats each line after the cantor.

Come, Holy Spirit.

Come, Holy Spirit.

Maranatha!

Come, Lord, come.

Invocation

Breath of God,

Breath of life,

Breath of deepest yearning,

Come Holy Spirit.

Comforter,

Disturber,

Interpreter,

Come, Holy Spirit.

Heavenly Friend,

Lamplighter,

Revealer of truth,

Midwife of change,

Come, Holy Spirit.

The Lord is here.

His Spirit is with us.

HYMN 325:  Be still, for the presence of the Lord, is shining all around.

Prayer                       

Let us pray.

Lord, teach us the silence of humility,

the silence of wisdom,

the silence of love,

the silence that speaks without words,

the silence of faith.

Lord, teach us to silence our own hearts and minds

that we may listen

for the movement of your Holy Spirit,

and feel your presence in the depths of our being.

A time of silence follows

Word of God           

The Word of God for the people of God.

We are listening, Lord.

A portion of scripture is read.

The Word of God for the people of God.

Thanks be to God.

                       

A time of silence follows.

Prayer

Let us keep silence before God,

and through our minds and imaginations

offer prayers which words might not contain.

Let us pray.

In a few minutes’ silence, there is an opportunity for ‘holy play’. 

As you colour in the design provided, you might like to pray for people and situations you know of that need God’s hope.  Who needs some colour in their life?

As you colour, what can you see that you didn’t spot at first glance?  Where is the cross, the heart, the fish?

There is a time for every purpose under heaven.

A time for gratitude …

A time for what we have to lay down …

A time for what we have to pick up …

A time for confronting what we are avoiding …

A time for recognising what we hope for …

In our time, and in your time, God,

Fulfil our prayers

And let your kingdom come.

Amen.

HYMN 642   Amazing Grace      

BLESSING

Now may the Spirt of God,

who brooded over the waters

and brought us out of chaos,

find a home in our hearts

and settle our minds as we rest

that tomorrow we may wake

and live to God’s glory.

Amen.

Liturgy adapted from ‘A Wee Worship Book’ (Glasgow: Wild Goose, 1999).

Hymns from ‘Church Hymnal’, Fifth Edition (Oxford: OUP, 2003).

‘Prayer Patterns’ from ‘Multi-Sensory Worship’ by Sue Wallace (Milton Keynes: Scripture Union, 2002).

Holy Communion in the Nursing Home

Before I first celebrated the Eucharist, I practised in my dining room with a plastic IKEA plate and two coffee mugs.  It was jerky.  I made marks in my prayer book to indicate when to raise the chalice, when to extend hands and when to clasp them.  The solemnity weighed heavily.

Several times a month, I celebrate in a nursing home.  It goes like this ...

A member of staff has thoughtfully put a frilly table cloth over a wheeled overbed table.

Generic image: Google didn't turn up many pics of bread and
 wine on an overbed table with Jeremy Kyle looking down

A distressed resident shouts an obscenity, and a staff member discreetly calms them.  I take off my jumper and slip an alb over my head.  The Jeremy Kyle show is still on.  I mention it.  The volume gets turned down a bit.

I welcome the residents and say how nice it is to be with them.  Many are asleep, some are mumbling to themselves.  A few peer up.

I try my best to pronounce all the -ests and -eths of the traditional rite that these people were brought up with.  I inwardly roll my eyes as I approach the words ':

who made there (by his one oblation of himself once offered) a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world; and did institute, and in his holy Gospel command us to continue, a perpetual memory of that his precious death, until his coming again:

Big breath in - I almost make it to the end of that line - am I really that unfit? - boy did those Reformers want to make sure we didn't get the wrong end of the eucharistic stick here - big breath out.

A few members of our little congregation mumble along, the liturgy still within deep recesses of a failing memory, still retrievable when there's the strangely familiar sight of a man in a frilly white dress with a brocade scarf round his neck.  When I'm their age, what will my generation know by heart?  The canticle 'I'm just a Love Machine' to the setting of Girls Aloud?

