Canticle*
They sat in the convent garden
breathing in rosemary and thyme,
Francis ill and frail, his vision obscured.
Clare had lost use of her legs,
both their faces marked
by lines that told stories—
how their chosen poverty
had intensified their love,
had freed them from unnecessary burdens.
They talked for hours,
stretched like a tent above them,
their laughter and weeping
hung in the air like rose garlands,
interrupted by moments of stillness
when they paused and listened
to the way the breeze rustled
the world, coaxing forth its song.
And when sunlight emerged
they turned their faces toward it like daisies,
and when rain poured
they huddled under the roof
to hear how its rhythm echoed their hearts.
As summer turned to autumn,
their conversation circled around endings
and they knew death was stirring
in the leaves falling around them
toward the soft mouth of the earth.
Sometimes under the full moon each rose
from their beds, Clare with help of a sister,
to sit under that vastness of black sky
studded with stars, to consider the infinite.
One morning Clare woke
to the sound of Francis singing outside
by the fountain, barefoot and splashing,
slant of early light
casting rainbows through the air.
She heard his praise of sun and moon,
the light that was her name,
the elements and even Sister Death
and wept with joy at the beauty
of what had emerged from their hours
side by side, wept with grief knowing Francis
would soon slip away,
but now she had a song
that was like a piece of his heart,
and she could almost bear this coming loss,
the birds joining in with their chorus,
the stone walls humming prayers.
Dearest dancing monks, artists, and pilgrims,
Yesterday was the Feast of Saint Francis and tomorrow Simon and Deirdre will be leading our monthly contemplative prayer service celebrating St. Francis and also their love of music. Expect conversations about what music means to each of them, as well as the traditions of singing the psalms on their two beloved islands—Iona and Inismor (one of the Aran Islands).
I wrote this poem above soon after I found out that Francis had spent some time with Clare toward the end of his life while he was declining with illness. Out of this season of deepened friendship, shared conversation, and savoring the beauty of Assisi, came the song many of us know as Canticle of Creation, a joyful song that celebrates the sun, moon, and stars, and the gift of each of the elements as wise teachers in our lives. I loved imagining the role Clare played in inspiring this song and how Francis in his experience of illness and limitation, saw the universe more expansively than ever before.
A few weeks ago, I attended a retreat on St. Hildegard of Bingen led by two singers. I have studied Hildegard’s work for years, and was eager to be immersed in her music. At one point in the retreat they put up an image of Hildegard’s vision of the choirs of angels and played singing bowls, immersing us in a glorious sound bath, before inviting us to chant together. For Hildegard the angels are always singing, there is a magnificent harmony of sound ringing through the heavens and when we open our hearts to music, we touch this angelic realm. It was an absolutely ethereal experience.
I think Francis and Clare must have touched the realm of the angels in those quiet days of conversation and praying the psalms together. I love that Francis’ heart was inspired to create this effusive song that we still sing today. A few years ago, we commissioned Simon to set the Canticle to music.
We are blessed at Abbey of the Arts with many gifted musicians on our Wisdom Council. While I won’t personally be at the prayer service because I am still on sabbatical, I know the time shared with Simon and Deirdre will be rich indeed. You are warmly invited to join them tomorrow, Monday, October 6th as we return to our monthly prayer services after a summer break. It will be a joy to join with community once again.
May your hearts be opened to the music already unfolding all around you. May you open your voices to join in and sing.
With great and growing love,
Christine
Christine Valters Paintner, OblSB, PhD, REACE
*poem from a forthcoming poetry collection tentatively titled What Enters Through the Open Heart by Christine Valters Paintner
Dancing Monk Icon by Marcy Hall
