One summer while conducting a pilgrimage to Assisi, on August 2, I was walking down the Via San Paolo when an Italian friend asked: “Dove vai?” (Where are you going?) I responded: “Per una passeggiata!” (For a walk.) She then asked: “Perchè tu non vai alla festa del Perdono?” (Why are you not going to the feast of the Pardon?) I had never heard the feast of St. Mary of the Angels described as the feast of the Pardon, and a new dimension of this feast unfolded for me. First, let me offer some background to this feast.

One night in July 1216, St. Francis was praying in the little church he repaired called St. Mary of the Angels, also known as the Porziuncola. Jesus and Mary appeared to him with a multitude of radiant angels, urging him to ask for whatever he thought best for the salvation of human souls. Francis replied: “I ask you, O God of Mercy, that all those who, repentant, cross over the threshold of this place, receive from you, O Lord pardon — perdono — for their evil deeds.” He was assured that his prayer would be answered, but he would first need to have the approval of Pope Honorius III.

Up to the time of St. Francis’ request, pardon could only be obtained for making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Rome, or Compostela or for participating in the Crusades. The bishops advising Pope Honorius III opposed this request because they felt that putting this little chapel located in a swampy bog on the same footing as those three sacred shrines would damage enlistment in the Crusades. From Pope Honorius III, St. Francis requested: “I ask that all those, who repentant and absolved, shall visit this church, shall obtain remission of their sins.” The pope responded: “In the name of God, this pardon is accorded you.” And, to mollify the bishops, Pope Honorius III limited it to the anniversary of the church — August 2. So, early morning on this feast of St. Mary of the Angels, St. Francis proclaimed the Porziuncola Pardon to all with the holy desire: “I want to send all of you to Paradise.”

So, every year since 1216, Il Perdono has been available to all who visited the little church of St. Mary of the Angels. Later, Il Perdono was extended to every Franciscan church and chapel throughout the world on August 2.

In 1921, Il Perdono was made exactly what St. Francis wanted: pardon valid every day of the year in the little church in Assisi. However, since 1967, on the feast day itself, this same pardon is obtainable at every church for all who, free from attachment to sin and having recently received the Sacrament of Penance, go to church, receive the Eucharist, and pray especially for the intentions of the Holy Father.

So, in our Parish dedicated to Our Lady, if you can make a visit by “crossing over the threshold” of one of our churches on her feast day, August 2, offer prayers for the Holy Father, and fulfill the other conditions mentioned above, you too can receive Il Perdono — the pardon granted by Jesus and Mary first to St. Francis and, today, to all of us!

One of my favorite memories of my father is of him teaching me how to ride a two-wheel bicycle. When I was about ten years old, he bought me a new “two-wheeler.” I was not sure that I could balance on the bicycle, but he told me that he would hold on to the seat running alongside me as I peddled forward. That gave me great assurance to get up on the bike and start peddling. Little did I know that, after holding on to the seat at the beginning, he would let go, still running beside me all the time. His supportive presence gave me the confidence to ride on my own.

We use different words for our fathers, such as Dad, Pop, Daddy, Poppa. When calling for our father, my two siblings and I would simply use “Da,” (“a” pronounced as in “at”) and when referring to him among ourselves, we’d use “Daddy.” Jesus more than likely would have used the Aramaic word “Abba.”

Abba is used in the New Testament in three different passages:

1. “Abba, Father!” (Jesus) said: “For you everything is possible. Take this cup away from me. But let it be as you, not I, would have it” [Mark 14:36].

2. What you received was not the spirit of slavery to bring you back into fear; you received the Spirit of adoption enabling us to cry out: “Abba, Father!” [Romans 8:15].

3. As you are children, God has sent into our hearts the Spirit of His Son crying “Abba, Father” [Galatians 4:6].

From the scriptures cited here, Abba in itself can carry a few shades of meaning. The first meaning within these verses seems to convey an element of trust bolstered by the closeness of Jesus’ relationship with His Abba. And from the bicycle memory I have of my own father, the closeness I experienced with and from him gave me the great assurance I needed to overcome my fears of the new challenge of riding a bicycle on my own.

