BROTHER BONAVENTURE TO THE FPP
Sisters, brothers: Peace!
I see you sit and grapple,
struggle with
the joyful beauty of plans,
Eager to construct
Well-ordered, simple, secure

ITINERARIA.
I smile with you-
For don’t we quickly learn
The fragility of our plans,
How the Spirit, not so gently,
Shatters securities and upends order?

Recall how my own well-ordered
ITINERARIUM
My academic road to God
Vanished in that breathless message:
“You are now minister general!”
At that moment
The roadbed of my journey,
The spiritual rock of my life
Melted into chaos
Of thousands upon thousands–
The good, the bad, the in-between–
Thrust upon my trembling shoulders.

My peaceful, well-planned
ITINERARIUM
Became a twisted road to Calvary
Agony that led me to climb
That other mountain:
LA VERNA
Mystical mountain of desperate dreamers
With plans to seek my escape.

Sisters, I longed, I desired
I panted for peace!
I was ready, brothers,
To recoil, to renounce, to reject
That road of endless crises
That daily journey amid
All too human weakness!

The answer came
On that mystic mountain,
(To my delight and my dismay)
In a vision that said: JOURNEY ON.

For Peace, it seems,
on a Spirit-led journey
Is not to be found
In well-ordered plans,
Exquisitely executed
(not in well plotted conferences
or well-timed buses.)

The vision insisted:
“Embrace your
ITINERARIUM
Not merely
IN DEO
But as it is meant to be: IN DEUM.”

Such a little nuance of grammar
A simple change of case
Taught this scholastic a lesson
All pilgrims must learn:

Our journey in faith is not so much
IN GOD As it is INTO GOD.
(Faith, it seems,
Is not so much propositional
As prepositional.)

My heart,
resenting, resisting, rebelling
was thrust into this
JOURNEY INTO GOD

(And slowly the road of my Calvary
Led through Tabor
To Mount Zion)

For this is true pilgrimage:
To let your
WHOLE PERSON
Be drawn to a
JOURNEY
Into the divine darkness,
Into the ardent fire
Into the very center and circumference,
INTO GOD!

Hence, my advice to you, brothers, sisters:
Let each journey you plan,
Each pilgrimage you embrace
(Study, leadership, breather)
Reflect
Refract
Relive
That ultimate journey:
ITINERARIUM MENTIS IN DEUM.

Each of your Pilgrimages,
Dearest sisters, beloved brothers
Are daring raids
Into divine Darkness
Bold embraces
Of the ardent fire.
Journeys outward, inward, upward.

For this
Francis, so bold yet so courteous
Lady Clare, so submissive yet so audacious
Extend a helping hand and
a blessing.

They walked ahead of us
On a road that
offers no guarantees
Yet promises everything.

They journey with us now,
for we never walk a pilgrim road alone
We journey with the One who dwelt among us
And sent us out two by two.

As they did, as I did,
You will walk along an uncertain road with
Those who hold you back,
Those who walk at your side,
And those who, by Spirit’s grace,
Are ready to drag you forward.

n all your planning,
Never lose sight
(As I almost did),
That you are walking with them
INTO GOD:
And that such a perilous journey into
DIVINE DARKNESS
Is best made by those
who hold each other’s hands
And huddle together in the warmth of that
HOLY FIRE

Clare invites you
Francis entices you
I pray for you:

May your own
ITINERARIA
Be thrice blessed.

As you journey
Cast a kindly eye toward me
Your brother with you on this
JOURNEY INTO GOD.

Some inhabit, yet
Move outside of time.
Fear has no hold on these.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            They care too much for worry.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Attracting God’s grace
They hurry his plan.
Glory seeps through them                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Searching out the lost and alone                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Bidding home, to share this light                                                                                                                                                                                                                        And be warm.

The Gospel of St. Luke, Chapter 2, Verse 34 quotes our Lord:

For where your treasure is, There also will your heart be.

Where has my treasure been, and where is it now?
It has been rooted in love of family.
It still is.
It has been found in the pride of heritage as defined by DaVinci, Dante and DiMaggio. It still is.
It was in the pursuit of status and career.
It no longer is.
It was in the conquest of women.
It no longer is.
It was in the desire to do it “my way”.
Now, it is in the need to do it His way.
It was in the seeking of a love that does not exist.
Now, it is sharing in the love that is all around me.
It was in fearing Jesus and hiding from Him.
Now, it is in knowing Jesus and residing in Him,
And, Him in me.
It was in living life as an end in itself.
Now, it is in loving life as the means to eternal union with my Creator.
La Festa di San Francesco
4 Ottobre, 1999
In my new home, Assisi
Domenick Morda

Dedicated to my fellow pilgrims
In the “Assisi Experience”
Each of whom has expanded my heart
To provide a space where he or she may dwell.

