On the Road with Francis of Assisi by Linda Bird Francke Page A

eyes are open, his arms outstretched in rebirth. There are the requisite details depicting the story of his death, resurrection, and ascension into heaven, and the usual cast of characters—the Virgin Mary, John, Mary Magdalene, the Roman soldiers who crucified him, and others—but it is the Christ figure that dominates. He is strong, even healthy looking, and bathed in light.
    Sitting quietly there in the church, I can see how that figure transfixed Francis. The San Damiano cross does not speak out loud to me, of course, as it did to Francis, but as much as the icon projects sadness and loss, it also speaks of hope. That must have been a powerful message in the Middle Ages, when there was so much despair and uncertainty.
    In my reverie about the cross, I almost miss the windowsill to the right of the entrance where Francis hurled the sack of money to restore San Damiano after the priest refused to accept it. Amazingly, the
fenestra del dinaro
is still there, framed by two fourteenth-century commemorative frescoes, one showing Francis being dragged away from San Damiano by his furious father in front of the terrified priest, the other depicting Francis praying before the cross.
    That San Damiano remains so authentic is due largely to the faith—and charity—of one British family. Lord Ripon, a British statesman, former viceroy of India and dedicated convert to Catholicism, bought San Damiano some 150 years ago, just as the secular government of Camillo Cavour was poised to nationalize it and expel its friars. By buying San Damiano and holding it in his name, Lord Ripon was able to give use of his private property to the Franciscans, who were not, of course, allowed to own any property themselves. Lord Ripon also restored the convent at his expense, an extraordinary act recorded in Latin on a wall outside the convent.
    The ownership of San Damiano was passed down through the family until 1983, when its then heir returned San Damiano officially to the Franciscans—but with conditions. The Franciscans were enjoined to keep the medieval convent of Francis and Clare unchanged forever and to preserve its spiritual purpose by welcoming worshipers to prayers with the friars in the old church and limiting tourist hours.
    The result is the jewel of Assisi’s shrines to Francis and Clare. Set in terraced olive groves, rimmed with cypresses, and nestled on the slope of Mount Subasio, little San Damiano speaks more of the saints it honors than any of the other, more tarted-up Franciscan sites around Assisi, especially Santa Maria degli Angeli, or the Porziuncola, the second church Francis restored—which is virtually unrecognizable.

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    Peace March in Santa Maria degli Angeli
    The tiny
P ORZIUNCOLA
inside Santa Maria degli Angeli, where Francis finds a spiritual home and the Franciscan movement is born
    T he Patriarchal Basilica de Santa Maria degli Angeli looms over the valley at the foot of Mount Subasio, just a mile and a half from Assisi. The basilica’s enormous size and neo-Baroque architecture, with all its attendant swirls and curls (not to mention the recorded organ music broadcast outdoors over loudspeakers), prompts adjectives like “kitsch” or “grotesque.” Even the official Assisi tourist map describes the basilica as “grandiose,” while the less politic Rough Guide declares it a “majestically uninspiring pile.”
    Steeped as we are in the message of poverty and simplicity that Francis both preached and lived, we find it almost impossible to comprehend how such an overblown edifice could have been built to shelter the little Porziuncola, the second, and most important, church Francis restored. The domed basilica is visible for miles by day and is just as prominent at night: the three-story-high gilded bronze replica of the Virgin Mary on its façade is crowned with a halo of bright electric lightbulbs.
    Inside this architectural sand castle run amok is a replica of the tiny, decrepit chapel Francis chanced