A second meaning in the Abba scriptures is a willingness on Jesus’ part to carry out the will of His Father, to be obedient. In spite of the intense pain that He experienced in Gethsemane to the point of sweating blood, He’s disposed to obediently carry out the will of His Father: Let it be as you, not I, would have it. Jesus indeed had an obedient heart.

Before my dad died in 1990, I had already been conducting pilgrimages to Assisi for about six years. I always went to see him before leaving for Assisi, and, when I was ready to leave his home, he always said to me: “I’ll pray for you!” Again, he gave me great assurance of his support in his simple, but powerfully supportive, words.

As we remember all our fathers, let us be thankful for the unique giftedness we experienced or still experience in our time with them and for the graces God gave each of us to respond to them with an obedient heart.

Before the “Hail Mary” became the most popular prayer offered to our Blessed Mother, St. Francis composed his own Salutation to the Blessed Virgin Mary:

Hail, O Lady, holy Queen,
Mary, holy Mother of God
you are the virgin made church and the one
chosen by the most holy Father in heaven
whom He consecrated
with His most holy beloved Son
and with the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete,
in whom there was and is
all the fullness of grace and every good.

Hail, His Palace! Hail, His Tabernacle!
Hail, His Home! Hail, His Robe!
Hail, His Servant! Hail, His Mother!
And, hail all you holy virtues which,
through the grace and light of the Holy Spirit,
are poured into the hearts of the faithful
so that from their faithless state
you may make them faithful to God.

(I. Brady, O.F.M., & R. Armstrong, O.F.M. Cap., Francis and Clare,
Paulist Press: NY, 1982, pp. 149-50.)

While there are several possibilities for reflection in this prayer, I would like to share some thoughts on the unique statement: “you are the virgin made church.” St. Francis is clearly referring to Mary being at God’s disposal so that the Son of God could take flesh in her womb, an anticipatory image of the Church. Because the Church is called to be what Mary already is, the dwelling place of the Trinity where God’s grace is made present for humanity, we have an implicit challenge to become like her as well: a dwelling place for our Trinitarian God. St. Francis reiterated this to his friars in another writing, encouraging them: “Let us make a home and dwelling place for Him who is the Lord God Almighty, Father and Son and Holy Spirit” (St. Francis’ Earlier Rule, cp. 22: vs. 27).

Then, St. Francis “Hails” Mary as “His Palace, His Tabernacle, His Home, His Robe” — four metaphors that he uses to describe Mary welcoming within her the visible presence of the invisible mystery of God. In a homily, I heard a friar say: “Mary’s “yes” to God freed God of invisibility.” These metaphors are applied to the Church, for the dignity of the Church rests in its being the place where humanity meets the Triune God. The Church is inhabited by the Trinity as its temple, because it is made up of believers in whom the Trinity dwells. When others encounter us — the people of God, the Church — do we manifest the Trinity to them?

One last comment on one of these four metaphors — “His Palace, His Tabernacle, His Home, His Robe.” St. Francis lived in an age when palaces were numerous, tabernacles were becoming more common in churches, and he, himself, was raised in a middle-class home in Assisi. But, the metaphor that touches me most is “Hail, His Robe.” For me, a robe is a garment of intimacy. And, just as Mary became His Robe, we too are called to a similar intimacy with her Son as we enclose Him within the “robe” of our being. For, within such an intimacy, we can share in the powerful love Mary had when she carried within her, her Son, Jesus Christ.

Right before Advent in the year 1259, St. Bonaventure of Bagnoregio had just completed an extended period of intense prayer and reflection on Mount La Verna in Tuscany. Soon after this, he realized he had some free time before Advent would begin and wanted to spend it on another meditative pursuit. So, he decided, through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, to focus on the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, choosing a most unique approach by reflecting on the liturgical feasts that highlight Jesus’ infancy —Annunciation, Nativity, Holy Name, Epiphany, and the Presentation. It occurred to him that, like Mary, a human person can also conceive, birth, name, search for Jesus with the Magi and present the Child Jesus back to God.

Eric Doyle, O.F.M., in the introduction to his translation of this little meditative work, noted that the entire reflection deals with what is called “spiritual motherhood,” whereby every Christian —male and female — would be able to do what Mary herself did as His Mother. She conceived this grace of God, and St. Bonaventure is attempting to help us deal with the reality of grace in our lives.

