The Journey To Geghard; The Echoes of Prayer

We’ve all heard that life is about the journey and not so much the destination, but you can encounter some pretty fantastic destinations along the way!  To make the journey to Armenia more interesting, I rented a car and we are driving all over the country.  Many fellow travellers can’t believe that we are doing this, even Armenians think we are a bit crazy to drive here, but I love an adventure!  However the journey is sometimes made better if you have a little technological help, so we also rented a GPS with English speaking voice instructions.  The GPS was great! Roads not so great in some parts!  The roads can be worse than in Haiti in some places, but they have nice four lane highways here, too.   You have to be very careful though because you never knew when a major pothole  or cow or pig will appear in the middle of the road. . Case has been a great navigator helping me look out for the obstructions in the road.

Garni Temple--note Case on far right

We drove 25 km from Yerevan to Garni, the site of an old Hellenistic-style temple built in the first century.  The temple, dedicated to the Sun God and was built because King Trdat I became a political vassal and ally of the Emperor Nero and the Roman Empire. The Hellenistic influence in Armenia was strong, but still Armenia has its own strong Middle Eastern pre-Christian culture.  The temple is a jewel sitting on a bluff high above the Azat River Gorge. After we toured the temple, which is in remarkable condition for being built around 60 ad, we hiked a thrilling and scenic trail below it in a river gorge for a few kilometers. The views of the heights around us (which we climbed twice during our walk--probably a 1500-1800 ft. change in elevation) were phenomenal and we encountered some amazing rock formations that resembled tall, narrow, hexagonal needles. My renaissance man, Case, studied something very similar to these in his excellent geology classes at Sewanee.  We will have to show pictures to Bran Potter upon return to Sewanee. 

Azat River Gorge--we hiked down and up and back!

After our hike we had  a late lunch at Garni Tavern. Armenian food is basically grilled meats and kabobs, fresh salads, yogurts, bread and fruit.  A main meat dish is barbecued meats-- khorahvats—grilled meat with wonderful fresh tomato and onion and spices sauce, along with parsley and onions all over the plate and of course, served with bread. We had pork and chicken--it was fabulous. Served with bread, two kinds: lavash---chewy long strips that you can roll the food up in, and then a sliced bread baked in a pan that was wonderful, too. We started our meal with a wonderful salad of fresh cucumbers, parsley, other herbs, light vinegar, and tomatoes---I think the best tomatoes I have ever had, grown in this hot, hot sunshine and volcanic soil. We are especially liking the Armenian beer that costs about $1.50 a pop! Every meal ends with surrch--very strong Armenian coffee and usually served with sugar, their version of espresso, but not quite as strong and a tad bit larger serving.

Agroup of Armenian doctors from Los Angeles were also at the Garni Tavern at the next table and we had an interestingconversationwith these mostly young folks in their early 30's. These kids, or young adults (!) were great to share stories with. They live near Sally in Beverly Hills and a few are going to wander into Petite Bateau upon return to the States and tell Sally they met her father and brother in Armenia.  Many Diaspora Armenians come to Armenian every couple of years. These Doctors come regularly for exchange of information to help better the practice of medicine here, but they also say that the Armenians are developing procedures and medicines that we don’t have in the United States and so they have much to learn, too.   Sounds familiar!

Approaching Geghard Monastery

Afterwards, we drove about 10 km to the 11^th century Geghard Monastery.   Case and I agree this is one of the most interesting places we have ever seen. The walls are cut into the side of the gorge, but what is most remarkable is that the monks built their cells (living quarters) and several churches into the surrounding rock of the slopes around the early-13th century. According to Case, the rock is volcanic tuff (which is fine grained volcanic ash with larger crystallized debris mixed in occasionally), so it's easier to cut through than other rock materials.  Walking through them surrounded by only darkness and the prayer candles lit by other visitors and pilgrims was a powerful experience. There is one church cut completely out of rock, including its symmetrically pleasing arches and massive decorated columns, with a special design that gives a remarkable acoustic effect. I can only imagine listening to the echo of monastic chants during worship when this place was at its height--an experience that would surely be intensified by the piety and order and purpose of the monks performing the rites of service.

A portion of the lance that pierced Christ
in his passion on Golgotha. 

