Breviaries? What good are Breviaries?

“Good morning, Brothers. Today we celebrate the dedication of St. Mary Major in Rome. We will take the common of the Blessed Virgin starting on page 1732 in the one-volume. Psalms and canticles from Sunday, Week I, starting on page 707. The opening hymn is No. 162, “Hail, Holy Queen”. And we will recite the Benedictus in Spanish…. Please stand….”

Okaaaay... Well, welcome to morning prayer in a typical Franciscan community anywhere in North America. Twice a day, the friars gather to pray the Liturgy of the Hours (formerly known as the Divine Office) together. In doing so, we join our collective prayer with that of the universal Church.

The prayerbook we pray from is called a “breviary” (pronounced BREEVuree) As you may have already guessed, it is meant to be a ‘brief’ or ‘condensed’ collection of the psalms, canticles, readings from Scriptures, and hymns used in daily communal worship. Tradiitionally, this type of worship was restricted to religious communities, but now it is more frequently experienced and enjoyed by laypeople as well. The selection of specific prayers may vary day to day (hence, the complicated football plays at the start of this article) due to various celebrations and liturgical seasons. But there is an overall rhythm to the sequence of prayers and, once you get the hang of it, it begins to serve as a consistent background and foundation to individual and collective worship.

The Liturgy of the Hours has its inspiration and remote origins in the Temple worship of the Jews in Jerusalem—morning and evening prayers which at first accompanied ritual sacrifice, and then later served as a de facto substitute for that sacrifice. In the Christian tradition, the Liturgy of the Hours continues that spirit of dedication to daily and even unceasing prayer, most especially in the context of monastic life. Originally, monks would pray all 150 psalms of David every single day. But in the interests of practicality, the chanting of the psalms eventually spread out over the course of a single week, particularly in the Benedictine tradition.

With the rise of the mendicant orders (Franciscans, Dominicans, etc.) in the thirteenth century in the West, the recitation/ chanting of the Divine Office became even more “brief.” Itinerant friars could not spare the time to pray all of the nine liturgical “hours” that tradition required. They were and are busy (sometimes too busy) people. Consequently, the recitation of psalms in the monastic weekly cycle eventually gave way to the current four-week cycle. The breviary adopted and adapted by the Franciscans was that of the Pope’s own court, or Curia, and eventually became the standard for all “apostolic” communities (i.e., those involved in active ministry). Its present form dates from the reforms of Vatican II, implemented in 1974.



So what good are ‘breviaries’? Well, Francis of Assisi put a great deal of stock in them (literally). In our Rule, Francis wrote: “Let the clerical (brothers) recite the Divine Office according to the rite of the holy Roman Church excepting the psalter, for which reason they may have breviaries.” (RB,III:1). In the time of Francis and Clare and before the invention of the printing press, breviaries were precious, one-of-a-kind objects. Francis would never have permitted the friars to possess such expensive prayerbooks unless he believed that a more important spiritual value was at stake. And he was right!

For Franciscans today, the recitation of the Liturgy of the Hours from our breviaries forms the background music of community worship and life. Twice a day, if at all possible, we try to get together to pray. Community prayer brings us together, shapes and molds us spiritually, reminds us who we are and whose we are, and strengthens the bonds of connection between and among us. We could not have survived and flourished for eight hundred years without it.



Of course, the experience of the Liturgy of the Hours recited from the breviary will vary from house to house. So much depends upon the unity and ‘spirit of devotion’ of each particular fraternity. Some places the friars put tremendous energy and passion into communal prayer; other places, the brothers just seem to drone and drag on forever. Welcome to community life! We ain’t in heaven yet, kiddo. But the important thing is that, inspite of ups and downs and in-betweens, we do pray. We have this steady flow of brother-beside-brother praying through which the Lord continues to knit our lives together.

“Like a deer that longs for flowing water, so my soul longs for you, my God.”…. “Oh God, you are my God, for you I long.”….. “Have mercy, O God, have mercy. In your compassion, blot out my offense. Truly I have sinned against you….” Snatches of poetic meter wend and weave their way in and through our individual and collective thoughts, prayers, and longings throughout the day. Over time, they provide us with a rich collective vocabulary in prayer. Poetic, yes; but not limited to poetry. The psalms are tough and sinewy; strong and durable as well. They not only affect us, but they serve to form us as well. It’s the persistence of commitment and effort over time rather than any aesthetic intention which give the psalms, part of the God’s own Living Word, such power and presence.



