On Resolutions for a New Year

Word is that New Year's resolutions are falling out of favor with most people these days. I know I didn't make any... though lately I'm experiencing a refreshing phase of making a number of resolutions like regular Confession, accountability with people outside of Confession, and finally reading some of these books I've had on the shelf for months and years. So maybe I wasn't in need of resolving to lose a few pounds or whatever typical thing people half-heartedly commit to every year (any wonder we've quit trying?).

A thread was recently started on my favorite online stomping grounds at PhatMass asking, "What if your resolution for 2009 was to become a saint?" In offering my own humble gift of eye-opening insight and jaw-dropping wisdom on the topic, I couldn't help but remember all my adoring fans here at The Richest Man in Assisi and want to leave you awestruck by my beautiful verbosity and provide an opportunity for you to heap upon my comment box many selfless compliments and praises. So, without further ado...

A-hem. [Throat clearing sounds].

Any true resolution -- and more importantly, actually following through with it -- brings us a little closer to sainthood. I just read the part of Rediscovering Catholicism where Matthew Kelly profiles the lives of St. Francis of Assisi, Blessed Mother Teresa, St. John Vianney, St. Thomas More, and John Paul II, so I'm freshly encouraged right now to pursue sainthood. Specifically, reading the part of St. Vianney's story about going days without food and for several years eating only a boiled potato each day, and the graces his sacrifice of love won for his parishioners reminds me that I've sensed a nudging from God on many occasions to make some kind of ongoing food-related sacrifice.

Why food? For one, I love to eat, so it hits home. Second, learning to master our appetite for food teaches us to master our appetite for sinful and worldly things. Third, bringing these two reasons together, it's no coincidence that Christ gives himself to us eternally in the form of bread. Like Jesus proving the paralytic's sins were forgiven by healing his legs, Jesus proves that he feeds us spiritually by feeding us physically.

He feeds our bellies. The same belly that is poetically associated with gluttony and the raw ugliness of sin. Christ redeems our bellies, making the empty place in our bodies (and our hearts) his beautiful tabernacle!

So, while chillin' with Jesus in a nearby Adoration chapel, I was debating what kind of sacrifice would be materially significant without going so overboard as to doom my new-found commitment to the fate of most resolutions. Some people can give up meat entirely, but I love a succulent, medium-rare steak too much to give that up joyfully. I thought about giving up desserts entirely, but glimpsed myself in the near future at Homemade Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen with friends digging into slices of delicious cherry pie and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream cones... and me sippin' a cup of coffee pretending to have a good time. No, I can't be a fake. What kind of witness would it be if I'm gritting my teeth? Then, the eureka of a happy medium and newborn resolution popped into ye olde brain: I'll sacrifice meat and dessert/sweets for breakfast and lunch! Sweet! I mean, veggies!

That's enough to make me consciously remember my sacrifice on a daily basis, but gives me the flexibility to give thanks for that mouth-watering steak at dinner Now, the more difficult part will be the spiritual side of this resolution/penance: to give thanks at every meal with whomever I'm eating. Sacrificing a sausage biscuit or hamburger are nothing compared to sacrificing pride. Still, any small material sacrifice provides the preparation we need to make greater spiritual sacrifices.

If it sounds like I'm taking an unhealthy sense of pride in my resolution, I don't mean to. I'm actually excited at the prospect of growing more spiritually mature, though I know frustrations await along the way. That's why I'm indulging at dinner: to keep myself humble. I may be a saint by faith, but I'm a sinner by trade.

Sooo... if anyone out there in Blogland is actually reading this (you know who you are, Lindsay) then feel free to share your thoughts or link to your own blog post on the topic.

[The fans stand in silent suspense... the pitch is thrown... it's a hit! It's deep! Way back! That ball is... outta here! And the crowd goes wild!!! Cubs win!!!]

[Yes, I've got baseball on the brain. Must be the spring-like weather we've had. After all that heavy talk about sacrifice, thought we were due for a light-hearted moment. :) ]

Yes, You Can Do That in Heaven!

Several years ago, an evangelist named Mark Cahill wrote a book titled, One Think You Can't Do in Heaven. The premise, at least behind the title, is that in Heaven there will be no sinners to whom we can witness about the Gospel, so we better take full advantage of the opportunties we are given here in this life. Since I never read the book, I can't say what his thoughts are on the whole communion of saints thing, but for some reason the idea that we can't lead sinners to God when we're in Heaven came back to me back in October while reading about the arrival of the relic of St. John Vianney's heart in Boston on Cardinal Sean's blog. Guess I'm a little slow bringing these thoughts to paper, but I'm erratic like that.

