A Future Full of Hope... In Pockets Full of Miracles

Earlier this year, our Franciscan province of St. Barbara, which represents the Friars Minor (ofm) of the western United States, met for its triennial chapter (or congress). We chose as our theme, “A Future Full of Hope”, taken from Jeremiah (29,11): “I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your well-being… and a future (full of) hope.” This simple motto calling us to renewed confidence in God has continued to echo as a resounding theme in statements from our leadership, in our regional meetings, and in our gatherings at home ever since. We think about it often and pray over it as we struggle with the very real and difficult challenges that confront us in community life and ministry. Somehow that same mantra keeps ringing in my own head and heart as I have started out on a three-month sabbatical this summer in between assignments. I keep asking myself—what and where are the signs of a future full of hope in our Christian community and world these days-- when so much of our life appears to be fraught with stress, loss, and insecurity? So I’ve been on a personal treasure hunt this summer, deliberately asking to be shown signs of hope and resilience in my travels. And, on a daily basis, I believe, I have been shown wonderful things so far. Signs of tremendous faith, energy, and creativity-- not in large monumental structures or momentous gatherings, but rather more often in small, often obscure and overlooked “pockets full of miracles” that give one hope for the future. From time to time this summer, I’ll be writing about some of these places and experiences—not always in a neat and orderly fashion, I’m afraid, but as I’m able to take some time to reflect upon them a bit. I’m also trying to get back on track with this blog, which I have had to put aside for all too long now. Thank you for sharing the journey with me. And I hope that my brief observations may in some way spark your own interest, observation, and commitment. For my part, I really do believe that, in spite of and in the midst of everything, our loving God really and truly does offer us a future full of hope.—ct

Meet the (Almost) Ex-Novices

By tradition, the Franciscan novitiate, or training period for new members, is “a year and a day.” Although this year’s trial period for newcomers to the St. Barbara Province of the Franciscan friars (OFM) falls a few days short of the customary mark, it still marks a significant chunk of time for a man discerning a commitment to religious life.

This week, I stumbled upon our Province’s four novices while attending a meeting of our Definitorium (read: Board of Directors) at the San Damiano Retreat Center in Danville, California. The foursome were themselves attending a week-long meeting with their novice-confreres from other parts of the United States prior to their first profession of vows on June 24 at the St. Francis Retreat Center in San Juan Bautista, California. I took advantage of some break time to pull our brothers aside for a brief conversation about their novitiate year. They are a great group of men, and I’d like to introduce them to you, if I may:



Brother Mario Espitia, 29, hails from Los Angeles, California and is a trained social worker/counselor. Prior to his entry into the Order, Brother Mario worked in an East LA neighborhood program for children, teenagers, and their families. I asked him to reflect a bit about his time at our provincial novitiate at Old Mission San Miguel, California:

“When I started in novitiate, I expected to be bored and incarcerated all year. And instead, I feel like I’ve been freed. Liberated. Right now, I feel good. I’m happy. It’s not what I had expected in the beginning. When I entered the novitiate, I had a very unclear idea of what I was supposed to do at that point in my life. I was afraid of what it meant to be a Franciscan, a novice, and to have a commitment to the year. Now, I can’t say that the fears have left completely, but I am more aware of them. I have more trust in God, which I realized I didn’t have much in the beginning. More trust in the discernment process, and in the Franciscans.”

“For me, the lessons of the year were mostly family-related. I was struggling with resentments, anger... difficulties I had in growing up. I have been working on this and learning the Gospel way of life, the Rule (of the Order), and the words of St. Francis. I realized that if I am to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, I would have to let go, and to see the goodness of God even in the suffering, in the difficult moments of life. I used to believe that God was not present in the difficult moments in our family, that He was absent, but I learned that is not true. Now, I have come to be more compassionate with those who are struggling and feel alone. I feel more connected to the call to forgiveness and to love.”

