THE FIRST CHAPTER.
"No rushing sound we heard,
We saw no fiery token,
Only our hearts were stirred,
For God had spoken."
The temptation to seek a life of quiet and retirement followed Francis
all his days. Invariably, after any new departure or special victory
he was attacked in that quarter. Why he should have been so troubled
when his call to follow Christ was so clear, we are not qualified to
say definitely. In all probability this temptation of his was akin to
Paul's "messenger of Satan" and thorn in the flesh that buffeted him,
lest he should be unduly exalted. The most interesting point to us
nineteenth-century Christians is, that by the grace of God Francis
never yielded to this temptation--that having once put his hand the
plough, he never turned back, but remained faithful to the end.
We must take into consideration that the Order of which Francis was
the founder was in itself unique. It stood alone in the annals of
Church history. It was a novelty in the Church. All other existing
orders followed a totally different line of action, or rather
inaction. Their disciples were shut up in solitude, and devoted
themselves to their own sanctification. When they worked for sinners
it was by praying for them, by example, and by a little preaching.
They never came face to face with the outside world. Their lives were
remote, apart. These facts may have had something to do with Francis'
periods of darkness and indecision. A pioneer's life has its own
peculiar temptations.
[Sidenote: _Darkness._]
Perhaps the worst season of darkness that Francis had was after the
establishment of the second Order. An internal agony seized him. Was
he, he asked himself, not trying to do something superhuman in uniting
a contemplative with an active life. So often he had been told by
people much wiser and cleverer than himself that the life he had
marked out was humanly impossible! He wrestled and prayed, but nothing
could dissipate the heavy blackness that spread itself over his
pathway. He determined to appeal to his brethren and follow their
advice. His appeal for help gives us a striking instance of how subtly
Satan can take the form of an Angel of Light.
"My brethren what do you advise me?" he asked. "Which do you consider
best--that I should attend to prayer, or that I should go and preach?
I am a simple man, that speaks without art. I have received the gift
of prayer more than of speaking. Besides, there is more profit in
prayer. It is the source of grace. In preaching, we only distribute to
others the gifts we have received. Prayer purifies the heart and
affections. It is the union with the one true and solid Good.
Preaching makes the feet of even the spiritual man dusty. It is a work
that distracts and dissipates, and leads to relaxation of discipline.
In short, in prayer we speak to God, and listen to Him. In preaching
we must use much condescension towards men, and living among them it
is often necessary to see, hear, think, and speak like them in too
human fashion. These are very serious objections. And yet there is a
reason that seems to give it most weight with God. It is that His only
Son left the bosom of the Father to save souls, and to instruct men by
His example and word. He gave all He had for our salvation. He kept
nothing for Himself. Therefore it seems to me more in conformity with
the Divine Will that I renounce a tranquil life and that I go to work
abroad. But what is your advice? Speak! What do you think I ought to
do?"
The respective merits of the question had been so equally weighed that
it is not surprising that the brethren, one and all, declared
themselves unable to give any advice. For several days they conferred,
but no clear light shone upon their conferences. It was an important
matter to decide, because the whole future conduct of the Order hung
upon the decision. As Francis would walk, so also would tread his
disciples. This fact, together with the general uncertainty, pressed
heavily upon his soul. One of the most spiritual of Francis'
historians says that God permitted him to pass through this darkness,
because He wanted His servant whom He had already made a prophet, to
learn by a striking example, that no inspiration comes to us from
ourselves. And more than this. He wished the merit and glory of
preaching to be consecrated by a species of oracle that could only be
attributed to Him.
[Sidenote: _How the Answer Came._]
This is how the answer came.
Francis, always little in his own eyes, was never ashamed of inquiring
of anyone, the simple as well as the learned, the imperfect as well
as the perfect, if he thought that by so doing he would be the better
able to extend the Kingdom. In the present instance, getting no light
from the brethren, he sent a message to Brother Sylvester, who was now
a very old man, and lived by himself on a mountain, and another to
Clara, asking them to pray that God would reveal to them his will. The
old priest, and the young girl and her companions, gave themselves up
to prayer, and God who declares that He will be inquired of, revealed
to them His will.
When the messages came, as they did together, Francis was on his knees
praying. Both messengers carried the same message. It was God's will,
they said, that he should leave his solitude, and preach the Gospel.