I don't know if any miracles have been confirmed in connection with his relic, but there is still a collection of canes and crutches left behind by people who were healed at the altar to St. Philomena built by St. John Vianney. Of course, every saint has at least two miracles that are verified by the Church to be connected to their intecession. But regardless of miraculous events, simply the presence of a holy relic and the news coverage about it in the Boston area surely served as a reminder to millions that we are all called to radical holiness. I'm sure most of them shrugged it off, but in some people it surely planted a seed and in others a seed previously planted may have come to full bloom.

But as if that isn't enough, we have the powerful story of St. Therese of Lisieux. She was hardly known outside of her convent when she died of tuberculosis at age 24. A year later, her autobiography, The Story of a Soul, was published. She became so influential around the world that another nun took her name and became known as Mother Theresa. And in 1997, Pope John Paul II named St. Therese a Doctor of the Church. She is probably one of the best known saints among Catholics for her simple approach to God. Countless miracles are also attributed to her intercession.

I think her own words provide the perfect closing and response to Cahill's book:

"I will spend my heaven doing good on earth."
-St. Therese of Lisieux

Incorruptibles

In 117 A.D. St. Cecilia was martyred after refusing to sacrifice to false gods. She had been arrested for giving her husband and his brother a proper burial, both of whom were also arrested and killed for giving proper burial to other martyrs. Although Cecilia had vowed her virginity to God, her Roman parents went ahead and married her off to a guy named Valerian anyway. Of course, he wasn't too pleased to learn that his new wife wasn't going be-- interested. She told him that she was accompanied by an angel whom he could see only if he is baptized. Um, yeah... sounds like something a crazy Catholic would say, but he went along with it and probably crapped his pants when he returned from the baptism ceremony to find his wife and an angel praying together.

So needless to say, he probably gave up on trying to get some at this point. Instead, he asked the angel for a favor -- that his brother would be baptized, and eventually he was. They started a ministry of giving proper burial to martyrs (to think there was a whole ministry for such a thing!). During their own martyrdom, they even converted their executioner.

800 years later, her body was found incorrupt during the process of moving it from its original burial place to the altar in the basilica of St. Cecilia in Rome. And in 1599 her coffin was opened again and her incorrupted body found lying on her side like she was sleeping. Dating back to the first century of Christianity, her body is the oldest known Incorruptible. There are supposed to be over 200 other saints whose bodies suffer little decay. St. Bernadette might be on of the most impressive examples. Doctors reported that her veins were still visible, muscle tissue was firm, and her liver was basically in normal condition 46 years after her death.

...I'll admit, this stuff is a bit creepy, but that's exactly why it's so freakin' cool :) Even Wikipedia has an entry on Incorruptibles. And if it works, try reading the link to "Saints Preserve Us" from about.com since they address the phenomenon from a secular perspective, including the possibility of Buddhist and Hindu Incorruptibles.

What's a "good Christian"?

I believe I've talked about this before, but at 25 years old, I'm starting to become senile and talk about the same things over and over again. Actually, I was hanging out with some folks earlier and got to thinking about this again after hearing someone talk about some girl who claims to be a good Christian while basically denying a lot of her sins. What strikes me is how someone could really be a good Christian? Think about it... the reason for following Christ is that we turn to him for redemption from our sins. And for that reason, confession of sins is at the core of being a Christian. What it comes down to is that on the outside there is often little difference between Christians and non-Christians (barring the expemplary examples of certain saints and church leaders), but since others' deeds are what we observe, that's how we end up judging people in our minds. Yet the only thing that counts is our heart -- that when we confess our sins, we sincerely desire not to sin again. Of course, that's the kind of stuff only God can see while he forgets the juicy stuff; we only see (and remember) the juicy stuff while usually having little idea about where others truly stand before God.

Did St. Francis Die From an STD?

Francis died at only 45 years of age. Later in life his vision slowly deteriorated, sometimes to the point of complete blindness. Due to the pain in his eyes, Brother Elias insisted he seek treatment. So they traveled to Rieti and Francis underwent the excruciating cauterization procedure, but his sight never improved. While nobody can look back and diagnose whether Francis simply died from years under harsh living conditions, an STD, or some other kind of disease, we do know that before turning his life over to God he pretty much indulged in every kind of pleasure life offered. To put it simply, Francis had a lot of sex. Now, considering both the general lack of knowledge about STDs and the inability to protect oneself (outside of abstinence), I can't imagine how anyone could get away with even a moderately sexually active lifestyle with catching something. And at least one common STD, Cytomegalovirus, can result in blindness. Considering his relatively young age at death, you can't rule out the possibility.

