Becoming a Nature Mystic
St. Francis of Assisi’s Life of Worship and Contemplation Through God’s Creation
By Josh Tiessen
St. Francis’ Grotto in Assisi. Photo: Josh Tiessen
In the summer of 2023, I had the privilege of visiting Assisi, Italy, the hometown of St. Francis (1182-1226), one of the most inspiring representatives of medieval piety. Francis, who lived in a natural grotto—a small, hewn cell with simple furnishings—established the Order of Little Brothers, later known as the “Franciscans.” I spent all afternoon meandering through the ancient Franciscan site, now called “The Isolated Hermitage,” where one can see dozens of small caves in the steep forest gorge upon Monte Subasio. In historical paintings and drawings of St. Francis, he is often depicted praying in a cave with a skull resting on a stone table. This vanitas motif, which reflected Francis’ humility, inspired the composition for my painting Memento Mori.
Memento Mori, Oil on Baltic Birch, 36” x 24” x 2”, 2023
As the patron saint of ecology, St. Francis of Assisi had an intimate love for God’s creation. Scholars believe he was a nature mystic, but before we delve into nature mysticism I should explain what it is not. According to Richard Foster, Francis’ contemplative prayer through meditation upon creation was not infantile pantheism, but majestic monotheism where the Creator revealed his glory through his creation. Francis’ mysticism was also not other-worldly. One of the heretical sects of Francis’ day was the Cathars. While they espoused the gnostic view that the material world was evil, Francis regarded the sheer goodness of God’s creation, to be received with thanksgiving as God’s provision. In contrast to the Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy that nature is an imperfect shadow of the higher “forms,” Francis celebrated the intrinsic value of each of God’s creatures. According to his biographer, Bonaventure, Francis’ incarnational theology led him to create the first crèche––preparing a manger, bringing in hay, ox, and a donkey––to remind the assembled people that the God of the universe came to this world at a particular historical time as a particular helpless babe among particular stable animals, eliminating the distance between God and creation. The greatest Franciscan thinker, John Duns Scotus (c. 1265-1308), identified Francis’ embodied notion as haecceity, a philosophical word describing the “this-ness” of each individual creature, which, although dependent on God, has a unique identity and distinct being. [1]
While studying St. Francis, I came across the story of his encounter with the Wolf of Gubbio, which inspired my painting Brother Wolf. As an ascetic mystic who had a thaumaturgic (miraculous) relationship with the natural world, Francis was summoned by the city to stop the infamous wolf from relentlessly devouring animals and people. As the wolf charged, Francis made the sign of the cross and commanded “Brother Wolf” to do no harm. The crowd stood in wonder as the wolf immediately shut his mouth and came peacefully as a lamb to lay at Francis’ feet, never to harm the people again.
Brother Wolf, Oil on Baltic Birch, 48” x 24” x 2", 2015
Francis was also known for preaching to the attentive birds with great bursts of energy: “My little bird sisters, you owe much to God your Creator, and you must always and everywhere praise Him… because He preserved your species in Noah’s ark.” Another biographer, Thomas of Celano, emphasized how Francis was fulfilling what the Bible literally commanded, to “preach the gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15 KJV). [2]
According to historian Roger Sorrell, “Almost every major ascetic movement or revival in the Middle Ages led to renewed interest in the natural world.” Francis and his first followers often lived in abandoned caves, grottos or tombs, emulating the Son of Man who had no permanent place to lay his head (Matthew 8:20). Their desire to be alone in the solitude of nature was driven by simplicity and humility. For one of the Lenten Fasts, Francis went out to the Island of Lake Trasmene (near Assisi) into the thicket and made a sort of cabin, where he prayed and contemplated. For the Franciscans, making a special place in the woods for meditation offered separation from distraction, intentionally setting aside time for God. In these retreat places, animals were not afraid of humans, so it was natural for Francis to connect with animals: he released a rabbit from a trap, birds perched on him, and he joined them in their singing at the Venetian Marshes. [3]
While it would be anachronistic to claim Francis was an environmentalist, it is clear that he had a mystical relationship with nature. While a new age nature mystic might regard nature as a manifestation of the divine or oneness, a Christian nature mystic is someone “whose mystical experience, whatever form it may take, is based on Christian beliefs and involves an appreciation of creation as God’s handiwork.” [4] In Francis’ famous nature hymn, “Canticle of the Creatures” (1225), he sings, “Be praised, my Lord, with all your creatures, Especially Sir Brother Sun, Who brings the day, and you give light to us through him.” While this might sound a little pagan to Christian ears, it echoes Psalm 148: “Praise him, sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars. Praise him, you highest heavens and you waters above the skies. Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths” (Psalm 148:3-4 NIV). In 1910, William Draper paraphrased this canticle as a musical hymn. Some of the words from this hymn, All Creatures of our God and King,appear in my painting All Creatures Praise. It is an affirmation that humans sing not to their Creator alone, but actively join with the cosmic choir of creation. In my own Protestant tradition, the Belgic Confession (1561), affirms that nature is a means of divine revelation: “Like a beautiful book in which all creatures, great and small, are as letters to make us ponder the invisible things of God.”
