The sudden death of a colleague brings a sense of anger, particularly with the nonsense of Francis of Assisi. His Canticle of the Sun tend to appear this time of year at harvest festivals – and never fails to get under the skin. It’s benign stuff, until the penultimate stanza:
Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord,
All praise is Yours, all glory, honour and blessings.
To you alone, Most High, do they belong;
no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.
We praise You, Lord, for all Your creatures,