Brother Sun, Sister Moon

The feast day of Francis of Assisi was earlier this month. Clare’s feast day is in August. In this harvest season, as I drive through the countryside past fields of soybeans and corn, I think of Clare and Francis and their great love for nature and their mutual respect for each other. They were equal partners, even though Francis gets most of the press.

I see them running through the meadows of their scenic Umbrian countryside, robes flapping around them as they shout words of joy to each other, praising the glorious flowers, singing birds, and the glowing fields of wheat. In what would come to be known as his Canticle of the Creatures, Francis speaks of the beauty and presence of the natural world and all its creatures. He gives thanks for his steady companions, brother Sun and sister Moon.




For years, Francis and Clare have been my sun and moon. In the background, I hear Donovan singing during this scene in the 1972 Zeffirelli movie. That’s neither here nor there, but why does life seem richer when there’s a soundtrack?




Except that Francis began this poem not when he was out in the fields being inspired by nature. The words came when he was seriously ill and lying in bed. How was he able to sing praises of joy when he felt so miserable that he couldn't get up? When I’m sick, praise is the last thing on my mind. I am truly a horrible patient.

Already exiled from his home and family, after days of being cold and shivering in a small hut built by Clare and her sisters, perhaps the words began to come into his consciousness when a single ray of sunshine warmed his skin, like the comforting touch of Clare, and as when a friend comes and sits with us to keep us company.

Rather than complain about his suffering, he celebrated this simple pleasure, gave thanks, and looked forward to when he could share again the beauty of Creation with Clare. I wouldn’t be surprised if Clare contributed half of the words.