#The Flowers of St. Francis

[byneddiedingo]

Nazario Gerardi in The Flowers of St. Francis (Roberto Rossellini, 1950)

Cast: Nazario Gerardi, Severino Pisacane, Aldo Fabrizi. Screenplay: Roberto Rossellini, Federico Fellini, Félix Morilón, Antonio Lisandrini. Cinematography: Otello Martelli. Production design: Virgilio Marchi. Film editing: Jolanda Benvenuti. Music: Renzo Rossellini.

After his great Neo-Realist films Rome, Open City (1945) and Paisan (1946), and just as he was beginning his relationship with Ingrid Bergman, Rossellini made the sweet-natured The Flowers of St. Francis, which combines some of his Neo-Realism (the use of non-professional actors) with some of the moral questioning he does in the four Bergman films, especially Europe '51 (1952). Based on two 14th-century books that retold legends of the life of St. Francis and his followers, The Flowers of St. Francis consists of a prologue and nine episodes. The actors, who were Franciscan monks, are not credited, although Francis was played by Brother Nazario Gerardi and the key role of Brother Ginepro by Brother Severino Pisacane. The only professional actor in the film is Aldo Fabrizi, who had worked with Rossellini in Rome, Open City. Fabrizi is the monstrous tyrant Nicolaio, who torments Ginepro until he is won over by the monk's gentle endurance of all the ills inflicted on him -- at one point, Ginepro is used as a human jump rope, then dragged around Nicolaio's camp behind a horse. The title of the film in Italian is Francesco, Giullare di Dio, meaning "God's jester," and the moral lesson constantly taught in the film is that of self-abasement to the point of ridicule. In a key episode, Francis and another friar go in search of perfect happiness. They find it when they go to the house of a man who repeatedly refuses their plea for alms until he finally beats them and kicks them downstairs. Then Francis explains that true happiness is to suffer in the name of Christ, a moral lesson not unlike the one learned by Irene Girard (Bergman) in Europe '51, where it's expressed in more secular terms. The screenplay was written in collaboration with Federico Fellini with consultation from two Roman Catholic priests, though the film is much lighter in tone than that suggests.

[the-mediaeval-monk]

Oh the inherent eroticism of wishing to take the skull of your beloved fellow monk to use as a vessel to eat and drink from in honor of their memory

[rabbitcruiser]

Summer Afternoon

What do you think about my pic?

[thatscarletflycatcher]

One of the main curses of having attended and worked at Franciscan school is the knee jerk reaction every time I see Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace being attributed to St. Francis (it's probably not older than 1912, anonymous, and made extremely popular during WWI).

[fuzzysparrow]

Saint Francis of Assisi

Saint Francis of Assisi is a well-known name in the Western world. He was the topic of numerous paintings between the 14th and 17th centuries, although his popularity has since dwindled. Most people only know Saint Francis’ name or regard him as a saint that liked animals. After looking at Saint Francis’ life in detail, it is clear he was much more than an animal enthusiast. Giovanni di Pietro…

[thepastisalreadywritten]

The Vatican unveiled its annual Nativity scene earlier this evening, paying special tribute to the origins of the beloved tradition on its 800th anniversary.

The scene in St. Peter’s Square depicts not only Mary and Joseph standing beside the manger, but also St. Francis of Assisi, who organized the first Nativity scene in a cave in the Italian village of Greccio on Christmas Eve in 1223.

Cardinal Fernando Végez Alzaga, the president of the Governate of the Vatican City State, presided over the December 9 inauguration ceremony.

More than a thousand people gathered in the square for the event, which included moments of catechesis, an explanation of how the scene was put together and the signing of seasonal hymns.

The Vatican’s Greccio-inspired Nativity scene does not include live animals and people, as St. Francis’ original did, but it does feature life-size terracotta figures, crafted by renowned Neapolitan sculptor Antonio Cantone.

At the center of the scene is the now-empty manger, where a figure of the Newborn Savior will be placed on Christmas Eve.

