Crazy Christianity

Today we’re celebrating the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi.  

Usually our annual celebration of Francis takes place during a short, outdoor pet blessing in the afternoon, 

but I’d been longing to try having the pets included in the Church service instead, like the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City where they bring in animals from the Central Park Zoo to bless every year.  

No camels or kangaroos here, but still pretty exciting.  Luckily for these pets, we’re used to a little wildness and restlessness with our small human animals at this service, so they stand a good chance of fitting in.

It’s a crazy idea, bringing animals into the church.  Much less bringing them in for a regular service.  There’s no telling what will happen.  The dogs might start barking at each other, or terrorizing the cats.  One of them might try to escape.  The poor kids like mine with no pets of their own might freak out.  Someone with allergies might start some wild unstoppable sneezing.  Really and truly, this morning it feels like we are on the outskirts of chaos.  But maybe that’s a great reminder.  Because, truth be told, this whole enterprise of Christianity is absolute craziness.  

Which is a very fitting thing to remember today.  I’m guessing most of us think of Francis of Assisi in terms of those concrete statues we see in gardens and front lawns.  Francis stands calmly, a cross held reverently over his heart, trusting animals at his side.  

Francis has become for us sort of the 12th century version of Dr. Doolittle, admirable and kind.  But even though Francis of Assisi is most famously known as being the patron saint of animals and nature, he’s really the patron saint of crazy.

People thought Francis was crazy when he preached to the birds and said they lived out the Gospel better than people did; when he sought out a wolf who was attacking villagers and convinced it to live in peace; when he called the animal creatures “brothers and sisters.”

They thought he was outrageous when he created the first live nativity scene, bringing in real animals so the Christmas worshipers could imagine Jesus’ birth, and using a straw-filled manger as an altar for the Eucharist.

They thought he was out of his mind when he stripped naked in the town square and laid everything he had at his rich and disapproving father’s feet.

They thought he was mad when he walked away from the established and comfortable religious orders and founded his own monastery in which the brothers owned nothing and lived only off what they received from begging.

They thought he was a lunatic when during prayer one day he experienced the figure of Jesus on a crucifix coming to life and telling him to rebuild the church.

They thought he was insane when he kissed the lepers that everyone else regarded with fear and disgust and bathed their sores with his bare hands.

They thought he was off his rocker when he developed a relationship with the leader of the Muslim world during the crusades, acknowledging his faithfulness and trying to make peace.

They thought he was a fanatic when he brazenly confronted both Church and State, railing against the corruption and excess of his day and refusing to participate in a system that allowed the rich to get richer while the poor got poorer. 

Francis was crazy.  Like the prophets of old, and John the Baptist, and Jesus himself (though we often try to forget that).  And, as with the rest of them, if we really listen to Francis and follow his lead, we could find our lives altered.

Francis said: “If God can work through me, God can work through anyone.”  What if we really lived as though God is in some way working through every single person that we meet?

Francis said: “All the darkness of the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.”  What if we really lived as if the love and light of God were stronger than the fears and darkness of the world?

Francis said: “Remember that when you leave this earth, you can take with you nothing that have received--only what you have given.”  What if we really lived as though the things of this world that we grasp so tightly — money, success, control — were nothing and only love and relationship mattered?

Francis said: “Do not forget your purpose and destiny as God's creature.”  What if we really believed and lived into the promise that we are each unique and beloved children of God, with purpose and calling?

Francis said: “Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service. And blessed is he who loves his brother as well when he is far off as when he is by his side, and who would say nothing behind his back he might not, in love, say before his face.”  What if we really lived as if the value of other people was innate and not a product of what they produced or owned or offered?

Francis said (or he may have said — this one is a little iffy): “Preach the Gospel, using words when necessary.”  What if our faith was so evident in the way we lived that people really knew that we were Christians by our love?

And finally Francis said: “Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.”  I wonder where each one of us might be called to live into Francis’ kind of crazy Christianity today?