Mirror of the Cross

IF YOU GO into any Spanish church, even in the smallest village, you will almost certainly find somewhere within it a large statue, life-sized or even larger, of Christ in some aspect of his Passion. He may be chained as a captive, bound to the pillar for scourging, carrying His cross or hanging on it, or lying in the tomb. Some of these images are dressed in royal robes, as if to emphasise the majesty of the sufferer, others are stripped naked and displaying the dreadful marks of scourging and crucifixion. During Holy Week, these images will be carried through the streets on elaborately decorated platforms, on the shoulders of dozens of bearers, surrounded by penitents in their characteristic hooded robes. And each image of the suffering Christ will be followed by another, that of the sorrowing Mother, sombrely clad in black and gold, kneeling, her hands clasped before her in anguish, her eyes shedding tears abundantly.

 

A famous preacher

 

During the month of September, we have several reminders of Passiontide, principally the feast of the Holy Cross on September 14, followed next day by that of Our Lady of Sorrows. Only a few days later again, we recall the bestowal on our father St Francis of the Holy Stigmata, the marks of Christ’s crucifixion, which he bore during the last years of his life.

There is a possible connection between this event, in the year 1224, and St. Anthony. The first mention of Anthony in literature comes in the first Life of St. Francis by Friar Thomas of Celano, which was issued shortly after Francis’ death, and while Anthony was still alive. In this version of the story, our Saint is only mentioned in passing, as preaching to the friars at an unnamed place in Provence. The real focus is on another friar, Monaldo, who was looking towards the doorway during the sermon, and there saw St. Francis with his arms outstretched in the form of a cross, blessing the assembly. Francis himself was at that time far away in Italy, so whether this was a vision of Monaldo, or whether Francis himself was miraculously transported, is not made clear. Anthony is referred to simply as a “famous preacher”. Years later, St. Bonaventure included this story in his own life of Francis. Bonaventure places the incident precisely at Arles, and says that “the saint (Francis) himself remarked that he had been there, so that (the friars) had external proof for what they already believed”. Bonaventure also suggests that God had allowed Francis to be present at Anthony’s sermon, in order to attest to the truth of his words, “especially those concerning Christ’s Cross which he bore as His servant.”

 

Feast of the Cross

 

Does Bonaventure imply that, when Anthony was preaching at Arles, Francis had already received the Stigmata? Possibly so, but I am inclined to think not. Let me explain. During the earliest years of the Order it was the custom for all the friars (who were still numbered only in hundreds) to meet in Chapter at Assisi at Pentecost (and often also at Michaelmas). As numbers grew, and as the friars spread to places as far off as England and Spain, this became increasingly difficult. The first chapter attended by St. Anthony, in 1221, was probably the last that was open to all the friars. After that, general chapters were confined to ministers and other local superiors, those in Italy still meeting annually, those from further afield attending only one year in three (and soon general chapters were held only every three years). After the chapter, ministers returning to their provinces could hold their own chapter, at Michaelmas, in order to communicate the business of the general chapter and to deal with local needs.

It is most probable that Anthony was given charge of the Custody of Limoges, in the Province of Aquitaine, at the Pentecost Chapter of 1223. By this time, Francis had written to him, commissioning him to teach theology to the friars. Anthony would have set out for France, together with other friars who were going the same way, including John of Florence, the minister provincial of Provence. What would have been more natural than for John to invite such a renowned preacher to address his own chapter, to be held at Arles the following Michaelmas? And what more natural than for Anthony to take his text from Pilate’s inscription on the Cross, seeing that the Feast of the Cross had recently been celebrated? Francis’ miraculous appearance to Monaldo would have been a year before the events of Mount Alverna, and would indicate his general devotion to the Cross, which would culminate the following year with the reception of the Stigmata. That, at any rate, is my reconstruction of the story.

 

The bronze serpent

 

I have not been able to find, in the writings of the Saint, any passage that might have been taken from a sermon on the Cross inscription: the Saint did not complete the collection of Festival Sermons, never reaching September. Nevertheless, we do have his Sermon for the earlier Feast of the Cross, then celebrated in May. It gives us some of his thoughts on this topic, and they are well worth reading. The Gospel refers to the bronze serpent lifted up by Moses in the desert to heal the rebellious people, a type of Christ lifted up on the Cross. Anthony quotes words of Moses, “Thy life shall be hanging before thee,” (Deuteronomy 28.66), and reflects that Christ Himself is our true life: “The life of the body is the soul, the life of the soul is Christ. Why then, your life is hanging: why do you not suffer and feel compassion?” (Sermons, IV, 225).

 

Priceless blood

 

Anthony does not want us, however, to wallow in feelings of guilt that could lead to despair. Rather, when we meditate on our Lord’s Passion, we should realise just how much He loves us, to undergo all this for our sake. “So, thy life shall be hanging before thee, as you look at yourself in it as in a mirror. There you can recognise how mortal were your wounds, that no medicine could cure, except the blood of the Son of God. If you have looked well, you will have been able to recognise how precious and excellent you are, for whom such priceless blood was shed.”

“No man can better understand his own worth than in the mirror of the Cross,” he goes on. How often do we see or hear of people who indulge in all kinds of self-destructive behaviour because they regard themselves as worthless. A proper understanding of the Cross should help us to see that, in God’s eyes, we are all of immense worth; and in gratitude for His confidence in us, we will gladly share in Christ’s sufferings (in whatever form God determines, not we ourselves) for the salvation of the world.