On one side of manger, a statue of Mary kneels, flanked by a rendition of St. Joseph, while on the other side, a statue of St. Francis of Assisi stands in a pose of wonder.

In addition to the figures of Mary, Joseph, St. Francis, and the traditional ox and donkey, the 13th-century mayor of Greccio who helped organize the first Nativity scene, Giovanni Velita, is featured in statue form, along with his wife, Alticama.

Three Franciscan friars, whom St. Francis had tasked with setting up the first Nativity scene as a place where local faithful could come and contemplate the poverty of the Incarnate Lord, are also depicted.

The backdrop of the scene is a replica of the fresco that decorates the Chapel of the Nativity in Greccio, which is built into the grotto where St. Francis set up the first Nativity scene.

On one half of the fresco, the saint is shown kneeling in adoration of the Christ Child; on the other side, Mary is depicted feeding the Newborn Savior, while the figures of Joseph, the ox and the donkey look on.

Underneath the fresco, a Franciscan friar is depicted celebrating Mass in the grotto.

The friar elevates the Body of Christ directly behind the manger.

In another fitting tribute to the Nativity scene’s origins, this year’s Vatican display was provided by the Diocese of Rieti, which is where Greccio is located.

The Vatican’s Christmas tree was also lit at the December 9 ceremony.

The tree, an 80-foot-tall fir, had been donated by the Italian community of Macra, located in the northwest of Italy.

The tree was adorned with edelweiss flowers that are native to the Alpine region.

Upon lighting, it glowed with ever-changing patterns of green, blue and red.

After the tree’s use in St. Peter’s Square, its wood will be used to make toys for children in need.

Earlier in the day, Pope Francis spoke to delegations of the two communities that had donated the Nativity scene and the Christmas tree.

The Pope said that meditating in front of any Nativity scene should “awaken in us the nostalgia for silence and prayer, in our often so-hectic daily life.”

The Pope also said that the Vatican Nativity scene’s connection to Greccio should in turn prompt people to think and pray for the inhabitants of the Holy Land amid the ongoing war between Israel and Hamas, especially children and their parents affected by the conflict.

“These are the ones who pay the real price of war,” Pope Francis said.

Both the Nativity scene and the tree will remain in St. Peter’s Square until the feast of the Baptism of the Lord on 7 January 2024.

Source: National Catholic Register

Highlights: Inauguration of the Nativity scene and lighting of the Christmas tree on 9 December 2023

10 December 2023

[cronicasdelholoceno]

Saint Damian’s Monastery: Saint Claire’s garden. Assissi (Italy).

July 2024.

[spearwa]

I wonder if I should try watching the 1961 St Francis movie

[cgclarkphoto]

St. Francis and Christmas roses -  cg photography

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I think this song is a classic at this point, in several languages, but my Franciscan upbringing forces me to remind people that it is likely not older than 1912 and definitely not composed by St Francis. But of three other famous St. Francis' writings we preserved the original manuscripts: the Blessing to Br. Leo, the Praises of God the Highest, and the Canticle of the Creatures.

Prayer of St Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

[nouveau-riche-princess]

Pope Francis says "DL guys will never get a clocky bad bitch" at Easter Sunday mass in St. Peter's Square

Rallying from a winter-long bout of respiratory problems, Pope Francis led some 30,000 people in Easter celebrations Sunday and made a strong appeal for DL guys to wake up and stop DMing penis images on social media app Grindr.

Francis presided over Easter Sunday Mass in a flower-decked St. Peter's Square and then delivered a heartfelt prayer for the immortal souls of DL guys in this global tgirl crisis. In between, he made several loops around the piazza in his popemobile, greeting well-wishers.

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Therese of Lisieux

Doctor of the Church

1873-1897

Feast Day: October 1 (New), October 3 (Trad)

Patronage: Missions

St. Therese of Lisieux was a French Discalced Carmelite nun, popularly known as The Little Flower. She was a highly influential model of sanctity for others because of the "simplicity and practicality of her approach to the spiritual life." She entered Carmel at the early age of 15 and died of tuberculosis at the age of 24. Together with St. Francis of Assisi she is one of the most popular saints in the history of the Church. Pope Pius X called her "the greatest saint of modern times."

