Assisi? Si, si, si, si, si!

Saint Francis - he's amazing!

The statue of St. Francis that is constantly kept company by birds

Skyline of Assisi

Old ironwork in Assisi

In front of the Basilica of Saint Francis

Day 68: Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Assisi. I love Assisi. I adore Assisi. Assisi is one of those towns that it too perfect to be real. And today was the day I would see it again after fifteen years. After studying all morning, we hopped in the rental car, which yours truly would be driving the whole 250 kilometer round trip. No, I wasn’t the least bit nervous. I wanted to drive. I have needed to drive. Driving makes me feel free, and my wings were in need of a good stretching. To add icing to the cake, a good 80 of those kilometers required driving through the mountains. The mountains! Mountains and manual transmissions. I love driving in the mountains. I love steep slopes. I love hairpin turns. I love using first and second gears to slow the engine downhill instead of using brakes! I love the challenge. I love the thrill! I love it all, and I loved it all.

Thanks to TomTom, our GPS, we arrived in Assisi without a hitch and parked the park since cars are not allowed within the city’s walls. This little town has the most glorious curb appeal! It is built neatly and solidly along the slope of a mountainside, and all its stone buildings looked freshly tidied and cleaned. We walked up the steep incline to the main city gate, which was first built during the 1100s. It was like walking into a fairy tale. The narrow cobblestone streets were a challenge to our clumsy feet, but the stumbling was well worth the effort. We ascended the hill to the main Basilica and peeked in all the little shops on either side of the road. I am in love with these little shops which feature Tuscan pottery in an array of cheerful colors, hand-carved woodwork, and religious objects painted with great care. But even more beautiful are the walls and ceilings of the stores themselves. They are mostly tiny little shops which have kept the original architectural design – narrow red brick Romanesque arches and stone walls. They are the coziest little things that I have ever seen. I am quite certain that little hobbits, gnomes, and fairyesque creatures must inhabit them when the last lights are turned off for the evening and the front door locks click into place.

We passed through another arch, and there before us towered the mighty Basilica, which was first built in the 1200s. I have always loved the ceiling in this Church as it “painted” with crushed lapis lazuli and dotted with gold-leafed stars. It produces the loveliest effect – very soothing, very ethereal. I descended the steps by the altar into the crypt, and there in the center, amid many burning candles and breathtaking floral arrangements, was the ever-so-simple sarcophagus of St. Francis of Assisi himself. In the four corners of the square vault were four of his fellow brothers and companions during his life. Of all the beautiful tombs that I have seen throughout Europe, this one by far, is my favorite. I love its simplicity, its total focus on the stone “coffin” itself. Other tombs have glorious marble or bronze figures and animals adorning them, so much so, in fact, that you can’t even see the tomb! But this one was perfect for Saint Francis in its simplicity. There was not one ornamental carving around it. I was so much more conscious that his remains were right there before me. I solemnly left this hallowed place to find his relics.

They are housed in another slightly larger vault, which was built by the Franciscan brothers themselves and was used as their first monastery, so it, too, dates backs to the 1200s. Included among the relics is St. Francis’s original tunic, which has been jealously protected by the Franciscans since the time of his death. It is beautiful to behold. It is made of several dozen woolen patches sewn together like a collage. None of the colors match exactly, as they are all taken from bits and pieces of the cheapest undyed wool that he could acquire. To see his actual cloak was both amazing and humbling. You can clearly see the poverty that he lived in every stitch of it. He truly was an amazing man.

After visiting the Basilica, we walked several more alleys toward the top of the town where the Church of Santa Chiasa has been built. This Church contains the remains of Saint Clare, who was a contemporary of St. Francis and the founder of the order of the Poor Clares. She and Francis were the best of friends. We descended the steps of the church to the vault which contained her tomb, and again the beauty of it was breathtaking. Hers, actually, is quite fancy, but somehow it seemed fitting, although I cannot explain exactly why. She, too, took the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, but it just seemed appropriate for the lady that she truly was. The relics in her vault included her original tunic and the many items that she hand-stitched for St. Francis after he had received the stigmata. I couldn’t help but imagine what an amazing friendship these two must have had. Their lives were incredibly difficult, but to have had each other must have made all the difference in the world.

After St. Clare’s we went to the huge Basilica at the base of the mountain which houses the tiny little church that St. Francis himself had built. It is funny to walk into a huge church, only to find a tiny little church in the middle of it. They have since fancied it up a bit, but the original walls are still in place, and you can clearly see the simple stonework building of St. Francis’s design. To the right of the little church is the rose garden, which Franciscan tradition teaches is the site where St. Francis threw himself into the roses to distract himself from temptation. Ever since that day, the roses have continuously grown without thorns (and, nope, they aren’t there – I checked!). Near the garden is a beautiful statue of St. Francis holding a basket. I had remembered this statue distinctly, because we were told by our professor back in the day, that there is never a time when a living bird does not sit in the basket. Fifteen years ago, I sat near the statue and watched it for an entire hour. During the course of that sixty minutes, six different birds flew in and out of that basket, and it was true, not for a second, was Saint Francis without one of his animal friends. I had told the children about the statue before we arrived, and they were quite anxious to see it. Secretly, I was nervous. What if the birds weren’t there? We rounded the corner and found the statue, and, YES, there was a snow white dove sitting in the basket! The children were amazed. We stood nearby for about twenty-five minutes, but the bird never left.

All in all, the day spent in Assisi was purely amazing. For me it was spiritually nourishing. It was edifying to have walked the same streets that he and Clare walked, to have knelt and prayed in the tiny little chapel that he built with his own hands, to have walked by the roses that honored his commitment to the good and God, to have paid my respects at his simple but holy grave, and to have witnessed the guarding of his memory in the form of a wooden statue by his friends, the snow white doves. What a life lived. What a legacy preserved.