My tribute to St Francis of Assisi
My earlier post on St Therese of the Child Jesus is not nearly finished and here I go on another ... seems to be the story of my life ... I never finish anything before I start something new ... oh well! ... The stories converge at some point!
On the same 1995 trip involving St Bernadette in Nevers ... Michelle and I visited Assisi. The visit was quite pleasant ... nothing 'spiritual' ... at least nothing that was in my conscious mind. While in Assisi I got a 'heads up' on the fact that Interpol was looking for me and I purchased a book about the life of St Francis and 2 volume series about St Teresa of Avila thinking it was a book about the Ste Therese Rachael talked about.
The countryside was immensely picturesque, rolling hills etc. Assisi was the first authentic 'walled city' that I had only read about previous to my visit. Seems this real life observation of a city surrounded by walls would come back to mind many, many times when reflecting on human nature and the evolution of mankind. The walled city is the child or grandchild of what we know today as the nation state ... e.g. Canada. Wonder what the next major shuffle of social structures and societies will bring?
In February 1995 I am living at the Maples Inn in Guelph, the only place in Guelph where you could rent a self contained apartment for a day, a week, a month etc. I was still very much in limbo ... no job ... no hobby ... no purpose etc. I read St Teresa of Avilla's book and remember particularly the section titled 'Interior Castles' ... deeply moved or touched by St Teresa's writings about her mystical experiences. Learned later that many scholars consider her writings on mysticism some of the best available; yet she was an uneducated Spanish peasant.
Also read the book on the life of St Francis ... again deeply moved and touched... difficult to explain.
For example, one night while lying on my bed I heard the name Jesus in my mind. I can't remember if I intentionally attempted to form the name or if it arrived in my mind without effort on my part. A few seconds later I felt an 'electrical current' in my body. I can't really explain the feeling. I decided to get my mind to say the word Jesus ... this time intentional ... my lips didn't move ... this all happened in my mind. Again the same result; like an electric current running through my body. I was afraid to do it again. This experience left me with an unusually quiet and peaceful feeling.
Within days of this experience I decided I would look into Franciscan activities. Perhaps I could find something to do with all my free time. I called my parish priest who had helped me a lot in the previous couple of years and he told me about the Third Order of Franciscans. An organization of lay people involved in various activities. He also mentioned there may be some in London Ontario.
For some reason I didn't go to London to check them out; I decided to go to Toronto. Not understanding why I drove to Mississauga and pulled into the first major hotel I saw, went to the lobby and started looking through the yellow pages under 'Franciscan'. I made several phone calls, actually talked to one Franciscan, Maurice Richard. I remember saying to myself at the time that I would remember his name because of the Montreal hockey player of the same name. Brother Richard was very kind and friendly on the telephone and we would exchange letters (only one) several months later.
Somewhat disappointed with my research I decide to head home; seemed like just another 'dead end street'. A spontaneous and impulsive action with no basis in logic, actions rooted in 'faith' ... a faith that seemed to be failing me at the time. Or so I thought ... was I in for a surprise!
As I was pulling off onto the ramp for the 401 I passed two young women hitch hiking. I decided to stop to give them a ride ... not sure of my motives ... was I feeling Franciscan (charitable) ... was I lonely ... who knows?
The young women were hitch hiking to London on their way back to school. They were pleasant young ladies so I decided I would drive them all the way to London; a considerable distance past Guelph ... hmmm. W hat were my motives? … Were they Franciscan charity, loneliness … who knows? Here I am on my way to London ... the place my parish priest suggested … the advice I chose to ignore the day before. ... Hmmm.
Along the way, I am pretty sure somewhere past the turn off to Guelph, the young lady in the back seat starts to talk about her experience on a kibbutz in Israel. My ears perk right up; this topic is very appealing. She doesn't say much only that people who go to a kibbutz, work six days a week in exchange for free room and board. Sounds perfect to me ... a chance to wander around Israel ... within my budget!
The next day I go to visit my sister and ask her for a ticket to Tel Aviv on the next available flight. At this time Air Canada provided what they call 'buddy passes' ... staff could give these buddy passes to family and friends. The holder could travel standby on any Air Canada flight for a nominal fee. fee.