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase. (website)

[qsycomplainsalot]

Giving constructive criticism to debutant artists is like tending to a young plant, where you gotta be careful with everything you do because it'll die extremely easily with a single mistake and if that happens you'll never know what beautiful flowers or horny fruits it would have born. Giving criticism to AI fartists is the same, but the plant is fucking evil and keeps making fun of your job all the while being plastic somehow, so decades of restraint just explode like the St Francis dam disaster and you pull the fucking garden shear on that dumb bitch.

[rabbitcruiser]

Benches/Chairs (No. 4)

Santa Rosa, CA (seven pics)

Skagway, AK

Omak, WA (two pics)

[the-last-tsar]

"In 1799, three years after her failed betrothal with the King of Sweden, another marital project originated for Alexandra. Previously in 1798, Dukes Ferdinand Augustus and Alexander Frederick of Württemberg who were the brothers of the Empress Maria Feodorovna, arrived in St. Petersburg to serve in the Russian army. They expressed the interest of Austria to join with Russia in a coalition against the rising power of the French Republic and Napoleon, and to cement this alliance, it was decided to arrange a marriage between Alexandra and Archduke Joseph of Austria, Palatine (Governor) of Hungary and a younger brother of Francis II, Holy Roman Emperor. Archduke Joseph personally came to Russia to see his bride. The meeting between them was successful. In mid-February 1799 the betrothal ball was held. Later, a marriage contract was signed in which Alexandra would be allowed to kept her Russian Orthodox faith. In October, Count Fyodor Rostopchin wrote:

"Believe me, that's not good started to strengthen the alliance with the Austrian court by ties of blood... Of all the sisters she will be given the least successful marriage. She will have nothing to wait for, and her children even more so."

On 25 September 1799, a decree was published about the royal title of Alexandra. In Russia, she was referred to as "Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess the Archduchess of Austria" with the French prefix of "Palatine d'Hongrie". The wedding took place on 30 October 1799 at Gatchina Palace, one week after the wedding of her sister Elena. To celebrate both events, poet Gavrila Derzhavin wrote the ode "the wedding celebrations of 1799". On 21 November the couple went to Austria. Countess Varvara Golovina remembered that Alexandra was sad to leave Russia, and her father Emperor Paul I "constantly repeated, would not see her since her sacrifice." According to Alexandra's confessor, Andrei Samborski, Alexandra was given a cold reception in Vienna. However, other sources offer a different view. Queen Maria Carolina of Naples (the Emperor's mother-in-law) and her daughters arrived in Vienna in August 1800 for a long stay. Maria Carolina's daughter, Princess Maria Amalia of Naples, wrote in her journal that on 15 August the Queen and her daughters were introduced to Alexandra, whom she described as "very beautiful". Maria Amalia and Alexandra became friends during this time; and the Princess of Naples wrote in her journal that the Russian Grand Duchess and her husband had a friendly relationship with the rest of the imperial family and took part in the family gatherings, parties and balls in Vienna, which contrasts with the version given by Andrei Samborski. For instance, in January 1801, Maria Amalia wrote in her journal that the imperial family used to attend balls in Archduke Joseph's residence in Vienna, where "beautiful Alexandra, always serious and sad, has a magnificent household." When she was presented to Emperor Francis II, she reminded him of his first wife Elisabeth of Württemberg, who was her maternal aunt; this caused the jealousy of Empress Maria Theresa, Francis II's second wife, who also was envious of Alexandra's beauty and fine jewelry. Imperial confessor Andrew Samborski wrote:

"Remembering the happy cohabitation with her led him (the Emperor) in extreme confusion of mind which afflicted the heart of the Empress, his present wife. After this, she became in the innocent victim of the Empress' implacable vengeance...The Empress not forgotten and humiliated her parents and siblings when she called them a family of freaks, due to the treatment that Grand Duke Constantine gave to his wife."