My eucharistic assistant today is Pearl.  Overworked and underpaid.  I have a sneaky suspicion she has previously washed remaining consecrated wine down the sluice.  But she's been here for 20 years, and she knows and loves every one of these people like her own grandparent.  We make our way around the room together.  She whispers in my ear 'just a wee dip for him' when intinction is needed to reduce a choke hazard.  She tenderly takes the hand of a man with advanced Alzheimer's because last time he aimed his best right hook at me.

Someone has a mouthful of wet biscuit in her mouth when I administer.  The winy bread sits there on a lip and goes nowhere.  A gentle press of her lower lip sends the Body of Christ on its way.  Or it comes back out onto a bib.

Might I inadvertently bring down this home's food hygiene rating?, I think.

One man serenely parts his lips, then spits it back out.  'You're trying to f%#*@ing poison me!  Don't think I don't know who you are!'

Then we visit the bed-bound.  In the corridor, a lady in a wheelchair holds out her hands.  'She's R.C.', says Pearl.  'It's up to you.'  Well, really it's up to this lady.  I'm happy for her to receive, but her parish priest mightn't be.  Does she know I'm Anglican?  Do I stand and explain to her that all Christian traditions are welcome at the Lord's table in the Church of Ireland, but her own tradition forbids her to receive from me?

Now is not the time to reflect on what constitutes informed consent.  'The body and blood of Christ keep you in eternal life', I say.  'Thank you, father', she says, and smiles.

Next stop, the hair dresser's, where three communicants are sitting under a

There are screams coming from some rooms.  Smells emanating from others.  Phil and Holly bellow from all corners about a phone-in competition to win a cruise round the Med.

And I think, I love my job. 

Other days, I wonder what flipping difference it all makes.  I groan at the sight of my in-box, the stack of paper to be filed that has just toppled onto the office floor, the excuses why a couple wanting a baby baptized still hasn't made it to church to meet me and give me details.

Today, I celebrated the Eucharist in a nursing home.  Christ has come to us here.  And he puts himself in our shaking hands, on our crusty bibs, lets us cough him up and wrap him in a paper tissue and dry out in a pocket until I can get him to hallowed ground.

And that's why they call it Holy Communion.

Why Kansas? Why Not?

I've done lots of writing these past years as a theological student, so the blog kind of stopped.  My writing needs were getting regular fixes in the form of theology essays.

Then I was ordained.  And I wasn't sure what I was allowed to say!  I don't want to say something stoopid that becomes a barrier to ministry with people on the ground who think differently to me.  And so many of the anecdotes I could use ... well, locals wouldn't be hard pushed to work out who I was talking about - my first funeral, someone driving me crazy ...

Recently, a friend suggested maybe I was being a bit too risk-averse in not writing.  So, I'm back at We're Not in Kansas Toto with fear and trepidation.  I mean, what if a prospective employer googles me?!

Five years ago, I published my first post about looking through cookery books.  But I didn't really start blogging to tell the world what I was going to eat that week.  It was a toe in the water.

I called my new blog 'We're Not in Kansas, Toto'.  I can't remember where I heard it, but it obviously meant strange territory.

Which it was for me.  After three decades in evangelical free churches, I'd ended up an Anglican.  I was so surprised myself that I had to write about it.  Because writing is how I sort out my thoughts.

How did I end up in the enchanted land of Anglicanism?  It coincided with an illness.  With coming home to Ireland after a spell in Bolivia.  And crucially, I think, with turning 30.

Life was different, compared to those heady uni days of Christian Union, youth fellowship and Delirious?.  My younger self would have recoiled at the grey I was starting to see.

Becoming Anglican later in life seems to be a well-worn path.  Fernando Ortega did it.  So did Miroslav Volf.  T. S. Elliott and John Donne.  Madeleine Albright.  When I was in ministerial training, maybe a quarter of ordinands had started off in another tradition.

What attracts people?  I'm sure that in many cases disappointment with other churches is one reason, but there are positive factors too.

The economy of words.  OK, so the first time I went to Morning Prayer and was handed two books, a news sheet and psalm sheet, I thought there were lots of words.  But they were good ones.  Carefully weighed, crafted, and selected for worship that morning.  And interspersed with silence.  And responses for the congregation.  With very little 'OK, folks, so, yeah ...' type talk.

