St. Francis Borgia (1510-1572) was born in Spain to a noble family, the son of a Duke. On his father’s side of the family he was the great-grandson of Pope Alexander VI, one of the notorious “Borgia Popes,” and on his mother’s side he was the great-grandson of King Ferdinand of Aragon. Francis joined the Spanish court of King Charles V at the age of 18, married, and had 8 children. In 1539 he experienced a profound religious conversion which caused him to renounce the pomp of the royal court, yet he continued his life of public service as the Viceroy of Catalonia. He made great progress in the spiritual life, and after his father’s death he became the Duke of Gandia. He built a university and invited the newly-founded Society of Jesus to work in his duchy. After the death of his wife, and after providing for his children, he joined the Jesuits in Rome and was given a prominent position in the order by St. Ignatius of Loyola. Under Francis’ leadership and reforms, the Jesuits advanced to such a great extent that he is considered to be their second founder. In the years following Ignatius’ death, Francis became head of the order and established Jesuit missions in multiple countries. He also counseled his missionaries in both practical strategies as well as spiritual discipline. St. Francis of Borgia was a celebrated preacher and a key figure in the Counter-Reformation movement. His feast day is October 10th.
One of the more sugary movies made about Francis of Assisi pictures Clare as a golden-haired beauty floating through sun-drenched fields, a sort of one-woman counterpart to the new Franciscan Order.
The beginning of her religious life was indeed movie material. Having refused to marry at 15, Clare was moved by the dynamic preaching of Francis. He became her lifelong friend and spiritual guide.
At 18, Clare escaped from her father’s home one night, was met on the road by friars carrying torches, and in the poor little chapel called the Portiuncula received a rough woolen habit, exchanged her jeweled belt for a common rope with knots in it, and sacrificed her long tresses to Francis’ scissors. He placed her in a Benedictine convent, which her father and uncles immediately stormed in rage. Clare clung to the altar of the church, threw aside her veil to show her cropped hair, and remained adamant.
The Poor Ladies went barefoot, slept on the ground, ate no meat, and observed almost complete silence. Later Clare, like Francis, persuaded her sisters to moderate this rigor: “Our bodies are not made of brass.” The greatest emphasis, of course, was on gospel poverty. They possessed no property, even in common, subsisting on daily contributions. When even the pope tried to persuade Clare to mitigate this practice, she showed her characteristic firmness: “I need to be absolved from my sins, but I do not wish to be absolved from the obligation of following Jesus Christ.”
Contemporary accounts glow with admiration of Clare’s life in the convent of San Damiano in Assisi. She served the sick and washed the feet of the begging nuns. She came from prayer, it was said, with her face so shining it dazzled those about her. She suffered serious illness for the last 27 years of her life. Her influence was such that popes, cardinals, and bishops often came to consult her—Clare herself never left the walls of San Damiano.
Francis always remained her great friend and inspiration. Clare was always obedient to his will and to the great ideal of gospel life which he was making real.
A well-known story concerns her prayer and trust. Clare had the Blessed Sacrament placed on the walls of the convent when it faced attack by invading Saracens. “Does it please you, O God, to deliver into the hands of these beasts the defenseless children I have nourished with your love? I beseech you, dear Lord, protect these whom I am now unable to protect.” To her sisters she said, “Don’t be afraid. Trust in Jesus.” The Saracens fled.
Reflection
The 41 years of Clare’s religious life are scenarios of sanctity: an indomitable resolve to lead the simple, literal gospel life as Francis taught her; courageous resistance to the ever-present pressure to dilute the ideal; a passion for poverty and humility; an ardent life of prayer; and a generous concern for her sisters.
Perhaps not a household name for most people, Saint Bonaventure, nevertheless, played an important role in both the medieval Church and the history of the Franciscan Order. A senior faculty member at the University of Paris, Saint Bonaventure certainly captured the hearts of his students through his academic skills and insights. But more importantly, he captured their hearts through his Franciscan love for Jesus and the Church. Like his model, Saint Francis, Jesus was the center of everything—his teaching, his administration, his writing, and his life. So much so, that he was given the title “Seraphic Doctor.”
Born in Bagnorea in 1221, Saint Bonaventure was baptized John, but received the name Bonaventure when he became a Franciscan at the age of 22. Little is known about his childhood, but we do know that his parents were Giovanni di Fidanza and Maria Ritell. It seems that his father was a physician and a man of means. While Saint Francis died about five years after the saint’s birth, he is credited with healing Bonaventure as a boy of a serious illness.