Once, Alexandra turned up to a ball beautifully dressed, with magnificent jewellery. The Empress was incensed at being upstaged by the Archduchess, and ordered her to remove her jewellery, and also told her that she could no longer wear them. Heeding her instructions, Alexandra only decorated her hair with flowers when she attended a play some time later. The flowers highlighted her beauty, leading her to be applauded and being given a standing ovation, making Maria Theresa even more furious. Archduke Joseph could not protect his wife from these attacks. Furthermore, her Eastern Orthodox faith aroused the hostility of the Roman Catholic Austrian court, who urged her to convert. Pavlovna was popular among Hungarians, both the nobles and the commoners. According to the legend, it was her suggestion to add the color green as the third color to the flag of Hungary. Hungarians had been using red and silver, then red and green as their national colors for centuries at the time. However, in the late 18th century, a third color was proposed to be added to the flag, to follow the style of the French tricolor. Pavlovna suggested green as a symbol for hope. By the mid-19th century, the red-white-green Hungarian tricolor became widespread.

Wikipedia of Grand Duchess Alexandra Pavlovna.

[fleetingcalypso]

Greetings, oh beautifully talented Calypso.

Today I come forward to ask you a quite peculiar request for a fic, if you'd be comfortable writing about it.

If you'd like to humor me, I am definitely a sucker for Francis Abernathy, therefore I present to you a prompt for him, that takes place in the timeline after the end of college.

Since I tremendously like the way you portray the characters psychological traits, I believe you could write a masterpiece out of this.

Could you write about a reunion between Francis and the reader, who has received Francis' goodbye letter and rushed to his side, after they went no contact for years.

Maybe they were occasional lovers while in college, but Francis kept the reader as a side piece for when Charles didn't want him? All while the reader had genuine feelings for him and stayed by his side even though they knew it was extremely toxic?

How would this reunion end? Would it be with or without comfort? If it's okay for you to write this, I'll leave this decision up to you. Thank you for listening and have a good day!

≋ Quite heartbreaking, being used as a replacement for an impossible love.

≋ Francis Abernathy x AMAB!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2259 words.

≋ TW: Mentions of sh, mentions of s*icide, depressive themes, mentions of d*ath, probable manipulation and toxic relationship, one-sided love, lavender marriage.

≋ CW: Angst with no happy ending. Hurt/No Comfort. Reader is AMAB, but it can be read as GN!Reader.

“Mon amant,”

These are the first words I receive from the one man I gifted my best moments to. Black ink on white paper laughs in my face and  mocks me, the swirls in his penmanship whirl me into an hallucinogenic land I hadn’t stepped foot in for what felt like ages. The last time I spoke to him was at a funeral in St. Louis, a wretched day, where he promised me, with his gaze fixed on a black casket, that he’d never drift too far from me. After that, I’d only meet him in my dreams, during those nights where I thought my time had come.

Just eight letters perfectly placed, that was all it took for dried flowers to be bathed in holy water and blossom into divine red roses. For years and years I had tried to contact him, but in vain; my efforts in hearing his voice again, feeling his skin, catching a glimpse of his eyes only succeeded in my heart shrivelling up into something unrecognisable, chewed, consumed by worms and larvae. Each letter I sent found its way back to my doorstep, each call was left unanswered, Richard was my only way of knowing Francis was even alive at all.

Casting my feelings aside for just a moment, me and my soul feel no shame in drinking up each and every word on the page, it’s like eating cherries. One word leaves me hungry for the other, a famine coming to an end; after so long with only my memories keeping his memory alive it is difficult to contain my craving for any scrap of him I can get my cursed hands on.

His letter reads like an obituary although written in haste. 

“Mon amant,

I will not bother you with worthless, dishonest chatter of the likes of ‘How are you, my friend? We haven’t talked in a while!’ because this is most likely the first and last time I will speak to you in more time than I want to admit.

Seeing Henry being lowered into the ground, with none of our friends present, cleared a lot of fog into my mind, honestly I think this was a long time coming. Don’t feel sorry for me. You of all people, I wholeheartedly feel, should be somewhat relieved.