If you would like to start to pray the Liturgy of the Hours on your own, I can recommend a great starter volume: Shorter Christian Prayer (Catholic Book Publishing) is a slim and handy tome which contains the fundamentals: the complete texts of Morning and Evening Prayer for the entire year. If, in time, you feel ready to enter into the complexities of shifting proper and seasonal readings, then you can graduate to the one-volume Litury of the Hours (also available through Catholic Book Publishing Co.). Either edition will put you in good stead. There is also a special breviary with an adapted Franciscan supplement, and a fancy-schmanzy four-volume set as well. But keep it simple. In this case, you really don’t need all the extra smells and bells.

Where and if at all possible, I would highly recommend finding a way where you can pray the Liturgy of the Hours with others. Some religious communities will gather together in their parish churches to pray on a regular basis with laypeople (we usually don’t because we have such varying work schedules). Or you can find a prayer group which makes its recitation a central part of its purpose.

Either way, becoming acquainted with the Liturgy of the Hours through the breviary is well worth it. It gives us, individually and collectively, a wonderful opportunity to enter into the power and beauty of the Word. What good are breviaries? Well, I happen to think they’re pretty darn good, through and through. //

The Transfiguration: A Meditation by Cardinal Martini on Mount Tabor

August 6, 2008. The Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord. A little more than a year ago, (June 30 – July 8, 2007), I was part of an international group of more than 200 “young” friars—those in solemn profession for under ten years-- who gathered in the Holy Land as pilgrims. This special meeting, or “chapter of mats” as it is called in Franciscan parlance, was to prepare for the celebration of the 800th anniversary of the Rule of St. Francis in 2009.



As part of that event, we moved from site to site to observe, study, pray, and experience as brothers the lands of the Bible. On July 5, 2007, we were privileged to spend an entire day on Mount Tabor, a venue which tradition associates with the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord. At that time, we received a special conference from Cardinal Carlo Maria Martini, retired Jesuit cardinal archbishop of Milan and internationally respected Scripture scholar. At 81, the Cardinal was in fragile health—he suffers from Parkinson’s disease-- yet in surprisingly full voice as shared his reflections. Speaking in Italian (roving translators whispered his remarks to various clusters of friars), he told that he had been coming to Mount Tabor for the past twenty years to spend his annual retreat. He demonsrated an intimate knowledge of the place, and he recited relevant Scriptural passages from memory:



“Jesus, when you came to this mountain, what were You praying? What was your meditation about? The Gospel says nothing. Maybe you don’t want us to know. Maybe You were meditating without a topic. Or, if there was a theme, it may have been about the Kingdom of God, so central to your ministry. All three synoptic Gospels tell about the event, especially Luke 9:27. You spoke about the Kingdom of God, not just for your own time but for all time. Because the Kingdom of God manifests the fullness of all time and of eternity.

I will recite the passage in Luke by heart. I prefer to rely upon my memory since I have read and prayed and meditated upon it so many times here. The Gospels do not mention any specific mountain. Where is it? Well, it could be Mount Tabor. Jesus: his garments are so white, so brilliant. So peaceful. He is shown in the fullness, in the plenitude of his Glory. But Jesus is not by himself. Moses and Elijah are there. There are not (standing) in silence. What are they speaking about? Things that have changed the course of history? Peter says something stupid. Maybe it is winter, so he is thinking tents would be better….

This story is not just for us to contemplate. Rather, we need to grasp the consequences of it for our lives and in today’s world. The cloud comes. It represents our fear. Then the Father speaks about the Son: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.” This is the central theme of the story. Our methodology here is that of lectio divina. Part I: we read the text. Part II: We question the message.



Part I: We read the text. We look at the central fact of this event, the glorification of Jesus. The Kingdom of God is anticipated by the disciples. It is a Kingdom not just for now, but for all time. It is the ultimate: (the) God of all in all. At this time in my life, I am on the waiting list. I face the end of my time. And the end of time itself. (In this Gospel passage) we experience the dream of God: a diverse and united family given to the Father. This is the vision which strengthens us: the fullness of the manifestation of God as Absolute Truth manifested in us. I refer to St. Paul when he says, “I count all of my sufferings as nothing…” We have to have this definitive vision and call.