The drama.  The movement, sounds, light, colour, fabrics and textiles.  The appeal to the senses and the imagination.  They convey something about the 'strangeness' of God.

The scripture.  Three readings plus a psalm.  The prayer book that just oozes scripture in every line.  The rigour of working through the whole Bible every three years.

A woman priest.  The open-ended sermon that stimulated me to keep on thinking instead of tying it all up for me.  The mix of ages.  The lack of cool factor, or any attempt at it.  The bishop who wasn't there but could reign in any maverick preachers or dodgy theologians.

A strange new world, but oddly comforting.  A world where I've become increasingly at home.

...

St Francis and Me

The San Damiano cross (centre) in front of my desk

Like many Christians, I have a mentor.  It's a bit like having a big brother.  He imparts his wisdom, I listen to what he has to say, and I look up to him as an example to follow.

Unlike many other mentors, however, mine has been dead for nearly 800 years.

His name is Francis.  He grew up a spoilt brat in a rich family in Assisi.  A pleasure-seeker who loved designer clothes and wild parties.

Francis also experienced periods of profound disillusionment.  Why did the fine life leave him so unsatisfied?  He gradually came to realize that his attachment to material wealth was a hindrance to his well-being and decided to embrace 'Lady Poverty'.  He started giving money and possessions to the poor, and praying for extended periods in a cave.

Down the hill was a little church, San Damiano, in a terrible state of repair.  As he prayed before the crucifix one day, he heard Christ speak to him: 'Francis, go and repair my church, which is in ruins.'  

Until this point, Francis' generosity was funded from his father's deep, deep pockets.  When his father became enraged by his son's large financial donations to the church, Francis took off all his clothes.  He presented them to his father, along with the money in the pockets, and made a total break with his old life.

Francis rebuilt San Damiano by hard labour, without the family fortune.  But the job wasn't complete.  His labour with stone and mortar was only a shadow of what was to come.  He came to realize that Christ's Church at large was in ruins and falling apart - corrupt, materialistic, spiritually lukewarm at best.  So he started working as a reformer, calling the Church back to its simple and humble roots.

A charismatic preacher, he attracted a following.  He and his companions took vows of chastity, poverty and obedience.  The poverty was especially strict, a total abandonment of material possessions.

Towards the end of his life, Francis received the stigmata, the 'marks of Christ', although he tried his best to conceal them.  His health failed.  It became too difficult to keep going as an itinerant preacher, and so he spent more time composing poetry, hymns and prayers.  He died, aged 44, on Saturday 3rd October 1226.  Franciscans today mark his 'transitus', that is, his passing from this life to life with God, on the evening of 3rd October, with his feast day on 4th.

So, why choose him as a mentor?

He's a bit of an eccentric, a 'holy clown'.  I like that.

He's an early reformer.  As a member of a reformed catholic church, I like that, too.

He endorsed treading lightly on this earth.  He lived simply and generously.  He loved and respected nature.  We badly need the church today to emphasize sustainability and social justice, and to challenge Mammon and individualism.

He was known for preaching Christ and making him known.  He did so in word and deed.

He was creative with worship, engaging the senses - he set up the world's first crib or nativity scene!

He remained idealistic but there are no reports of him getting crabby and jaded over the years.  He is known for demonstrating peace, joy and love - all of which the Church sorely needs today!

Another fan of the saint

He's a winsome character.  Monastic and other ancient forms of spirituality have taken off in recent years, including among Protestants.  He might attract people in the 'spiritual not religious' demographic and draw them in.  He's of interest to environmentalists, liturgists, those involved in community work, pacifists, historians, preachers, missionaries ...

For several years, my own way of following in the way of St Francis was quite loose.  A bit like Pope Francis, who is a Jesuit and not a Franciscan, but who is inspired by St Francis' concern for the poor.  

Then, last year, I started exploring a vocation to the Anglican Third Order Society of Saint Francis (TSSF).  A dispersed community of people who make special promises to God, and to one another, to live in the spirit of St Francis in our own contexts today.  Last Advent, I made a vow as a novice (a baby-Franciscan).  Since then, I've been learning more and meeting with others, and I might just take vows one day as a life-long Franciscan.