“O Brother Masseo,” said Francis, “we are not worthy of so great a treasure,” and he said it over and over again in the joy of his heart, so many times that Masseo, still hungry and not able to attack the food until they had said grace, lost patience.
“Father,” he protested, “how can this be called treasure, when we are in such poverty and lack the things of which we have need, we who have neither cloth nor knives nor plates nor porringer nor house nor table nor manservant nor maidservant?”
But Francis said, “This is indeed the reason why I have counted it great treasure, because man has had no hand in it, but all has been given to us by divine providence, as we clearly see in this bread of charity, in this beautiful table of stone, and in this so clear fountain. Wherefore let us beg of God to make us love with all our hearts the treasure of holy poverty.”
And then at last they “made their prayer” and Masseo was able to stay the pangs that assailed him. When the meal was finished they went into a church to pray and after they had prayed for a while Francis preached to Masseo upon poverty, and when he preached to one man it was “most carefully, as to a multitude.” It is a moving and wonderful discourse.
“Dearest Companion, let us go to Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and pray them to teach and help us to possess the immeasurable treasure of most holy poverty; for she is a treasure so all-worthy and so divine, that we are not worthy to possess in our most lowly vessels; inasmuch as she is that heavenly virtue through which all things earthly and transitory are trampled underfoot, and every obstacle is removed from before the soul in order that it may freely unite itself with God Eternal. This is that virtue which makes the soul, while still placed on earth, to converse in heaven with the angels. This is she who accompanied Christ upon the cross; with Christ she was buried, with Christ she rose again, with Christ she mounted into heaven; and it is she who, even in this life, gives to the souls who are enamored of her the means of flying to heaven; inasmuch as she guards the weapons of true humility and charity. And therefore, let us pray the most holy apostles of Christ, that by his most holy mercy, he may grant to us to merit to be true lovers and observers and humble disciples of the most precious and most beloved evangelical poverty.”
Masseo numbered among his many gifts musical composition and a sense of humor. He once composed a chant and being pleased with it sang it constantly. When his restive brethren asked him why he could not sing something else he replied, “When a man has found a good thing he ought not to change it.” Francis had to help him to learn humility, as he had helped Ruffino to learn obedience, and he used both severity and laughter to help him along the hard way. At one time he set him to do menial tasks for the community, and kept him at it so long that the other brothers pleaded that he might be relieved. But Masseo, who wanted above all things to be humble, refused to be relieved and said to Francis, “Father, whatever thou dost lay on me, whether wholly or in part, I deem it altogether God’s deed.”
But he did not find it so easy to be laughed at. One day when he and Francis were journeying together Francis dropped behind to pray and Masseo, striding ahead, came first to a crossroad. “Father, by which way are we to go?” he called back.
“By that which God shall will,” replied Francis.
“But how can we know the will of God?” asked Masseo.
Francis said, “By the sign I will show thee. Wherefore by the merit of holy obedience, I command thee that in the crossroad where thou art now standing thou turn round and round as children do and cease not turning till I tell thee.”
So the large, hot, and flustered Masseo had to spin round and round until he was giddy, and wondered why Francis made him play the child before the amused passersby. When Francis called a halt he was facing toward Siena, and so to Siena they went, that evidently being God’s will for them.
Masseo felt that no price was too great to pay for the precious gift of humility. He wore himself down with fasts, vigils, and prayer, beseeching God to give it to him. But still he knew he was not a truly humble man and one day he went “into the wood” and as he walked through the aisles of that lovely place he broke down and wept because he had not attained the grace of humility. And then in the midst of his bitter weeping he heard his name whispered by that still small voice that Francis knew so well. “Brother Masseo!” said the voice and he answered, “My Lord! My Lord!” And the voice said, “What wilt thou give to have this grace from me?” Brother Masseo said, “O my Lord, I would even give the eyes from out my head!” But bargaining has no part in the generosity of God’s giving and the voice said gently, “I will thou hast the grace and thine eyes also.”
The Presence withdrew, leaving Masseo so humbled by the unbelievable humility and gentleness of Christ, and so filled with his light, that from that hour he was ever jubilant. He lived to be a very old man and was called Masseo of Humility.
These three brothers, Leo, Ruffino, and Masseo, with Angelo the courteous knight of Tancredi, made a bodyguard for Francis during the last years of his life. They went with him to Mount Alvernia, they nursed him through his last illness, and they are buried close to him in the great church of San Francesco, watching over him still. Leo, Ruffino, and Angelo are the three companions whose memories were written down in Leo’s “rolls and notes.”