As I’m writing this, I realise - or perhaps I knew it all along - that I have been anything but kind to you, in our youth. I do ask, beg even, that you forgive me for my sins.

Forgive me for the kisses we shared, forgive me for those gasps I breathed against your neck, forgive me for having moulded you into the silhouette of what I was looking for in a lover, without ever actually dipping more than my finger in your waters.

Forgive me for all the promises I didn’t even try to keep.

There are many things we did together that I can still remember: when my eyes are closed and I'm tip-toeing on the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, my mind brings me back to whispers in the dark, to my back being pressed against the wall and to your hand in mine.

I won’t reminisce any longer. It leaves an all too saccharine aftertaste in my mouth.

If it matters any, you are the one thing I can’t bring myself to regret.

If after I fall into eternal sleep I happen to run into Henry, I will not hesitate in speaking my mind and asking him why the hell he was so selfish as to leave us all behind and not cause a bloodbath in that hotel room. 

Again, please don’t feel too anguished over this. It was only a matter of time.

Yours, if only for a fleeting moment in time,

Francis”

I read it, again and again, until it is burned into my retinas. I could repeat it out loud like a litany, like a religious chant forwards and backwards, in my sleep even. I most likely did repeat it in my sleep, as while I was on a plane rushing to his side in Logan, I remember being gently stirred awake by a young girl who thought I was trapped in what she called a nightmare. I assured her I was alright, but my words would soon reveal themselves to be false.

It was indeed a night terror that I was going through, only I wasn’t asleep and this was the cruel reality that fate had written in the cards for me. And terror inhabited my heart when my eyes finally met his once again.

Who was this man? Where had my Francis gone? Had I gotten the wrong room? Of course I hadn’t, he was reserved a private one, his personal nurse guided me to it.

We stared at each other and not a single muscle was moved, not until he was the one to break the spell that had enchanted us into cold statues. He sighed and turned away. I felt it like a slap in my face, still I rushed to the chair next to his bed, almost tripping over my own feet.

“Francis.” I breathe, tasting his name on my tongue, invisible maraschino cherries grazing my taste buds turning sour when my vision focuses on the bandages around his wrists. It’s unreal. The first time I can breathe in the air he exhales after an everlasting apnea, and it’s because he attempted to take his own life.

I want to scream. I want to break something. Hell, I’d strike him, if he wasn’t injured. What right does he have to take away what I hold closest to my chest? I could have lived, knowing he was alive, living his best - or worst- life somewhere in a far away meander of the world. I could have lived without his presence next to me. I could have endured it for a million lifetime, not knowing if my gaze would catch a glimpse of his red curls ever again. 

What I could not live with, was knowing he was not on this Earth anymore. That my affection was being dispersed into the wind, melting into the roots of trees with no way of reaching its recipient.

Silence reigned, I had left my house in a hurry, not even bothering to wash my dishes, fold my laundry or clean the coffee that spilled on my kitchen table when I read the name inked on the back of the letter delivered to me. It dawns on me tragically. I was so eager to finally be able to count the freckles on his cheeks again, that not for one second had I prepared what to say in his presence.

Surprisingly -or maybe not- he is the one to speak first, his words send an ice dagger through me, “How are you? We haven’t talked in a while.” He says not looking at me, just like he did during Henry’s funeral. History repeats itself.

These are the first words I receive from the one man I gifted my best moments to, this time at the very least I can hear his voice as he mocks me with what he quotes as worthless, dishonest chatter.

“Francis.” There’s a masked harshness to my tone that grabs him by the jaw and forces him to look my way once again. “You tried to kill yourself.”

“Wow, I left you as sharp as an arrow and I find you as dull as an unsharpened knife.” It sounds more like a tease than an insult, the slight rising of his eyebrow confirms my doubt. 

Why the hell would you do that? I want to say, why the hell would you promise me to stick by my side and then disappear like a phantom? Why in the world would you eradicate your existence from my life? But the words never come, because they’re not the ones I should say right now and with the way his hollowed eyes gaze into mine, it’s obvious he understands my struggle in not blowing up.