Geghard has been important to the Armenian Christians since the 4^th century.  There were actually monastic caves first carved here then.   Longinas, who is the Roman Centurion who thrust the sword in Jesus' side out of mercy to quicken his death, became one of Christ’s followers a Golgotha because Jesus' blood that flowed from the spear lancing cured a terrible eye disease. He became an apostle and came through Armenia after the main Apostles Thaddeus and Bartholomew first brought the faith to the Armenian people about a decade after Christ’s death and resurrection.  Longinas gave the top portion of the  lance to the Armenians and they revered it at Gegherd beginning in the 4th century when this became one of the most important monasteries in Armania.  Geghard is actually the Armanian word for lance or spear.  The holy relic was moved to Etchmiadzin into the Treasury of Mayr Tacher in the early 20th century. We saw it when on our tour of Etchmiadzin.

The church at Geghard that was cut of the stone mountain

Geghard is a holy, thin place that still welcomes hundreds of thousands of pilgrims each year.  Case said, "If we don't see anything else, this has made the trip!"   I’d  like to share Case’s description of Geghard, beautifully written in his journal:  The grounds of the monastery literally hang off the cliffs overlooking the Azat River Gorge, and from the rock walls monastic cells and several small churches have been cut out of the surrounding volcanic tuff in a 13th-century feat of engineering and architecture. The interiors of these rooms are dark save for prayer candles which have been lit by visitors and pilgrims alike, and one of the churches has been designed so that the acoustics produce a remarkable and authentically holy and mysterious reverberation of sound, almost a divine echo. It is one of the more fascinating and moving places I have ever been.  

 And I think I’ll just say, amen. 

 Pax

Holy Etchmiadzin

When people of faith recognize that we have much in common and that we can learn from each other, hearts connect and friendships are established.  Focusing on what we share rather than on what divides makes for productive conversations. It would be nice if the politicians in Washington could figure this out, but that is for another day!   What a pleasure to make new friends in my meetings in Etchmiadzin with the representatives of the Armenian Apostolic Church’s ecumenical office.   Bishop Hovakim, who leads their ecumenical delegation, welcomed me warmly and has connected me with the right people to talk about their growing and vibrant church.  At first, I think, he seemed a bit suspicious—I think he might have thought I came to teach rather than learn!  At 35, he is the youngest bishop in their church.  He is a forward thinking conservative and was excited to hear about Sewanee and hopes that I can connect him with the School of Theology for them to send a seminarian!

With Deacon Tsloak in front of Mayr Tacher

 Bishop Hovakim’s administrative assistant, Vardwhi, couldn’t have been more welcoming from the beginning.  She kept opening doors for me when at first they seemed to be closing.  Deacon Tsolak, another one of Bishop Hovakim’s assistants, led Case and me on a tour of the Holy See of Etchmiadzin, the Armenian Church’s “Vatican” where the head of their faith, the Catholikos resides and presides in Mayr Tacher Cathedral.  Deacon Tsolak is young---23 years old.  Their seminaries are growing and more and more young men (they do not ordain women) are answering calls to ordained vocations in the church.  Ideally, you will enter seminary at 18 after high school and spend four years getting your bachelor’s degree and another two getting your masters of divinity.  After that, you are ordained a transitional deacon and you serve in this capacity for three years.  Unlike our transitional deaconate in the Episcopal Church in which we typically only serve as a Deacon for six months (not usually longer than a year), this diaconal period is another period of discernment.  At this time, the deacon must decide if he will marry or remain celibate, entering the monastic orders.  Their bishops, like bishops in the other Oriental and  Eastern Orthodox tradition, can only be called from the monastic, celibate order of priests.  So Tsolak says he has some serious decisions to make in the next six months! 

Their mother church, Mayr Tacher, was built over the site of a pagan temple soon after the nation became Christian in 301.  The Christian faith was brought to Armenia by two of the Apostles, Thaddeus and Bartholomew, within a decade of Christ’s death and resurrection.  Politically at this time, Armenia was a vassal state of the Roman Empire.  Near the end of the 3^rd century, a beautiful virgin, Hripsime, fled from Rome to Armenia to escape the advances of the Roman Emperor Diocletian.  Diocletian sent word to King Trdat III of Armenia that he must acquire this beauty for his own.  Hripsime refused his advances and she, along with 40 other virgins who came to Armenia with her from Rome, were martyred. After this, King Trdat acquired a terrible skin disease that left his face disfigured and his body in chronic pain.  He had a dream that a Christian Bishop, Gregory the Illuminator, whom he had imprisoned in a well 12 years before, could heal him.  He sent for Gregory who prayed for him and healing occurred.  Gregory convinced Trdat to be baptized and take up the Christian faith, which he did.  The two of them decided that the whole nation should become Christian which proved to have both spiritual and political dimesnions.  The Armenian Faith takes Jesus’ words “be wise as serpents and innocent as doves” seriously.  Their Bishop’s staffs have at least two serpents on them acknowledging their wisdom in both spiritually and politically.

