When brought before the bishop, Francis would brook no delay…. Without waiting to be spoken to and without speaking he immediately put off and cast aside all his garments and gave them back to his father.
—Thomas Celano, First Life of Francis
The first biography of Francis of Assisi recounts the moment when Francis publicly relinquished his privilege, stripping himself and returning his clothing to his wealthy father in front of the bishop.
The story of Francis stripping himself naked in the bishop’s courtyard conveys to us an essential moment in his conversion process. As Francis stood there naked, completely vulnerable … he divested himself of much more than just his clothes and belongings. In effect, he relinquished family identity and reputation and the security of his economic status.
For Francis, divesting himself from privilege was a gospel-inspired action, one that we are invited to consider today.
Relinquishment as a call and a gift means giving up prestige and privilege, learning to listen and to accept criticism, and learning how to use our power differently and ultimately to share our power. At the very least our task as non-poor is to share the power available to us—our resources of wealth, education, influence, and access—with those who have been denied these things. This is not charity or noblesse oblige. It is a fundamental letting go to allow the very structures that benefit us to be transformed….
The way of relinquishment is the lifelong process of removing the obstacles to loving and just relationships with our neighbors on this earth and of moving toward more genuine community among all of God’s children and indeed among all of earth’s creatures and elements, the kind of sisterhood and brotherhood envisioned by Francis. As we help remove the obstacles to the liberation of others, we are simultaneously removing obstacles to our own liberation….
Francis took the daring leap of faith from a position of privilege into the world of the poor. His renunciation of the world, though radical, was apparently not odious to him. We sense that for Francis the gospel promise was fulfilled, that what one receives in return is far more than what one has given up [see Mark 10: 28–31]. Francis renounced the world only to have it given back with joy….
We find ourselves invited by Francis to be fools. Is it really possible that what is given up will be returned a hundredfold? Can we believe that as we lose ourselves, we will find ourselves? Francis, who renounces his claim on all things, is free to enjoy all things as gift. Utterly foolish. Impractical. Subversive. Even dangerous.
We can neutralize the challenge and promise of Jesus and Francis by elevating [them] into the realm of sainthood and perfection, a realm seemingly far beyond our reach. Or we can ponder their way of living in the world and attempt to follow them, fools though we would be.
Reference:
Marie Dennis, Cynthia Moe-Lobeda, Joseph Nangle, and Stuart Taylor, St. Francis and the Foolishness of God, rev. ed. (Orbis Books, 2015), 21–22, 28, 29, 31, 32.
Image credit and inspiration: Tom Swinnon, untitled (detail), 2019, photo, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. A weathered table, humble in its presence, bears witness to Francis’s kinship with the poor, his simplicity of life, and the quiet prophecy of poverty lived as solidarity.
Story from Our Community:
I very much relate to St. Francis and St. Clare’s simplicity. There are so many spiritual teachings, but I find solace in one-word portals to God, such as “open,” “present” and “kind” for example. Each word—individually—is a key to the kingdom. They unite us with the divine and each other. Each of these words works as a way home, because each of them has everything to do with love. Love is open. Love is present. Love is kind. Welcome home!
—Lucia H.
