Even if you aren't Catholic, you've probably heard of St. Francis. You know, the medieval hippie. The guy who talked to animals, and preached a message of peace. The guy who, despite his middle-class upbringing and initial knightly aspirations, ditched it all to live a life of abject poverty, embracing the poor and living how he believed the original Apostles lived, in an attempt to be closer to Jesus. The only saint ever painted by the great artist Rembrandt; the guy who is probably the epitome of "humble."
For Francis, peace just wasn't a really nice thing. It was the only way we could draw closer to God. Francis had been a soldier. He'd been a POW in a war between Perugia and Assisi. He'd been in prison, and it had broken him. His rejection of war was absolute. So when the Fifth Crusade started, Francis was determined to go. Not to fight, but to find a different way to resolve the conflict between Christian West and Islamic East.
See, Francis had a really radical idea. Instead of fighting, why not have a conversation?
Like I said, radical - even by today's standards.
As I said earlier, a lot of mythos has grown up around this story, some of it propagated by the Church and even St. Bonaventure, minister general of the Franciscan order and official biographer of on of Catholicism's most beloved saints. These stories paint a confrontational Francis, who stormed into the sultan's palace, challenged his advisers to a "trial by fire," and convinced al-Kamil to convert.
What really happened? Francis and a couple of followers trudged in their rough brown robes through the battlefield to al-Kamil's palace to preach peace. By all believable accounts, the brothers were welcomed warmly, listened to respectfully, and sent safely back. The sultan did not convert - but he did listen.
Powerful stuff. Radical stuff. Why would this story be embellished and obscured? It wasn't politically correct, that's why.
But close your eyes and picture this scene. A simple, frail man in a rough brown robe speaking earnestly to a richly robed prince. Talking not of war and violence, but peace and love. Speaking not as an opponent, but as a brother. Holding out a hand that did not clasp a sword, but one that would clasp another hand in friendship. After that visit, Francis went back to Italy to exhort his followers. Not to go to war, but to go among the Muslims to live, to "be subject" to them, to love them. For Francis very firmly believed that the only way to truly unite and go beyond the violence was to recognize the Muslims as our neighbors and "love our neighbors as ourselves." Here was a simple man who did not content himself to talking to others in his daily life. He traveled with popes and princes preaching his message, and crossed a battlefield to talk with a prince of his vision of peace.
Powerful stuff. Radical stuff.
Now keep your eyes closed and pretend that this message had blossomed then, instead of "falling on rocky ground" to quote the parable. Pretend that the message had not been whitewashed by a Church intent on a political mission. What would be different today?
It got me thinking. The answer is "a lot." If Christian and Muslim alike had been able to embrace Francis' message of love in the early thirteenth century, what would the world look like today? Would 9-11 or the U.S.S. Cole bombings have happened? Or would we all have learned to get along, to respect each other, to have earnest dialog instead of war?
I did not know this, but turns out that Franciscans sent messengers to both President Bush and leaders in the Middle East before the current Iraqi war to preach peace. What if they had listened?
Francis brought the world a message of hope. He truly and absolutely believe that no conflict could be solved by violence. That the only hope we had was to embrace Christ's message of love and peace. To meet violence with compassion.
It was radical then. It is radical now. But the more I think, the more I hear the stories and diatribe about the proposed Islamic community center near Ground Zero, the more I think it is the only way.
It is our fear that drives the conflict - on both sides. Fear that our way of life and beliefs will be trampled, fear that we will not be free to worship as we believe, fear of the "other." Only learning will free us from that fear. And meaningful learning can only become reality through a spirit of love and peace. Not a fake peace, not "do it my way and we won't have a problem" peace. Peace as Francis envisioned it. He exhorted his brothers to live among the Muslims, to be servants. Not so they would be dominated, not because their beliefs were inferior. So they would have more opportunity to preach peace, to provide a living Gospel example, and convince Muslims that peace was the right way.
Don't get me wrong. Accounts of Islamic terrorism make me sad. Sad on a profound level. Sad that we have not really come as far as we think we have since the Crusades. Sad that we all, Christian and Muslim alike, are still too proud to be "servant" and must mold the world to our vision, even if that means destroying the vision of others.
But I have also come to believe that Francis was right. The only way is to embrace peace - the peace of God, not of men. We must lay aside our pride, and embrace humility in the way Francis did. I don't know that we have to go whole hog, sell our homes and possessions, and start wandering in rough brown robes. But we have to sell our possessions in our heart - sell our pride, our jealousy, our fear, our anger, our possessive desire - to make room for a greater possession - peace and love.
The title of this post, "Pax et Bonum," was a common way to sign things at St Bonaventure University. It is Latin, and means "peace and the good" (roughly). It was a motto for St. Francis and his order - his wish for "peace and the good" for all he met. It should be a motto for us all, right now, in 2010. Imagine the powerful transformation that would occur if we could all look at each other and sincerely wish nothing but peace and good for all, regardless of creed, race, color, or whatnot.
Powerful stuff. Radical stuff.
Pax et bonum.
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