Assisi –
rising majestically
on the densely wooded slopes of Mount Subasio,
above the early morning mist shrouding the Spoleto Valley.
Assisi –
in air, crystal clear,
ice blue sky domed above
filled with hundreds of swallows,
darting and swooping,
flying in celebration of joyous freedom.
If only my soul could fly so freely!
Assisi –
cobbled, narrow streets
echoing the sounds of distant times,
golden honey and delicate pink coloured stones
of walls and houses,
speckled with baskets and pots of blood red geraniums; doorways arched with the heavy scent of jasmine,
tell the story of the little poor man,
Francesco,
Knight of Lady Poverty and Champion of the Tau;
whose presence and spirituality
still breathes in the city and its citizens.
Assisi and Francesco are one.
Francesco of Assisi,
whose love for Christ was so deep and total,
that he humbly received the wounds of the Crucifixion there in that sacred space of Mount La Verna.
Francesco –
lover of life and of all creation,
living with his brothers
in a fraternity of loving relationship.
Francesco –
man of the remote caves of the Carceri,
man of deep solitude wherever he was –
but yet, never alone –
always in fraternitas;
showing that each of us is
an ultimate solitude before God.
Assisi and Francesco are one.

Assisi –
in the stillness of moonlit streets,
the hasty footsteps of the Lady Chiara resound
making her silent, lonely journey
beneath a dark blue velvet, star-studded sky,
through hidden alleyways,
out, away from the security of the city walls,
down to the plain where only
the lepers live in disgrace and in premature death;
to the warmth of the little portion –
the humble chapel of Our Lady of the Angels
now preserved for all time under the protection of a great basilica, where Chiara became the little plant of Francesco
and made her solemn commitment
to follow the Gospel Life in his way.
Assisi, Francesco and Chiara are one.
Chiara –
there in the tiny monastery of San Damiano,
like a beacon
nestled among the olive groves
where once Christ spoke from the icon to Francesco
and he in humble obedience rebuilt the broken walls of the Church, you lived your life of Christ-like poverty in the shadow of Assisi, your light and your prayers touching it
and the many pilgrims throughout the centuries.
Chiara –
your enclosure was Jesus, the Son of God Himself.
And in that place where your soul left this world,
your motherly embrace touched my being.
Assisi, Francesco and Chiara are one.
The memory of you is carried for ever in my heart
as you continue to call to me across the miles,
calling me to sow the seed of love in my virgin soil,
birthing Christ once more in our broken world,
so that I too, like you, will soar like the swallows,
resting my soul on the Spirit’s wings
in union with my Beloved.
By Sr. Marie-Claire, OSC
June 2011

When fair July with her showers sweet
Bathes every vein in liquor rare
From which the flower is engendered there,
And little birds are making melody,

That sleep with open eye through all the night,
And hops in Kent are reaching their full height, Then people long on pilgrimage to start.
Franciscans long to visit foreign strands,
To hallowed places known in sundry lands,
And specially from every shire’s end
Of England, and from America’s shore,
Off to Canterbury they wend
The holy Franciscan Center for to seek
Whom many will instruct for a week and more.
So, to Canterbury with heart and soul devout
On Thursday was come into that hostelry
Full six-and-twenty in a company
And more, and less, of sundry folk are called
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all.
Two friars bid them welcome to this place
When Richard, ever helpful, with meet grace
In van delivered every pilgrim there.
These Friars by name André and Philippe
Both worthy men who planned the pilgrims’ feast Of knowledge and wisdom, like to yeast
That leavens the whole loaf for great and least.
On Friday to the Greyfriars’ ancient hall
In Canterbury trooped one and all,
Where Brother Colin, Brother Austin vied
To share fraternity – and tea beside.
On Saturday to Oxford town we went
To hear of Scotus from Professor Cross
And then partook of sumptuous noonday fare
With Brother Charles and welcoming Brothers there.
On Sunday, comely tracts on our now-famous Scotus put forth by Brother Seamus,
Ere off with Canterbury’s Canon Clare
On candlelight procession dark we dare.
On Monday, Paula Pearce of Peckham told
And Philippe on grim contentions olde,
While Colin on a daytime visit led us
And on Cathedral lore and history fed us. 

