"Come, my brothers, let us begin!"

My first month as a missionary in Honduras has been full of "firsts." I think I've seen or done something new every single day that I've been here! Last Friday was no different. For the first time, I got the chance to experience a truly unique Franciscan tradition: the Transitus of St. Francis, a solemn celebration of his life and his transitus (passage) from this life to the next.

The evening began, of course, with dinner at the friary. Practically the whole neighborhood had turned out for this special event, and much to my surprise, I recognized so many faces that it took me a while to greet everyone that I knew. What a beautiful part of Catholic culture - that our celebrations almost always include a communal meal! As a Eucharistic people, we recognize that sharing a meal is a powerful expression of our love for one another, that when we gather to "break bread," we remember how Christ has made us one Body in Him.

After dinner we walked along a candle-lit path through the cloisters of the friary, following Fr. Juan Antonio, who was carrying a crucifix, and we sang:

Bendiga alma mía al Señor, y bendice su santo nombre.
Bendiga alma mía al Señor; Él me rescata de la muerte.

(Bless the Lord, O my soul, and bless His holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul, for He rescues me from death.)

The procession ended in the chapel, and once everyone took their seats, quite a few people were left standing near the doors. At the front of the chapel, surrounded by dozens of candles, lay a crude wooden coffin, and inside it, the "body of St. Francis" (a stuffed habit, laid out as if for a funeral, with lit candles at its feet). After singing a song of praise, we listened as one by one, the friars recounted in dramatic fashion stories about the life and death of their father, Francis. What a gift it was to see how the children present laughed and listened attentively to so many of the stories, wide-eyed in amazement. Who knew that St. Francis was once a child like them, one who threw wild parties for his friends and had dreams of growing up to be a famous soldier?

The narratives, of course, took on a more somber tone when the time came to speak of Francis' stigmata, of the way he wore himself out in service of the poor, and finally of his passage into eternal life. Dr. Carlos, a friend of our community who works at San Benito (the friars' hospital), commemorated the saint's death by singing the hymn that Francis himself sang as he was dying. While by this time some of the children in the chapel were struggling to stay awake, most of the crowd seemed completely taken in by the drama of the moment - we were listening to the last prayer of a dying man as though we were truly present at his bedside, and in those few minutes, we were able to glimpse not Francis the saint but Francis the man: a man of profound humility, who went before his Creator in prayer knowing that even up until the moment of his death, he was only a weak soul in need of a Savior.

The narrative having been thus concluded, the friars knelt around Francis' coffin and chanted a beautiful hymn to our Lady, "Ultima in Mortis Hora," asking her to pray for us in our last hour and to obtain for us a holy death. When they were finished, we left the chapel in prayerful silence, remembering St. Francis' final exhortation to his followers:

"Come, my brothers, let us begin, for up until now we have done little or nothing."

St. Francis, pray for us - pray that we might learn to be poor and humble servants, to love our brothers and sisters in community as you loved your own, and to live with the Cross of our Lord always before our eyes. Amen.