He Chose the Name Francis

I am called back to the memory of Assisi. The pink stoned walls and the peaceful prayers whispered on the way up to the Basilica of Saint Francis.

Francis. The name of our new Pope. He chose the name of a man who traced the pink walls with his hands. Once rich and robed, he tossed out his wealth to choose the countryside instead of his castle. A man who sang to the earth and called out to brother moon and sister sun. A man whose heart longed to be this channel of peace and borne out of his heart is Assisi. A peaceful little city crowning the mountains Umbria, Italy.

I watched the news this morning to know more about Papa Francesco. They say he rode the bus to work and chose the apartment instead of the archbishop's palace. His first words to the public was to ask for blessings instead of giving his blessing. He seems to have a different default. Asking, receiving first instead of giving. And is it not such an act of faith? Of humility? To know that one is in need of something first before he can give?

Perhaps this is the new chapter of our faith's history. Knowing that we are in dire need of peace. And to keep walking steadfastly is to recognize this need and just softly ask. For in asking, there can be believing. And in believing, we may receive.