Brother Mario reports that he has found the Franciscan lifestyle both demanding and rewarding. “Five times a week, we had Scripture reflection. It’s a challenging thing to do daily. It pushes you to go deeper and to try to think how your life is reflected in the Gospels. It was difficult for me at times because I don’t always want to accept my brokenness, shortcomings…. One of the high points for me was going to the Bay Area with my brother novices. We would go to the Saint Anthony Foundation in San Francisco to help out at the dining room once a month, serving food to the guests and interacting with them—sitting down and having lunch with them and talking with them. I didn’t wear my habit on those occasions. I didn’t want the guests to have any filters about what they wanted to talk about.... But when I finally told them I was a friar, they were surprised and grateful that I could have an open conversation with them, that I was non-judgmental and embracing of what they were. I could see myself in them and my own family—all that we went through—that might have led us to homelessness, substance abuse problems, and so on. We didn’t have that, but we could have. It helped me to grow in compassion and solidarity with the poor.”

After his first profession of vows on June 24, Brother Mario will be moving to the Bay Area to start studies at the Franciscan School of Theology in Berkeley. He will also be preparing for his professional certification as a licensed clinical social worker. He does not have plans to prepare for ordination to the priesthood, “but I am open.”



Friar Juan Jose Jauregui, 30, is a native of Zacatecas, Mexico, but after arriving in the United States with his family, he lived in Hayward, California, and worked in a restaurant at the Oakland Airport. Brother Juan is a quiet, soft-spoken man. When he speaks in English, he does so slowly but also clearly and deliberately, and doesn’t waste his words:

“ We have a saying in Spanish: ‘La juventud no es un talento; es una condicion fisica, que tarde o temprano termina. Disfrutala.’/ ‘Youth is not a talent; it is a physical condition which will end sooner or later. Enjoy it!’” Right now, I feel glad. Glad and blessed from God. Because the novitiate was a very different and very beautiful experience in my life. It was different from my other years with the Franciscans in postulancy and at the House of Welcome (our former ESL house.—ed) This year, I took time for myself to reflect, to think, to enjoy everyday life and appreciate my faith a bit more…. The year was beautiful for me because I discovered that I have a good relationship with the Lord. There was no real “best” experience for me. I liked the whole year. I can’t tell you specifics.”

“At first I thought there would be more solitude, more quiet time. And that it would be a very academic thing. There were definitely a lot of challenges. For me, one of the biggest challenges was learning more English. Sometimes I had some difficulties to communicate with others only in English.”

“After novitiate, I plan to go back to English classes again to improve my English and take some regular classes, too, at Laney Community College in Oakland. I feel called to be a brother (instead of an ordained priest), but I don’t really know right now exactly what I will do. I’m having like a disagreement with myself right now about exactly what career I will follow. I would like to be a nurse assistant or a caregiver of some kind because I like to help sick people.”

“When I think of my Franciscan life, I feel blessed. And proud of myself and my family. Because finally I am reaching one of my goals that I was feeling since I was a child. I am especially proud of my family because they taught me my faith, especially my mom, my dad, and one of my grandmothers.”



Brother Scott Slattum, 36, is a native of Salem, Oregon. Prior to his entry into the Franciscan community, he worked as a parish youth minister and director of religious education. In addition, he was active in education and prevention programs for youth affected by alcohol, tobacco, and drug addiction.

As Brother Scott tells it, “I didn’t really come in to the novitiate with expectations. I think I came in pretty much open; I was sort of looking forward to it. I had been very active, very busy in ministry, so I thought it would be great to step back and re-root myself in prayer. I was in a very busy ministry.”

“The year has been excellent. It has been pure gift. At the beginning of our year, our novice master, Brother Regan, asked us to write down our greatest fears. I put down ‘fear of rejection, of not being loveable’. (During the year), I discovered that I am definitely loved and loveable. I found freedom. And I found it in fraternity; it was a turning point for me when John, one of my fellow novices, left. . . . It was painful, but also a very growing moment. I wanted to talk him out of leaving, but I realized that this life is one in which I cannot claim ownership over other people’s love for me, or my love for them.”

“ I was also coming into novitiate with a fear of conflict. Living in community, in close quarters, not having any down time for your brothers, you can’t avoid it. But something happens along the way where you learn to sit with those uncomfortable feelings. Recently, of my brothers and I were struggling with something. We sat down and talked it over. I acknowledged my part and he did his, and then we went forward. The encounter wasn’t anything traumatic; it was sort of “Oh, this is actually nice.”