Haymo of Faversham – pray, who is he?
And what St. Mary of Charity?
Dawn Smith enlightens one and all
On Haymo’s role in liturgical revision.
Again Philippe reviews our overall
Purpose: Our Intellectual Tradition.
Could anyone resist the breathing space
Of visit to seashore in Herne Bay’s place?
Now fare we forth to merry Cambridge Town,
A city of great scholarly renown,
Where pondered we the ways of Albert’s School
In sending visitators to ensure the Friars’ Rule.
What say we now of Bacon, scientist?
Whose studies in astronomy, maths and optics. Amanda Powers opened to our eager company
The secrets of this integrated scholar’s life.
Our Thursday is a veritable banquet
Beginning in the tiny Ockham hamlet
Professor Hughes led us in logical sequence
Through syllogisms of p and q and r.
We wonder: Did Ockham shave here?
Now share we charming Chilworth place
Made famous for its training in God’s grace
So many present friars; hallowed by length and breadth Of Eric Doyle’s exemplar life and death.
Remains one site now – London, near to which Original friars settled in Greenwich,
Philippe’s historic retrospect regales
Us with Davenport’s reconciliation tales.
So on the Thames to Westminster we come
To sample sights of London ere we go home, Recounting the rich days we pilgrims spent
In savoring our faith heritage in Kent
And savoring yet again another feast
Which our aficionado chefs prepare
With loving touch and culinary care.
And so, tonight in right festive mood
Acclaim the glories of Franciscanhood,
And thank our gracious leaders, André and Philippe. Let’s have a cheer – Hip-Hip-Hooray!

I can see it still
Hanging out the window sill Gazing Umbrian style
Brazen in blue and dew Awaiting clarity O’ valley haze.
In the cobble-stoned
Pink brick street channels Umbrians sell their wares
While Francis and Clare
Claim the town down all avenues.
Mystical touch tendered tune Music and mountain mirror Reflections of depth and desire Communicated ‘per’ one day by another through another in another.            Today in Gratitude
For ‘You’ un messagerio a mentor
un maestro eine Geheimnis

(sung to the tune of “All Creatures of our God and King”)

All Pilgrims follow Brother Tom. / Climb to the cave at Fonte Colomb. /
Re-e-new vows! / Re-e-new vows! /
This mendicant kind of love / By holy “Fountain of the Dove” /
Recommit now! / Recommit now! /
Party later! / Party later! / Party later!
Sing praise for holy poverty. / Explained by Brother André. /
No you cannot – / – keep the Porsche! /
O’ giving up the Visa card / makes shopping now so extra hard. /
Benefactors / Benefactors /
Buy you anything, / Buy you anything, / your heart desires.
Trust the Most High for Chastity. / Joanne can speak so lovingly. /
Take a shower. / Wear a hair shirt. /
Be intimate with God Most High. / To mortal flesh we all must die. /
Every hour! / Every hour!
Gaze upon Christ. / Consider Christ. / Contemplate Christ!
Obey the Lord with every part / Of your seraphic Earthly heart. /
Pray the Office. / Never sleep late. /
O’ burning will that wants to do / what mortal flesh alone can’t do. /
Follow Jesus / With Francesco. /
Alleluia! / Alleluia! / Alleluia!
All Pilgrims now come board the bus. / Come load your bags, don’t make a fuss. /
To Assisi! / To Assisi! /
Praise God for this most blessed day. / We’re going on Francesco’s way /
To Assisi / To Assisi /
Alleluia! / Alleluia! / Alleluia!

We’re troubadours from O-hi-o
Our group is quite brand-new-sy,
So, if we bore you with our song
You all must please ex-coo-si.
One day a band of pilgrims left
Their American-i home-a,
And flew across the ocean blue
To Assisi and Roma.
Two Padres met them and their names
Were André and Vianney,
One from the Bronx, the other from
The College of Sienn-ey.
One was fair, his words did strike
In all their hearts a spark-a,
The other dark and spirit-filled
He sang just like a lark-a.
They taught the pilgrims all about
Bernini and Gi-otto,
Secundum traditionem soon
Became the pilgrim’s motto.
They sang, they prayed, and studied well
All of the many frescoes,
That told of Santa Chiara
And the life of San Francesco.
They learned that if you went up to
The Rocca Ma-ggi-o-re,
You must be back by eleven o’clock
For then, they close the door-ay.
So when the pilgrims all return
To the good old USA,
In their hearts will always be
Vianney and André-é.
Our song is done, now go and have
Your cup of cappuccino,
Or maybe you prefer a glass
Of red or white vino.
Brothers, sisters, please recall
You are not alone-um,
We’re one Franciscan fam-i-ly,
So – Pa-ax et Bonum!