Jesus, why did You appear with Moses and Elijah? Why not with Abraham or someone else from the Old Testament? Why didn’t you just appear in your glory all by yourself? Why these figures from the Old Testament? Jesus is incomprehensible without the Old Testament. He was loved, admired, and appreciated by his people. He is a Jew, the son of Mary. He is part of a tradition still alive in this country. If we want to understand Jesus fully, we must understand Him in the context of his culture.

Why Moses? Moses understood the Law as the Word of God written down to be lived… The Torah is about service, a way of conducting one’s life. In order to live fully, we must adopt certain values, have a certain discipline and order in our lives. For example, I go to bed at exactly the same time every night. Today, with cell phones and computers, it is so important for us to put order into our lives.

Why Eijah? Elijah is the prophet of surprises. According to Moses, God is in observance. In Elijah, God is the God of surprises. We should not be afraid of new things in our lives. They are a manifestation of the Kingdom.

What did Moses and Elijah speak to Jesus about? They spoke about the Exodus, the freedom from slavery for the Jews. The return to their own land. (This speaks to us of) the exodus of Jesus to Jerusalem (Luke 13, 3 ff). The prophet must die in Jerusalem! Jerusalem is the end and object of your pilgrimage. And for me too, now, at the end of my life. There is a red line through all of history which leads to Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem and opens the world to the light of God. Never forget Jerusalem!

Peter and his companions are there. (we experience) their superficiality. Peter speaks about what is so beautiful. He is speaking about aesthetics, but aesthetics are not enough. Like us, Peter is afraid of silence, of coming closer to God. He is so afraid of silence. How do we speak to God at such a time? Peter is invited to come closer.



Part II: Question the message. Jesus, you ask us not to be worried about success. With my life I want to show that You are right. I want to follow You just as Francis followed You.

In your contemplation, here are some suggestions for your prayer: Remember the importance of the big picture, the larger vision and perspective. (cf. Hebrews 11, 27ff). We need to learn to walk with God without seeing. We need to remember that there is a sense to everything we do—even in the most insignificant things we don’t even like doing.

Prayer transfigures us (with Jesus). If we are to pray in the proper way, we must be prepared and attentive. Sit in silence, adoration, and humility. Prayer will change your heart and your face will be brilliant with light. Take the example of Moses and the Torah. Learn quickly to give order to your life—eat, read, study in accord with Jesus, linked with His presence in the world. Put yourself before Jesus: Jesus, you are right. I want to do Your Will."

St. Francis, pray for us. All the saints in heaven, pray for us.//

Feast of Our Lady of the Angels of the Portiuncula

Happy Feast of the Portiuncula!
On this day, members of the Franciscan family around the world honor the birthplace of the Order of Friars Minor (OFM), the penitential movement founded by our Seraphic Father, Francis of Assisi.
The term “Portiuncula” itself refers specifically to a small piece of land – hence, the “little portion” or “Porziuncula” in Italian— containing an abandoned chapel ceded to St. Francis himself by the Benedictine monks of Monte Subasio on this day in the year 1208. According to our history and tradition, Francis personally worked on the restoration of this tiny church (it measures just 22 by 13 feet) located 5 km. outside the city walls of Assisi. It was here on Palm Sunday, 1211, that Francis received St. Clare into religious life. It was here that during the lifetime of Francis, the General Chapters (or conferences) of the nascent Order were held, usually at Pentecost. And it was here, at the Little Portion, that Francis died at sunset on October 3, 1226. Since then, the site has been continuously maintained by the friars.