“Next, I will be moving to St. Elizabeth Parish in Oakland, California after taking some philosophy classes this summer with other student friars at Mission San Luis Rey. In terms of studies, they (our formation directors) are still working on that. I would like to remain a brother. I just feel called to be a brother to others, to walk with people, to journey with them as an equal. One of the things I would like to do is work with alcohol, tobacco, and drug prevention in a community setting.”



Brother Sam Nasada, 33, was born in Jakarta, Indonesia, and worked as an industrial engineer in the Los Angeles area before entering the Franciscans. As far as his novitiate year is concerned, he reports that:

“What I feel right now, toward the end of the year, is that it’s been a long year with a lot of growth. At first, at the beginning of our time together, I didn’t have a lot of expectations, so I came to the novitiate to continue whatever the next process would be in Franciscan life. Maybe I was hoping-- after hearing from previous novices-- to deepen my spirituality, my prayer life. People told me that’s what they experienced most.”

“Now, after a year: it worked! It was probably the biggest growth in me: to become contemplative. It woke up this side in me; something I never thought I would be comfortable with before, since I am not joining a monastic order. To be in silence, to focus on my interior prayer, to be comfortable in that and to enjoy it. It was something gradual. Knowing that having that kind of prayer is soothing, peaceful. Not just the official, or formal prayer time, but throughout the day. And this is the other surprise—it is the contemplative experience I get from working outside in the vineyard, even playing with the cat. All these things. To be really in the moment, to enjoy creation and to be contemplative through and with creation.”

“What’s next? I’ll have come vacation time, summer school, summer camp. After that, definitely philosophy studies. I will be moving to the Bay Area... I am attracted to the priesthood. It has been difficult sometimes (to think about becoming a priest), maybe because most people around me are not looking to ordination. . . . I think I need some more role models… people who have the same desire toward ordination as I do.”

A Book Review: American Grace

American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us
Robert D. Putnam and David E. Campbell
Simon & Schuster: New York
c. 2010, 688pp. US$30.
ISBN: 10: 1416566716

In this exhaustive study of religious beliefs and practices in the United States, Professors Robert D. Putnam (of Harvard) and David E. Campbell (of Notre Dame) have provided a convincing aerial overview one of the most vital, dynamic, and fluid components of contemporary culture. Based upon a two-step, comprehensive interview survey (Faith Matters 2006, 2007) involving the participation of more than 3,000 subjects nationally, this comprehensive survey presents a series of findings that both affirm the importance of organized religion and at the same time call attention to important tensions (‘shocks’ and ‘aftershocks) that challenge its traditional role. Religious pluralism in America, they conclude, is thriving, yet shares a remarkable coexistence with polarization.

The authors concur that, unique among citizens of post-industrial societies in the world, Americans are an especially religious and religiously observant people—with more than 83% reporting that they belong to a specific religion, 59% reporting that they pray at least once a week, 40% reporting attendance at weekly services, , and nearly one-third responding that they read scripture once a week. This surprising depth, breadth, and resilience of American religious beliefs and practices, the authors attribute in part to the unique nature of United States society. The absence of a religious monopoly combined with an atmosphere of religious liberty has enabled faith involvement to flourish for more than two centuries.

At the same time that the authors point up to both the vibrant diversity and relative tolerance of contemporary American society with regard to religion, they also note three specific “societal shocks” that have generated current tensions and the emergence of a “fault line” separating evangelical Christians from others . The first, they maintain, was the period of “the sexually libertine 1960s,” which subsequently produced “a prudish aftershock of growth in conservative religion, especially evangelicalism, and an even more pronounced cultural presence for evangelicals, most noticeably in the political arena.” They assert that this evangelical revival emerged in the 1970s and began to recede by the early 1990s— sparked more by personal moral concerns rather than hot-button political issues: “Abortion and same-sex marriage are the glue holding the coalition of the religious together.”

