Throughout the city of Assisi and the surrounding countryside, one would come across a series of bronze sculptures of St. Francis of Assisi by the Italian artist – Fiorenzo Bacci. All of Baccis’ sculptures of Francis are my favorite. However, my “most favorite” is Francis and Sister Cricket. There he stands, with one foot on the wall of the grand Basilica of St. Mary of the Angles, Francis gently caresses and strokes Sister Cricket.
St. Francis and Sister Cricket
Francis made friends with a cricket. It happened like this. In the Porziuncola woodlands one day, in the burning dog-days, a cricket breaks the empty noonday silence with its song. The brothers, who had risen before dawn to recite the hours, are asleep.
So now in the merciless heat the praises to the Lord are sung by the cricket.
Her song is almost too much as it pours out of the fullness of her joy.
The parched fields, the thirsty streams, the dusty roads, resound with it.
Francis, motionless among the still oaks, listens, enraptured.
He is overcome by the desire to take into his hand this wonderful sister, who can make her wings, a weft and woof of steel, becoming a ringing lyre.
He is delighted by this little creature from which comes such vibrant harmony, who can sing alone or, although in solitude, join a chorus of other crickets.
The cricket sings for herself, for the cloud passing over the hill, for the frond stretching over the still water, for the blade of grass awaiting the morning breeze.
But she falls silent when people approach, suspecting the worst.
Even this distrust was overcome when Francis calls, “My sister cricket, come to me.”
And the cricket comes immediately from a hiding place in a fig tree into his hand.
Francis says, “Sing, my sister cricket, and praise your Creator with a joyful song.”
And the cricket begins to sing again. She sings and sings while Francis, enthralled, listens to her and praises her. He speaks to her about his thoughts, his desires, his dreams.
He speaks of God who is splendor and harmony.
He talks of light and shadow, of beautiful life and silent death.
Finally he lifts his hand and the cricket returns to its tree.
Eight days pass and the cricket does not move from that tree.
When Francis leaves his cell, she is ready to fly to his hand, to sing or be silent according to his command.
At the end of that time Francis says to his companions, “Let us give our sister cricket leave to go, for it has made us sufficiently happy now.”…
So the cricket takes flight beyond the tree and is lost in the sky. It never returns.
I love this story! It fascinates me! For me, this story of St. Francis and the Cricket and the magnificent art of Fiorenzo Bacci presents to us Francis in communion with all of creation; all creatures great and small. He is standing there, with a one leg up against the wall of St. Mary of the Angels, holding a cricket, barely touching it. The gentleness of his touch impressed me as I recalled my young and irresponsible days when I would swat the ugly creature and crush it under my foot. I saw it as a useless creature. I did not see the hand of God involved in creating something so ugly and irritating. I did not hear music. I heard noise.
As I move into my senior years I have come to engage more deeply with the lives of Francis and Clare of Assisi. I see him as to see a man who was consumed totally in the desire to live a radical life following Jesus and his Gospel. A life shining forth the humility of God based in the Incarnation and the conviction that everything from Creation – from awesome grandeur of the Universe, Brother Sun, Sister Moon to our redemption to the tiny Sister Cricket – all comes to us as sheer gift from our good and gracious God.
Let us listen to the song of the Cricket. She speaks of God who is splendor and harmony.
