St. Francis Xavier
This was a commissioned write up for a souvenir book.
In a little village of Navarre, every stone of the Javier castle walls, every sombre brown hill and valley, spoke of war. It was within this gloomy battlements of Xavier on April 7, 1506 that a child was born. The child was christened Francis, an appropriate name for the child born in the week of our Lord's passion, sharing the name of the Saint who had borne the wounds of Christ in his living flesh.
Francis grew up carrying a desire to excel in his academic pursuits, and his ambition was deeper than the mere desire to excel personally. He had all the pride of birth and race added to the reserve and determination that were innate in his noble goal. Yet his strength of will, ambition and pride were transfigured by his irresistible charm. The rare but priceless gift of personal magnetism eludes comprehension, and Francis had this in a supreme degree from the beginning to the end of his life.
It was in the morning of austere earthliness when Francis took his last glimpse on Xavier. He embarked on a long journey to Paris, dreaming not of love but of fame and glory to be won. He spent his days in the university pursuing the dreams and ambitions he painted in glorious colors. But his triumphs were tainted with fleeting emptiness. Moments came when his complacent thoughts about the future went into a mysterious disturbance. Gradually taking shape in his mind was a yet indistinct ideal of sacrifice, that began to replace his former enthusiasms. His lingering vision of a comfortable existence spiced with scholastic brilliance took on the aspect of a dying ambition. Born in him was a vague but surging desire to transform into a man with a spirit and heart that reposed in God. Soon he began to know what ambition could really mean, as the insistent thought gained distinctiveness and force. He wanted to live dangerously and for a great cause.
Francis sacrificed his profession, the end of his academic pursuits,as he had already sacrificed his wordly ambitions. His was one generous nature which knew no half measure, a heroic soul that feared nothing but its own limitation. His travels to the unknown were the greatest trials of his life. In the stifling atmosphere of India and the Far East, he persevered in the life that was vile. Continually sick, wasted by heal and racked by fever, yet, his spirit still rising above his worn body. He preached on Sundays, made peace, silenced obscene oaths and songs. He was the prophet who walked in advance, rousing sleepers and pointing the way to spiritual progress. He cried aloud in the wilderness, preaching his crusade.
Today the name Francis Xavier is a magic evocative name, it conjures up visions of tropical seas, of hot Indian plains, of a Malacca and Japan with people as unmapped and as mysterious as the dark side of the mystic moon, and the most significant of all is the vision of a noble man who lived in these exotic realities, a man who offered himself to the weary and lost, a man whose heart and spirit reposed in Christ.
When Francis died, the greatest mission undertaking ceased. The great soul of Xavier had flown to God. But a flame had been lighted, a flame that would never die. His spirit remained, inspiring many to continue the work of trailblazing that never ceased.
In a little village of Navarre, every stone of the Javier castle walls, every sombre brown hill and valley, spoke of war. It was within this gloomy battlements of Xavier on April 7, 1506 that a child was born. The child was christened Francis, an appropriate name for the child born in the week of our Lord's passion, sharing the name of the Saint who had borne the wounds of Christ in his living flesh.
Francis grew up carrying a desire to excel in his academic pursuits, and his ambition was deeper than the mere desire to excel personally. He had all the pride of birth and race added to the reserve and determination that were innate in his noble goal. Yet his strength of will, ambition and pride were transfigured by his irresistible charm. The rare but priceless gift of personal magnetism eludes comprehension, and Francis had this in a supreme degree from the beginning to the end of his life.
It was in the morning of austere earthliness when Francis took his last glimpse on Xavier. He embarked on a long journey to Paris, dreaming not of love but of fame and glory to be won. He spent his days in the university pursuing the dreams and ambitions he painted in glorious colors. But his triumphs were tainted with fleeting emptiness. Moments came when his complacent thoughts about the future went into a mysterious disturbance. Gradually taking shape in his mind was a yet indistinct ideal of sacrifice, that began to replace his former enthusiasms. His lingering vision of a comfortable existence spiced with scholastic brilliance took on the aspect of a dying ambition. Born in him was a vague but surging desire to transform into a man with a spirit and heart that reposed in God. Soon he began to know what ambition could really mean, as the insistent thought gained distinctiveness and force. He wanted to live dangerously and for a great cause.
Francis sacrificed his profession, the end of his academic pursuits,as he had already sacrificed his wordly ambitions. His was one generous nature which knew no half measure, a heroic soul that feared nothing but its own limitation. His travels to the unknown were the greatest trials of his life. In the stifling atmosphere of India and the Far East, he persevered in the life that was vile. Continually sick, wasted by heal and racked by fever, yet, his spirit still rising above his worn body. He preached on Sundays, made peace, silenced obscene oaths and songs. He was the prophet who walked in advance, rousing sleepers and pointing the way to spiritual progress. He cried aloud in the wilderness, preaching his crusade.
Today the name Francis Xavier is a magic evocative name, it conjures up visions of tropical seas, of hot Indian plains, of a Malacca and Japan with people as unmapped and as mysterious as the dark side of the mystic moon, and the most significant of all is the vision of a noble man who lived in these exotic realities, a man who offered himself to the weary and lost, a man whose heart and spirit reposed in Christ.
When Francis died, the greatest mission undertaking ceased. The great soul of Xavier had flown to God. But a flame had been lighted, a flame that would never die. His spirit remained, inspiring many to continue the work of trailblazing that never ceased.
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