The second aftershock from the Long Sixties—one which they assert is still reverberating—is that “a growing number of young people have come to disavow religion. “The politicization of religion has triggered a negative reaction among osme, mostly young, Americans… they perceive it as an extension of partisan politics with which they do not agree.” America is still a relatively religious country, but one with a growing “swath” of secularism, with approximately 15% of their respondents reporting no religious affiliation whatsoever.

Paradoxically, Putnam and Campbell maintain, that both religious pluralism and religious polarization somehow manage to coexist within American society. This, they explain, “lies in the face that, in America, religion is highly fluid…. Religions compete, adapt, and evolve as individual Americans freely move from one congregation to another, and even from one religion to another.” One third to one-half of all marriages, they maintain, are interfaith. Roughly one-third of Americans have changed religious affiliation during their lifetime. When it comes to religious identity and affiliation, they maintain, brand loyalty in terms of denominational identity is weak and traffic moves freely in and out of specific groups and communities. The consequent churn may cause people to realign into specific, like-minded clusters—but not necessarily bunkers—of coreligionists. On a grassroots level, they cite the Aunt Susan principle: we all have an Aunt Susan in our lives: “the sort of person who epitomizes what it means to be a saint, but whose religious background is different from our own.”

In terms of their consideration of the state of the Catholic Church in US society, the authors point to the maintenance of a steady, consistent bloc of about 25% of all Americans who identify themselves as Catholics—a proportion which has remained relatively unchanged over decades. At the same time, they are quick to note that this proportion has been maintained largely through immigration of Latinos. In contrast, “Anglo Catholics” have been leaving the Church in droves: “In terms of people in pews, the Catholic Church has lost roughly one-quarter of its strength over the last thirty-five years.” Elsewhere, their assessment is even more blunt: “…roughly 60 percent of all Americans today who were reared as Catholics are no longer practicing Catholics, half of them having left the church entirely…” This assessment is not news to anyone who has been following the institutional Church since Vatican II, but it is nevertheless disconcerting for this observant Catholic to see it verified so baldly.

Putnam and Campbell have established in an empirical way what historians and other cultural observers have already noted over time about the vitality and resilience of religious beliefs, values, and practices in American life. In this seminal work, they have effectively described the environment and named the issues at play in our own era.//

Brother Kelly Cullen ofm (1953-2010)

It’s a beautiful, picture-perfect Sunday morning here in Oceanside, California. There’s a breath of chill in the air letting us know that our winter is on its way. Still, the sun is high in the sky—warm with the promise of another beautiful day. We are so blessed to live here.

As some of you may have already learned, one of our Franciscan friars here at the parish and Old Mission San Luis Rey—Brother Kelly Cullen ofm—died suddenly while on pilgrimage in Italy last week. He was 57 years old. We just received the news on Saturday (November 13), so we don’t have any details to provide you yet. As soon as we learn more, we will keep you informed. In the meantime, please pray for the repose of the soul of our brother—and for God’s consolation and peace for his family and family of friends, of whom there are a great many. Thank you.

For those of you who knew Brother Kelly (in addition to his responsibilities as program director at the Retreat Center, he served as a lector and Eucharistic Minister at the Parish), you will agree that he was a real force of nature. Spontaneous, open, frank, kind and deeply generous, he touched so many people with his humor, his honesty, and his love of the Lord and his love of Life itself. We will all miss his beautiful voice and his nearly infallible recall of almost every film and show tune know to humankind.



We his brothers are still reeling from the shock. Please keep us in your prayers as well.

Before he left for Italy with Kay Sempel, one of our devoted lay Covenant volunteers here at San Luis Rey—they were scouting out hotels, restaurants and sites for a group he was hoping to lead—Brother Kelly wrote this note to his friends. I would like to share it with you:

Praise be You my Lord for my Sisters and Brothers
So Generous and Good to me,
Abounding in Love and Kindness
Showing me Your Most Holy Face.
These, Your Special Children
I shall hold close on my journey
To the town of Francis and Clare
And as the dawn light Seeks to Praise You,
As the sunsets fly Your Brilliance,
As I sit in silence before You at Your Saints’ Tombs,
I shall Lift them Up to You, O Most Holy God
And pray You bless them and all their loved ones
Blessing them with All the Daily Bread they need:
For Life!