The Franciscans’ enduring affection for the Portiuncula as both a place and a significant part of the life of Francis himself is eloquently told in the words of Thomas of Celano, his official biographer:

“Francis, the servant of God,
was small in stature,
humble in attitude, and lesser by profession.
While living in the world
He chose a little portion of the world
For himself and his followers,
Since he could not serve Christ
Unless he had something of this world.
Since ancient times, prophetically,
This place was called, “the little Portion,”
Sine it was the lot ceded to those who wished to hold nothing of this world.
In this place
There was a church built for the Virgin Mother,
Who by her unique humility
Deserved, after her Son, to be the head of all the saints,
It is here the Order of the Lesser Ones
Had its beginning.
As their numbers increased,
There “a noble structure arose
Upon their solid foundation.”
The saint loved this place more than any other.
He commanded his brothers
To venerate it with special reverence.
He wanted it, like a mirror of the Order,
Always preserved in humility and highest poverty,
And therefore kept its ownership in the hands of others,
Keeping for himself and his brothers only the use of it.”
(Thomas Celano: The Remembrance of the Desire of a Soul, Chapter XII).



A later biographer of Francis, St. Bonaventure wrote in his Major Life of St. Francis:
“Francis had great devotion to the Queen of the world and when he saw that the church was deserted, he began to live there constantly in order to repair it. He heard that the Angels often visited it, so that it was called Saint Mary of the Angels, and he decided to stay there permanently out of reverence for the angels and love for the Mother of Christ.
“He loved this spot more than any other in the world. It was here he began his religious life in a very small way; it is here he came to a happy end. When he was dying, he commended this spot above all others to the friars, because it was most dear to the Blessed Virgin….”
“As he was living there by the church of Our Lady, Francis prayed to her who had conceived the Word, full of grace and truth, begging her insistently and with tears to become his advocate. Then he was granted the true spirit of the Gospel by the intercession of the Mother of mercy and he brought it to fruition. He embraced the Mother of Our Lord Jesus with indescribable love because, as he said, it was she who made the Lord of majesty our brother, and through her we found mercy. After Christ, he put all his trust in her and took her as his patroness for himself and his friars.”

Since the construction of the present-day Basilica of Our Lady of the Angels (1569-1679) the Portiuncula has been enclosed within the sanctuary of that magnificent Baroque edifice. Furthermore, over the centuries, both the façade and interior of the structure have been adorned with magnificent frescoes. Still, despite its surrounding architectural splendor, the Portiuncula retains something of its original spirit of its poverty and simplicity.
The Portiuncula continues to be revered as a pilgrimage destination for Catholic Christians to this day. And the tradition of the Pardon of Assisi (an indulgence, or remission of punishment due to sins) granted by Pope Pope Honorius III in 1216, has since been extended to Franciscan churches throughout the world on this date.


In our own time, the Portiuncula has achieved a contemporary cachet by serving as the site for the annual World Day of Prayer in Assisi inaugurated by the late Pope John Paul II on October 27, 1986. In the presence of representatives of the world’s major religious traditions present, the Holy Father paid tribute to the example and challenge of Francis and Clare in the persistent search for world peace—a peace which continues to both attract and elude us:

“What we have done today at Assisi, praying and witnessing to our commitment to peace, we must continue to do every day of our life. For what we have done today’s is vital for the world. If the world is going to continue, and men and women are to survive in it, the world cannot do without prayer.
‘This is the permanent lesson of Assisi: it is the lesson of Saint Francis who embodied an attractive ideal for us; it is the lesson of Saint Clare, his first follower. It is an ideal composed of meekness, humility, a deep sense of God and a commitment to serve all. Saint Francis was a man of peace.
‘We recall that he abandoned the military career he had followed for a while in his youth, and discovered the value of poverty, the value of a simple and austere life, in imitation of Jesus Christ whom he intended to serve. Saint Clare was the woman, par excellence, of prayer. Her union with God in prayer sustained Francis and his followers, as it sustains us today. Francis and Clare are examples of peace: with God, with oneself, with all men and women in this world. May this holy man and this holy woman inspire all people today to have the same strength of character and love of God and neighbour to continue on the path we must walk together.’


As a final note, today is also the ‘feast day’ of the City of Los Angeles, California, whose official name is “El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciúncula or The Town of Our Lady the Queen of Angels of the Little Portion.” In fact, the official seal of the City of Los Angeles is encircled by the seven decades of the “Franciscan Crown” or rosary! In addition, the foundation of the new Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles, contains a stone from the Portiuncula presented by the friars of Assisi to the people of Los Angeles in 1997.


