A Message from a Monk

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Guest Post by Nigel Bell

Since I was a teenager, I have always had a special place in my heart for Saint Francis of Assisi. This year I finally managed to make a pilgrimage to his home town of Assisi from Australia. The highlight of my trip was both unplanned and unexpected.

The Basilica in Assisi

Excitement rose as I approached the town by train. From the window, I could just make out the Basilica of Saint Francis and the rustic stone walls of houses which, on the face of it, were seemingly stacked above each other on the hillsides. 

During my European holiday, I dedicated my visit to Assisi to be a period of retreat and contemplation, to open my heart and breathe in the essence of St. Francis, the dear Soul who was here for a brief, but impactful, forty-four years. 

As I entered the Basilica of St. Francis, I began to feel a presence. I initially noticed it while visiting his tomb in the original section of the building. I took a seat and closed my eyes in contemplation. First, a warmth enveloped me ever so gently. Not long after that, I detected a scent in the air, one which I couldn’t fully associate with anything in memory. It uplifted me and brought me back into the present moment. For the remainder of the first day, I had a feeling that I was not alone.

The next morning, I awoke to fine sprinkles of rain falling gracefully from the heavens cleansing the streets outside. The sounds of nature appeared to rise in tone and rhythm, calling to my heart. Behind it all was a persistent, silent stillness that filled the air. It was a very real and tangible part of Assisi. 

By the next day, I had familiarized myself with the outlay of Assisi and after a good rest wanted to contemplate in the Basilica near St Francis’ tomb again.

After an hour of contemplation, I left the Basilica and walked the streets. It wasn’t long before I felt a now familiar presence with me. I became aware of the melodious sounds of birds singing their sweet songs. A soft mist filled the whole valley. It appeared to surround Assisi, giving the impression the town was somehow elevated in clouds. I was amused by the symbolic impression it gave me of being in heaven.

It was a lovely change of weather that came quite unexpectedly. After a late breakfast, I stopped at many of the famous tourist sites. The ancient, narrow cobblestone roads were very hilly. I seemed to be walking uphill more than down. 

It was a humorous play of the mind, a metaphor showing me how I hold on to memories of life’s challenges than I do to the those easy, less challenging experiences. 

As evening approached, I headed to a nearby restaurant, but it was closed. Tired, and more than a little hungry from all the walking, I sat down on a stone wall near a footpath to look at my tourist map. A short Franciscan Monk, probably from the nearby monastery, sat down next to me to take a breath. 

He was a very lean man, perhaps 5’2” tall, with dark brown, compassionate eyes and loosely cropped hair. He wasn’t like the other monks I’d seen, who appeared to be very worldly and self important. This monk was just the opposite, very gentle in nature with a peaceful countenance. He looked over at me and smiled.

The Franciscan Monk

He said, “To know St. Francis best is not by visiting the Basilicas and churches in Assisi, nor the administration…It is by getting to know his heart, which is to understand his true relationship with nature and those who need spiritual aide. 

“Go out into the natural surroundings of Assisi and Umbria. Seek solace in contemplation as you listen to all its natural sounds with all your heart,” he said.

A thunder clap echoed across the valley in the distance. “Did you hear the thunder overhead?” The monk asked.

“Yes, I did.” I replied, “And there’s no rain, fortunately for me.”

He smiled, looking up at the heavens knowingly. “It is God’s will to have all Souls under His command. Yet he will never force his commands upon anyone. Brother thunder has his way of reminding us this evening.

“If you want to know him more, you must learn to listen, listen, and listen, to the sounds of nature and to the anguish of humanity. Silencio! Listen,” he said.

No physically audible sounds existed in that moment. A complete hush covered Assisi. For an eternity, we both sat silently taking in the peaceful vacuum of the present moment. It was exquisite. 

“I understand what you are saying. My path also emphasizes this,” I replied.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said in a tone of excitement. “God has many, many stairways to heaven. I know that now.” He continued nodding and looking up to the heavens as if in memory of past events. 

He suddenly stood up and motioned for me to accompany him across the road toward a stone wall. As we were crossing, he gestured to the plain below. “Spend time looking out across the distance from the hilltops of Assisi. Feel Francis’ pulse in the stillness around you. It beats to the same heart of God as all life does. 

“God has shown him through nature and other means, how to be like his Holy Son, the Christ. In this Spirit allow your mind to flee from the desires for wealth, status, and affluence. Stand naked in His most Holy Presence. Of course I do not mean literally naked.” He laughed. “‘Espiritualmente nudo,’” (spiritually naked) is what I mean.

“When we are young, we can take the voice of the Lord of Hosts literally when he only meant it figuratively.” He laughed once again. 

I said, “It’s amazing to think St Francis walked these very streets and gardens. He even breathed the same air and saw similar views as I am now seeing.”

“He was here in body,” the monk responded, “yet he was never really here in this regard. Perhaps his bones still lay idle in the tomb down over there. That is not him either. It is only the remains of his old temple, the divine instrument of peace, that once housed the Holy Spirit. 

“Soften your heart by serving others less fortunate who know not who or what God and the Holy Spirit are. Become like the soft morning mist and the gentle rain that falls upon us. Pay homage to brother sun and sister moon. 

“Surrender your divine nature to Holy Spirit every day. The Soul of man has this ability. Surrender to the the gentle shimmering essence of God’s divine light and Its sometimes ruthless grip. It is here to guide you to serve in the best way you know how.

The Spirit of St. Francis

“If Francis’ mission meant anything, it meant inspiring seekers to become more considerate of others less fortunate and forever appreciative of God’s children, our brothers and sisters, all animals, birds, and nature. 

“He also wants us to reconsider man’s desire for status, all that it symbolizes and what it does to Soul. Francis had plenty of wealth and status at first, and then he had none. That’s when God could so easily touch his heart. It’s how he could pour Its holy love and guidance resolutely upon him and through him as Its divine Instrument. 

“If one can step beyond the influence of his outer persona, happiness will arise to break the chains that binds his spirit and freedom will surely reveal itself to the world in ones countenance. 

“He will be able to make a difference in this place we call earth as the Divine Instrument of His Peace. He shall not brag about the gifts God grants nor complain of the burdens he must accept. He simply serves life quietly and with the utmost humility of a servant of Spirit.” 

The chimes of nearby bells began to resound all around us. 

“I must be on my way to prayer. Enjoy my town,” he said as he began to leave. 

“And remember how to find the Spirit of Francis, not in these monuments and not in all the administration and politics that surround it. Bear witness to it in service to others less fortunate and in your appreciation for nature. The animals and birds, our brothers and our sisters, are also God’s children with lessons of love to teach us. Adieu, my friend!” 

He walked slowly toward the Basilica that held the tomb of St Francis.

I looked across to the restaurant to see if it had opened and when I gazed back, the Franciscan brother was gone. He somehow disappeared across the vast walkway in seconds. I could tell the humble monk loved the Saint because he seemed so authoritative. And he closely resembled him. I was left wondering if it was him all along? But that is surely impossible, right? 

Copyright © Nigel Bell 2023. All rights reserve.

Nigel loves to keep a written record of how life reaches out through daily life to teach, guide, and protect him on his spiritual journey. Writing is a way for him to learn, share, and capture the love of the Great Spirit.