The story of him being called to rebuild the church left an image in my head of a small one room stone chapel for me to hold dear for so many years.
The story of him dancing naked in the square, being stoned, and singing out songs of gratitude became a vital sub-personality in my psyche - or a powerful presence on my meditative council, if you prefer.
The story of his creating an Order of brothers who reached out to be service in the world has been an image for me of healthy community purpose.
When I visited Assisi this summer, it was with a tour bus because I did not want to go alone, although I was the loner in the crowd. There were four who spoke Spanish and English, two who spoke only Italian, two who spoke only Spanish, and me who speaks only English - but fortunately understands Spanish. The guide translated into the four languages on the bus. When we arrived another guide took over. She translated into English and Italian, while the bus guide translated into Spanish. Neither of the guides translated into English well, so I was glad I understood Spanish.
We visited the church where St. Clare attended with her aristocratic family. Inside we viewed the small chapel where Francis received his calling to rebuild the church.
We visited the stable where Francis was born - interesting to learn that he was also born in a stable.
We visited the church his parents attended and saw where he was imprisoned for taking off his clothes in the square outside of the church, giving the clothes to the poor. It was significant for him to do this since his father was a mercantile goods merchant. He was disidentifying from his expected role in the community. His mother, who I suspect understood this, was also imprisoned for defending him.This was not the square where he danced naked.
We moseyed on down the old streets to the cathedral at the top of the hill which was built around the little church that St. Francis rebuilt. Once we got to this little church, I was amazed to find that it wasn't a little stone chapel at all. It was a beautiful Gothic cathedral in and of itself.
Walls and ceilings were covered with frescoes of stories, created for a population which basically could not read. One of the smaller altars told a story of St. Francis in heaven with his colleagues. On the left were souls being helped in to heaven. On the right were souls doomed for eternity. There I was - five feet from a Michelangelo creation. I didn't need to go to the Sistine Chapel anymore, because I was in the presence of this, also his creation. (I couldn't see the frescoes on the ceiling here, so I wouldn't be able to see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel anyway).
I had pondered going to France to make a pilgrimage to one of the many black Madonnas there, but here I was. There were many fresco black Madonnas right here. Later I found one in a shop, but couldn't imagine how I'd get it home, so I purchased a decoupage version instead.
The bus took us to St. Mary of the Angels where St. Francis and his Order maintained their center for the duration of his life. In the center of this cathedral is a small rustic stone chapel. It looked like the chapel I had imagined all these years as the one St. Francis was called to rebuild. I find myself wondering if I missed something in the translation along the way, or perhaps history has chosen to change the story for the sake of the journey.
I never did make it to the square where St. Francis danced naked. But, we did drive on to Cortona, the town made famous by "Under the Tuscan Sun". There, I sat in an outside pub on the square. there I had a lunch of thinly sliced salamis and a glass of house wine from Umbria, this province where I was. I imagined Frances Mayes, the author of the book, might have sat here to, reflecting on her own journey to create a new life for herself.
Such a pilgrimage, whatever way it is made, to those places which, are sacred to the traveler, is an adventure into the Soul.
Where would you like to go for your pilgrimage to the Soul? In that place, where Soul can create dance, healing can begin.
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