Immediately, without losing a moment, Francis got up, put on his
mantle, and set of. All his doubt had vanished at once.
"Let us go, my brethren," he said. "Let us go in the name of the
Lord!"
It seemed as if he were possessed by a new spirit. Never had he been
so fervent. Never had his ardor been so intense. To all that he did
God set His seal in a truly marvellous manner! The inhabitants of the
various villages flocked to hear him, and they almost stood upon one
another to find places in the churches and cathedrals. In those days
the cathedrals and great churches were not seated. The people stood
all the time. The men to the front, and the women very often far
behind. When there was a large crowd, the crush was fearful.
In Ascoli some thirty men from the Church joined the Minors, and were
given the habit. After this event, Francis could not show himself in
the street without being surrounded by a crowd. When once he came into
a town the population had no thought for anyone but him. The churches
were filled as soon as ever it was known he was going to speak. Even
in the streets they eagerly gathered up his words. Thus it was
everywhere he went through Central Italy. His name was in everyone's
mouth.
[Sidenote: _A Great Tree._]
It was some time now since the building at the Portiuncula had become
far too small to accommodate all who wished to join the Friars. There
had been nothing for it but to overflow into the neighbouring
provinces. It is a matter of some regret that but little of the
history of this extension has been preserved. We shall see how
Bernardo of Quintavelle, and Guido of Cortona, established branches of
the Order, and no doubt the story of other new ventures would have
been equally interesting, but all that history has handed down to us
is a list of names. The tiny seed that Francis had sown in weakness
was rapidly becoming a great tree. Though this progress was gratifying
to him, it also caused him some suffering. By nature he was intensely
affectionate, and when one by one he had to send out from him his old
companions to take charge of distant branches, his heart was sad
indeed.
One day while he was thinking, as he often did, about his absent
friends, the thought occurred to him that something might be done to
alleviate this separation. Something, too, that would benefit the
entire Order. Twice a year it was arranged that all the brethren, new
and old, should meet at the Portiuncula. This idea proved to be so
good that it became one of the fundamental rules of the Order.
[Sidenote: _A Curious Scene._]
The first of these "Chapters," as they were called, was held after
Francis had completed his tour in Central Italy. The brethren came
from far and near. They came pouring in from all quarters, up from the
valleys, and down from the mountains, and from the shining sea-coast,
streams of brown-robed, bare-footed men of all classes and conditions
of life. And what were they coming to? A little church and convent as
poor as themselves, where there were not even provisions enough on
hand to supply one-hundredth part of the hundreds that were flocking
there with one meal! But in perfect faith and trust they came,
plodding along under the blazing sun, some rapt in meditation, others
saluting all they met with their gentle salutation, "the peace of
God."
Such a sight was never seen in Italy before, and from castle and city
poured glittering vividly-colored groups to see the wonderful sight.
The richly-colored garments of the crowd, and the gaily-decked
cavalcade from the country and castle formed a brilliant foil to the
brown-robed stream of friars. The Portiuncula is situated on one of
the lowest slopes of the Apennine hills, below it stretches the wide
plain. This was the guest-chamber. There were no other beds than the
bare ground, with here and there a little straw. But we need not pity
them as far as sleeping out of doors goes, because the Umbrian nights
are of all things most beautiful. The air was soft and warm, and the
brilliant blue-starred heavens above did away with any need of
artificial light.
Francis met this crowd with great pleasure and cheerfulness, though he
had not a crust to offer them. When they were all assembled he told
them with sublime faith to give no thought as to what they were to eat
or drink, but only to praise God. And his faith was rewarded. The
people came from Perugia, Spoleto, Foligno, and Assisi, and from all
the neighboring country to carry meat and drink to that strange
congregation. They came with horses and asses, and carts laden with
bread and cheese and beans and other good things, and besides this
they brought plates, and jugs, and knives; and knights, and barons,
and other noblemen, who had come to look on, waited on the brothers
with much devotion. It was such sight as once seen could never be
forgotten.