Of course, we'll never know for sure and ultimately it doesn't matter, but I do feel that if it is true, such a death only makes Francis' story that much more dramatic and relevant in an age of widespread sexual confusion and promiscuity. It's also a powerful testimony to Francis' redemption from his old "life" to eternal life in Christ. Francis could have died for the world and all the temporal pleasures it offered him, but he chose Christ and died for Christ, teaching his brothers by word and example right to the very end. And perhaps an early death was God's gift to Francis, to finally be taken from this world and into Heaven.

Haunted by the Saints

The saints have really been challenging me lately. Reading about St. Francis has me thinking a lot about how much he and his brothers sacrificed to live the Gospel as best as they knew how. These guys embraced the poor. When St. Francis heard the Gospel reading at Mass, it was as though God were speaking personally to him. Christ says to each of us, Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me. What if we took those words seriously? Do we really see Jesus in the "least of these" in our society? When we have a conversation with a homeless person, we're talking with Jesus; when we look them in the eye, we're looking Jesus in the eye. We talk about "experiencing God" through contemporary worship, and while that has it's place, it seems like for most Christians that's where the God experience ends. I feel haunted by the lives of people like St. Francis because I know more people are called to similar lives of sacrificial love for God and neighbor, but it's such a radical calling that they opt for a safer road.

I've also been learning about a different saint every day with the Saint of the Day e-mail. It's difficult for me to ignore the chasm between their lives -- the sacrifices they made out of their deep love for God and desire for others to follow Christ -- and my own life. Of course, I don't want to throw a little pity party for my sinful self. That would be worthless. But I can't ignore that God is starting to prepare me to abandon everything for Him in a similar manner. Some mornings I wake up and the first thought in my head is, "You don't seriously want to become a priest, much less a Franciscan. That's ridiculous."

Exactly... such a calling was too ridiculous even for St. Francis, but God is faithful every step of the way. "But God," by the way, happens to be one of my favorite two words in the Bible. This short phrase occurs 41 times (at least in the NASB translation)...

But God remembered Noah ... and the water subsided. (Genesis 8:1)

But God said to Abraham, "Do not be distressed because of the lad and your maid; whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her, for through Isaac your descendants shall be named. (Genesis 21:12)

But God will redeem my soul from the power of Sheol,For He will receive me. (Psalms 49:15)

My flesh and my heart may fail, But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Psalms 73:26)

Who can forgive sins, but God alone? (Mark 2:7 and Luke 5:21)

You are those who justify yourselves in the sight of men, but God knows your hearts... (Luke 16:15)

But God raised Him up again, putting an end to the agony of death, since it was impossible for Him to be held in its power. (Acts 2:24)

But God raised Him from the dead... (Acts 13:30)

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)

You know how certain words from a sermon will stick in your head for months? I keep going back to something one of the priests at the Youth 2000 retreat said about our expectations in praying for miracles. "God isn't going to raise someone back from the dead," with which he followed after a short pause, "in all likelihood." Isn't is awesome that we believe in the one God who holds power over sin and death, that even the one miracle that most would consider impossible -- well, not necessarily. Throughout history, God has intervened in the bleakest of times and revealed His glory. We can go before our Lord in full confidence that no request is too great -- nor too petty -- no matter how weak our faith might feel, for nothing will be impossible with God.

Brother Sun, Sister Moon

A parishinor at St. Anthony's lent me this movie about the early years of St. Francis' life. According to the Yahoo Movies review, director Franco Zeffirelli attempted to draw parellels between the simple poverty embraced by Francis and his followers and the hippie movement of the 1960's and 70's. I've been assured Zeffirelli didn't turn Francis into a pot-smokin' flag-burnin' rebel... in other words, nothing like this guy.


Okay, I've seen the movie now. It does a good job portraying the abuse Francis suffered under his father, Pietro, as he slowly rejected the world of wealth and comfort in favor of the life of servanthood and preaching the Gospel. Church hierarchy is portrayed in an appropriately corrupt light, nor did it overromanticize the simple life of Francis and his followers. They lived a rough life, subjecting themselves to snowy winters and spring rains with little shelter. While some of the details weren't exactly accurate, that usually happens with movies. I guess they didn't have the technology in 1973 to make the cross of San Damiano move and speak.