Standing in the ruins of 6th century Zvartnots Cathedral
Considered by Hellenistic Historians to be the most beautiful
buildingin the world at the time and an architectural feat, it was
destroyed by an earthquake in the 10th century.

My Church History professor, Don Armentrout, always said it is only by the grace and will of God that the Episcopal Church exists, considering that a bishop never set foot on American soil during colonial days as well as other mitigating factors.   The Holy Spirit is alive and working in the Episcopal Church.  Likewise, I believe that the Armenian Apostolic Church and Armenia exist through the grace and will of God fueled by the Holy Spirit.  Since the year 301, Armenia has clung to her Oriental Orthodox faith as it was received in spite of great odds against this happening.   Like the people of Israel, their numerous political defeats, including the Turkish genocide of 1918, did not lead to their assimilation into other faiths.  Their oppressors finally gave up and let them worship God as they chose. 

Amazing detail of an eagle on the capital on a surviving
column at Zvartnots. These massive columns still standing
supported the tallest barrel rotunda dome in the world
when the Cathedral was built.

Throughout the centuries, they continued to build churches and to worship the Trinitarian God.   I am struck by a theological premise they have claimed.  All of their churches have several altars, but the main altar is always dedicated to Mary, the Mother of God (Theotokas—the God Bearer).  They often include an image of St. Mary holding the Christchild.  They believe and expect that at the celebration of Communion, Christ is born again in the people’s lives and that we are all meant, as the mystic Meister Eckhart wrote, “to be mothers of God in our own time and place.”  Christ is being born anew in the hearts and lives of the Armenian people through their passion and commitment to the Gospel through their church. We are co-creators with God in building the Kingom of God's justice and peace in our own time.  Wisely, they are focusing on their children and youth and have powerful youth programs.  They are taking care of the poor of Armenia, whose numbers can be overwhelming, through soup kitchens and other assistance.  I am amazed at their tenacity and their vibrant faith. 

Icon of The Mother of God, typically over the main
altars in Armenian Apostolic Churches.
We are all meant to be Mothers of God in our own time and day!

Deacon Tsolak standing next to the silver urn in which
the Catholikos blesses holy muir (oil) every 7 years.
This oil is the only holy oil used sacramentally in Chrismation
extreme unction by Armenian Christians all over the world.
(Icon of St. George slaying the dragon---important Saint for Armenians)

Pax

Yerevan, A City of Contrasts

Beautiful National Opera House surrounded by
100s of cafes--Armenians love classical music!

Armenia is a fascinating country.  Yerevan is a city of contrasts.   You might describe it as a strange mix of Eastern European/Slavic and Soviet influences, maybe with some Eastern Mediterranean markings thrown in the mix, too.  The people are lovely and helpful.  A city of 1,000,000, the crime rate here is one of the lowest for a city anywhere in the world.  Everyone we have run across has been incredibly nice and accommodating.  People here are a little more serious (at least, less "lighthearted," or "carefree") culturally than we are, perhaps a result of their Soviet past.   Most Armenian women dress like any westerner, but Armenian men wear dark clothes—shirts and pants, and even on a day like today when the temperature soared to 102 degrees  F, they do not wear shorts.  Our friend Artyam wishes that the culture could lighten up a bit because shorts would be nice in such dry hot weather!

Case and Artyam, our new Armenian friend
posing Armenian style! 

Life is at a different pace here.  It is quiet in the mornings until about 8 a.m.  People don’t go to work until at least 9 or 10 a.m. and they work until 6:30 or 7:00 in the evenings.  After dinner most nights, Yerevan folks enjoy visiting the outdoor cafes (of which there are hundreds, maybe thousands!), socializing, drinking beer or coffee (but no one seems to drink even close to excess), then moving on to a new cafe after a while. Walking between cafes is really a slow amble--we had to consciously slow down a great deal to keep their pace. When you get beer they bring pistachios, which they enjoy despite being a “Turkish Delight;” and everyone smokes like chimneys.  