May God’s Light Shine on You, Brother Kelly.
And may you rest in peace.

Visiting the "New" Old Mission San Miguel: A Work in Progress

Recently, I had the chance to drive up the Coast from southern California toward the Bay Area for a workshop. Right off Highway 101, I made a pit stop at Old Mission San Miguel to visit the friars and spend the night. I hadn’t been to San Miguel in quite a while (I lived there once for a year as a novice) and was curious to see how the restoration of this historic mission (founded in 1797 by Fray Fermin Francisco de Lasuén ) was progressing. The church and adjacent convento area had been heavily damaged by the San Simeon earthquake of December 22, 2003 (6.5 on the Richter scale). Since then, the Mission had been closed to the public until sufficient repairs could completed. Finally, the sanctuary was reopened for worship on the Mission’s patronal feast day, September 29, 2009. But there is still much to be done.



Approaching the site, I was taken aback by the clean, severe outline of the old Mission church itself. The visual effect is arresting. With extraneous vegetation around the church building cleared from the site, the rectangular structure now has a stark, dynamic and surprisingly contemporary appearance. The newly applied white plaster is brilliant in direct sunlight against the clear, deep blue skies of central California. The entire white lime plaster façade covering the sun-dried adobe brick walls has now been completely refinished. Skilled craftsmen, some of them from Oaxaca, Mexico, had been recruited to realize the surface treatment done by means of the traditional rejuelar technique. It is a method in which fired clay tile pieces are set tightly into lime plaster in grooves cut into the wall. The grooves with a rectangular cross section provide a mechanical interlock into the adobe masonry. Ingeniously, a chemical bond formed between the lime plaster and the fired clay, secure the plaster quite securely to the wall surface and structure. (Boletin, 23).

In terms of the church’s interior, visitors already familiar with the sanctuary will be struck by how little appears to have changed over the decades. The effect is, in part, intentional. New replacement windows frames, for example, were given the same chipped and weather beaten appearance as the materials they had replaced. This is, in part, a reflection of a perspective on restoration which holds that a refurbished environment ought not be returned to its original state, but rather, like a piece of antique furniture, should be permitted to reflect in its lived history, knicks, sratches and all.



Other significant changes are easily overlooked. For one thing, most of the 29 vigas, or roof timbers that stretch across the 26-foot width of the room have been either replaced or reinforced. The damaged lintel over the main entrance has been entirely replaced and the area around it reinforced so that one can safely pass through without concern that the whole shebang might come tumbling down.



But what about the magnificent frescoed interior walls, the wooden pulpit, and the wood and plaster reredos that give San Miguel the distinction of being the only one of the Alta California missions with completely intact interior decoration dating from the time church’s construction (c.1821)? The good news is that these remarkable frescoes and church furniture survived the multiple (and major) earthquakes (1857, 1952, 2003) virtually unscathed. The bad news is that they are, nevertheless, quite fragile and still in dire need of attention.



The origin of the interior decoration is a fascinating tale. Spaniard
Esteban Munrás (1789-1850) traveled from his native Barcelona to California via Lima, Peru. Together with a team of trained native Salinan Indians at the Mission, Munras was able to realize an interior decorative scheme with stenciled neo-classical colonnades and Greek key patterning reflective of then-contemporary Continental taste. The overall effect of the interior design is one of airy lightness, freshness, simplicity, and glowing warmth—seemingly in defiance of the structure’s otherwise ponderous five-foot thick adobe walls. Presently, there are just three window openings along the west side of the sanctuary instead of the six in the original construction. One can only imagine the dazzling effect of entering into such a light-filled environment—a startling moment of early 19th century European urbanity in what was then the California wilderness. When one realizes that these seemingly pencilled frescoes have been achieved only with a thin white lime-wash layer over a ½- inch thick earthen plaster surface, one begins to comprehend their fragility—and to marvel at their survival.



Like all of the other California missions, San Miguel was secularized (1834) and the resident friars subsequently sent into exile following the independence of Mexico from Spain. In 1846, the site was acquired by Petronillo Rios and William Reed. Tragically, shortly afterwards, all eleven members of the Reed household who had taken up residence in the Mission, were murdered by a band of wandering thieves. It was not until 1859 that Catholic Church successfully regained title to the Mission buildings (but not adjacent lands) from US President Buchanan. In 1878, the Mission church began to function as a place of worship again.

