SUNDAY EUCHARIST

Francis wasn’t a birdbath saint.

You know the Francis I’m talking about. He’s standing peacefully in somebody’s garden with a bird on his shoulder, a rabbit at his feet, maybe a squirrel hanging around somewhere. He looks sweet. Harmless. Safe.

And we’ve done the same thing to Jesus. We put halos around their heads. We give them soft faces and flowing robes. We make them gentle and almost cosmetic. We spiritualize them so much that sometimes they barely seem real anymore. To borrow a line from my friend Murphy, we’ve sissified them.

But Jesus wasn’t a sissy. And neither was Francis.

Jesus had some fire in him. Rome did not nail harmless people to crosses. Jesus proclaimed a Kingdom where the poor were blessed, the outcast were welcomed, enemies were loved, the powerful were challenged, and the people everybody else pushed aside were brought close.

And Francis looked at that Jesus and asked one dangerous question: What if he actually meant it?

Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor.” Francis embraced poverty. Jesus touched the people others avoided. Francis went among people with leprosy. Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Francis crossed battle lines during the Crusades and went to meet the Sultan. Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow me.” Francis took that seriously too.

And it cost him comfort, status, security, and the life everybody thought he was supposed to live. Francis wasn’t dangerous because he carried a weapon. Francis was dangerous because he took Jesus seriously.

And that brings us to the Scriptures. 

Isaiah gives us a vineyard that has been planted, tended, protected, and cared for, and God looks for fruit. Jesus gives us another vineyard in the Gospel. Again, there is an owner. Again, there are people entrusted with it. And again the question becomes: Where is the fruit?

There’s an old church saying I love: “God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts.”And Lord knows, religion has produced plenty of nuts. We can carry a Bible, quote Scripture, beat our breasts, come to church every Sunday, know every prayer, and talk about God all day long, and still produce very little mercy, compassion, peace, generosity, or love.

Francis bore fruit. His faith produced something: mercy, peace, simplicity, joy, compassion, fraternity. He learned to see a brother or sister where everybody else saw someone to avoid. And that is where Francis turns toward us. Because the question isn’t simply whether we admire him. 

The harder question is: What is our faith producing?

After all these years of hearing the Gospel, receiving Eucharist, saying our prayers, and coming to church, what is actually growing in us? Are we becoming more merciful? More generous? More peaceful? Less judgmental? More willing to stand beside the person everybody else avoids? Do people encounter more kindness because we are in their lives?

Because the proof of faith is not how religious we look. The proof is the fruit our lives produce.

That is why Francis still matters eight hundred years later. He didn’t simply admire Jesus. He let Jesus change him.

So yes, keep Francis in the garden. Let him stand there with the birds and the rabbits. Just don’t let that statue fool you. That little man from Assisi had fire in him. He believed the Gospel could actually be lived.

And maybe that is the question Francis leaves us today:

If Christ has been planted in me, what fruit is my life producing?

Because God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts.

And the world doesn’t need more people who admire Francis.

The world needs more people willing to take Jesus seriously.

Peace and All Good,

Brother Jeremiah