[Sidenote: _Three Grades._]
In these chapters Francis was at his best, and happily the historians
of the time have preserved for us details of his mode of work. He was
there to spend and be spent. His one desire was that the brethren
should gain a renewal of spiritual strength in the days passed
together, and at the same time that the Order in general should be
benefited. To attain the first end, he employed what we have pointed
out before as being one of his strongest points--private and
individual dealing. As we have also already intimated, we feel sure
that the greater part of his phenomenal success resulted from this. In
his own mind he had the brethren carefully graded. There were three
divisions. First, the fervent; second, the troubled in spirit; and
thirdly, the tepid. The correctness with which he assigned everyone to
his proper place was well-nigh divine. At the time of writing the
fervent were numerous, but they were likely to be carried away by an
exaggerated zeal. Some of them wore chains, and were ruining their
health with over-watchings and fastings. Francis boldly forbade this.
He would have none of it. He spoke to such kindly and tenderly, but he
also spoke forcibly in commending that reason which must regulate
piety, as it regulates human life. By precise and detailed rules he
delivered the fervent from exhausting their strength before its time,
and thus preserved them for their work. But it was not an easy task
that of controlling the fervent, especially when there was a spice of
self-will in addition to the fervency.
In a large community, such as Francis now had on his hands, there is
always sure to be a large percentage of troubled ones. Francis well
knew this, he knew that the devil was always on the alert, that trials
without and within are the lot of every mortal. These troubled ones
found in their leader a tower of strength. To him they poured out
their most secret confidences. The difficulties they had with
uncongenial brethren, their interior doubts and fears, and awful dread
that such might one day cause them to fall away. Francis showed all
such the sincerest compassion. They knew and felt or that he loved
them. His sympathy was a remedy in itself. They left him cheered and
refreshed and strengthened.
Human weakness is never slow in showing itself, and the tepid were
easily recognized. They were generally those who had made a very good
beginning, but had allowed their zeal to cool and were becoming
unfaithful to the grace God had given them, and to the rules of the
Order. Francis was always gentle to these as he was gentle to all, but
he knew how to maintain his authority--to reprove, blame, and correct.
He followed the Divine recommendation, "If thy brother shall offend
thee, go and rebuke him between thee and him alone." His happiness was
complete if he could gain the tepid brother.
[Sidenote: _Duty of Humility._]
In the general meetings where all the brethren were assembled he dealt
with the interests of the whole work. He was very strong at these
times on the duty of humility.
"Make yourselves small and humble to everyone," he would say, "but
above all, be humble to the priests. The care of souls has been
entrusted to them. We are only auxiliaries, to do what they cannot
do." They were never to enter any field of labor without the
invitation, or at least the consent, of the local clergy. And then,
when they had received this permission they must never act as though
they were masters. This policy acted well. The local clergy had no
misgivings in seeking their assistance. They knew that these men would
not try to make the people discontented with their own pastors, but
rather sow content.
Another spirit Francis strove to get into his followers--that was the
spirit of tolerance. He warned them against carrying their attitude,
in regard to riches, to excess, and to say that all men must see as
they did or remain unsaved. Other reformers had done this and were
extinguished. The rule of poverty was God's leading for Francis. All
men he recognized were not called to follow this track, though some of
his disciples, in their enthusiasm, would have it that they were. To
them Francis said--
"Do not use the sacrifices you impose upon yourselves as a weapon.
Beware of haughty reproofs. We must show the same mercy that has been
shown to us. The God Who has called us may also call them by-and-bye.
I wish all that are here never to call the rich anything but brothers
and lords. They are our brothers, since they have the same Creator as
we, and they are our lords also because without them we could not
persevere in the poverty that we have made our law."
This spirit of tolerance was to extend to the sinners. He did not like
to hear them berated.
"Many who are the children of the devil to-day," he said, "will become
true disciples. Perhaps they will go before us. This thought alone
ought to keep us from all violence of language. We have been sent to
bring back to the truth those who are ignorant and in error. That is
our office, and one that is not accomplished by the use of cutting
words and sharp reproaches.... It is not enough that our compassion be
in words only. The important thing is that it should be in our deeds,
that all who see us may, by occasion of us, praise our common Father,
Who is in Heaven."
[Sidenote: _Holiness._]
He was also strong on holiness. He taught that there must be a true
light within that shines only from a clean heart, before it can shine on
the outer world, and without this no good work could be accomplished.
Francis was full of the grace and wisdom of Jesus Christ. Of the
spiritual effect of the first chapter a historian writes--
"The brethren valued the gift they had received. Not one of them cared
to talk of profane matters. They talked about the holy examples given
by some amongst them, and sought together ways of growing in grace and
in the knowledge of Jesus Christ."