Franciscan Spirituality and the Practice of Gazing
The first year group of Wild Wisdom School – the pioneer group – has now reached the end of its 2nd year in the journey of the Western Mysteries. We started our day together looking back over this 2nd year, noticing any memories that stand out and sensing where the journey has taken us today. Sam asked us to name a few words that came to us; the words that came very strongly to me were community, friendship and love.
We witness each other as we ride the ups and downs of life; we cry tears of sorrow and joy for each other’s sharing as much as our own; and we hold each other in a space that welcomes, grieves and celebrates life.
Scrumptious treats in the middle of our day – meringue made by Helen and raspberries gathered from Sam’s garden
Brought with us today was also a shared disturbance from the very conflicted human landscape that ills our country and our world. One person echoed something Sam said a while ago that “our society doesn’t know how to love”. There was a shared feeling of gratitude both for the sensitivity of the heart to feel the disturbances of our world, and for the small expressions of humanity such as this one; a small society that does know how to love and the importance in keeping these spaces alive.
Our altar created for the day
Our theme today is Franciscan Spirituality, and our story is that of Clare and Francis who are the founders of this wild and beautiful stream within the Christian tradition. Sam told us their story, but in keeping with our intention of restoring the Divine Feminine, we heard it through the perspective of Clare. Through icons and images, history and imagination, we travelled to 12th century Assisi in central Italy’s Umbria region. Theirs is a story of choosing simplicity over wealth, knowing that in this choice there is a greater abundance to be discovered, and much greater riches than those the Catholic Church had become corrupted with.
While Clare is still a child, Francis is busy rebuilding a dilapidated church outside of Assisi, on the words he hears from Jesus to ‘repair His House’. Taking these words literally, Francis begins with the rocks on which he stands. I felt moved and driven by this image of humility and pragmatism. He didn’t set about ‘changing the world’. What he set about doing was building a church in which his spirit could find inspiration alongside his brothers and sisters, and from which they could serve the poor and vulnerable. It just so happens that in this authentic dedication to the teachings of Jesus – to love and service – they started a movement that spread across the world. To me, the Franciscan way feels true to the lineage of Jesus. They carved out a new stream, or perhaps unblocked an old stream, in which living waters did and still do flow.
An icon of Clare and Francis.
The cross St Francis was gazing upon when he heard Jesus ask him to repair His House.
For our quiet time today, Sam shared with us the practice of ‘gazing’ and invited us to choose an icon we’d like to gaze on – either a traditional painted icon, or simply an image, or something in the natural world. This is an ancient spiritual practice, which was particularly strong before access to scripture was made widely available, when icons were the main access point to the Divine. It is a practice of setting one’s eyes onto an icon and lingering there, perhaps for half an hour or more. Here is Kengo’s reflection on this practice:
There’s something about that wide-eyed gaze that opens me up to connecting deeper.
I use it in my Nature-connection practice, softening my eyes, letting go of the specific or the intellectual, allowing the full richness of the world to flow through me.
Now, I gaze into the eyes of a human figure, lovingly depicted, her head tilted to one side, dressed in exotic robes and a gilded aura around her head. These images are familiar, yet unfamiliar to my personal spiritual practice. But as I gaze on, her robes, the iconography, even the iridescent gold falls away, leaving only those eyes, looking back at me.
And there, came the connection; with all the feelings and emotions I have felt through someone’s eyes. The pains, the love, reflected back.
And in this ancient image from a far away land, I touch something universal, unbound by time.
Words and photos by Beth
times in solitude, these were people also dedicated to a simpler way of life away from the temptations of greed and power that gripped religious orders in the cities. Reading sayings that we have from them, I felt such alignment and companionship. I was struck with a sense that the spiritual community I relate to is not only contained to those I share space with today, but with those who have trodden a similar path of the heart right through the ages. I have often felt sadness that I don’t feel a particularly strong connection with my ancestry, something I think that plagues our culture as a whole. Reading the words of the Desert Mothers and Fathers pulled me into my ancestral lineage. These are my ancestors – my heart knows theirs.
travelled to the Egyptian desert and spread the desert traditions throughout Europe in the 3rd and 4th centuries. During our quiet time together in the afternoon I chose to delve into the forest of books Sam generously offered to the space. I read further about John Cassian and discovered that his great work ‘Conferences of the Fathers’ was commissioned by an Irish bishop for the purpose of providing a methodical representation of the teachings of the desert wisdom. This Irish bishop was anxious about the unruly way these teachings, transported initially via their sayings, were being taken on by people of his land. The resulting manuscript that he commissioned formed the basis for monastic life as we know it today. It was picked up by St Benedict who based his monastic rule on this desert model while adapting it to western conditions. In fact, it wasn’t only a major shaping force for monastic life in Europe, but for European civilisation as a whole. The rule of Benedict inspired and sustained an alternative model of life. It was one of hard-working, economically self-sufficient communities conscious of their responsibilities to the world around them but practicing a gospel form of the radical detachment exemplified by the desert traditions. It was a model of life not taught by dogmatic uniformity, but rather through the power of example. And they were communities respecting difference with prayer and contemplation at the heart.
