From the opening paragraph of St. Francis’ Testament:
‘The Lord gave me, Brother Francis, thus to begin doing penance in this way: for when I was in sin, it seemed too bitter for me to see lepers. And the Lord himself led me among them and I showed mercy upon them. And when I left them, what had seemed bitter to me was turned into sweetness of soul and body. Afterwards I delayed a little and left the world’

Br. Sam’s Reflection for Franciscan Morning Prayer at Canterbury Cathedral, Wednesday 11th September 2024
 ‘….two very small coins dropped into the Temple treasury’ Luke 21.v 1-4
I think St Francis must have been drawn to this story of the poor women who was noticed by Jesus because he, Francis, was attracted by things that were small. The Portiuncula, the Little Portion of St Mary of the Angels that became home for him. The smallness that he knew himself: ‘your little brother Francis’ he writes at the end of his Testament, ‘your very little servant’ he writes in his Letter to the Entire order. And then there is the title he gives to his followers: ‘everyone shall be called a lesser brother’; brothers who were to ‘beg alms as poor little ones’ and who were to ‘rejoice when they live among people considered of little value’. He was a person who delighted in small birds of the field and small weeds in the garden. For Francis small was beautiful.

For him smallness was beautiful not simply in an aesthetic sense (although he must have had a good eye for beauty), but because it was revealed to him that smallness is the way that God makes himself known. Almighty God operates in and through smallness. Francis was overwhelmed by the humility of God in Jesus, who as St Clare puts it in her Letter to St Agnes, on ‘coming into the Virgin’s womb, chose to appear despised, needy and poor in the world;’ Francis’ heart was bowled over by the recognition that the Lord of heaven and earth should ‘hide himself daily within an ordinary piece of bread’. To borrow the title of a Booker Prize-winning novel, for Francis, God was ‘The God of Small Things’.

So, smallness is intrinsic to our Franciscan vocation. I hesitate to say it’s a Franciscan virtue; more an aspiration than a virtue because I’m conscious of how often we fall short of it, both individually and corporately. It’s a Franciscan charism which, when it is present within and among us, is both beautiful and effective.

One of remarkable things about the arrival 800 years ago of the first brothers of St Francis is how small, precarious, risky was their mission. It seems that they set out across the Channel with no material resources, no advance publicity, little in the way of obvious organisation (Franciscans have never been very good at that), and no letters of recommendation - Francis himself forbade any seeking of privileges. This little group of friars arriving at Dover, moving to Canterbury and then pushing on rapidly to London, Reading, Oxford and Northampton, depended entirely on the goodwill and kind-heartedness of others. The fragility and vulnerability of their mission, mirroring the fragility and vulnerability of God in Jesus Christ, was its only resource, its sole strength.

And it was hugely, powerfully, attractive. Dr Michael Robson in his lecture yesterday afternoon emphasised how rapidly the order grew in England. It seems that the brothers just picked up followers on the way; there was a kind of snowball effect. People were drawn by the message of God’s mercy, compassion and vulnerability that was enfleshed, embodied by the life together of these small bands of brothers.

One of the things that Thomas of Eccelston often refers to in his ‘Coming of the Franciscans’ is their fraternity. Brothers sometimes huddling together to keep warm, gathering around a stove to share the warm thick dregs of beer (it sounds disgusting), caring for each other in sickness, encouraging each other in hardship. And the joy and laughter and playfulness among them. Moroseness and mission do not go well together. Br Marco, a Third Order Regular friar, whom I met in Assisi earlier this year, told me that when he was in charge of novices he used to make the new brothers read Ecclestone’s account in order that they might glimpse and hopefully share those bonds of fraternity.