Yerevan is undergoing massive transformations.  Sprouting from City Center to the Opera House, the rebuilding and new building is astounding.  There is one new, beautiful plaza that is incredible—they call it the Rodeo Drive of Yerevan with Armani, Chanel, Versace and the other high end designers---a bit like Via del Babuino in Rome!  The city has a definite European feel.  Our hotel for the first three nights was a very western place, in fact literally so, the Yerevan Congress Best Western Hotel!   The hotel has a beautiful pool and a great health club/gym where we could work out.  But somehow, I didn’t quite fell like we were getting the average Armenian from Yerevan experience.  And so for the next three nights, our friend Artyam found us an apartment outside of city center but in the middle of a purely Armenian neighborhood.  It is an “up and coming neighborhood” with the 60’s Soviet apartment buildings being renovated beautifully inside (ours was just redone with hardwood floors, new kitchen and bath, and beautiful and fancy lighting (an Armenian thing I am discovering—even in their churches!).  But we are on the 5^th and top floor and there is no elevator!  The outside is looking better, but the stairwell is definitely Soviet Union depression!  But down the street are multi-million dollar homoes and the Armenian “Pentagon” is just around the corner. 

Our Apartment building--our apartment
is top left with balcony!

Our neighbors in the building are always surprised to meet us on the stairs.  There are not many Americans travelling Armenia unless they are part of the Armenian diaspora returning to the homeland.  It is a matter of cultural pride to visit Armenia by Armenians dispersed over the world because of the late 19^th century genocide and the 1915 massacre by the Turks where a reported 1,500,000 Armenians were killed.  So we have met lots of American Armenians travelling here, and have run in to Armenians from all over the world.   My son Case and I are undisputably Anglo (blond hair, clothing style including shorts, and Ray Bans give us away immediately!), and so we are always asked, “So WHY did you come to Armenia?”  And then I tell them of my admiration of their stalwart faith in becoming the first Christian nation.  But more admirable is that against all odds of persecutions through the centuries, they have clung to their Christian identity,  refusing to follow Zoroastrianism when the Persians conquered Armenia and then again, for centuries of Muslim political domination, refusing to give up their Trinitarian belief for Islam.  Even in the late 19^th Century, the Russian Czar wanted the people of Armenia to “reform” their Ancient Armenian Apostolic Church and assimilate into the Russian Orthodox tradition.  But through it all, they stood firm in their faith as they had received it and finally their oppressors just metaphorically (but after much literal persecutions and even battles) “threw their hands up.”  In so many words they said, okay, keep your faith as long as you  pay your tribute…a kind of acquiescence reversal of Jesus’ words to “render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and unto God what is God’s. 

View form our apartment looking out over
Mother Armenia Victory Park and Yerevan

And so the Armenians have this spirit of brave perseverance, as well as National pride that is greatly tied to their Christian identity and the fact that they are the first Christian nation, claiming Christianity in the year 301.  Through years of Soviet domination when anyone who wanted to have a decent job could not profess Christianity, they secretly observed the Sacraments.  Immediately after the Soviet Union’s downfall, they openly embraced the faith and began the monumental task of repairing their ancient churches and building magnificent new ones.  Tomorrow we visit Holy Etchmiadzin, the “Vatican” of the Armenian Apostolic Church, where we will have tours and I will meet with church officials.  The Mother Church of Armenia, Mayr Tacher is relatively small, but has its origins in the early 4^th century as the place St. Gregory the Illuminator, the patron saint of Armenia because he converted King Tradat to Christianity in 301, had a vision of Christ descending from heaven and telling him to build a church on this spot right in front of the King’s palace.  The connection of faith to the state has continued for centuries!

There are many beautiful things to see here.  More to come tomorrow with the visit to Holy Etchmiadzin and then, travelling in this amazing country to the sites outside of the city.

View from Apartment with contrasts of multi-million dollar homes

Pax and Cheers –or Genats as the Armenians say!

Another View

Fireworks over the city---seen from our apartment!

TOMORROW WE LEAVE THE CITY...GET READY FOR GREAT PICTURES OF BEAUTIFUL OLD CHURCHES AND SPECTACULAR SCENERY! 

Grace on the Flight to Yerevan

Boarding the plane from Paris to Yerevan, Case and I went to our aisle seats across from each other and thought we’d have a quiet 4 hour flight.  We had a 30 minute connection from Rome and the arrival and departing gates couldn’t have been further apart at Charles de Gaulle Airport.  Running to the gate for Yerevan, we arrived with 5 minutes to spare and so we were delighted to think the seats next to us were empty.  We could sleep. 

