Michele Dunne, OFS
I love the feast of the Transitus, celebrated on the evening of October 3. It is a ceremony
peculiar to Franciscans, in which we commemorate the transition of St. Francis from this
life to the next in 1226. We read the narrative of his passing and his last words to his
brothers. In some services, we also read the gospel passage that Francis asked his
brothers to read aloud while he was on his deathbed: the Last Supper and Jesus washing
the feet of his disciples (John 13:1-17). We sing hymns based on famous words of
Francis, such as his Canticle of the Creatures and perhaps his prayer before the crucifix
at San Damiano. In some cases, such as here at the Franciscan Monastery of the Holy
Land, there is a recreation of the procession of the friars with Francis’ body, with an
empty friar’s habit resting on a bier accompanied by dozens or hundreds of candle bearing participants.
Does this sound grim or even morbid? If you have ever attended a Transitus, you will
know it is anything but that. It is, rather, an intimate recollection of the poignant last hours
of our beloved Francis and a healthy acknowledgment that Sister Death comes to us all.
Having been present at the passing of several close family members, I know how sacred
those last hours are and at the Transitus I feel blessed to share somehow in the
experience of the brothers who accompanied Francis as he made his final journey into
eternal life.
Transitus services gather all sorts of Franciscans—vowed religious sisters and friars,
professed Seculars, missioners, and many others with Franciscan hearts—and once the
service is over, there is a sense of celebration as we appreciate all that Francis has given
to each one of us. For me, Francis came into my life about a decade ago, at a time when I
was experiencing painful disillusionment with the paths I had pursued in search of
happiness and meaning. While I considered myself a committed and practicing Catholic, I
had nonetheless fallen prey to the lure of personal pride, professional success, and
financial security. God knew that Francis’ particular way of following Jesus—
characterized by humility, simplicity, joy, and voluntary poverty—was the exact antidote to
what ailed me. I often think on the words of St. Clare of Assisi, who explained succinctly
that “Christ is the way, and Francis showed it to me.”
As we remember Francis’ passing, we also recall his wise words as he lay dying: “I have
done what is mine; may Christ teach you what is yours!” Whether this month was the
fiftieth time you commemorated the Transitus or the first, may God bless you with fresh
insight about what is yours to do now.