There is only one inaccuracy that particularly bothered me. The movie ends with Francis' audience with Pope Innocent III, who blesses the brothers and commissions them to go out and spread the Gospel. Innocent leans over to kiss Francis' hands, then kneels before him and kisses his bare feet. That is all very beautiful and moving, but in the movie two of the cardinals are questioning what's happening before them and one of them confidently remarks, "The Pope knows what he's doing. They will draw the poor back into the Church." The clear implication is that Pope Innocent III wasn't so innocent after all, but merely saw these humble Franciscans as a clever way of drawing the poor into the oppressive influence of "Holy Mother Church."

Well, that little bit creative script writing may have sold more tickets during the early 70's when everyone questioned the authority of any institution and their right to judge right and wrong. Unlike the Reformers, Francis was sincerely concerned about avoiding heresy and this is why he went to Rome to receive the Pope's counsel and seek his blessing. Naturally, Hollywood fails to write a better story than what really happened....

Francis did not have just one audience with a less-than-truthful Pope. The first meeting was rather uneventful, if a group of brothers dressed in rough tunics visiting the Pope can be uneventful. He explained the brotherhood's controversial mission and left. During the night, Innocent dreamed a vision of the Basilica of St. John Lateran leaning on its side and beginning to fall to the ground when a beggar, whom he recognized as St. Francis, came up and supported the whole church on his shoulders. Calling Francis back to the papal court the next day, he didn't talk about his own troublesome dream, but merely listened again to Francis' own dream of literally living out the Gospel. Innocent came down from the papal thrown and embraced Francis.

Innocent gave up bearing a son of his own when he took on Holy Orders; Francis left his earthly father when he proclaimed in the Assisi square "From now on, I desire only to say, 'Our Father, who art in Heaven." In their embrace, Francis gained an earthly father and Innocent gained "many times as [many sons] and eternal life." (Matt. 19:29) And Innocent sent them out, saying "Go with God, little brothers, and announce salvation for all, as the Lord reveals it to you! And when the Almighty has multiplied your number, then come back to me and I will charge you with a greater inheritance."

The real story is that the humble Francis and powerful Pope Innocent III shared a father-son relationship and Innocent was always counted among the Lesser Brothers of Jesus. Together God used them to spiritually rebuild a fragile Church, like Francis had restored stone-by-stone the crumbling San Damiano Church.

Who is the Richest Man in Assisi?

[Editors note: There was originally a post before this, but in the wisdom of time did not find that one to be all that important or engaging. This was the second post, so I promoted it become the first post since it just makes sense that way. I left a note where the original content of this post begins, which I wanted to save since it I wrote it shortly after first learning about St. Francis' story.]
 
Who is the richest man in Assisi? My blog title is partly an allusion to a parable on financial wisdom by George S. Clason: "The Richest Man in Babylon." I read it years ago in high school, at a time when I devoured just about anything related to personal finance and investing, and even free-lanced a series of articles on the book. Babylon is one of the world's earliest civilizations. They pioneered beer brewing, which I consider as good a benchmark of civilized activity as any. The simple Babylonian economy allows the author to use simple concepts that a layperson can use to better understand today's more complex financial world.

Which brings us to St. Francis, growing up in 12th Century Italy, when international trade, corporate structures, and a rising middle-class were forming the earliest budding seeds of today's modern economy. Francis' father, Pietro Bernadone, was a garment merchant and regarded as the wealthiest man in Assisi. Probably no Medici, to be sure, but up there on the food chain regardless. And since Francis would inherit his father's business and fortune, I call him the "richest man in Assisi."

Of course, not just for that reason -- for if anyone wrestled with God, Francis wrestled. And eventually things came to a head as Francis fell in love with Lady Poverty, coming to view the family business and wealth as pesky mistresses he wanted nothing to do with. In renouncing his natural father's inheritance, he declared, "From now on, I shall only say 'Our Father, who art in heaven,'" embracing his bishop without a stitch of clothes on (imagine that happening today! Assisi apparently didn't have any lawyers :) Thus, Francis exchanged an earthly inheritance for an eternal one, and dying some years later on a cold dirt floor -- naked again, save for a blanket -- it is not Pietro we remember 800 years later, but this man whom thousands of Franciscans emulate around the world, who is often regarded as the most Christ-like of saints, who personally loved his neighbor, whether he find him to be a sickly leper or the Sultan of Egypt.