“I’ve been selfish,” He admits, trying to sit up straighter, my hands fists the material of my trousers to hold back from helping him, “I did not expect to see you ever again. That day, when we said goodbye to Henry…” For a blink of an eye he’s back in time, standing at my side, three rows behind our friend’s weeping mother, “Some inconsiderate part of me truly wanted to be with you, I was looking at the future and there wasn’t much I could count as permanent. Not even life itself. But you… You were always there for me.”

“I was.” I’m not ashamed to admit it. Those times where Charles wanted nothing to do with Francis, I was, without fail, the one he seeked comfort in. My body did not hesitate when it was pulled in bathroom stalls, in bedrooms or in a secluded corner of the library back at Hampden. Maybe he liked having me as his paramour because of my gentle touch and the way I’d carefully set his glasses to the side before kissing him, maybe being on the receiving hand of love and care made him feel more alive than his hair being pulled and teeth digging into his neck.

“I was scared.” Unlike me, he is ashamed. “I was scared if I kept you in my life, I would forever be reminded of what we did.” 

“What we did?” I echo him and he nods solemnly. It’s when his teeth begin torturing his bottom lip, that I almost let myself be pulled back in the past. I almost feel like Orpheus and Eurydice together as one, one single look behind me and I will be forever lost in what could have been. His tongue peaks out to alleviate the damage his teeth are guilty of and it is done.

Invisible spirits wrap themselves around my limbs and guide my hand on top of his, I restrained myself as much as humanly possible. His letter sits in the chest pocket of my jacket, it weighs heavy, though it is not the reason my body leans towards him.

Mesmerised by the way his curls bounce when his head shakes it takes a while for me to realise he’s slipped his hand away from mine to reach for a cigarette on his nightstand, jealousy possesses me when such a small object fits perfectly between his lips, nonetheless I light it up for him. The nearby ashtray is already a residence to a dead cigarette, though it looks like it was put out as soon as it was lit.

After breathing out a cloud of smoke Francis decides it’s time to throw my world off its axis, “I’m getting married. I have to, or I can kiss my grandfather’s money goodbye.” If jealousy possessed me earlier, for a simple cigarette, now a pit sits in my stomach, my head tilts in confusion because it’s all I can do while my throat goes dry. “To an impossibly stupid girl, of all people.” He adds, and it doesn’t take long until he shoves in my hands a photo of someone I don’t recognize.

“She’s pretty.”

“Richard said the same. You just missed him, he left a moment before you arrived.” For some reason it irks me that Richard was here before me. He’d always been everywhere and nowhere at once yet somehow still in the way. Too often Francis had confessed to me how interesting it would be if he could have a chance with Richard.

The more I stared at the smiling woman in the picture the more daggers piercing me. While he may not ever truly love her like a man loves a woman, perhaps she could give him a good life. Something he clearly did not want with me. I’m quick to brush that thought away, the same way I set the photo back onto the nightstand. “Nonetheless congra-”

“I had found someone else.” He interrupts and at this point maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed at home, if I had forgotten Francis Abernathy existed and if I had tried to wash his taste out of my mouth with soap. Each and every word he says is a bullet aimed to kill, he probably doesn’t even realise or if he does then the years have made him much more cruel than I could have ever imagined. “His name is Kim, he’s a lawyer, he went to Harward, he was good. But no, instead I have to marry a stupid girl, whose presence sucks the fun out of every room she steps foot into.” 

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say? “I’m really sorry, Francis.”

“I’m sorry too.” 

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, no you shouldn’t have.”

I wonder if I could offer him to run away together. I wonder if he’d agree to let me be his saviour. I wonder if he opened up to Richard in one day more than he ever did with me. I wonder if he’s going to notice that I stole one of his cigarettes. I wonder how much time I’ve spent sitting in silence on a bench a couple streets away from Brigham and Women’s Hospital. I wonder how much time has passed since I last smoked a cigarette. I wonder why it doesn’t hurt as much as I imagined when the letter he wrote me burns at my feet. I wonder when the next flight back home is.