However, we sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes and as we did, more and more Armenians trickled onboard.  A delightful woman, Hasmine and her four year old daughter Allesandra sat next to me, complete with Armenian Barbie and other entertainment options for a four year old girl.  Hasmine is Armenian, but moved to Germany 15 years ago.  She met her Greek husband there and so she lives quite the multicultural life!  She speaks German, Greek, and Armenian with a little bit of English.  Between my lapsed German and her broken English, we were able to carry on a great conversation, but I could tell that she was going to talk the entire flight to Yerevan.  Allesandra also was quite busy—so no quiet flight!  About ten minutes later, Hasmine squealed with delight when mother and aunt arrived.   The aunt’s designated seat was in the center by Case.  But she wanted the aisle seat and nothing else would do!   Case politely obliged out of respect while the air host said he didn’t have to do that.  The mother was seated on the aisle one row ahead of us and there was non-stop talking between them.   Realizing that these four females needed to be seated together, we did some major swapping with Case and me ending up with aisle seats one row ahead of where we were seated.   On my seat next to the window was an Armenian woman curled up asleep, but she woke up and said the reason her row was empty was because she had the flu.  I took my chances anyway and all worked out well. 

Warm Welcome:  Armenian Hospitality
from two priests at Surb Hripsime Church

Perhaps it is an anomaly of airline travel today to write what  I am about to say.  Grace happens even on airplanes when you least expect it.  Just before we took off, the Air France hosts moved the divider between Business Class and Coach from two rows in front of Case and me to just behind us.  Voila!—we were upgraded to Business Class apparently for our kind deed in getting the Armenian women together!  We had a wonderful Air France meal with great wines and splendid service and were shown a nice French movie with English subtitles:  The Well Digger’s Daughter.  It is very sentimental, perhaps a cliché, but a delightful movie.  If you are looking for romantic schmarm, get it on Netflix.   

My new row mate, Gayane, also watched the movie and although we had “maintained our distance” because of her flu, I was able to let the air hosts know what she wanted  when the service came around (they couldn’t hear  or understand her).  When the movie was over, we both commented on how nice it was and that was the beginning of a great conversation.  Gayane speaks fairly good English and it turns out that she works in nation development with the United Nations, particularly with Aids prevention and education.  She was flying home from a 2 week International Aids symposium sponsored by the U. N. in San Paulo, Brazil.   She was familiar with the work of the Aids Action Coalition in the United States, but once she found out I was a priest, we began a great conversation about the church’s response to HIV/Aids.  She was impressed with the Episcopal Church’s position in supporting education and prevention, but also of treating people with respect and dignity.  We both had much to learn from each other.  It is invaluable to reach across language barriers and be in dialog about how we can improve the human condition of all people in our global village.  Mutual compassion and ministry breaks down walls and fuels grace. 

Gayane was met at the airport by her husband, Thom (!) and her 26 year old son Artyam.  They gave us a ride to our hotel in Yerevan  and they have become great friends, helping us around Yerevan, and especially Artyam, introducing us to the vibrant café life in Yerevan (something my son Case really appreciates!). 

Looking out over Yerevan from the top fo the Cascade

The fruit of reaching out to others continues.  Having a late dinner in the city center of Yerevan, we ran across a doctor from Los Angeles (where the largest number of diaspora Armenians live in the United States) and he told us about the Medical Congress he was on that brought together Armenians from Armenia and the United States.  On Sunday, while visiting the historical site at Garni, Case and I ran into ten of these medical folks from Los Angeles and turns out they live near daughter Sally.  They promised to look her up when they return Petite Bateau!   Another connection for friendship because Case and I will join them for a Yerevan outing before we leave. 

But we still had another surprise of grace…Hasmine and her family were also at Garni on Sunday and you would have thought we were long lost relatives who had not seen each other for 20 years. Hasmine came running up to us and nothing would do except that we accept their invitation to their home a week from Sunday for an Armenian Feast! 

Mother Armneia Standing Guard over Yerevan

The people here have large and beautiful hearts.  You do not meet a stranger.  Grace truly is exponential and while most times you don’t always see how that works, when you do, you are always astounded.  An astonished heart is not a bad thing to have. 






Pax

Greccio: Francis gives the first Christmas Creche for the Nativity

Cave of the First Christmas Creche

On Christmas Eve, 1223, at his high mountain hermitage at Greccio, Francis did something remarkable that Christians have been doing ever since.  His intense desire to be one with God in Christ through the incarnation led him to recreate the scene of Jesus’ nativity, the very first crèche.   At midnight in a candlelit cave high in this mountain retreat, Francis gathered sheep and cattle and goats and a donkey. The local stray cats, still hanging around Greccio today, sauntered onto the set.  He invited the local shepherds to come, too, bringing their flocks by night to see the sight.  A young woman in the nearby village had just given birth a few days before and so she and her husband would bring their newborn son and lay him in a manger, just as the holy family had done that first Christmas.   Can you imagine the surprised joy on the villagers’ faces when they came to Midnight Mass!  Francis wrote a new setting for the Nativity Gradual, Psalm 96, Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the whole earth.  Declare his glory among the nations and his wonders among all peoples…Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea thunder and all that is in it; let the field be joyful and all that is therein, all creatures of the earth, man and beast rejoice together this day before the Lord when he comes… 

This scene has been recreated every Christmas at Greccio since and has inspired the creation of crèche scenes, live and modeled, at Christmas everywhere, reflecting the local culture of Christians from all across the globe.  In the church built at Greccio, there is a huge life-size recreation of the crèche, and upstairs surrounding the church are hundreds of crèche scenes, from native American models to South Pacific and every land in between in Europe and Africa. 