Pacifico also had been a great man in the world before God called him to the poverty and littleness of the Brothers Minor. He had been William of Lisciano, the king of verses, and he had been a troubadour. As a boy he had been brought by the emperor to the court of Palermo, had contested with Norman and Provencal troubadours and been crowned as poet laureate by the emperor himself. With his honors fresh upon him, and accompanied by the usual crowd of admiring young men who troop after the hero of the moment, he went one day to a convent at San Severino in the Marches of Ancona, where he heard Francis preach and was so “pierced” by him that afterwards he went to Francis and asked if he might talk to him. And so in some quiet place they sat and talked together, the friar in his worn gray habit and the courtier in his finery, and Francis spoke gently of the royal court where he himself was a servant, the court of the King of Heaven. He was still speaking when William of Lisciano suddenly cried out, “What need of further argument? Let us come to deeds. Take me away from men and give me back to the most high emperor.” They went back to the courtiers who had come with their poet laureate, and kneeling down in front of Francis before them all William of Lisciano gave himself to God, and became Brother Pacifico, so called by Francis because he had left the traffic of the world for the peace of Christ. If this prompt acceptance into the order of a young man he had never seen before seems startling, we must remember that Francis had a sure instinct for vocation. When another young man knelt weeping before him, begging to be taken into the order, Francis said curtly, “Miserable and carnal boy, why do you think you can lie to the Holy Spirit and to me? Your weeping is carnal and your heart is not with God. Go, for you savor of nothing spiritual.” It must have given Francis great joy to have a troubadour for his son, and when years later the Brothers Minor went as missionaries to the beloved land of France, the land of the troubadours, they were led by Pacifico.
It was once granted to Pacifico to see a vision of heaven. He and Francis were walking together one day in the valley of Spoleto when they came to an abandoned church, one of those lonely places in which Francis liked to pray, and he said to Pacifico, “Return to the leper hospital, for I wish to remain here alone tonight, and tomorrow very early return to me.”
Pacifico did as he was told and Francis went into the church to say compline and to pray, and then after a while he was tired and lay down to sleep. But he could not sleep for he felt evil all about him and he was terribly afraid. He was always acutely aware of the strength and horror of evil, not only the evil of wicked men but that diabolical unseen evil which in the spiritual world is arrayed with such power against the powers of light. He felt often in his own body and mind and soul the tides of the eternal conflict
, and sometimes he would feel himself almost swept away by evil. Like all men of his time he personified in an almost human way the powers that are above and below us, their conflict interpenetrating ours. The angels and the demons were very real to him. In some dark and lonely place he would think he heard a footfall behind him, or the beat of dark wings, and he would be terrified. Yet he never ran away from the terror but stayed and faced it out, for he knew that the power of God is always mightier than any evil that can assail us, and he believed also that God can use even the demons for a good purpose. He called them “the sergeants of the Lord,” and pictured them in this world bringing the afflictions that curb sin, and in the afterlife executing the divine justice.
Lying in the dark church he felt the evil both within and without. Diabolical suggestions attacked his mind and about him was the dark pressing-in of fear. He got up and went out of the church, taking with him out of the holy place the evil that had fastened upon him, and under the stars he crossed himself and invoked the name of God, and the evil let go of him and he went back to the church and slept in peace.
Very early the next morning Pacifico came quietly into the church and saw Francis praying before the altar. He did not want to disturb him and so he waited outside the choir; there was a crucifix there and he knelt down to pray before it. The picture that comes into the mind is one of awe and beauty: the abandoned lonely church full of shadows and the two men kneeling in prayer, the one before the altar and the other before the crucifix, and outside the growing light of dawn and the first twittering of the birds. As his prayer deepened it seemed to Pacifico that he was caught up into heaven, and like Saint Paul he said afterward, “Whether in the body or out of the body God knoweth.” He saw in heaven many seats and one lovelier than the others, for it was shining with precious stones. But it was empty. And then he heard a voice saying to him, “This was the seat of Lucifer, and in his stead shall the humble Francis sit.”
When he came to himself again, Pacifico saw Francis coming down to him from the altar and he went to him and kneeled at his feet with his arms held out crosswise, and he whispered, “Father, do me this grace, and ask the Lord that he may have mercy on me and forgive me my sins.”
Francis, seeing the transfigured face of his friend, knew that he had had a vision, and he lifted him gently to his feet and they went out of the church together.
Afterward Pacifico wondered, like so many who have lived with great and holy people, what sort of opinion Francis had of himself and he asked, “What thinkest thou of thyself, brother?”
And Francis answered, “It seems to me that I am a greater sinner than anyone in the whole world.”
Then Pacifico knew that his vision had been true, for in the kingdom of heaven it is only the humble who are exalted.
There were two brothers who were neither noblemen nor poets but two poor men whose intelligence was not their strongest point. They were “simple” and for that very reason Francis loved them greatly. There was no need to teach humility and obedience to Brother John and Brother Juniper. The limitations and disasters of Brother Juniper made him humble as the humblest child and the blindness of Brother John’s obedience was something of an embarrassment to the order.
