The next day came, to wit the day of the most Holy Cross, and St. Francis, betimes in the morning, or ever it was day, betook himself to prayer before the entrance of his cell, and turning his face towards the East, prayed after this manner: "O my Lord Jesus Christ, two graces do I beseech Thee to grant me before I die: the first, that, during my lifetime, I may feel in my soul and in my body, so far as may be possible, that pain which Thou, sweet Lord, didst suffer in the hour of Thy most bitter passion; the second is that I may feel in my heart, so far as may be possible, that exceeding love, whereby Thou, Son of God, wast enkindled to willingly bear such passion for us sinners"It's a beautiful prayer for broken people; broken people like me find these words searing. I learned about this prayer my first year in seminary. On the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross (September 14), The Rev. Dr. Bob Hughes spoke of Francis' prayer and its efficacy during his sermon in our seminary chapel, Chapel of the Apostles. It was a favorite of the late Fr. Mychal Judge, OFM of blessed memory who died ministering to NYC firefighters during the 9-11 attacks. It is also a favorite of mine and helped me greatly during those early seminary days. In fact, I used to pray it nightly. There was something so powerful that struck me about Francis' cry of the heart: let me know that pain that delivered the world by your death, but even more fill my heart with the love that brought you to the cross. I distinctly recall leaving chapel that day and having those words running through my mind. I could not let them go. I don't think I wanted to.
It turns out that you have to be careful for what you pray for, if in God's providence it is deemed necessary, it could come true. I don't boast the stigmata, I am too unworthy of that mark but at least in metaphor I think I have come to know something of this prayer.
Death and resurrection, love and pain, wounds and healing, separation and reunion all encircle those provocative words from Francis. To be so bold to proclaim Christ crucified and resurrected is to share in that tension where we find our own lives struggling each and every day to be wholly loved. The marks of the crucified Lord are brought to bear in the lives of the least, the last, and the lost even now. Some bear those marks deep within. The Kingdom of God has indeed come near, but it has not yet been consummated in the dance of creation moving ever so closely to fulfilling God's destiny. And so those scars remain, present reminders of infinite love mingled with mortifying pain.
I prayed those words because I believed that I needed to know that pain of being stuck out on a limb to die, to give up one's own life so that others may have life and have it abundantly. And yet even hanging out there, God's love is poured into the heart to fill up those leaky cracks--wounds and all. You get both, and both you shall have. There is no warning label on the baptismal font and perhaps there should be one. This life in Christ is not all fun and games, it's real and it's really life-saving. But. But the cost is death and the return is resurrection. No one said it would be easy or even remotely pleasant for that matter. The tears somehow turn to joy bringing the cross to bear under the weight of true and lasting freedom in the Redeemer. Since praying that prayer in seminary, I have known days of extreme and total agony, crying out in dereliction with Christ. Still there are days which swell my heart with profound, speechless grace. Today, at least, I sense both at work. I know them to be inextricably bound together. Today, at least, I get those words in all their fullness and I'll take it. Both.
Lord Christ, may I feel in my body as much as possible the pain you endured on the cross, but even more may I know in my heart the love that brought you there. Amen.
