“. . . the demands of the [natural] law are written in their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness . . .” (Romans 2: 15)
Made in the image and likeness of God, we cannot live apart from what God has written in our hearts. Human reason is the basis for a process of discernment that empowers us to master the ability to choose what is morally responsible over what is not morally responsible. St. Francis spent much of his early journey of conversion engaged in this process of discernment. His was a classic struggle to understand and observe the natural law.
It is clear that the young Francis felt the attraction of the natural law in, well, a natural way. But he also recognized only too poignantly early on the fact that there is very little about observing the natural law that comes naturally. As it is said, a moral compass only points us in the right direction; it cannot make us go there. The natural law, as St. Paul points out, is a demanding taskmaster, and the demands become more pressing as we progress in self-awareness, develop a solid conscience, and are drawn deeper into a life centered on the pursuit of virtue. Several incidents in Francis’ early life bear this out and demonstrate that the way grace enters and touches and eventually affects our lives is intensely personal and as unique to us as individuals as is our singularity in the natural order (Duns Scotus called this haecceitas). No grace event has ever been, can ever be, or will ever be experienced (or acted upon) by two individuals in exactly the same way.
So, grace is the necessary point of departure for every spiritual endeavor that seeks to bear the fruit of virtue in our lives. Fortunately, "Your Father knows what you need before you ask him" (Matthew 6: 8b). Dispensed freely, grace is an invitation to a relationship with God that puts us on the path to moral maturity. Ignoring this invitation entails serious risk, and not simply for us as individuals. Virtue does not materialize suddenly in a vacuum. We are relational beings, a characteristic very strongly emphasized by our Franciscan tradition. It is, then, up to us, especially in matters of justice and peace and integrity of creation, to make manifest to the world the necessity of relating — as we relate to the Holy Trinity and to each other in society in order to promote true peace and to be instrumental in bringing about a workable, integrated strategy that will safeguard our Earth-home and those who inhabit it. (It is difficult to understand the mindset that envisions human colonization of other celestial bodies when we cannot even colonize our own planet successfully.)
To relate effectively we must recognize the value of dialogue and become proficient in the exchange of ideas with a view to achieving compassionate understanding where there would otherwise be ignorance and animosity. This can only be achieved when the other is treated with respect. And respect must be extended regardless of who the other is. Respect played an important if sometimes underrated role in the motivation of Francis to meet with Malik al Kamil in Damietta, Egypt, 1n 1220.
As beings created in an ineffable expression of God’s love, we are all alike in His desire for us to inherit everlasting life in union with Him; Francis appreciated this “like-ness” in Malik al Kamil. But while this “like-ness” is the general imperative for respecting the other, there is a special demand that the virtue of respect places on us which is vital to the fundamental integrity of society. It is the respect that we are called upon to demonstrate by the Fourth Commandment: respect for authority.
While we are all alike, we are not all, in social terms, equal. Generation succeeds upon generation, and juniors must exist in harmony with seniors; moms and dads with children; teachers with students; supervisors with staff — the list of relationships in which there is an element of authority to be considered is quite long. Every act of disrespect fragments some element of relationship, some element of society. Even the simplest act of disrespect spawns chaos, is divisive, and frustrates any effort to establish Gospel peace.
Current events unfolding daily give expression to the turmoil in a society craving peace: the names George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and the expressions of grief and acting out that resulted from the dysfunctional relationship between police and those they serve will not soon leave the public consciousness; acts of disrespect against people of color in general persist three full generations after the civil rights movement (bigotry and racism have become badges of honor in an increasing number of circles); respect for life still does not extend to the unborn; the nuclear family is disintegrating because husbands and wives do not respect each other; children observing such divisive behavior do not respect their parents. And so on, and so on. The inclination to indict any one social transgression over another is, while tempting, almost pointless. The point for us as Franciscans is not so much to illuminate the plight of society; the results of disrespect, whether for our neighbor or for authority, are all too evident. As Franciscans, fully recognizing that these things are happening and that they violate the Gospel directives, it all comes down to asking ourselves, “What are we called to do?”
Francis was not an analyzer; from the very beginning, Francis was a doer. He demonstrated that being humble lies at the heart of respect. It took humility to run after the beggar he had ejected from his father’s shop, humility to embrace the leper, humility to trade clothes (and roles) with the beggar on the steps of St. Peter’s in Rome. It took great humility (and again at his own initiative) to divest himself of his worldly goods in front of his father on the steps of Bishop Guido’s palace in Assisi in an act that punctuated what for all the world looked like a blatant violation of the Fourth Commandment. Let us try to imagine the likely dialogue that Bishop Guido moderated between Francis and his father that day. As we do let us keep in mind the words of Christ himself, which could not have been lost on Francis in the moment:
For I have come to set a man ‘against his father . . .’ ” (Matthew 10: 35a)
In the end, Francis disagreed vehemently with his father’s attachment to worldly goods and attitudes, and to some extent he created a spectacle. Perhaps his youthful ardor and passionate temperament muddled things a bit. But Francis emerged with understanding, acted decisively in defense of the Gospel directives, and, with respect born of humility, embraced the baptism of repentance as his destiny.
A personal experience many years ago brought a simple aspect of the respect/humility message home to me very effectively. I was walking down a corridor in a local hospital with the CEO and he noticed a housekeeper at the end of the corridor diligently mopping the floor. With a nudge he silently directed me around a corner down an alternate route to our destination in order to avoid the wet floor — not because it was wet and potentially hazardous, but because he respected the care with which the housekeeper was discharging her duty and he did not want to sully that freshly mopped floor. It did not matter that he was the CEO; it did not matter that I was the Chief of Surgery; it did not matter that the housekeeper never knew what had transpired.
We could do with a little more simple respect like that. Too many individuals play the authority card and pull rank without a second thought. Francis teaches that our respect for the other must begin with humility, the twin of poverty of spirit.
What are we called to do?
Dr. Conforti is the Director of Formation for the St. Clare of Assisi Fraternity in West Stockbridge, MA.
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