You can imagine the reaction from my sister and her husband. I had only been back a couple of months from my trip to Medugorje and here I wanted to 'run away' again. I remember her husband’s reaction in particular. He said to me ... “Bruce ... go to the Israeli consulate in Toronto, find out about the kibbutz program and then decide if you still want to go. Being the strong willed (stubborn) and self reliant, I ignored hiss practical advice and pressed my sister for a ticket. My sister, being the kind hearted soul she is ... obliged and within a couple of days I was checked out of the Maples Inn and on my way to Israel!
Arrived at the airport in Tel Aviv and found an information Kiosk where I was able to get directions to the administration offices for the kibbutz program. Found the bus into the city ... overheard some ladies chatting behind me on the bus ... in English ... highly unusual. One of the ladies was explaining that the bus driver was nervous because another bus had just been blown up in downtown Tel Aviv ... Yikes!! Welcome to Israel! My guess is the bus blew up about the same time the wheels of the Air Canada jet touched down at the Tel Aviv airport ... must be an omen I thought to myself.
Found the kibbutz admin office. Within a few minutes I was sitting in front of one of the administrators; he had a strange look on his face. He’s thinking to himself what this guy is doing here enquiring about the kibbutz program. He asks me if I am familiar with the rules and regulations about the kibbutz program ... I respond ... nope! He passes me a sheet a paper with the main regulations ... the second or third regulation written on this sheet was ... maximum age 32 ... oh shit!!
My sister’s husband right! I should have went to the Israeli consulate in Toronto and checked out the Kibbutz program before travelling all the way here. This explains the look on his face ... at 43 I was obviously well over the age limit. He explained to me that most of the volunteers were between the ages of 18-22; young people trying to get away from parental influence and older volunteers had caused lots of problems in the past. Oh joy!!
I guess he recognized the 'Oh Shit' look on my face because he seemed to become friendlier all of a sudden. He asked me how long I intended to stay in Tel Aviv. I replied ... I'll probably grab a coffee and go home! He suggested I go for the coffee and come back in a couple of hours.
I went and drank a coffee ... surprisingly was not feeling too bad ... not particularly discouraged and not overly optimistic ... simply OK. Returned to the office a couple of hours later and I found myself on a Kibbutz Erez later that evening. Wow! ... If I had gone to the Israeli consulate in Toronto I would never have come to Tel Aviv ... synchronicity?
Arrived at Kibbutz Erez ... less than a kilometre from Gaza ... probably explains why the machine gun was laying on the front seat as I got into the jeep that picked me up at the kibbutz.
So here I am ... a long way from Third Order Franciscan activity ... yet it seems I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
The barracks where the volunteers live are not 5 star ... a bit rugged ... yet comfortable enough. Here's something amusing ... I am on a kibbutz ... a Jewish commune ... living with a bunch of 'runaway' or 'adventurous' teenagers ... at best very young adults. I set up an altar beside my bed ... several miniature statues and a crucifix ... you can imagine how much gossip this would cause around the kibbutz!
More about some of my experiences on the kibbutz later ... perhaps one comical yet profound event before I leave this subject.
Kibbutz volunteers received a spending allowance of about $75.00 per month which could only be spent at the kibbutz store, similar to a Mac's Milk store. I would buy cigarettes and occasionally an ice cream treat or chocolate bar. bar.
One day on the way back to my room ... had just finished work ... I stopped and bought a chocolate bar ... a big one. I started eating it on the way to my room. A little further along there was a group of volunteers sitting on the grass chatting. One of them saw me coming and invited me over to join them. I mentally agreed and while I was heading in their direction I got to worrying about my chocolate bar. I was in no mood this particular day to share my precious chocolate bar ... see I am not very Franciscan at all!
I decide to keep my chocolate bar out of sight of the volunteers. I sit down on the grass and put my chocolate bar behind my back ... for safe keeping!! ...Wrong!! A minute or two later this big dog comes along grabs my chocolate bar and takes off with it. I try to reach out to grab it ... no luck ... he was too fast.
