Saint Francis of Assisi

The town of St. Francis is a little river town that was settled in 1855. That, is not very interesting. Let’s be frank. Actually, forget Frank. Old Jonathan and Otona were the early names given to this little river town before a very important man christened it St. Francis. Father Luis Hennepin it was, a catholic priest and missionary of the Franciscan Recollect order, a man who can take credit for the exploration of much of North America. Interestingly enough he is credited for bringing the world’s attention to two great waterfalls in our country. First, Niagara Falls in New York. Second, Saint Anthony Falls in what is now Minneapolis, the only waterfall on the great Mississippi. Interesting. New York, Minnesota, New York, Minnesota, New York, Minnesota, New Yor…….. Saint Francis himself (yes, he was a real man), was one of seven children. A sacred number, but none the less, sibling rivalry must’ve been rather oppressive. Especially after he became a saint…. I can’t imagine what sort of competition is involved when one of your siblings becomes a saint. I think getting ma and pa’s attention after that is a little futile. Not to mention that in the 1100’s they probably didn’t have any therapists. At least not any with the drugs offered to us today. Anyway. Saint Francis was a man who at first found life to be about nothing more than selfish pleasures (parties and the sort), and spent a great deal of his young adulthood frolicking with his buddies and reeking havoc in the local town doings. At that time, I can only assume this entailed drinking an awful lot of Italian wine and, I don’t know, tying people’s donkey’s ears together or something. Tipping the meat carts. Tying their sandals together and throwing them up on clothes lines. Actually, it was probably more like drinking a lot of Italian wine and….drinking a lot of Italian wine. But then there was something quite significant that happened, and it transformed him and his entire life forever. It was a simple thing, really, but none the less it was still the moment he realized that he was meant for something greater than partying with his friends. He was in the street market selling his fairly wealthy father’s cloths and linens when an old beggar came asking for alms. Francis had denied the beggar anything until the very end of his business day; having sold everything he could he abandoned his left over merchandise to chase down the beggar. When he found him, he gave him everything in his pockets. Francis returned home and was not only taunted by his friends, but was horrendously reprimanded by his father. None the less, it begat a new life of poverty for Francis, one in which he chose willingly. He spent the rest of his life devoted to having a lack of material possessions, did charitable deeds such as nursing lepers, and found a calling to commune with nature and the like, doing what he knew he had to do to better God’s world. He claims to have had a vision of Jesus Christ saying to him, “Francis, Francis, go and repair my house which, as you can see, is falling into ruins.” Because of this, it seems, he was seen as a gifted advocate for bringing peace between man and nature, caring very much about the environment. And those who follow in the Franciscan ways believe in the same values, such as our before mentioned explorer, Father Hennepin. So, Saint Francis, both town and man, have a slightly stretched connection to my own self. I’m in no shape or form a saint, nor am I that religious. That is certainly not what I mean to say… But the Franciscan order seems to be something I find myself embracing in some shape or form now and again. I’ve been poor. Certainly not by choice, because frankly I’d rather be rich (this is why I’m not a saint….). And I care very much about the natural order of things, the environment, and the value of all life. All life, from the greatest pine to the smallest ant. And Father Hennepin, founder of Niagara and Saint Anthony, wanted to honor his Franciscan order by naming a town after this extraordinary saint. St. Francis, Old Jonathon, Otona. I’ve always believed that names, the christening of anything, is a spiritual and very important deed. This little town, not much more than a post office, an old inn and pub, a gazebo in a park, and a river that winds through it, has had more of a spiritual beginning than the current population probably even knows. And this is definitely something that I, as a rather spiritual person myself, can most certainly embrace. I invite anyone else to do the same.