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Franciscan Friars of the Renewal |
Summer 2006 Published biannually |
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The Cross We Wear |
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by Fr. Bernard Marie Murphy, CFR |
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One of the favorite pastimes of the citizens of New York is “people-watching.” This city, according to the late Holy Father, John Paul the Great, is the capital of the world. Hundreds of nationalities, thousands of varied ethnic groups, and innumerable world travelers can be found on the streets of this bustling megalopolis. One can visit Chinatown, Little Italy, and the Jewish Lower East Side. A visitor can be surrounded by the Hasidim of Williamsburg, the Poles of Greenpoint, and the brightly colored garb of Caribbean people in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn. One could even immerse oneself in the sights and sounds (and overwhelming scents) of the East in Little India.
But nothing seems to get more attention and turn more heads than a group of friars on the move. Although the streets of the South Bronx and Harlem have grown accustomed to our flowing grey robes and big bushy beards, travel outside our neighborhoods is generally an event. Whether we are riding the subways or walking the streets of Manhattan, many will sneak a glance (and some even an extended stare) at the monks in the marketplace. If there were only one friar out for a walk, many might excuse it as an oddity of New York eccentricity. But when several friars are in transit, it is a happening. As a young friar, I went to the Bronx Zoo on a Wednesday afternoon in late spring with my novice classmates. (The Bronx Zoo is free on Wednesday—a perfect Franciscan outing.) Since there were a few of us, at least five in number, we were more of an attraction to the hordes of schoolchildren than the animals behind the bars. Class trips passed by, heads turned, and muffled remarks were uttered. “How did they get out of their cage?” . . . Do you think we can feed them?” . . . I think they are the missing link.” At one point I found myself separated from my brethren, standing in front of the monkey cage (they were actually Capuchin monkeys). Because it is considered inhuman to have any animal behind bars, the visitors were kept from their “distant cousins” by plexiglas. Since the exhibit was indoors, far from the natural lighting, spotlights were needed to illuminate the area. When light hits glass at a particular angle, it can reflect like a mirror. It was then that I noticed a visitor to the exhibit who was more interested in my vesture than the furry coats of the monkeys. For some reason, however, he did not seem to realize that if he could see me in the reflected image, I could also see him. He stared at me; and I, with some amusement, watched him. When I grew tired of being an object of interest, I merely looked in the “mirror” and gave a little wave. That fellow shot out of there faster than a speeding train. At that point I noticed a young girl at my side, perhaps five years of age, who was clearly with a school group. As is true for most young people, she was not embarrassed to be seen staring. She just looked and looked. After some time I looked down and simply said, “Hello.” The response was immediate: “Hi.” I asked her how she was doing. Her typically monosyllabic response was stated with little emotion: “Fine.” I then went on to ask her her name. “Taquisha.” “Taquisha,” I said, “can I help you?” At this her face collapsed into that quizzical mode so common in kindergarten. After a few moments of pensive pause, she asked, “Are you Jesus?” “No,” I replied, “but I work for Him.” At this, little Taquisha turned to her teacher and said, “He ain’t Jesus, but he works for Him.” The teacher swung around, took a quick look at me, and said, “Come on, Taquisha, let’s go look at the elephants.” Young people (and those not so young) often ask the friars if they wear their habits all the time. They are amazed when we state that we do. And yet, almost universally, people are impressed that we are willing to make such a clear and bold statement, to live such a sign of contradiction. This is the privilege we bear as consecrated religious in being a public witness to the presence of Jesus in our lives and in our world. Our life and garb are intended to be a sign of transcendence, a witness to God’s loving intervention in the world.
Some have asked if we find people being standoffish. Quite the contrary. People seem to be attracted. The friars travel a great deal in our evangelistic efforts. Regularly people will stop us on the street, come over to us in airports, or sit down purposely next to us on the subway. They generally begin by asking most politely who we are and then almost immediately jump into their life story and the need for God in their life. Many a confession has been heard in the galley of an airplane. When Saint Francis heard the invitation of the Lord from the cross of San Damiano almost eight hundred years ago, he determined to conform his life to Christ as closely as possible. As stated in the first lines of his Rule of Life: “This is the Rule and Life of the Friars Minor, namely, to observe the Holy Gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ. . . .” The Gospel was his rule, and Jesus Himself would be his mentor. Francis wanted nothing more than to imitate His Master in laying down his life for his friend—His Lord. As a sign of this absolute gift of self to His Lord, Francis, son of an affluent cloth merchant, divested himself of all finery and put on a simple tunic and cord. These modest threads were to publicly proclaim without words a life of complete dependence on the Transcendent One. God is at work in the world, present to His people, and Francis wanted that clearly manifested in his garb. As a further sign of this complete conformity to Christ, the clothing Francis wore was cruciform. When laid out on the ground, it was seen to be in the shape of a cross. This would be a constant reminder to the wearer that Our Lord willingly bore the Cross for our salvation. It was a further call to those to whom he ministered that all was done for the love of God. Francis knew it was a privilege to wear the Cross of Christ. As Franciscan Friars of the Renewal, we are well aware of the intense secularization of our society in this age. As followers of our holy father Saint Francis, we want to bear witness to the presence of the Lord in our world. Signs of transcendence, which were once so commonplace, are now sorely missing from our worldview. Crosses have been removed from classrooms in some Catholic universities, outward signs of consecration are often minimized or missing altogether, and priests are often unidentifiable from the rest of the crowd. Not that we have to wear our religion on our sleeve, or push the sacred in someone’s face, but we must be careful not to replace the profoundly sacred with the politically correct. We should never be afraid to bear witness to a loving Savior who so earnestly desires people to experience His provision in life. We should long, as He does, that more and more people may find the peace that surpasses all understanding, even in the midst of our terror-stricken society. I admit there are times when I would like to slip unnoticed into a crowd. There are many times when traveling that I wish my attire didn’t shout so loudly, “I’m available to talk about God.” There are also those hot, humid days of a New York summer when I wish Francis had been attracted to a more Hawaiian style of dress. But then I recall all the Lord has done for me. I am reminded by my wear how Jesus embraced His cross willingly that I might know the love of the Father. I am challenged by how many others still need to know the provision of a merciful Lord. It is then that I joyfully put on my habit and take delight in the CROSS WE WEAR!
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