You can imagine my embarrassment. I'm sure several of the volunteers would have figured out that I had selfishly hidden my chocolate bar from them so I wouldn't have to share it with them. I made it kind of obvious when I lunged after the dog!
On that day and so many times since then I have tried to figure out the 'lesson' to be learned from this particular experience. The obvious answer is ... it is important to share ... even personal treats!
Today I have another twist on the potential lesson ... don't know why after all these years I come up with this today? Perhaps the 'lesson' was intended to go beyond the 'material' world ... something to the effect ... if one does not share the wisdom one has been given ... it will be taken away.
I believe Kabbala teaches this truism ... Kabbala is the mystical sect of Judaism. I believe they say that if their members do not share what they receive. Kabalists, being those who pursue mystical experiences presumably would receive 'wisdom' from beyond the physical and material realm ... they will not receive any more ... the tap will be shut off so to speak.
Seems the same phenomenon was at work with the North American Indian mystic ... Black Elk ... he only recovered after he shared his vision and his tribe developed a celebration around his vision.
During my stay on Kibbutz Erez I befriended a young man from France. He told me at one point that he felt drawn to me the first moment we met. After many twists and turns we would leave the Kibbutz together on our way to Medugorje. He was kicked off the train near Kosovo. Mysteriously I was given a Visa for travel through Macedonia and I learned later because he was a French citizen he was denied this privilege. We would exchange one letter after this time but never see each other … living … again.
Several months later while staying in Medugorje for the third time I would be directed to his funeral. How did this happen? For the details ... read the St Therese of Lisieux page.
How winding a road I seem to travel ... am I to learn something from all this? I don't know ... all I know is most of the time I am prepared to go anywhere feeling I must trust that the Virgin Mary will lead me ... and when it is not the Virgin Mary I must trust that He will lead me back where He wants me when the time is right ... His time ... not mine.
St Francis left me a permanent reminder of our encounter in Spain ... on my June 2000 Camino. At Sanguesa ... while sitting at a Franciscan site ... I decided St Francis would not agree with me throwing cigarette butts on the ground. Since than I have carried the filter butt of the cigarette in my pocket until I find the next garbage disposal.
My earlier post on St Therese of the Child Jesus is not nearly finished and here I go on another ... seems to be the story of my life ... I never finish anything before I start something new ... oh well! ... The stories converge at some point!
On the same 1995 trip involving St Bernadette in Nevers ... Michelle and I visited Assisi. The visit was quite pleasant ... nothing 'spiritual' ... at least nothing that was in my conscious mind. While in Assisi I got a 'heads up' on the fact that Interpol was looking for me and I purchased a book about the life of St Francis and 2 volume series about St Teresa of Avila thinking it was a book about the Ste Therese Rachael talked about.
The countryside was immensely picturesque, rolling hills etc. Assisi was the first authentic 'walled city' that I had only read about previous to my visit. Seems this real life observation of a city surrounded by walls would come back to mind many, many times when reflecting on human nature and the evolution of mankind. The walled city is the child or grandchild of what we know today as the nation state ... e.g. Canada. Wonder what the next major shuffle of social structures and societies will bring?
In February 1995 I am living at the Maples Inn in Guelph, the only place in Guelph where you could rent a self contained apartment for a day, a week, a month etc. I was still very much in limbo ... no job ... no hobby ... no purpose etc. I read St Teresa of Avilla's book and remember particularly the section titled 'Interior Castles' ... deeply moved or touched by St Teresa's writings about her mystical experiences. Learned later that many scholars consider her writings on mysticism some of the best available; yet she was an uneducated Spanish peasant.
Also read the book on the life of St Francis ... again deeply moved and touched... difficult to explain.
For example, one night while lying on my bed I heard the name Jesus in my mind. I can't remember if I intentionally attempted to form the name or if it arrived in my mind without effort on my part. A few seconds later I felt an 'electrical current' in my body. I can't really explain the feeling. I decided to get my mind to say the word Jesus ... this time intentional ... my lips didn't move ... this all happened in my mind. Again the same result; like an electric current running through my body. I was afraid to do it again. This experience left me with an unusually quiet and peaceful feeling.