Saint Bonaventure’s teaching career came to a halt when the Friars elected him to serve as their General Minister. His 17 years of service were not easy as the Order was embroiled in conflicts over the interpretation of poverty. Some friars even ended up in heresy saying that Saint Francis and his community were inaugurating the era of the Holy Spirit which was to replace Jesus, the Church, and Scripture. But because he was a man of prayer and a good administrator, Saint Bonaventure managed to structure the Order through effective legislation. But more importantly, he offered the Friars an organized spirituality based on the vision and insights of Saint Francis. Always a Franciscan at heart and a mystical writer, Bonaventure managed to unite the pastoral, practical aspects of life with the doctrines of the Church. Thus, there is a noticeable warmth to his teachings and writings that make him very appealing.
Shortly before he ended his service as General Minister, Pope Gregory X created him a Cardinal and appointed him bishop of Albano. But a little over a year later, while participating in the Second Council of Lyon, Saint Bonaventure suddenly died on July 15, 1274. There is a theory that he was poisoned.
Saint Bonaventure left behind a structured and renewed Franciscan Order and a body of work all of which glorifies his major love—Jesus.
Reflection
Bonaventure so united holiness and theological knowledge that he rose to the heights of mysticism while remaining a very active preacher and teacher, one beloved by all who met him. To know him was to love him; to read him is still for us today to meet a true Franciscan and a gentleman.
Born into a family of some wealth, John Francis was so impressed by his Jesuit educators that he himself wished to enter the Society of Jesus. He did so at age 18. Despite his rigorous academic schedule, he spent many hours in chapel, often to the dismay of fellow seminarians who were concerned about his health. Following his ordination to the priesthood, John Francis undertook missionary work in various French towns. While the formal sermons of the day tended toward the poetic, his discourses were plain. But they revealed the fervor within him and attracted people of all classes. Father Regis especially made himself available to the poor. Many mornings were spent in the confessional or at the altar celebrating Mass; afternoons were reserved for visits to prisons and hospitals.
The bishop of Viviers, observing the success of Father Regis in communicating with people, sought to draw on his many gifts, especially needed during the prolonged civil and religious strife then rampant throughout France. With many prelates absent and priests negligent, the people had been deprived of the sacraments for 20 years or more. Various forms of Protestantism were thriving in some cases while a general indifference toward religion was evident in other instances. For three years, Father Regis traveled throughout the diocese, conducting missions in advance of a visit by the bishop. He succeeded in converting many people and in bringing many others back to religious observances.
Though Father Regis longed to work as a missionary among the Native Americans in Canada, he was to live out his days working for the Lord in the wildest and most desolate part of his native France. There he encountered rigorous winters, snowdrifts and other deprivations. Meanwhile he continued preaching missions and earned a reputation as a saint. Upon entering the town of Saint-Andé, one man came upon a large crowd in front of a church and was told that people were waiting for “the saint” who was coming to preach a mission.
The last four years of his life were spent preaching and organizing social services, especially for prisoners, the sick and the poor. In the autumn of 1640, Father Regis sensed that his days were coming to a conclusion. He settled some of his affairs and prepared for the end by continuing to do what he did so well: speaking to the people about the God who loved them. On December 31, he spent most of the day with his eyes on the crucifix. That evening, he died. His final words were: “Into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
John Francis Regis was canonized in 1737.
Reflection
John longed to travel to the New World and become a missionary to the Native Americans, but he was called instead to work among his own compatriots. Unlike many famous preachers, he isn’t remembered for golden-tongued oratory. What people who listened to him heard was his own fervent faith, and it had a powerful effect on them. We can recall homilists who impressed us for the same reason. More importantly for us, we can also remember ordinary people, neighbors and friends, whose faith and goodness touched us and brought us to deeper faith. That is the calling most of us must follow.
Jesus didn’t promise his early disciples a life of luxury and ease. Instead, he told them they would have to let go of pretty much everything in order to follow him. The early monastics pared their life down to the barest of essentials out in the deserts of Egypt and Syria. Beloved St. Francis of Assisi let go of his prospects as a middle-class Italian cloth merchant and pledged his allegiance to Lady Poverty instead. Why? Why does letting go seem to be such a necessary element in the equation of transformational spirituality? One answer is as simple as it is painful: because if life inevitably entails loss, and if true spirituality is about fully embracing the (often messy) reality of life, then any authentic spiritual path must make room for loss. Otherwise, spirituality really is just an opiate for the masses or a form of bypass, leading us away from life’s mystery rather than into the heart of it.
One of the primary Franciscan traditions is to acknowledge the presence of Jesus in our lives. Both Francis and Clare built their lives around this idea. According to the first admonition of St. Francis, the gift Jesus gave us in the Eucharist is the opportunity to expand the work of the kingdom of God to everyone. We are changed dramatically just by being in this living presence and being open to the action of our gracious God. We become instruments of God’s peace, mercy, joy, consolation, or courage. The more we celebrate the small miracles of daily life, the more we realize the very personal action of God in our daily living. The presence of Jesus among us is just that—a widespread presence among all of God’s people. We are able to embed the wonders of the presence of God within us. Each of us can and must be the “Jesus Presence” in this world of ours.