As we honor Our Lady of the Angels, may we find inspiration for our own growth and development in the Gospel way of life that Saint Francis embraced and lived so completely:



Salutation Of The Blessed Virgin
by Saint Francis of Assisi
Hail Holy Lady most holy Queen,
Mary Mother of God.
Chosen by the Father in heaven
 consecrated by Him.
 With His most beloved Son and
Holy Spirit Comforter,
On you descended and still remains
 fullness of grace
 and every good.
Hail His palace and His robe, 
Mary Mother of God. 
Hail His handmaid lowly and pure, 
Loving servant of the Lord.
 Hail holy virtues given by God
 to all the faithful in the world,
So that we may no longer be faithless, but may become the
servants of the Lord. - AMEN

Friar Philippe Yates: From Cambridge to Canterbury via Assisi

Friar Philippe Yates ofm is Principal of the Franciscan International Study Centre in Canterbury, England, where he has taught since 1997. He is also currently a definitor and secretary for formation and studies in the English province of the Immaculate Conception. Philippe studied at the University of Cambridge, the Franciscan International Study Centre, the University of Kent, St. Paul University, Ottawa and the Pontifical University Antonianum, Rome. He is a published author on Franciscan history and canon law. He has also has been invited to lecture at the Franciscan Institute at St. Bonaventure University in New York, and is currently a member of the Commission for the Retrieval of the Franciscan Intellectual Tradition. His current research interests are in Franciscan law, modern Franciscan history and the mutual influence of Franciscan thought and English constitutional development.I spoke with Philippe recently at a conference we both attended in Colorado. He kindly agreed to share his own vocation story with us. -ct

When I was 13, I got a scholarship to an important private school in England. About the same time, my father died in a car crash in Saudi Arabia. It was all happening at a time (in my life) when I was just beginning to deal with such significant issues as what is really important. The evening we learned about my father’s death, I was helping my mother put the car away. She went inside – it was a starry night. And it just struck me that even though my father was dead, I still had a Father who was looking after me. I experienced an overwhelming sense of peace, that everything would be all right.

I also recall that I was sitting in chapel at school one Sunday and one of the Anglican priests, the chaplain, was talking about his own vocation. It flashed through my mind that maybe that’s what I should be doing with my life. And I thought: “No, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be a priest.” But it wouldn’t go away. When I was 17, I finished my schooling in England and helped at a St. Vincent DePaul Society summer camp for underprivileged kids from London. There was a wonderful chaplain there—Monsignor John Armitage. I remember I was talking with him, and we went for a walk around the lake. And I told him: “I think I might be called to be a priest, but I don’t want to be a secular priest. I don’t want a parish all by myself.” He said to me, “You know, it sounds very much like what you want is the Franciscans.” I thought, “Hmm. I’ve never heard of them, but it sounds interesting.” So I started looking out for books and pamphlets about community life. At school, I was in a privileged situation, surrounded by men who, materially speaking, had everything you could want. But I wanted to find a way of life to show that what was important was not position or power or prestige, but how one was in relationship with others and with God.

Then I came across the story about St. Francis meeting the sultan. My father had been in Saudi helping to build a road to Mecca. One of my friends at school was a Jordanian Muslim. Finding that Francis had the courage and insight to reach out to the sultan even when everyone else was fighting was very striking to me.



I read more, spent a year in France at school, and came back to England to do a degree in civil engineering. All the time I was still fighting the call. My second year at school, I was chair of the Fisher Society, a Catholic student group like the Newman Centre. At the end of that year I went to the chaplain of the group and said, “Look, can I have a word with you.” He never expected that I would be telling him about my interest in a religious vocation. So we had a long and rather difficult chat about what a vocation was, about why I thought God was calling me, about what I saw myself doing. And I was kind of afraid he would say to me, “Look, don’t be daft.” But actually he said, “You probably do have a vocation.” It was a bit of a bombshell to me.

By this time, I had read quite a bit, but I had never met a Franciscan. But through my reading I decided that the only branch of the Order I could join would be the OFMs. The reason why was because it was the branch that allowed great diversity—each member could express himself. They didn’t try to dragoon the friars into just one way of understanding Francis. It struck me was being profoundly in tune with the Spirit as I understood it.