The rector of the Church of the Nativity could not miss this thin place for Francis, and so Tippy and I drove the two hours down to Greccio in Lazio from Perugia in Umbria.  I realize that Francis is teaching us, inviting us into the mystery of the incarnation through Jesus’ nativity.  I am reminded that our own nativity is meant to recall that because of Christ’s birth in Bethlehem (that becomes so much more real when we visually experience it), God wants to be born in us in our own time and day.  I quietly sang the words of the beloved hymn O Little Town of Bethlehem, crafted by the great Episcopal bishop Phillips Brooks (the “Doctor of the Incarnation”).  O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.  Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.  Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.  The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. …How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given!  So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven.  No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in…O Holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray.  Cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today… Be born in us, today.  The cave is silent and still. 

The words of the English poet Richard Crashaw are powerful here:   Welcome all wonders in one sight.  Eternity shut in a span!  Summer in winter, day in night, Heaven in earth, and God in man.  Great little one!  Whose lowly birth lifts earth to heav’n, stoops heav’n to earth.    

Greccio Monastery and Hermitage

Pax

View from Greccio

Not clamor, but love...

Early Monday morning, I attended the Eucharist at Chiesa Santa Chiara, St. Clare’s Church, where the famous San Damiano crucifix now is suspended over the side chapel altar.  It is here so the Poor Sisters of Clare still cloistered worship in its sacred presence seven times a day.  They moved the crucifix here in 1260 from San Damiano when the church was built to commemorate St. Clare after her death.  Prior to this time, from 1212 to 1260, the Poor Sisters of Clare had lived at San Damiano upon Francis’ instructions.  Clare is so important to the city of Assisi in her own right that the citizens of the city built a magnificent church to commemorate her and to be a place where her body would be entombed. 

San Damiano Crucifix

The San Damiano crucifix is a powerful symbol.  With Christ’s outstretched arms on a bold gold background with representations of saints at the top, the evangelists, and the faithful women at the foot of the cross, Jesus’ words of “when the Son of Man is lifted up, I will draw all people to me” call irresistibly to the heart.  Francis bid the Clares and all who came to pray before this cross to use these words,

Most high glorious God, cast your light into the darkness of my heart.  Give me right faith, firm hope, perfect charity, and profound humility, with wisdom and perception, O Lord, so that I may do what is truly your holy will.  Amen. 



After sharing Communion with about 100 faithful and the cloistered sisters, whom I could not see but whose lovely voices sang the ordinary of the mass, I walked the 2 kilometers down the hill from Assisi to the Church of San Damiano.  I went there to pray and to linger in the silence of this holy place where Francis heard Christ speaking to him from the very same crucifix now kept at St. Clare’s Church, “Go Francis and rebuild my church, which, as you can see, is falling into ruin.” 

Here Francis was so powerfully transformed, that in fear, awe, love, and even perhaps some anger that we all know when confronted by the truth that changes our lives, he threw the money needed to rebuild San Damiano at the poor priest in charge of the small church.  Francis then came back and helped rebuild the church with his own hands later.  Francis would continue to return to this holy, thin place to pray.  Late in his life, near the end and after he had received the stigmata, he came here bearing much physical pain.  Yet, he praised God in spite of his pain and wrote the Canticle of the Creatures looking from his cell out onto the olive grove beneath the church. 

Here in the darkened church, originally built around 950, I sat in what I had hoped was silence.  However, the loud voices of the many tourists were at first invasive.  Yet, even though not there to pray, they were there out of respect for Francis and this place.  And so I could give thanks for their enthusiasm.  Soon, however, centering prayer’s call to kenosis drew me into the same silence that Francis sat.  A replica of the San Damiano crucifix is here exactly where the original one was when Francis first prayed here.  I prayed that I, too would hear Christ’s voice above all else, enveloping me in the Trinitarian love that transforms and invigorates. 

An inscription about the essence of prayer in the choir of the church behind the altar put there by Clare reads,
         Not a voice but a desire—

               Not clamor but love—

                     Not instruments but hearts singing in the ears of God. 

