Thursday of the Second Week in Ordinary Time

http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/011912.cfm

Saul was very angry and resentful of the song, for he thought:
"They give David ten thousands, but only thousands to me.
All that remains for him is the kingship."
And from that day on, Saul was jealous of David.

As the former director at our retreat house in Minnesota, I know the strange effect of authority. It embeds deep within one's identity, wrapping itself around neurons and axons to be integrated into one's nervous system.  Because it is so deeply embedded, it is hard to let go even when you’re sick and tired of it.

Saul was not sick and tired of it. He was an able warrior and a capable leader, enjoying the respect of his soldiers. If he was little more than a warlord in a lawless land, he nonetheless preferred fighting to farming. He had the popular support of the Hebrews and the religious authority of the Judge Samuel to back him up. Or so he thought. His popularity was eroding as David's grew stronger; and Samuel was never enthusiastic about surrendering some of his religious authority to a secular king in the first place. He had anointed Saul as king only under divine obedience. But when Saul violated certain religious taboos Samuel quietly transferred his support to David.

As Saul felt his privilege slipping away he fell into the madness of envy. Perhaps David recalled that insanity many years later when he composed Psalm 51: Do not drive me from before your face, nor take from me your holy spirit.

Saint Francis also felt the intoxicating effects of authority. He had not set out to found an Order, but young men and women found him. They flocked to him by hundreds and thousands. Reassured by Church authorities that he should promote this movement, Francis labored intensely to show them his vision. His first dozen followers seemed to "get it" and he was very happy with them. That early group, including Saint Clare of Assisi, practiced poverty, penance and obedience and discovered the freedom of owning nothing and relying completely on God. Had they all been spurned by the people around them and starved for lack of popular support, Francis would have been very happy to die with them.
But the Church's needs were greater than his initial vision could include. The Church needed well-educated, well-trained preachers to move throughout Christendom; they had to reintroduce Jesus Christ to a religion that celebrated itself without reference to its Lord. Student friars needed food, shelter and warmth to maintain their studies. They could not live in the streets and sleep in barns like the first friars, and still attend classes by day. They needed books and they would develop erudition.
Francis resisted that impulse mightily until he was finally set aside by the friars and allowed to go his way. He could not and would not leave the community, of course, but his leadership would be only by writing and speaking. He would inspire rather than direct.
It was no easy transition for him. Some biographers think he suffered the disappointment for about two years, until he was given the stigmata. That "imprimatur" reminded him that God was still in charge and would direct the community despite his helplessness. The stigmata became a kind of living death for Francis, even as the wounds of Jesus appeared only after his death. There was no further possibility of his directing anything or anyone. He had become little more than an undead relic for the church.

He told the parable of the corpse. If you take a corpse out of its coffin, set it on a throne, put a crown on its head and a scepter in its hand, it will be no happier than it was in the coffin. That's the attitude leaders should bring to their ministry. They act in obedience only, despising any "perks" that might accompany the job. Relieved of responsibility they shed no tears; in fact they are downright grateful for the freedom of being under obedience again. Hopefully, in the meanwhile, they might have learned -- if they did not know -- the true practice of obedience.

Tragically, Saul never attained that freedom. He would die on the battle field, far from his vassal David, who might have saved his life.