In 1928, the Franciscans returned to San Miguel after a hiatus of nearly a century. The friars began restoration efforts in earnest and expanded the facility to provide room for a novitiate, or training facility for new members of the order. In more recent decades, a full-service retreat center as well has offered hospitality to church and community groups on an ongoing basis. The friars have served the people of the area in terms of ministry, but limited financial resources precluded any major restoration effort. Until the 2003 earthquake, that is. Following the disaster, a major capital campaign was initiated and to date, about $9.7m of the $15 million goal has been achieved.



Today, once again, the Mission serves as a center of hospitality and evangelization for thousands of visitors who, like myself, drive the length of the El Camino Real, or the King’s Highway from the Bay Area to southern California. And it continues to house a vibrant parish community. In fact, while experts were struggling over the restoration of the historic church and adjacent convento, parishioners embarked upon an heroic project to realize a long-held dream: the construction of a handsome $1.0 million parish center close by. The friars are still and active and vital presence at the Mission as well, staffing both parish and novitiate. At present, in fact, we have six men completing their year-and-a-day formation process in preparation for their first vows next July.



For more than two centuries, Old Mission San Miguel has been well-served by its patron and protector, St. Michael the Archangel. It has not only survived, but overcome a number of disasters, including fires (early on), bloodshed, confiscation, abandonment, and neglect. Not to mention again three recorded earthquakes, all in excess of 6.0 on the Richter scale. The Mission remains, but so do its tremendous and pressing financial needs. If restoration is to be completed, a few more terrestrial “angels” will have to join Archangel Michael to secure the “mission of the Mission” for future generations.// Old Mission San Miguel website: http://www.missionsanmiguel.org/restoration


Reference: “Repair and Conservation of Mission San Miguel, 2004-2009”, Brother Bill Short et al. Boletín, Journal of the California Mission Studies Association, (vol.26: 1 & 2, 2009).

True Conversions No.14: Anne Rice

Called Out of Darkness; A Spiritual Confession
Anne Rice
New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2008, 245pp., $24.00
ISBN: 978-0-307-39759-1 (bound)

On December 6, 1998, Anne Rice, a financially successful and internationally celebrated author of some twenty-five novels-- starting with the now-classic Interview with the Vampire— made the decision to return to the Catholic faith of her childhood. Not totally a conversion, however; the process and event appear to be more on the order of a spiritual homecoming. Nevertheless, Rice’s decision amazed her avid readers and fans, as did a subsequent decision in 2005 to devote all of her future writing to the exploration of religious themes consistent with her newly rediscovered Christian faith. Published in 20008, Called out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession marks the conclusion of the first decade of Rice’s re-conversion. Now, more securely rooted in her faith identity and commitment, she reflects upon the journey and process which prompted her initial spiritual quest.

The first half of the book is dedicated to Rice’s childhood in New Orleans—the child of a struggling blue-collar family straddling the adjacent, but separate worlds of the Garden District and Irish Channel neighborhoods. She was born into a third-generation Irish Catholic home, and the intimate world of experience she describes is one which would be immediately identifiable to anyone brought up in a similar Catholic enclave (circa 1940-60) in any major urban area in the United States. Here, the Church, most especially the parish church, was the spiritual heart and hearth of both families and entire neighborhoods. The protected and secure world of the Church affected every aspect of life. It marked the passing of the day and the procession of the year according to its holydays: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost, Corpus Christi. Saints were not only household names, they were members of the extended family and their intercession was sought on matters great and small.

In this highly devotional—and sensual—world of sights and smells and sounds, Rice absorbed an aesthetically-inspired faith: “My earliest experiences involved beauty; my strongest memories are of beautiful things I saw, things which evoked such profound feeling in me that I often felt pain.” Her hopes and longings were part of a dreamlike landscape in which, clearly, God and Beauty were one and the same. At college (Texas Woman’s University), away from home and exiled from this protective Catholic universe, Rice discovered a wider world of experience: one which both shocked and tantalized her. She soon shed her childhood Catholicism and immersed herself in its invitations and offerings.