And so here I sat until noon when the crusty nuns closed down the church from tourists and pilgrims so that this holy spot truly could rest in silence from the demands of all those who visited here placed within its walls.  I tried my best to linger, but this one nun was persistent to keep me moving.  We cannot stay on the Holy Mount of Transfiguration, but must return and put feet and hands and hearts to our prayers. On the way back up the hill to Assisi, a lovely bronze statue of Francis captures the essence of how this place transformed him, as even now the prayers offered changes those who make the pilgrim's way here.   

pax

Eremo della Carceri

Francis’ deep love, strong and clear preaching of the Gospel, and peaceful presence thrust him into wild popularity.  Crowds flocked to see him just to be near him, but especially to hear him preach.  Francis preached the love of this world in which God has created everything good and is redeeming all things and people through Christ. In God's incarnation in Christ, God filled all things earthly and heavenly and bid people seek union with God's divine presence in Christ through the Holy Spirit. This profound understanding of the Incarnation that is held in high esteem by Episcopalians deeply influenced all Francis thought, said, and did.  Francis embraced this world and all people and creatures in peace, even reaching out to the Muslims in reconciliation when visiting Egypt once. 

View of Assisi below walking up to the Carceri

God created a good world.   Yet, to truly love the world, Frances had to remove himself from it on a regular basis.  He sought out beautiful, remote places—high places in the mountains, where he would pray in a darkened grotto for long periods of time.  These were thin places where one could be totally vulnerable before God’s presence with little distraction and interference.  Eremo della Carceri was the first of these mountain hermitages Francis found for himself and his followers.  High on the slopes of Monte Subasio outside of Assisi, in dense woodlands, Francis retreated to a darkened cave where he would pray. 

Tippy and I, like many pilgrims, walked the 6 kilometers up from Assisi to reach the Carceri.  Walking the way Francis walked to reach this place of quiet solitude draws one into the peace Francis knew in this high place.  However, after such a long walk, the gelato vendor at the entrance to the santuario was a welcome sight!  After renewing our energy from a long hot walk straight up the mountain, we made the way through the hollowed rocks and in to the caves.  In the furthest corner is where Francis would sometimes stay for weeks at a time in his dark cave cell and so we squeezed through tight openings and down into the earth to get there.  Sitting in his grotto, Jesus’ invitation, “come away to a quiet place to pray” and his examples of going up into the hills above the Galilee alone in the dark of the night, drew me into the silence of prayer as Francis must have been drawn.  All I could do was "to kneel where prayer had been valid."  (Eliot, Four Quartets, Little Gidding)

Two creatures resting about halfway up to Carceri---perhaps
Tippy and I should have ridden them up and down!

There were lots of pilgrims here with us. Christians from  Italy and all over the world had climbed to the top of the mountain.  There was a small group of Hindus visiting out of respect for Francis’ ways of peace, reconciliation and  intense prayer.  And then, we heard loud exuberant voices with familiar American accents.  140 seniors from three Catholic High Schools in North Dakota were on pilgrimage!  They had been so quiet in the caves, but once out in the sunshine, they jubiantly engaged life as only teenagers could do.  Their priests (interesting, all young men) and lay teacher chaperones kept apologizing for them, but we were not bothered. It was refreshing to see all these teenagers on a three week trip to holy places in Italy and France.   The leaders of their group decided wisely to take cabs down the mountain, since the trip up was a bit like herding cats we were told.   Tippy and I returned on foot the way we came, realizing the stunning views of Assisi we saw were the same Francis knew when he returned to love and embrace all people and creatures with God’s wide love incarnate in Christ Jesus.   

On to Assisi, the City of St. Francis....

Cooking classes over, it is time to seek out the food for the soul the life of St. Francis inspires us to know.   Driving to Assisi from Cortona, we passed over a high mountain separating Tuscany from Umbria.  The views are dramatic, but the road a bit treacherous.  The drive through the Umbrian country side is beautiful.   On the way to Assisi we stop in Gubbio for a cappuccino and to look for St. Francis’ wolf. 



Chiesa San Francesca Cortona



It was Sunday and so we quietly walked through the abbey church of San Francesco, kneeling to say a prayer along with other worshippers.  Every church has its important art—each a little museum in its own right.  Chiesa San Francesco in Cortona actually was built a few decades after Francis died by his successor in the Franciscan order, and it contains a tunic St. Francis wore, as well as one of his breviaries (prayer book), and a pillow he used early in his life before he gave up the comfort of soft lines and beds for rock floors with straw!    We were not disappointed in the church in Gubbio.  But we were disappointed that there was nothing much said about the Wolf of Gubbio.  We looked for souvenirs, but alas, there were none featuring this story from Francis’ life.  I had heard that the Franciscans and the Roman Church want to downplay this particular mythic story of St. Francis, but nonetheless, its charm speaks to Francis’ ability to promote reconciliation in difficult circumstances.  A large bronze statue of St. Francis and Gubbio’s wolf was in the middle of the piazza before the church, and was too large for the Franciscans to hide.  A picture of the wolf and me is one of Tippy’s favorite shots. 