The December before I was to finish my degree, I wrote to the vocations director and went to visit the friars on the feast of the Epiphany. Actually, I didn’t receive much encouragement from the vocation director. He said to me “Most of the friars in England don’t come from a private school background like you do. How are you going to fit in?” I thought I would be refused, but in reality he was making me think quite seriously about what I was taking on, about how I would survive in the friars. Then, at Easter, I did the psychological testing and then was received by the friars. I thought they would say, “Wait a year or two, “ but no, they said, “Come in September.” I told my family: there were some tears, but they were generally okay with my decision. So, within nine months of contacting the friars, I entered the novitiate.

My life in the Franciscans has not always been an easy process. There was a lot of adaptation and learning I had to go through. But in my heart, despite the tough times, there was always that still voice that spoke to me the night of my father’s death: “It’s all right, I’m with you and I’ll keep you safe.”

In terms of any advice I might offer to someone in discernment, I can say that one of the things I did when I was thinking about religious life was to go to a weekend retreat run by the Jesuits. There they taught me one of the techniques of the discernment of spirits. That what you need to do is to find that place where your spirit is most at peace. If your spirit is at peace, then, even if you have worries, then it’s still an indication by the Holy Spirit that you are being called. //



For more information about the Franciscan International Study Centre in Canterbury, England, visit their website: http://www.franciscans.ac.uk/

Ilia's Odyssey: A Vocation Story

Meet Sister Ilia Delio: teacher (chair and professor, Department of Spirituality Studies, Washington Theological Union), author of a number of books on Franciscan themes, and internationally recognized Bonaventure scholar. In addition, she is Director of the Franciscan Center at the WTU. I had the chance to meet with Sister Ilia recently at a Franciscan gathering in Colorado, where she agreed to share her own vocation story:

Ever since I was little, I knew I wanted to be a sister, but I didn’t want anyone to know. It was my ‘secret vocation.’ I attended Catholic schools in my hometown of Paterson, New Jersey, and I very much admired the sisters who taught there. After high school , I wanted to join Maryknoll and be a missionary, but I got a definitive ‘no” from my parents. They wanted me to finish my studies first. When I started out in college, I would go to Mass every day, but towards the end, I went through a questioning period about my faith and became more critical about the Church…. But, still, I felt like Jonah in the whale. God was constantly pursuing me.

Then, one day while I was in grad school, I came across an article on Thomas Merton in Time magazine. I was completely mesmerized and immediately went out and got a copy of his autobiography, The Seven Story Mountain. It was the beginning of the articulation of what I had been feeling and living for so many years. Like Merton, I wanted to renounce everything for God. So I (found out) about a newly-founded group of Discalced Carmelites in Pennsylvania. When I met them, I was attracted to them. Their lifestyle seemed so different from anything I had experienced in ‘the world.’ So I started communicating with them while I was finishing up my doctorate work (in pharmacology). I discerned with them for a year-and-a-half, then entered postulancy.



When I entered the Carmelites, I told my academic colleagues that I was going on a long trip, that I would be in Europe for about three months, but … the reality was that I was in Carmel. Finally, though, I was forced to tell people. I had received a postdoctorate position at John Hopkins University in the neuropathology department. I wrote to the department chair just before I was to start work. They called my former colleagues at Rutgers asking if I had had a nervous breakdown! I had never revealed to anyone that I was even a religious person.

In my years at the monastery, I learned a lot about prayer. When we weren’t working in the garden or the bakery, we were praying—up to six hours a day. During that time, I developed in my relationship with God. But I found it difficult being cloistered, with a grill separating us from visitors. You couldn’t even go out and have a beer with friends! …. Seriously, though, I couldn’t reconcile my understanding of the Incarnation with a lifestyle that was so cut off from the world. There were no magazines or newspapers—just a total spiritualizing of religious life.