In the Feast of the Annunciation (March 25 — notice, 9 months exactly before Christmas day), St. Bonaventure remarks that Mary said her “yes” to God and became pregnant with the Child. She didn’t know fully what it all would mean but had the strength to give her consent to God. The first time I attended a Eucharist in the Porziuncola chapel in Assisi, Fr. Damien Isabell, O.F.M., observed that “Mary’s ‘yes’ to God freed God of invisibility.”

What is this conception of Mary? It is what we Franciscans call the highest good that comes from heaven, the grace of God present in Mary’s womb. With this conception, Mary was literally “full of grace.” So, each time the Holy Spirit overshadows us, we too conceive a grace of God. And just as conception is precious and unique for any woman, so too is the conception of a grace from God a unique, mystical moment for us.

St. Bonaventure notes that Mary goes up to the hill country to be with her pregnant cousin Elizabeth, perhaps to seek advice and learn from her. So too does a person who conceives a grace from God need to seek the advice of good people — “spiritual obstetricians” — such as spiritual directors. He even cautions one to avoid those who might advise one to kill the new conception — a type of spiritual
abortion.

How many times have we conceived a grace from God? When we received this grace, did we feel it stirring within us? As a religious, I remember almost precisely to the moment in my life when God called me to consider becoming a member of the Franciscan family. In elementary school, I used to hide from my mother after school every Tuesday. That was the day she would go to the Franciscan church for the novena to her favorite saint, Anthony of Padua. Whenever she found me, I had to go with her, sit directly in front of her, and dare I fuss during the service. She always sat beneath the altar on which there was a life-size statue of St. Anthony. I remember, at about age ten, sitting there one time, looking up at him, and thinking: “I’m going to wear that habit some day!” I conceived a grace at that time like Mary at the Annunciation and was pregnant with this call to religious life.

Frequently, when hearing confessions, a penitent will confess to distractions in prayer, such as: “I’m not able to keep focused.” “My mind wanders all over the place.” “I keep thinking of all I have to do today.” The Benedictine monk John Main once likened a person preparing to pray to a tree full of monkeys that are all moving at the same time, each one demanding the person’s attention. As we are fast approaching the liturgical season of Lent, we are encouraged to spend a bit more time in personal prayer. I’d like to share some words of wisdom about prayer from Fr. Eric Doyle, OFM (+1984):

“In our approach to prayer, creatures are not considered as ‘distractions’ in prayer, but pathways to closer union with God. Creation comes from God, it speaks of God and proclaims the glory of God’s goodness. How could it be a distraction when it bears in so many different ways God’s vestige, image and likeness? For this reason, we should strive to correct every doctrine of prayer, be it Christian or other, which teaches its disciples that creation is a distraction from God or that prayer should begin by emptying the mind of all that is not God. The weakness, and to some degree the error, of situating prayer in the mind is that when the mind wanders, prayer is thought to have ceased. Prayer should begin with centering the will on God, loving God for God’s own sake. Then no matter how much the mind wanders or is distracted, unless one withdraws the will from God by an act revoking the desire to pray, prayer does not cease."

[From St. Francis and the Song of Brotherhood, by Eric Doyle, OFM.]

Since Eric Doyle was a Franciscan, a friar minor like myself, I’d like to suggest that what he proposes is specifically a Franciscan approach to prayer — “centering the will on God,” that is, centering my prayer in my will rather than my mind, so “then no matter how much the mind wanders or is distracted, unless one withdraws the will from God by an act revoking the desire to pray, prayer does not cease.”

An example: a Franciscan Sister friend of mine rises early in the morning to spend quiet time with God in prayer for about an hour. She wants, desires, wills to do this. After about an hour, she then says: “OK Jesus, time to go to breakfast together.” She does not revoke the will to pray, so her prayer continues throughout the entire day, inviting Jesus to accompany her in her daily activities and events.

Moreover, sometimes a so‐called “distraction” may come in prayer that God wants us to pay attention to and to pray specifically for a person or event. And, if God raises up someone like that to us—even someone we may find very difficult—God may be recruiting us for prayer for someone in need of prayer support. Remember, Jesus told us to love everyone, even our enemies.

So, try praying during Lent by centering your will on God, letting God lead you. Then, notice the surprises God has in store for you.