Foolish Francis

October 4 is the feast of Saint Francis. Two of the three books I have on Francis have the word “fool” in the title.

Let’s fool around a bit with the word fool. The court jester is an archetype in all cultures. Jester—or “fool”—comes from the Latin follis, meaning a bag of wind or bellows. Jesters say whatever comes to their minds. They can’t control their impulses. They are professional fools. Like a buffoon.

As one writer puts it, “a joker in charge is very difficult to challenge. Allow him to rile you up, and he wins; laugh with him, and you reinforce his nihilistic agenda.” What seems most unbelievable is this foolery isn’t mere entertainment or reality TV. It’s real life these days. Our country is in a serious and perilous.

Now let’s invert the meaning of fool. Go back eight centuries to the most beloved Christian saint, Francis of Assisi. St. Francis is remembered as a jester who made a fool of himself. Being a fool for God was the source of his joy.

In one icon of Francis he is even portrayed as a juggler. He juggled things of this world as he tumbled from socialite to beggar to friar. Francis had an upside-down view of life, reversing the values of the world. So much more radical than the demure image we have of Francis from our miniature garden statues.

Francis lived with Saint Paul’s maxim: the foolishness of God is wiser than human folly. As one author (Sean Fitzpatrick) puts it succinctly, St. Francis had a kind of ascetic frivolity—a playful seriousness. A gentle man of intense action, always revealing the twirling, juggling paradox that in giving one receives and that that everything in creation is unified.

It may be a fool’s errand. I would like try to interpret today’s assigned lectionary readings in light of Francis and care for creation, stewardship of the earth, environmental justice. Maybe being outside will help us see the texts with new eyes.

First, the ten commandments. It’s not often that they’re interpreted through the lens of Francis. Remember, the ten commandments are about love for God and neighbor. Francis addressed Brother wind and air, Sister moon and stars. I was delighted to see that a Lutheran website on care for creation mentions makes connections to all ten commandments. A few examples. Honor your father and mother: how would we treat the earth differently if we honored her as our Mother? You shall not murder: some are calling climate change the Sixth Great Extinction, greater than what killed the dinosaurs. You shall not steal: if all the inhabitants of the earth consumed like we do in this country, we would need the resources of four planets to sustain us. And finally, you shall not covet: think of the habitats creatures need to survive. And what it means when we live as if the entire planet is here only for us, for our needs.

One Benedictine author (James Hadley) holds up the post-enlightenment worldview that sees the creatures of the earth as things, rather than beings intimately involved in the unfolding of our mutual salvation. Not remembering that our destinies are intertwined with all creation has helped shape the ecological disaster we face.

And that leads to the difficult gospel. We’re not going to unpack it all. Way too much work on this fun Francis feast! It would be foolish, though, to infer that the parable of the wicked tenants is about the environment. The story indicts the foolish and corrupt behavior of the religious leaders of Jesus’ day, condemning their obsession with power and privilege. Yet as one insightful author (Debie Thomas) suggests, at the heart of the parable is a problem: the tenants don’t seem to get that they are not owners of the vineyard. It’s our problem, too. We think everything belongs to us—all the resources of the earth. We forget that we own nothing on this earth. Everything is a gift for us to steward. Francis’ love for creation is about more than blessing pets. It is a call to see we are intimately connected to sky, earth, air, wind, and all creatures, especially those becoming extinct every day.

One more reading. Paul’s words about garbage—rubbish—would sound foolish to many ears today. The loss of all things is garbage compared to sharing in Christ’s death and resurrection, Paul writes. Even in nature, there is dying and rising. Autumn leaves fall, die and decay and new life comes in the spring. Francis received the stigmata—the wounds of Christ—as a sign of his crucified and risen Lord. Baptized into Christ, we too leave behind the past and strive forward toward what is to come.

Another Francis, the current pope, penned an encyclical on care for the earth. He reminds us that the purpose of other creatures is not to be found in us. Rather, the destiny of all creatures—including us—

is God—a transcendent fullness where the risen Christ embraces and illumines all things.

So, let’s be fools in this community. Foolish enough to trust that God is making a new creation out of chaos and waste. Foolish enough be counter cultural. Foolish enough to find joy even when it looks like everything is falling apart.

God’s mercy is foolish, you could say. Despite our fickle foolishness, God is forever faithful. May God give us grace to heed these words of a Franciscan blessing: May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in the world.