All Creatures Praise, Oil on Baltic Birch, 14” x 10,” 2021
In reflecting on Francis’ legacy, it is unfortunate that his mystical praxis with the natural world was not substantially upheld by his followers. [5] When I visited the Papal Basilica and Sacred Convent of St. Francis in Assisi, I was struck by its beautiful mosaics, frescoes, and gold adornments, but surprised at the relative absence of flora and fauna. I wondered what Francis would have thought, as someone who regarded all of God’s creatures as fellow kin. If creation reflects God’s glory, and in Franciscan thought all creatures bear “this-ness”––unique God-given freedom and being––why do churches most often omit nature from their interiors? While I believe Christian meditation upon creation is ideally practiced outdoors without human or technological distractions, when we begin to regard the importance of the environment in our worship, the tendrils of God’s creation may find their way into our corporate practice of worship. This could be in the hymns we choose to sing, whether the traditional “For the Beauty of the Earth” and “This is My Father’s World,” or contemporary worship songs like “God of Wonders” and “So Will I (100 Billion X).” My friend Stephen Proctor has done immersive projections of his nature cinematography across the interiors of cathedrals. At St. John the Divine in New York City, on the Sunday closest to the Feast of St. Francis (October 4th), they celebrate this liturgical occasion with a procession and blessing of animals. One year, music was led by Paul Winter (known for his “Earth Mass”), which included voices from various animals like the humpback whale joining “Sanctus” and the timber wolf howling in “Kyrie.” [6]
Terra Divina
You may be familiar with the ancient tradition of Lectio Divina (“sacred reading,”) the practice of reading a passage of Scripture with slow, prayerful meditation. A few years ago, I attended an outdoor Wild Church gathering, where we were led through Terra Divina (“sacred earth”). This slow look at our natural surroundings allows the Spirit to guide us in giving loving attention to the world. Here is an adapted form of this practice, in honor of St. Francis:
1. Roam
Explore a wild place that is calling you. I often find myself returning to the hiking trail along the Niagara Escarpment, a block from my studio. It is important when you set out on your walk to take your time, considering that all of your steps are on holy ground. When you have arrived at the place the Spirit has led you to, allow yourself to sense the “threshold” you are crossing. This could be a particular marker, like a large moss-covered boulder or a specific maple tree. Find a place to sit.
2. Regard
Notice where your attention is going in the place you have chosen to plant yourself. Take a deep breath, open your senses, and observe without judgment.
Feel the soft breeze, touch the tree bark, moss, leaves, or remove your shoes and let your bare feet feel the ground beneath you (this is referred to by health advocates as “earthing” and has proven positive effects).
See the sights all around you, near and far: colors, textures, patterns, light and shade.
Listen to any sounds within your range: birds chirping, cicadas humming, trees creaking, leaves rustling, grass swaying, rivers streaming, or an ocean roaring.
Smell the aromas: the taste of the air, new growth, pleasing flowers, fresh rain, leaves molding,
3. Respond
As you reflect on this wild space you are inhabiting, offer praise to God the Creator. Be specific. Feel free to write down your adoration in a journal, pen a poem, or draw in a sketchbook. Engage with God as you form a new relationship with this part of his creation. What does it remind you of? What emotions does it evoke? Is there something you wish to express to this place? Like Francis, you may feel uninhibited enough to exhort the ecology around you to praise the Creator.
4. Rest and Respect
As Jesus encourages us to consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air who are without worry (Matthew 6:26-30), spend a moment resting in the Lord. Feel the pure pleasure of being held in the Creator’s hand, as a baby cradled in her mother’s arms. Remember that we are interconnected and dependent on our Father’s world, which provides us essential nourishment––water, air, sunlight, and food. Before leaving, take a receptive posture and whisper or proclaim a respectful “thank you” to the Creator.
[1] Loren Wilkinson, Circles and the Cross: Cosmos, Consciousness, Christ, and the Human Place in Creation, 73-76, 239.
[2] Roger Sorrell, St. Francis of Assisi and Nature, 60, 62.
[3] Ibid., 41-42.
[4] Ibid., 80.
[5] Ibid., 143.
[6] Laura Hobgood-Oster, Holy Dogs & Asses: Animals in the Christian Tradition, 114.
Josh Tiessen is an international award-winning fine artist, speaker, and writer based near Toronto, Canada. His latest art monograph book Vanitas + Viriditas (2024) explores the theme of ecological wisdom in Ecclesiastes and Proverbs.