If I were a Roman Catholic, and if I were graced to be part of a (non?)monastic order, I think I would like to be a Franciscan.  (Trappist would be a better bet for crucifying my crazy talkative tongue, but I wouldn’t last ten minutes as a Trappist.)

The reason I think I would like to be a Franciscan is that Saint Francis was so downwardly mobile.

Francis (for some reason, “Francis” sounds better than “Saint Francis” to me) was the son of a wealthy merchant.  He was part of what we would call these days “the upper middle class.”

However, Francis voluntarily embraced poverty and simplicity.  More importantly, Francis embraced people who were poor and simple.  Francis married poverty and simplicity because he believed that this was what Jesus had both done and taught.

I, however, try to find ways around the much-too-clear implications of Jesus’ life and teachings.  Of course, Jesus didn’t mean financial poverty.  No!  He meant spiritual poverty.  Of course, there is a certain amount of discomfort with my line of reasoning in this regard—or is it a line of bologna?  However, my discomfort can always be quelled by something more.  (Since I just mentioned bologna, I suddenly remember that we actually have some bologna.  I think I’ll go downstairs and have a sandwich!)

However, at the center of the Christian faith is a God who was downwardly mobile.  Philippians 2:6-11 is a wonderful pre-Franciscan poem, either written by Paul or quoted by him.

“6 Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to.

7 Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form,

8 he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.

9 Therefore, God elevated him to the place of highest honor and gave him the name above all other names,

10 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

It would make me feel better to end with that quote.  Unfortunately, the words before and after this poem are words addressed to the church in ancient Philippi, which also speak to me.  These words nail me to the cross and threaten to keep me there.

1 “Is there any encouragement from belonging to Christ? Any comfort from his love? Any fellowship together in the Spirit? Are your hearts tender and compassionate?

2 Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one mind and purpose.

3 Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves.

4 Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.

5 You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.”

In other words, the introduction to this wonderful passage about God’s downward mobility in Jesus is preceded by the challenge for me to have the same attitude.  I just hate it when the context of a passage from the Bible is this clear!

The verses after the poetry are equally clear and equally discomforting.

“12 Dear friends, you always followed my instructions when I was with you. And now that I am away, it is even more important. Work hard to show the results of your salvation, obeying God with deep reverence and fear.

13 For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him.

14 Do everything without complaining and arguing,

15 so that no one can criticize you. Live clean, innocent lives as children of God, shining like bright lights in a world full of crooked and perverse people.

16 Hold firmly to the word of life; then, on the day of Christ’s return, I will be proud that I did not run the race in vain and that my work was not useless.”

Apparently, Jesus’ downward mobility means that I have to stop complaining and arguing.  Perhaps that is one aspect of embracing poverty and simplicity.

On second thought, I’m glad that I’m not a Franciscan.  If I were, I might have to take seriously the implications of the gospel.