What seems like a lifetime later, Rice the author returns both to New Orleans and to the Church. Her rediscovery of faith and re-immersion into the aesthetic comforts and consolations of the physical vestiges of her childhood reawaken her childhood longings for God and communion with that God. She buys several buildings in her old neighborhood, including the now-derelict parish church of St. Alphonsus. Other people enter the scene—she reconnects with her Catholic relatives, who to her amazement, are nothing like the narrow-minded and bigoted denizens of her childhood: “ I was picking up the pieces of a Catholic childhood with these significant purchases. I was forming alliances with those still within the fold. I was keeping company with their loving kindness and their daily faith.”



These rekindled relationships, to some extent become real-life replacements for the characters of the novels penned in her years as a self-proclaimed atheist: “The novel (Interview) was also an obvious lament for my lost faith. The vampires roam in a world without God; and Louis, the heartbroken hero, searches for a meaningful context in vain.” Art plus people plus longing plus a willingness to enter into the journey plus a compelling presentiment of being pursued by God—all of this informed and impelled her reconciliation.

In a nutshell, Rice’s conversion has an aspect totally consistent with her aesthetic bent and romantic longings. But is that enough? She seems to have been blissfully unaware and even unaffected by the major convulsions, both individual and societal around her. The major shifts and ensuing tensions within the Catholic Church and the world do not seem to have intruded upon her private devotion: “For just about thirty years, I’d suffered such an aversion to Catholicism that I avoided any mention of it anywhere, including any sustained contact w/ anyone who was Catholic. I’d heard rumblings of big changes in the Catholic Church, horror stories of the loss of the Latin liturgy, of an English Mass. I’d heard that the great church council Vatican II was responsible for this artistic disaster. I’d heard that thousands of priests and nuns had left the church. But I didn’t really know what was happening in contemporary Catholicism.” Who and where are the other inhabitants of the Catholic community Rice has now embraced? What is her connection with them personally,intellectually, spiritually?



The narrative is smooth and apparently seemless. No signs of struggle; not a hair out of place. Even the culminating moment of her decision is described with relative detachment as “ a determination to give in to something deeply believed and deeply felt. I loved God. I loved Him with my whole heart. I loved Him in the Person of Jesus Christ, and I wanted to go back to Him.” At the same time, there are hints of significant subterranean rumblings: the early death of her mother from alcholism; her immersion into the tumultuous world of the San Francisco Bay Area in the Sixties and beyond; her marriage to and subsequent loss of her husband, poet Stanley Rice. The author alludes to these events, experiences, and relationships without drilling down into the substance of their emotional/ spiritual impact on her life and spiritual quest. Her spiritual memoir is more descriptive than revealing.



Finally, there is an interesting Franciscan sidebar to Rice’s account. As a child, she is instinctively drawn to the heroism of the little poor man of Assisi: “I hungered for something beyond martyrdom—the greatness of St. Francis of Assisi, leaving his rich father, to found the Franciscan Order and reform the entire church. I hungered for a spectacular life of extraordinary triumphs, and I don’t think I understood anything really about obedience or humility in terms of this sort of life.” Later in life, a fortuitous discovery of a statue of a crucified Christ reaching from the Cross to embrace Francis serves as a significant personal icon. On a subsequent trip to Brazil, she spies the same, now treasured image: Never had I seen a statue that so reflected the disparate elements of my earlier faith. “Here was the sensuality and excess and the spirituality which I had so loved.” And today, ironically, she is a member of St. Francis of Assisi Church, Coachella Valley, California.//

The Feast of St. Francis: A Homily Reflection

(Matthew 11: 25-30)
“At that time Jesus said in reply, ‘I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to the childlike. Yes, Father, such has been your gracious will.

“’All things have been handed over to me by my Father. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.

"’Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for your selves.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.’"

Today, we honor St. Francis of Assisi. A great saint in the Catholic Church. A great saint in the Christian tradition, revered by members of many denominations. A truly holy man, respected by people of good will who may belong to no particular spiritual tradition at all. Today, after eight hundred years, the figure of Francis continues to attract, edify, and inspire people. But why?