And of course it’s this vulnerable, fragile, joyful fraternity, this minority, this littleness, which leads us to recognise and bond with others in their vulnerability. As we gathered on the beach at Dover on Monday evening and yesterday morning to commemorate the arrival of the first brothers our thoughts and our prayers were with those who are arriving in small boats today – vulnerable, fragile, isolated; despised and feared by many. Twenty-one thousand this year – so far. As I searched for a stone with a hole in it as we were asked to, it felt as though I was looking for a person washed up on the shore, perhaps Jesus himself. A sign of God’s Kingdom.

For this is where the green shoots of that Kingdom – referred to in the reading from Luke - are to be found. Amongst the dross, amongst the weeds, in the small things, in the widow’s mite (all of them seeds of peace), God hides himself in order to welcome us and all creation into the perfect joy of his Kingdom. To the God of Small Things, the God whom Francis discovered and rejoiced in, be all honour and praise for ever.

   From St. Bonaventure’s Life of St. Francis
Francis sympathised lovingly and compassionately with everyone who was ill, and he immediately offered to Christ the poverty or deprivation he saw in anyone.
Question: Why would you offer someone’s poverty or deprivation to Christ?

He was kind and gentle by nature and this was intensified by the goodness of Christ poured into him. His heart melted for the poor or the sick, and if he was unable to help them he would talk to them with kindness and affection.
Question: if you can’t help someone, do you still talk with them about it? What could you say?

A brother once responded rather harshly to a poor man begging from him at an inconvenient moment. When the lover of the poor heard this, he ordered the brother to strip naked, kneel down at that poor man's feet, confess his fault, and beg for his prayers and forgiveness. When he had done this with due humility, Francis added gently: "Brother, when you see a poor person, you are looking at an image of our Lord and his poor mother placed in front of you. And when you see a sick person, call to mind the sufferings Jesus accepted for us."
Question: how do you see the face of Christ in people in need?
Question: Why would you call Jesus’ sufferings to mind when you see a sick person?

Francis saw the face of Christ in every poor person he met, and he was ready to give them anything he had, even if he himself was in urgent need of it. He even believed that the poor had a right to those things, as if they were their own possessions.
Question: is this going too far? Do you feel people in need have any right to your possessions?

Coming back from Siena one day, Francis was wearing a short jacket over his coat because he was not well. They met a poor man, and when big-hearted Francis realised how miserable the man was, he said to his companion, ‘We must give this jacket back to this poor man, because it really belongs to him! For we only have it on loan until we come across someone in greater need than us.’  But his companion, conscious of how much Francis needed the extra clothing, protested because Francis was putting his own health at risk. But Francis responded by saying, ‘The great Almsgiver will accuse me of theft if I do not give what I have to someone who needs it more than me.’
Whenever he was given any necessities he would ask the donor for permission to give it away if he met someone who needed it more. He spared nothing at all – cloaks, jackets, books, even altar cloths – as long as he was in a position to do so, he gave them all to the poor so as to obey the commandment of love; and when he met poor people on the road carrying heavy loads, he would often carry their burdens on his own weak shoulders.
Question: Have you ever given something of yours away to someone you felt needed it more that you?
Question: If you see someone carrying a heavy load, do you go up to them and carry it for them? Even if they are poor or marginalised people?

Also from St. Bonaventure’s Life of St. Francis
One day as Francis was riding his horse on the plain below Assisi he met a leper. He was taken by surprise and felt sick at the sight of him, but then he remembered his resolve to be perfect, and the need to overcome himself first if he wanted to become a knight of Christ. He immediately dismounted and ran up to kiss the man. The leper put out his hand, expecting something, and Francis put some money in it and kissed his hand. Then he mounted his horse and looked all around the plain but although he could see clearly in all directions the leper had disappeared. Filled with joy and wonder he sang God’s praises with a loud voice, resolving to do the same again soon.
[Thomas of Celano adds: ‘He then went on to the leper colony houses, and gave money and a kiss on the hand and mouth to each inmate’.]
Question: do you find certain sorts of people frightening or disgusting? How do you react - turn away or reach out to them? (Be honest!)