St. Francis de Girolamo (1642-1716) was the eldest of eleven children born to honorable and virtuous parents in Naples, Italy. As a child he was drawn to God and a life of prayer. Realizing his vocation to Holy Orders, he was ordained a Jesuit priest at the age of 28. He became a renowned public preacher due to his distinguished and eloquent voice. He was described as “a lamb when he talks, and a lion when he preaches.”
Francis had a heart for the missions after his patron St. Francis Xavier, but instead of traveling to distant lands he accepted his hometown of Naples as his India. He went as a missionary priest into country towns and villages for open-air preaching in the streets. He sought to convert sinners wherever they were—in brothels, prisons, galleys, hospitals, and asylums—as well as instructing the pious in their religious houses. He converted Muslim prisoners of war to the Christian faith, rescued children from dangerous and degrading situations, and opened a pawn shop for charity.
The fruit of his labor was abundant. He converted many souls, even hardened sinners, and made them virtuous. Everyone knew Francis for his holiness and zeal. He also had a reputation for being a miracle worker during his lifetime and after his death. After spending 40 years in apostolic labor in Naples, he died of an illness from which he suffered greatly without complaint. His feast day is May 11th.
St. Peter of St. Joseph Betancur, or Pedro de San José Betancur (1626-1667), also known as Hermano Pedro, was born into poverty in the Canary Islands. He was a shepherd until the age of 24 at which time he traveled to Guatemala, then the capital of New Spain, hoping to connect with a relative and to begin training to be a priest. The journey so impoverished him that he entered a bread line served by the Franciscans. He took up work in a textile factory and later entered a Jesuit college to study for the priesthood. Being too poor to continue his studies, he instead became a Franciscan tertiary. He dedicated his life to helping the poor and oppressed in jails and hospitals, as well as ministering to African slaves, Native Americans, and anyone else in need. He also founded a hospital, a school for the poor, and a homeless shelter. He also preached to the rich, inviting them to repent of their sins. Because of his effective apostolate he became known as “St. Francis of the Americas.” People were attracted to his way of life and followed him, leading to the founding of the Bethlehemite Brothers and Sisters. In addition to serving the poor, they had the charism of special devotion to the Divine Child and the Blessed Virgin, and offered prayer and sacrifices for the Holy Souls in Purgatory. Each night St. Peter would carry a heavy wooden cross through the streets as a form of penance and evangelization. It is also said that he was the first to start the Posadas procession during Advent. He died in 1667 and was canonized by Pope St. John Paul II as the first saint from Central America. His feast day is April 18.
Clare’s bereavement could hardly be equaled since for her, as for her sisters, Francis was “after God, her only consolation.” Now she must face an abyss of solitude in the quest for Gospel perfection. Thomas of Celano etches an indelible image: “Once he was taken away, the door that never again will suffer such pain, was closed on them” (First Life of St. Francis, Part II, Chapter X, 27). Indeed, the door closed on an experience of shared charisms that would never be rivalled. The time of grief did not reduce Clare to a shadowy survivor of the “good old days.” Rather, the immediate fires of loss and increased episcopal pressure to abandon their original plan only fortified her determination to stay the course. She would be the “lampstand to enlighten all in the house” of Francis. If the first half of her life had been spent in constructing the path with him, the second would be spent insisting on its trustworthiness as the penitent pilgrim’s road. She will live to enflesh the prophetic declaration: I will stand at my guard post, and station myself upon the rampart, and keep watch to see what he will say to me, and what answer he will give to my complaint. Then the Lord answered me and said: Write down the vision clearly upon the tablets, so that one can read it readily. For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays wait for it, it will surely come, and it will not be late. (Habakkuk 2:1-3)
Francis wrote his immortal Canticle of the Creatures while in Clare’s care at San Damiano. The incredible power and poetry of this song has long fascinated all who read, study, or sing it. One word in that poem, written in Umbrian dialect, and written during a time of daily nursing by Clare, catches the eye. It is the word clarite. “Praised be you, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars, in heaven you formed them clear and precious and beautiful” (Canticle, 5). This is the adjective for the stars. They are “clarite et pretiose et belle,”—clear, precious, beautiful. In the long dark time of his illness, was it Clare who was this “pretiose, belle, clarite” companion whose light helped him endure encroaching blindness and searing pain? She had been—and would remain—the North Star for all who wanted to follow his way.
