To Rewild Death

the lessons of an old cat at the end of the road

When St. Francis was dying, he begged his brothers to lay his naked body directly on the earth as he waited for Sister Darkness to embrace him. This request, to me, has always shown his deep ecological understanding of the eucharist. “Take, eat, this is my body,” says Christ…not because this is an exceptional moment of God feeding his children but because all living things will eventually say this to each other. We all feed each other with our very bodies. Mothers say it to their children. Animals and plants say it to each other. Everything that eats is eaten is the fundamental truth at the heart of the natural world.

St. Francis, who instructed the villagers to feed the wild wolf of Gubbio, knows that it is now time that he feed the wolves and the crows, the beetles and the worms with his own broken body.

But, of course, his monks did not allow his body to become food but rather wrapped him in a shroud and kept his mortal remains for their own devotions. I have often shaken my head at these monks who did not understand what their beloved teacher was really trying to teach them.

Except that I am more like them than St. Francis.