One day when Francis was at Nottiano, a village to the east of Assisi, he found the church not as clean as it ought to be and set to work to clean it. Nothing distressed him more than to find churches neglected and he used to carry a broom with him on his journeys so that he could sweep them. Often, after he had finished preaching in some small town or village, he would gather the priests of the district together in some quiet place, where lay people should not hear what he said, and talk to them of the salvation of souls and plead with them that they should look after their churches and altars with careful reverence. On this particular day, while Francis was hard at work cleaning the poor little church and grieving in his heart because men loved God so little that they could let his house be dirty and neglected, he heard footsteps padding on the stone flags of the church and looking around saw “a rustic of strange simplicity,” and the rustic said, “Brother, give me the broom for I wish to help thee.” Francis gave him the broom at once and he finished the sweeping, and then the two of them sat down together, perhaps in the church porch, where they could look out over the fields that were being plowed ready for the spring sowing and see the garlands of the vines and the silver olive trees. In one of the fields a couple of oxen stood idle, for John the rustic had been plowing when word went around the village that Brother Francis of Assisi was in the church, and he had promptly left the plow and the oxen and run to Brother Francis. As they sat and talked together he told Francis that he had been wanting to come to him for a long time, but he had not known how to come, and he said, “It is now a long time that I have had the will to serve God. Now therefore, since it hath pleased the Lord that I should see thee, I have the will to do whatever shall be pleasing to thee.”
Francis saw that this simple plowman had it in him to be a holy servant of God, and he explained the rules of the order to him. The thought of parting with his possessions did not daunt John. He ran off and came back with one of the oxen, his portion of the family inheritance, and told Francis that he would give it to the poor.
But when John’s parents and younger brothers heard what he was proposing to do there was a fearful outcry, for they did not want to lose John, and still less did they want to lose the ox. But Francis knew how to comfort them. He shared a meal with them, and talked to them and made them happy by his love and kindness. He told the parents what a great honor it would be for them to give their son to God, “to serve whom is to reign,” and he went on to say that since they themselves were so poor their son should give his ox to them. At that the poor little family rejoiced greatly at the idea of giving John to God, but “chiefly they rejoiced on account of the ox,” and John went with Francis to the Portiuncula with the parental blessing.
Francis so loved John’s simplicity that he had him with him as his constant companion, though the companionship had its difficulties, for everything Francis did John had to do too; when Francis knelt he knelt, when Francis sighed he sighed, when Francis looked up to heaven he looked up to heaven. When reproved he said, “Brother, I promised to do all things which thou didst, and therefore I must conform to thee in all things.” John had his own wisdom. He was well aware how closely Francis followed in the steps of Christ and like the page of good King Wenceslas he thought he could not go far wrong if he came after, putting his feet in the prints that Francis left behind him. So he came after, and though he did not live much longer, being one of the few brothers who died young, “he being made perfect in a short time, fulfilled a long time. For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted he to take him away from among the wicked.” After his death Francis always spoke of him as Holy John.
Brother Juniper, the beloved jester of the order, has been a delight from that day to this, and so many stories are told about him that he has become an almost legendary figure. He was a cobbler, childlike, warmhearted, impulsive, simple, humble, selfless, and very patient, and Francis loved him so much that he said he wished he had a forest of such Junipers. The other brothers loved him too but perhaps they were glad there was only one Juniper, especially when it was his turn to do the cooking, for he thought it saved trouble to cook rabbits in their fur, and was surprised when the brothers were not appreciative of all he tried to do for them. Juniper was not afraid of preaching, for he liked to talk, but he preferred children to sermons and once kept a distinguished congregation waiting for him while he played seesaw by the city gate with two ragged boys.
After the death of Francis life was hard for Juniper, for a change came over the life of the Brothers Minor and he could not understand it. With the order numbering thousands of friars the absolute poverty of the early days was no longer possible. Convents were built and equipped with the necessities of books and furnishings, and all these things Juniper gave blithely away to every beggar wh
o asked for alms; for Father Francis had taught him to give to all who were in need and not to forget the command of Christ, that to him who asks for our coat we must give our cloak also. Juniper did not forget and gave away his clothes so often that at last his Superior lost all patience with him and forbade him ever again to give away his habit. So Juniper let it be stolen from him instead.
Upon this occasion or another his Superior rated him so thoroughly that he gave himself a sore throat. Juniper in his selfless humility was not aware of any injustice done to himself, even though he had only been obeying Christ and Father Francis, or of any unkindness in what must have been a savage scolding, he thought only of the rasped throat. He went into the city, begged butter and flour and made a pottage, and late that night the Superior heard a knock at his door and opening it saw Juniper standing there with a lighted candle in one hand and the hot pottage in the other. Juniper smiled his childlike loving smile and said, “My Father, when thou didst reprove me for my faults I saw that thy voice grew hoarse and I weened it was through overmuch fatigue. Therefore I thought of a remedy and made this mess of pottage for thee.”