Many of the issues Francis faced are still relevant today. He is one of the most famous saints, yet one of least known. I regard him as my patron saint, as Francis of Assisi is the Confirmation name I chose on April 15, 2006. And this blog is essentially my thoughts on faith and modern life in light of my esteem for St. Francis.

[Below is the original content of this post, sharing my brief version of Francis' biography when I just learned about him.]

Speaking of books, one of the Franciscans who lives at St. Anthony's gave me a book titled Francis: The Journey and the Dream by Murray Bodo. I guess you'd describe it as a creative account of St. Francis' life. Instead of just telling the facts about his life, it speculates more about his struggles discerning God's will in the face of rejection by relatives and friends. It should make for good meditation.

Having everything he could care for, Francis reveled in the pleasures of life and tended not to be very studious at school. Even those he exhibited sharp business skills, making him the natural candidate to inherit the family business and surely surpass his father in wealth, his dream was to be a knight. He enthusiastically enrolled with an army fighting for Pope Innocent III and was two days into the journey to battle, but God...

A voice in the night instructed Francis to return home and ponder a little more the vision God had given him. No doubt this was frustrating. At some time or another, we have all felt confident of God's will for our lives only to learn that wasn't it at all. But this vision was mysterious if it didn't mean fighting as a knight. In Murray Bodo's description of this vision, Francis "was led into the great hall of a dazzling Palace, where a radiant Princess-Bride held court. The walls were covered with shields and trophies of battles won. And when he asked aloud who the Lord of the castle was, a voice sang out: 'It's the high court of Francis Bernardone and his followers.'" God instructed Francis to abandon the military and return home, where he would be told what to do.

While Francis continued to party with his old friends, God had drawn his heart to a higher calling. While riding on horseback one day, he suddenly came upon a repulsive leper. At first, he retreated in disgust, but he couldn't pass him by. Instead, he dismounted the house and embraced the leper, then gave him all his money. Surely, failing to embrace this poor leper would have been a failure to embrace Christ himself. Indeed, it was in the crumbling chapel of St. Damien that Francis heard Christ speak from the cross, commanding him, "Go, rebuild my church, which you can see has fallen into ruins."

In his saintly zeal, Francis started the work of rebuilding this chapel. It was literally falling apart, after all. He immediately went and sold some of his father's inventory of cloth and one of his horses to raise money for the church. Naturally, his father was angry, and Francis escaped to a cave for a month to avoid him. Upon returning to the city, a crowd pelted Francis with mud and stones, mocking him as a madman. Pietro forced him home, beat him, and locked him bounded in a dark closet.

While the gold was recovered since the priest at St. Damien refused to accept it, Pietro also wanted Francis to forgoe his inheritence. Brought before the bishop, Francis -- who was once destined in the world's eyes to inherit all the wealth Assisi could offer -- stripped himself of his clothes and handed them to this father, declaring, "I have called you my father on earth. From now on, I desire to say only 'Our Father, who art in heaven."

Francis continued working on the restoration of St. Damien's and two abandoned chapels near Assisi, begging for stones and personally putting them in place, while also caring for the lepers. Apparently he didn't leave much room for interpretation when God's Word seemed to speak directly to him. After hearing the Gospel message of Jesus instructing the disciples to carry no gold or silver, shoes, nor a staff for the journey, but to go out preaching repentance and announcing the Kingdom of God, Francis rid himself of what little he still owned. Now he wore merely a coarse, brown tunic tied around him with a knotted rope -- the clothing of the poorest peasants. Out in the countryside, he preached penance, brotherly love, and peace. Francis soon began attracting followers who shed everything they owned to take up a life of service and preaching the Gospel.

This movement, eventually developing into the Franciscan Order, did rebuild the Church -- not so much physically, but spiritually. In the midst of widespread corruption within the Church hierarchy, God used Francis to inspire Christians to lives of sacrificial love for God and neighbor. And that mysterious vision of shields and trophies wasn't for earthly battles won as a knight, but for the thousands of souls delivered from darkness by Francis and his followers.

In addition to the ordes, he was an active missionary travelling even as far as personally visiting the Sultan of Egypt during the midst of the Crusades. Francis also started the tradition of building Nativity scenes and was the first person to receive the stigmata. He died naked on the bare ground of a hut, covered only by a borrowed cloth, but had gained the favor of God and even the same citizens of Assisi who once stoned him as a madman. Therefore, I call him the richest man in Assisi.