Within days of this experience I decided I would look into Franciscan activities. Perhaps I could find something to do with all my free time. I called my parish priest who had helped me a lot in the previous couple of years and he told me about the Third Order of Franciscans. An organization of lay people involved in various activities. He also mentioned there may be some in London Ontario.
For some reason I didn't go to London to check them out; I decided to go to Toronto. Not understanding why I drove to Mississauga and pulled into the first major hotel I saw, went to the lobby and started looking through the yellow pages under 'Franciscan'. I made several phone calls, actually talked to one Franciscan, Maurice Richard. I remember saying to myself at the time that I would remember his name because of the Montreal hockey player of the same name. Brother Richard was very kind and friendly on the telephone and we would exchange letters (only one) several months later.
Somewhat disappointed with my research I decide to head home; seemed like just another 'dead end street'. A spontaneous and impulsive action with no basis in logic, actions rooted in 'faith' ... a faith that seemed to be failing me at the time. Or so I thought ... was I in for a surprise!
As I was pulling off onto the ramp for the 401 I passed two young women hitch hiking. I decided to stop to give them a ride ... not sure of my motives ... was I feeling Franciscan (charitable) ... was I lonely ... who knows?
The young women were hitch hiking to London on their way back to school. They were pleasant young ladies so I decided I would drive them all the way to London; a considerable distance past Guelph ... hmmm. W hat were my motives? … Were they Franciscan charity, loneliness … who knows? Here I am on my way to London ... the place my parish priest suggested … the advice I chose to ignore the day before. ... Hmmm.
Along the way, I am pretty sure somewhere past the turn off to Guelph, the young lady in the back seat starts to talk about her experience on a kibbutz in Israel. My ears perk right up; this topic is very appealing. She doesn't say much only that people who go to a kibbutz, work six days a week in exchange for free room and board. Sounds perfect to me ... a chance to wander around Israel ... within my budget!
The next day I go to visit my sister and ask her for a ticket to Tel Aviv on the next available flight. At this time Air Canada provided what they call 'buddy passes' ... staff could give these buddy passes to family and friends. The holder could travel standby on any Air Canada flight for a nominal fee. fee.
You can imagine the reaction from my sister and her husband. I had only been back a couple of months from my trip to Medugorje and here I wanted to 'run away' again. I remember her husband’s reaction in particular. He said to me ... “Bruce ... go to the Israeli consulate in Toronto, find out about the kibbutz program and then decide if you still want to go. Being the strong willed (stubborn) and self reliant, I ignored hiss practical advice and pressed my sister for a ticket. My sister, being the kind hearted soul she is ... obliged and within a couple of days I was checked out of the Maples Inn and on my way to Israel!
Arrived at the airport in Tel Aviv and found an information Kiosk where I was able to get directions to the administration offices for the kibbutz program. Found the bus into the city ... overheard some ladies chatting behind me on the bus ... in English ... highly unusual. One of the ladies was explaining that the bus driver was nervous because another bus had just been blown up in downtown Tel Aviv ... Yikes!! Welcome to Israel! My guess is the bus blew up about the same time the wheels of the Air Canada jet touched down at the Tel Aviv airport ... must be an omen I thought to myself.
Found the kibbutz admin office. Within a few minutes I was sitting in front of one of the administrators; he had a strange look on his face. He’s thinking to himself what this guy is doing here enquiring about the kibbutz program. He asks me if I am familiar with the rules and regulations about the kibbutz program ... I respond ... nope! He passes me a sheet a paper with the main regulations ... the second or third regulation written on this sheet was ... maximum age 32 ... oh shit!!
My sister’s husband right! I should have went to the Israeli consulate in Toronto and checked out the Kibbutz program before travelling all the way here. This explains the look on his face ... at 43 I was obviously well over the age limit. He explained to me that most of the volunteers were between the ages of 18-22; young people trying to get away from parental influence and older volunteers had caused lots of problems in the past. Oh joy!!
I guess he recognized the 'Oh Shit' look on my face because he seemed to become friendlier all of a sudden. He asked me how long I intended to stay in Tel Aviv. I replied ... I'll probably grab a coffee and go home! He suggested I go for the coffee and come back in a couple of hours.