Finally, after three years (I was 28 at the time), I asked to take a year’s leave of absence from the community and arranged to live in a convent of German Franciscan sisters (the Franciscan Servants of the Holy Child Jesus)while I worked at Rutgers University. When I met the sisters, at first I thought: “Oh, they’re nice women. They get to drive cars and even go to parties occasionally. I had no inkling or desire to be a Franciscan, though. I thought that these women were just like the Carmelites, but with a more joyous spirit, so I decided to join them. I still had to wear the habit and follow a strict horarium getting up at 4 every morning…. (At one point) my superior called me in and said, “We’d like to send you to studies in spirituality.” I thought that it sounded rather fluffy; I wanted to do an MA in theology instead. So we agreed that I would go to Fordham University—while I was still a second-year novice.



At Fordham, I lived with the Ursuline sisters. When I arrived in my full habit I’m sure they must have been thinking: “What’s wrong with her? She’s young, but in that habit she looks like something out of a museum. “ And I was asking myself: “Are they really religious?” But when we began to live together, I realized that they were quite wonderful women and I love them dearly. I stayed with them for five years, until I finished my comprehensive exams. My community asked me to become vocations director, but I needed time for my dissertation. They told me I had three months to do it, so I went off to live with the Allegheny Franciscan sisters while I finished my work. I ended up staying for a year. The sisters were so supportive and they made it possible for me to get things done.

I did my doctoral work on St. Bonaventure’s Christ’s Mysticism—the mysticism of the historical event. When I finished, my community said that I could either find a teaching job or work in their nursing home. I found a position at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, and lived with yet another community—the Sisters of St. Joseph of Hartford. Shortly afterwards, someone told me about an opening at the Washington (DC) Theological Union. Friar Dominic Monti invited me for an interview and offered me a position in Franciscan studies. My area was in Patristics, but through my work with Bonaventure, I made my way back to Sts. Francis and Clare. The decision to move to WTU was really a graced moment—it is a very good school, very communal, and with a nice group of students.

During all this time I had remained with my Franciscan congregation, but about two years ago, I felt the inspiration to start a new community myself with the approval and support of my congregation. Another sister and myself moved to D.C. and have since been working and praying for the future of Franciscan life. We believe in the richness of religious life and feel that Franciscan life has much to offer to the church and world today. Like the seeds of a plant, new life takes time and patience, and care.



In terms of any advice I would be able to offer a young person in discernment, I would urge her/him to take some time with a good spiritual director. Take the time to focus on the way that God is calling you in your life. Then, visit different types of groups to see if there is a good fit between your personality and spirituality and theirs. See how communities live out their calling. And be attentive to what your own spirit is all about. Then, finally, at some point, you just have to take the step, go forward, and try it.

I live in great hope and optimism. I am fairly future-oriented, looking forward to making more new discoveries in Franciscan life, and living with a greater sense of thankfulness. I am a dreamer and always will be. I dream that this way of life—religious life— will bring love to the loveless, make God alive in this world, and help to transform it.



Books by Ilia Delio:
Franciscan Prayer. Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2004.

The Humility of God: a Franciscan Perspective. Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2005.

Clare of Assisi: A Heart Full of Love. Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2007.
Delio, Ilia, Warner, Keith and Pamela Woods.
Care for Creation: A Franciscan Spirituality of the Earth. Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2008.
Christ in Evolution. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 2008.
Ten Evenings with God. Liguori, MO.: Liguouri Press, 2008.

Friar Gino Piccoli: Working On the Rez without Reservations

“Before we leave,” Father Gino announces, “let’s end the Mass with a Native American blessing. Would that be okay?” Parishioners at the 5:15 Saturday Mass at St. Francis of Assisi Church in Sacramento nod in eager agreement. In the course of the hour-long liturgy, Friar Gino Piccoli—visiting from the San Carlos (Arizona) Apache reservation-- has clearly won them over with his warmth and sincerity:

“Good. Let’s stand and turn to the East—the rising Sun, the sign of God’s faithfulness everyday. Remember, God doesn’t forget us in the night….. Now, to the South: Sister Rain. We depend upon God for Water. Without it, we are dead… Now, the West: Bother Sun goes to bed every night. Causes us to think of our elders, how they and we are preparing for our eternal bed… Finally, let’s turn to the North. Do we have any ice in our hearts? People we have not forgiven? Are we holding any grudges? Let’s let go of all of that before we leave church….”



