Birds and Bells, Love and Devotion: Reflections on my time in Assisi, Italy
God did not come to fix what is broken, but to be with what is most valuable.
- St. Francis
To journey without being changed is to be a nomad. To change without journeying is to be a chameleon. To journey and be transformed by the journey is to be a pilgrim.
- Mark Nepo
For seven days in March, I went on a pilgrimage to Assisi, Italy. Perched on the side at the summit of Mount Subasio, this small, well-preserved medieval town overlooks the northern Umbrian Valley spreading wide, as far as the eye can see. Assisi is on a patch of land that the earth remembers well with a thin veil between heaven and earth and an air of hushed holiness that permeates the atmosphere. There is a wrinkle in time as Francis and Clare’s spirit continues to walk the streets and guide the pilgrims.
I was part of a little band of pilgrims that stayed at the Madonna della Pace, a Franciscan monastery where the nuns cared for and fed us. Each day we would walk to significant places where St. Francis & St. Clare lives unfolded, their spirits were formed, and Franciscan spirituality was birthed. As we stood in those spaces, Paula, our guide, gently invited us into our own journey of the heart. Walking along those same paths made it feel as if Francis and Clare themselves were guiding me on my personal pilgrimage of the soul, deeper into God’s love, my identity, and my calling. The retreat invited spacious rest and deep reflection, soul-searching conversations, and encounters with the Good and Abundant God who bends low in love.
Four words made their way into my suitcase, crossed the ocean, and have become my companions and teachers since I arrived home: Birds and Bells, Love and Devotion.
Birds were everywhere in Assisi. It’s not surprising that one of the iconic frescos of Assisi is Francis preaching to the beloved birds. They ushered each day into existence with a symphony of glory alleluia. They guided the pilgrims throughout the day with a song that held the beauty, wisdom, and truth of creation’s accompanying undersong. C.S. Lewis imagined the undersong in the creation of the earth as portrayed in The Magician’s Nephew:
“In the darkness, something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it . . . Then two wonders happened at the same moment. One was that the voice was suddenly joined by other voices; more voices than you could possibly count. They were in harmony with it, but far higher up the scale; cold, tingling, silvery voices. The second wonder was that the blackness overhead, all at once, was blazing with stars. They didn't come out gently one by one as on a summer evening. One moment there had been nothing but darkness; next moment a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out . . . If you had seen and heard it, as Digory did, you would have felt quite certain that it was the First Voice, the deep one, which had made them appear and made them sing.”[1]
The undersong lies underneath all of creation, renewing all and remembering that something bigger and more wondrous is present than meets the eye. The birds of Assisi resonated with the archetypal undersong that was imprinted somewhere in creation. They reminded me that there is a deeper wisdom and beauty that renews and continues to renew, even now.
The bells of Assisi chimed every fifteen minutes from 8:00 am to 10:00 pm daily. The expansive valley below the town magnified the echoing of the bells and amplified their melodic beauty. The chimes of the bells were uniquely different each time, creating an evocative space that re-oriented and located the listener in the present moment. They reminded us of what time it was and where we were. The bells were an insistent invitation and a generous, wide welcome into the present moment. Every fifteen minutes I was reminded, “This is where you are. Be here now.” Right here is where God is—not in an old memory or a future activity. God was in the old memory. God will be with me in the future. If I want to find God now, the bells reminded me, the present moment is where God is.
After we moved on from Assisi, even though surrounded by the creative marvels and equally gorgeous landscape of Orvieto, my travel companion and I were struck by the absence of the birds and bells. There was nothing outside of ourselves that drew us and aided us back, moment by moment, to the cavernous wisdom, truth, and beauty of creation and into the present moment.
Every day during the pilgrimage our guides shared about the lives of Francis and Clare. The stories of how their lives unfolded and the pivotal decisions they made, the risks that they took, and the life-altering consequences that occurred. I was struck repeatedly with the love and devotion that Clare and Francis had for Christ. Nothing else mattered. They were blind to all else. The singular focus of abandonment to Christ and Christ alone guided all their decisions and became the standard on which they centered their lives. Their love and devotion to Christ both humbled and inspired me and the legacy of their lives has caused me to look deeper into my own. What or whom am I devoted to? What or whom do I love above all else? What are the behaviors that unmask my loves and devotion? What motives are underneath my love and devotion?
My pilgrimage continues to work on me and in me in a continuous state of discovery. My discoveries are enlarging me and refining my sensibilities. There is a deepened awareness of the wisdom, truth, and beauty of the created order, the expanded reality of God in the present moment, the gifts the present offers, and what my heart loves and is devoted to. My pilgrimage was an outer journey that continues to serve my inner transformation.
What about you dear friends, what is serving your inner transformation?
From you is born all ruling will, the power and the life to do, the song that beautifies all, from age to age it renews.
- Neil Douglas-Klotz
[1] C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew (New York: Collier, 1970), 98-99.
Below are a couple of pics from our time in Rome, Assisi, and Orvieto. FYI: I had a wildly extra-ordinary travel companion who is pure delight and full of overflowing goodness.
Cindy and I at the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi
Overlooking the Roman Forum
Inside the Coliseum
Sunset in Rome
Sunrise in Assisi
In the Porziuncula before a mesmerizing Christ on the cross.
Assisi and the Spoleto Valley
Sunset in Assisi
Cindy and I bade farewell to St Francis and St. Claire with deep gratitude.
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