I went and drank a coffee ... surprisingly was not feeling too bad ... not particularly discouraged and not overly optimistic ... simply OK. Returned to the office a couple of hours later and I found myself on a Kibbutz Erez later that evening. Wow! ... If I had gone to the Israeli consulate in Toronto I would never have come to Tel Aviv ... synchronicity?
Arrived at Kibbutz Erez ... less than a kilometre from Gaza ... probably explains why the machine gun was laying on the front seat as I got into the jeep that picked me up at the kibbutz.
So here I am ... a long way from Third Order Franciscan activity ... yet it seems I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
The barracks where the volunteers live are not 5 star ... a bit rugged ... yet comfortable enough. Here's something amusing ... I am on a kibbutz ... a Jewish commune ... living with a bunch of 'runaway' or 'adventurous' teenagers ... at best very young adults. I set up an altar beside my bed ... several miniature statues and a crucifix ... you can imagine how much gossip this would cause around the kibbutz!
More about some of my experiences on the kibbutz later ... perhaps one comical yet profound event before I leave this subject.
Kibbutz volunteers received a spending allowance of about $75.00 per month which could only be spent at the kibbutz store, similar to a Mac's Milk store. I would buy cigarettes and occasionally an ice cream treat or chocolate bar. bar.
One day on the way back to my room ... had just finished work ... I stopped and bought a chocolate bar ... a big one. I started eating it on the way to my room. A little further along there was a group of volunteers sitting on the grass chatting. One of them saw me coming and invited me over to join them. I mentally agreed and while I was heading in their direction I got to worrying about my chocolate bar. I was in no mood this particular day to share my precious chocolate bar ... see I am not very Franciscan at all!
I decide to keep my chocolate bar out of sight of the volunteers. I sit down on the grass and put my chocolate bar behind my back ... for safe keeping!! ...Wrong!! A minute or two later this big dog comes along grabs my chocolate bar and takes off with it. I try to reach out to grab it ... no luck ... he was too fast.
You can imagine my embarrassment. I'm sure several of the volunteers would have figured out that I had selfishly hidden my chocolate bar from them so I wouldn't have to share it with them. I made it kind of obvious when I lunged after the dog!
On that day and so many times since then I have tried to figure out the 'lesson' to be learned from this particular experience. The obvious answer is ... it is important to share ... even personal treats!
Today I have another twist on the potential lesson ... don't know why after all these years I come up with this today? Perhaps the 'lesson' was intended to go beyond the 'material' world ... something to the effect ... if one does not share the wisdom one has been given ... it will be taken away.
I believe Kabbala teaches this truism ... Kabbala is the mystical sect of Judaism. I believe they say that if their members do not share what they receive. Kabalists, being those who pursue mystical experiences presumably would receive 'wisdom' from beyond the physical and material realm ... they will not receive any more ... the tap will be shut off so to speak.
Seems the same phenomenon was at work with the North American Indian mystic ... Black Elk ... he only recovered after he shared his vision and his tribe developed a celebration around his vision.
During my stay on Kibbutz Erez I befriended a young man from France. He told me at one point that he felt drawn to me the first moment we met. After many twists and turns we would leave the Kibbutz together on our way to Medugorje. He was kicked off the train near Kosovo. Mysteriously I was given a Visa for travel through Macedonia and I learned later because he was a French citizen he was denied this privilege. We would exchange one letter after this time but never see each other … living … again.
Several months later while staying in Medugorje for the third time I would be directed to his funeral. How did this happen? For the details ... read the St Therese of Lisieux page.
How winding a road I seem to travel ... am I to learn something from all this? I don't know ... all I know is most of the time I am prepared to go anywhere feeling I must trust that the Virgin Mary will lead me ... and when it is not the Virgin Mary I must trust that He will lead me back where He wants me when the time is right ... His time ... not mine.
St Francis left me a permanent reminder of our encounter in Spain ... on my June 2000 Camino. At Sanguesa ... while sitting at a Franciscan site ... I decided St Francis would not agree with me throwing cigarette butts on the ground. Since than I have carried the filter butt of the cigarette in my pocket until I find the next garbage disposal.