Andy and the Wolf



On to Assisi and the city of Francis and Clare.  Arriving in this historic and almost perfect hill town, you get the sense of the city the way it was when Francis lived.  Our hotel was an ancient residence of a religious order that was first occupied in the late 13^th century.  Our room had a private garden looking out over the Umbrian hillsides, with Chiesa Santa Chiara’s campanile right in view.  The old cathedral was in the other direction, about 50 feet away.  Wandering around the streets of Assisi, there are droves of tourists, and churches everywhere in this small picturesque hill town.   We visited the church built over the sight of Francis’ family home, as well as the prayer oratory and small chapel in the exact location of his birth.  We visited San Ruffino, the cathedral where Francis and Clare were both baptized, as well as the bishop’s palazzo where he discarded his clothing as an act of defiance to his father’s persistence that he give up his radical new commitment to the Gospel.  Francis was raised in the lap of luxury, the son of a wealthy cloth merchant in Assisi.  The rivalry among the various city states in the early 13^th century had become factious and warring.  So Francis, as a somewhat of a bon vivant, enlisted, but was not a very good combatant and captured more than once.  It seems that Francis was possibly questioning the meaning and purpose of his life.  He was educated and exposed to much of life because of his wealthy station.  But this was not enough.  He was hungry and thirsty for something he was not getting. 



By the time Francis was a young man, and for decades before, the Gospel’s message of peace and reconciliation was diluted in its capacity to be available and transformative of life and relationships.  God’s love was distant and inaccessible except through the church’s centers of power.  One day, Francis discovered Christ in a poor beggar he met.   Francis gave the man his cloak and, powerfully, he felt for the first time that he had participated in God’s love in Christ.  After this encounter, he stopped in the little Church of San Damiano in the valley just below Assisi.  Praying before the crucifix of Christ there in the desolated church, he heard Christ speaking to him, “Francis, build my church which you see is falling into ruins.”   Francis immediately used family funds to rebuild this little church, which infuriated his father.  At 26, he renounced all earthly wealth and privilege and began living a way of life that he felt would draw him into God’s love as it had been offered undiluted to the world in Christ Jesus. 



Approaching Assisi



The idea of God’s incarnation in Jesus’ humanity had almost been lost to Christianity.  Jesus’ divinity was promoted but not his humility and suffering and emptying.  Francis saw this great act of God as the central message of the Gospel and the reason peace and reconciliation among all people, even the creation itself, and the duty of all Christians.  Francis was so transformed by this love of God’s in Christ, that he immediately had throngs of people grasping the truth of the Gospel, and along with Francis, embracing a new way of life and peace.  Although his gentleness was charismatic, his bold clarity and articulation of the Gospel were powerful.  For the next 22 years, Francis would exponentially grow in Christ’s spirit of love.  Two years before he died  he received the ultimate sign of his sharing in Christ’s love, the stigmata, the wounds in his hands and feet and side that Christ bore in his passion. 

That first evening in Assisi, Tippy and I shared Communion for Trinity Sunday in the Basilica of St. Francis where Francis is buried.  The upper church’s walls are covered with Giotto’s famous frescos of Francis’ life, surrounding pilgrims entering the church. This massive church is on three levels, the upper that includes Giotto’s frescos as built last, perhaps 20 years after the first church.  The lower church was built first over the lowest level of the church, a chapel for Francis’ tomb.  Communion was celebrated in the lower church at the alter located exactly over the spot of Francis’ tomb.  One of the hymns sung at the service was a hymn to the Trinity with the exact same tune in our hymnal.  When we reached the Sanctus, I realized our voices at that moment were joined with all the company of heaven, Francis’ voice one with ours, too.  God intends a never ending succession of the faithful to live and preach the Gospel, using words if necessary.  After sharing the Eucharist with other pilgrims, we prayed at Francis tomb deep below the church.   Just four years after his early death at the age of 46, this church was built to honor his faith and powerful witness to God’s love.  Almost 800 years later, people still come to this holy place to honor a faith and witness to the Gospel the world still needs and longs to know.  

14 c. fresco in shrine over entrance to our hotel in Assisi