Jimmy Beh

 

One of the more well-known Hollywood friars is Friar Tuck—part of Robin Hood’s merry men. While it is most likely that Friar Tuck is merely an archetype of the period, we will claim him as a jovial Franciscan Friar for our purposes. In Ridley Scott’s version of the story released in 2010 with Russel Crowe, he writes these words into Friar Tuck’s mouth; 

“I’m not a Church-y friar, never was…” 

Now, if you listen closely, you can probably hear St. Francis rolling over in his grave. While some Franciscans view themselves as being on the edge of the catholic sphere, we are firmly within and part of the Catholic Church (well at least most of us but that is a topic for a different reflection). But now that I find myself as a Franciscan novice, I must confess that this throwaway line from a fictional Franciscan resonates with me.  

It resonates because I have never wanted to be ‘church-y.’ I grew up catholic, went to catholic school, received the sacraments, and prayed, but being church-y was reserved for that parishioner who was always trying to out-catholic the Pope… right? I’m sure you have a mental image of what I am talking about. The individuals that walks backwards on their knees at mass after communion, those who obsessively collect religious information like stamps, or those who are more interested in the rules and regulation of the church than its social justice efforts or being inclusive. As a kid, and even still, I tend to judge church-y people as weird, and often feel they are missing the point.  

And, yet, now, I am faced with the reality that not only do I live with and am directly associated with some church-y people, but even some of my own development in the order has left me feeling church-y. So what am I supposed to do with this? 

Now, I hope you believe me when I say I appreciate the irony here… a religious in-training, not wanting to feel church-y makes about as much sense as a football player who is not really into physical touch—or a soccer player that does not like grass. However, this internal contradiction is my experience, so, again, I ask myself what am I supposed to do with this internal conflict? 

Thankfully, I can look to a real Franciscan for direction. Toward the end of St. Francis’ life he said these infamous words; “I have done what is mine to do, may Christ teach you what is yours to do.” Notice the lack of judgement there—a stark difference from my own harsh judgements of others. Make no mistake, St. Francis was indeed an exceptionally holy man but that does not mean he got along with every single brother—far from it. But he understood quite clearly that God is the one that directs us. While St. Francis gave us a Rule and his life as an example, he also gave each of us the invitation to respond to God’s love in our own, authentic way. 

And so there will always be people in my Franciscan fraternity, catholic community, and the human family that get under my skin or that do things differently than me—but really this is a good thing. It is good not only because God is a lover of diversity, but also because God comes to each of us through the people and events of our lives. If we can set aside our ego long enough to see these inconveniences or annoyances as invitations and opportunities, we might begin to expand our understanding of church and family. And realize that just because I find God more intimately in social justice work and a brother finds God more intimately in the mass, it does not mean one needs to dominate the other, in fact, both complement each other and are pieces of a larger Whole. 

Murray Bodo said it well when he wrote, “Francis realized the error of trying to ascend by one’s own asceticism to a God who is descending while we ascend, thereby rendering futile our individualistic attempts at sanctifying our own actions.” Our God meets us in the ordinary events and people of our lives and in our ability to be humble and loving toward ourselves, each other and creation.  

So the next time that person starts driving us nuts, let us try letting their way of responding to God minister to us, and, who knows, we might experience something we did not expect.