The following day, I had the chance to chat with Father Gino a bit: “That was a beautiful blessing you gave us, Brother,” I asked. “How do you think Native American spirituality and the Franciscan spirit 'fit'?” “The more I find out about it, “ he answers, “the more it seems that the two are interchangeable. Take the blessing of the four directions. God is all around me. Apache spirituality is so Franciscan since it doesn't see God 'up there' in the heavens...nor 'over there' at a holy place (e.g.,Fatima, Assisi). Rather, God means to envelope you 24 hours a day. So as longa s you remain the middle--surrounded at all times by the presence of the Divine--as symbolized by turning in a circle when we say 'Amen!', God will always be present...Churches, shrines, Sacraments are beautiful--but will not make God more present than the God who wants to be around you at all times."

Father Gino knows what he’s talking about. At age 68, the Chicago native speaks with the frankness of an urban Midwesterner. Physically, he is solidly built, compact, down to earth as well. Gino has been living and working on the San Carlos Apache reservation outside of Phoenix for eleven years now. He knows something of both the beauty of Native American people, their culture, and their spirituality as well as the sometimes brutal harshness of life on the rez.

“Unfortunately, the Indian spirituality is no longer on the reservation in a very clear way,” he continues. “The kids don’t have it; the adults who are drinking don’t have it; and the people who do have it don’t share it much. For myself, after eleven years, I feel like I am just beginning to know the people. And you learn by trial and error here. There are no books; nobody who is an ombudsman for you—nobody who will take you aside and say, “Look Father, we don’t do things here that way.”

“For example, you need to understand the importance of ‘blood’ (relationship). It is said that the Apaches sometimes don’t like to volunteer for things because that would mean that you are putting yourself forward too much. Or if you ask people to do something, they will rarely say ‘no’ but then they may not show up, which is okay, because it allows them to save face. But if it’s about blood relationship —if the whole family or clan decides to get involved-- there’s absolutely no problem. At a bazaar, for example, if we have a booth with fry bread, then 6-8 relatives will all show up to help. It’s no problem at all. It takes a long time for an outsider to ‘get ‘ something like that.”

In addition to being a dedicated pastor, Gino is an accomplished artist—his works grace several of our parishes and friaries—but he would be the first to downplay the fact: “I’ve never been a fine artist; I only do artwork that has a purpose. For me, it’s about community, about involving people. It’s how I get to know them. I don’t have my habit on, for example. We work together side by side and everybody gets dirty.” At the same time, he is quite upfront about the limits of this kind of approach on the reservation.



The Franciscan friars have been in the US Southwest for more than four hundred years now. The presence of men from the St. Barbara Province on the San Carlos reservation dates from around 1918. For the most part, many of these ‘home missionary’ friars have lived alone in the villages, coming together periodically for prayer and community. Gino is part of that tradition; he uses his day off to connect with Friar Eddie Fronske, who has been working among another branch of the Nation—the White River Apaches-- for more than two decades. “ We’ll meet at a restaurant in Globe, have a meal, and just sit for two or three hours talking. What is especially good about it (the fraternal connection) for us is that unless you’ve been there, you don’t really understand. With Eddie I don’t have to explain myself. He knows exactly what I’ve been experiencing and what I feel.” Mutual fraternal support is crucial to the life and work of the friars in this context.

Despite the challenges of the pastoral situation, there are also wonderful blessings that come with living and working on the reservation. Most recently, one of the young men from the Apache nation, Phillip Polk, has been accepted into our postulancy program—a cause for great celebration and joy for both the Franciscans and the people of San Carlos.



How does the future look to Father Gino? Will he continue to work on the rez? “I came here because I was sent here, “ Gino shares. “But it’s the Gospel that has kept me here. Over time I’ve learned to feel helpless with people—looking for the right thing to do to make a difference and rarely finding it. But you just have to keep faithful on the path where there is often very little immediate reward. If I started over again, I wouldn’t live in the rectory. I’d get an old trailer and bring it on the property. Live more like the people here live.”

“Even with the struggles, though, being on the rez has been a blessing. It has brought me back to my dreams about what we friars should be and be about. I would like to continue (my ministry here). I would like to die here if I could. Living and working with the poor, with no status, no security. The lifestyle represents so much for me what I would like to be and become as a friar."

BROTHERS FOR OTHERS: A Franciscan Discernment Retreat

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