For us as Christians in the Catholic tradition, the saints are not especially significant in and of themselves. We respect, revere, and admire them primarily because we recognize that they were close to God, close to Jesus Christ. And that transforming ‘closeness’, which is so evident becomes tremendously appealing to us.

Here at our parish (Mission San Luis Rey), we’ve been spending a wonderful weekend together to commemorate and celebrate the feast of St. Francis. Last night in the Old Mission Church, we gathered with our Franciscan sisters, parishioners, and members of the Secular Franciscans (as well as our Benedictine brothers from nearby Prince of Peace Abbey) to celebrate the Transitus of St. Francis—the passing of St. Francis from this life into eternal life.



And yesterday, here at the parish, we celebrated St. Francis Day, a “funraiser” for our parish school involving a number of different groups in our parish family. Part of that wonderful celebration was the blessing of animals. Father Luis and I must have blessed more than a hundred pets during the day. People brought lots and lots of dogs, but, understandably, not so many cats at the same time. We also blessed a rabbit, three chickens and a rooster, and a lizard (gecko). It was great, but I confess last year’s blessing was a bit more exotic: we had a horse, a cricket, and a tarantula. Actually, I was hoping for more of the same this time around. I wanted to bless a centipede so I could say, “If I’ve blessed you once, I’ve blessed you a hundred times,” but it didn’t work out.

Seriously, as we were blessing all these wonderful pets, I began to realize—wait a minute, we are not just blessing them; we are acknowledging that these wonderful creatures (“criaturas” in Spanish) are a blessing to us. They bless us with their presence, and they can bring us closer to God, as well. They teach us so much about friendship, loyalty, and affection. No wonder then, that St. Francis should be the patron saint of animals. He understood that our Brother and Sister pets, as God’s own criaturas, contain a spark of Creation, part of the life of the Spirit itself given to them in their lives. And in their closeness to God.



To return to Francis. Everything Francis learned about God, he learned from Jesus. In particular, he learned to get close to God in and through the example of the intimacy of Jesus with the Father. Today’s Gospel from Matthew (Chapter 11) is illustrative. Jesus’ disciples have just completed a mission to the towns of Galilee, their home turf. They have done as Jesus instructed: they have gone to teach, preach, and heal. They return, no doubt feeling dejected and despondent; their message has been rejected. Jesus starts to call out—quite literally—the towns of Galilee for their unresponsiveness. But suddenly, what might have been only a curse turns instead into a remarkable prayer, and even blessing.

We are given a privileged opportunity here to listen to Jesus’ prayer—in language that would appear to come straight out of the gospel of John rather than any of the synoptics. Jesus calls God “Father”, or better yet, “Abba,” or “Daddy”/ “Papa.” He proceeds to observe that God has chosen to reveal Himself to the “childlike,” by which He is referring to his own disciples. Notice this is “childlike” not “childish.” The best part of childlike behavior is the best part of childhood itself: openness, innocence, spontaneity, and joy.

Jesus goes on to speak to these childlike disciples—who, in a way, are proxies for ourselves. He knows full well their (and our own) struggles, pain, frustrations, doubts and fears. And He offers to help to bear the burden—to share the yoke with these “yokels” —as team of draft animals would share the plowing of a field, lightening the burden each of the other.

In this wonderful story, Jesus invites us to get close.--really close—to himself. Francis, for his part, allowed Jesus to get close to him. Again, it’s really what made him a saint. That closeness, that intimacy, transformed his life and filled it with the life and light of Christ. It didn’t turn Francis into a perfect person. Frankly, Francis’s life was pretty messy all the way through—right on up to his premature death in his early forties due, no doubt in part, to the neglect of his physical health. But what changed, deeply transformed his life spiritually was the realization that God had a hold of him and would never, ever let him go. God invites us to get close to Him, as well—to allow him to grab hold of us and to transform our lives in his Love. And along with that invitation comes his promise: that once He has hold of us God will never, ever let us go. //



Images: (top and bottom) from: http://idlespeculations-terryprest.blogspot.com Artist: Aiden Hart