One of the problems with the idea of a gift is that it typically sets in motion an economy of exchange that, unintended by the giver and receiver, can set up a sense of inequality and debit that is not easily overcome. We’ve all been in this social situation before: someone at work gives you a holiday present, unexpectedly, with the sincerest desire to be kind and nice. Yet, you feel indebted, even embarrassed perhaps, for not having something ready at hand to give in return. This exchange sets up an imbalance that denies the possibility of a true gift, for a true gift is freely given and received without there being established such pressure for reciprocation, without there arising a sense of self-gratification or embarrassment, without the possibility of something ever given in return.
The French philosopher Jacques Derrida was, along with many other topics, deeply concerned about the possibility of a true gift. He believed that for something to truly be a gift it must not appear as such and can only be ‘given’ outside of the confines of the economy of exchange that elicits a response in return that, in effect, ‘annuls’ the gift’s debt. What he means by this is that even if the only response a recipient can offer is a polite “Thank you,” the inherent elicitation of that response arises from without due to the imposition of the ‘gift’ or gesture of another.
This is indeed paradoxical. What does it mean have a genuine gift? Can one escape the ostensible aporia of the dynamics of giving and taking?
St. Francis had an intuitive sense of the impossibility of the gift and the dynamics of relationship that it implies. In his Admonition XXVI, Francis writes:
Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and cannot repay him as when he is well and can repay him.
What an odd, little aphorism for a thirteenth-century mendicant to share with his brothers. Love, something Derrida also had philosophical concerns about in a way not unlike the possibility of a genuine gift, is tied up in Francis’s admonition within the same economy as Derrida’s gift.
True love, as the later heading for this admonition will term it, seems to move beyond the ordinary dynamics of what is seen and experienced. It exists only in the absence of the possibility of return. Contrary to the “Prayer attributed to St. Francis,” the true gift of love does not take place such that, “it is in giving that we receive.” No. It is, for Francis, only possible to “give” true love when it is impossible to receive in return.
This is a call to love as Jesus Christ did: an exercise of agape, self-giving, disinterested love.
Francis echoes this sensibility in the next admonition, when he writes:
Blessed is the servant who loves and respects his brother as much when he is far away from him as when he is with him, and who would not say anything behind his back that he would not say with charity in his presence.
It is the absence that marks the difference in this sense of the gift of love. When there is no possibility of return because the other is not present, when one has no obvious way to give the gift of kindness, of charity, of compliment — this is when impossible gift of love is possibly given.
Too often people think of the way of Christ’s love as “giving one’s self totally” in terms of what one does in an observable way for another. But what is the true gift? Can we give it? Can we love without the slightest possibility of return? Can we give without acknowledgement or acceptance? Can we give without the gift ever being received?
Derrida says that the possibility of such a gift is inextricably tied up with its very impossibility, but the longing for the genuine gift — as well as genuine love, forgiveness, mourning, and so on — is nevertheless essential. Perhaps this is the meaning of Christian discipleship in action, the striving toward the Reign of God in our actions, longing to love as Christ has and as Francis admonished.

As we move closer to Easter during Holy Week I thought it might be good to reflect a little on the model of St. Francis of Assisi for all Christians. While the life, death, and resurrection of the Lord is, on the one hand, of the greatest importance and seriousness, reflection on Christian life is not on occasion for us to “take ourselves” too seriously. This is part of the wisdom of St. Francis gleaned from the Scriptures — we need to risk being seen as foolish in the eyes of the worldly “serious” to follow in the footprints of Christ.
When Francis started to work in God’s name, having renounced his worldly possessions and aspirations, he began to do penance and followed the Gospel as he felt led to by God. It was not long after Francis began living this new way of life that others came seeking to imitate his efforts and follow his manner of life in what Franciscan scholar Thaddée Matura calls the “Franciscan project.” This project, while initially devoid of an articulated course of development and not the intentional goal of Francis himself, quickly grew within Francis’s lifetime to include thousands of friars and hundreds of sisters. What attracted such a number to follow in the footsteps of this medieval man through the renunciation of property, the adherence to a life of obedience, and the voluntary adoption of chastity?
Pope Benedict XVI took the opportunity during last Sunday’s pre-Angelus address to mention that July 15th is the feast day of St. Bonaventure, the Franciscan saint, theologian, bishop, and doctor of the church. Bonaventure has played an important role in Benedict XVI’s academic and spiritual formation going all the way back to when the now-pontiff was in graduate school. In recent years, Benedict XVI has delivered several addresses on Franciscan figures, about twelve addresses in all over the period of two years, three of which (not counting this most recent) were on Bonaventure. The Pope again returns to the Seraphic Doctor to highlight the model for Christian living we find in the saint’s life and how his theological understanding of the life of St. Francis aligns well with the Christocentric theological outlook we find in the Pauline hymn at the opening of the Letter to the Ephesians, the Second Reading for last Sunday.
For those who prefer to read their books on the Barnes & Noble Nook e-reader, good news!
So I have been really appreciating the beauty of God’s creation here in the Adirondack Mountains these last few days. This time has been a gift of rest, prayer and renewal as the days quickly approach that mark the start of a rather busy week preceding my ordination to the presbyterate. The friar who cares for this cabin near the lake asked if I would be willing to mow the lawn while I was up here, a task I enthusiastically embraced! Living sine proprio, without anything of my own, means that I rarely have the opportunity to do lawn work, this is in part because there are usually other friars more gifted in gardening and take on such tasks for the community.
Well, the day has come and the book is shipping. As you can see from this photo to the left, I received my copy of Dating God: Live and Love in the Way of St. Francis yesterday and was delighted to hear from so many friends that they’ve received email notifications from Amazon.com that their pre-ordered books were shipped or scheduled to ship shortly. Many people have asked about Kindle and Nook versions of the book and I’ve been told by my publisher that those editions are forthcoming and should be available very soon. These large booksellers, Amazon and B&N, take a long time to update their digital storefronts and have all the options available. Be patient, it will arrive shortly — in the meantime, if you’re eager to check out the book, pick up a hard copy for one of the insanely low prices that these booksellers are discounting the new book! Amazon.com is offering it for 33% off the retail price and now so is B&N (although yesterday, for a short time, they were selling it at the awesome 40% off price of $8.80, that seems to have ended).




