*for my great nephew Francis Treadwell, whom we love and remember*
When I was growing up, there was an AM radio station in LaCrosse (WI) that played The Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi every day in the early evening. The recording was a heartfelt but not too dramatic rendition read by a man with a slightly nasal, very solemn baritone voice. I don’t know how many times I must have happened to listen to it when I was driving around—I never would have had that station on at home—but I can still hear it, and can recite parts of it from memory. If we could meet the aspirations expressed here—even a few of us—how much nicer the world would be.
Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, harmony;
Where there is error, truth;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And 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.