The immediate thing that strikes me about the saints death is how perfectly she pointed like a little compass towards God. As a compass always points North everything she said and did pointed perfectly towards God. A perfect, saintly Catholic death which could only have come about after a beautiful saintly Catholic life. But I must admit from the outside looking in that it scares me more than a little. So much darkness!! So much suffering! A real agony! I am more than a little bit of a coward when face to face with so much truly horrendous suffering. But I am comforted that the good God only sends us the Crosses we can bear and the graces to do so. 1 Corinthians 10:13 There hath no temptation taken you but such as man can bear: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation make also the way of escape, that ye may be able to endure it.
From Knock Shrine page: “I understood that every flower created by Him is beautiful, that the brilliance of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not lessen the perfume of the violet or the sweet simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all the lowly flowers wished to be roses, nature would no longer be enamelled with lovely hues. And so it is in the world of souls, Our lord's living garden.” - St Thérèse of Lisieux Today, October 1st, we celebrate the Feast Day of St. Thérése of Lisieux, known as ‘The Little Flower’, Carmelite Saint and Doctor of the Church. Here in Knock, the contemplative Community of Sisters at ‘Tranquila’, the Carmelite Monastery of the Nativity, have been part of the prayer life of the Shrine since 1981. Find out more about their spirituality at www.carmelitesknock.org
She gives such an example and pathway in suffering. Surrender at the Speed of Light with St. Therese of Lisieux and St. Elizabeth Ann Seton The courage and boldness of St. Therese and Mother Seton, especially in the face of great suffering and agony, flowed from their willingness to throw themselves completely into the arms of the Father. BY LISA LICKONA “From nature springs the fear of death, from grace springs audacity.”—Saint Thomas Aquinas “Death grins broader in the pot every morning, and I grin at him and I show him his master. Oh, be blessed, blessed, blessed. I see nothing in this world but blue skies and our altars. . . . We talk now all day long of my death and how it will be just like the rest of the housework.” — Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton I want a certain faith like that of Elizabeth Ann Seton. I want to live with joy in front of suffering, even if my bones and tissues are ravaged by tuberculosis. I want to grin at death as she did, unafraid. I want to die as she did, firmly holding to Christ, certain that he, and not a yawning darkness, is what will meet me in the final moment. I want such holy audacity, the fruit of grace, the inheritance of the saints. Today’s saint is a sure witness to me of this possibility, and a mentor on this path: Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face. Although she is also known as “The Little Flower”—a soft, feminine nickname, if ever there was one—Thérèse was anything but delicate. Thérèse was born in 1873 into a middle-class French family that, from the perspective of holiness, was something of an all-star cast—her two parents are canonized saints and one sister is on the road. All the same, as a child, she suffered intensely—first from her mother’s untimely death and then from her own paralyzing sensitivity. Nevertheless, at the age of fourteen, she developed the desire to follow her two older sisters into the Carmelite convent. She entered the next year. From this time to her death some eight and a half years later, Thérèse lived out what she herself called her “Little Way”, an “elevator ride” to holiness based not on extraordinary penances or mystical encounters, but on entrusting herself totally to God in and through the simple acts of the everyday. After her death, this simple but revolutionary formula catapulted her to Catholic greatness. Before Thérèse was even canonized in 1927, Pope Pius X had already called her the “greatest saint of modern times.” And in 1997, one hundred years after her death, John Paul II raised her to the status of Doctor of the Church, which is to say that her “Little Way” is a sure teaching for Catholics of all time. I first encountered Thérèse in that same year, on Holy Thursday, when I sat down to watch a French film version of her life by admitted atheist Alain Cavalier. Although Cavalier took some liberties with his presentation, his stark, minimalistic version of Thérèse’s life drew me right in. In scene after scene in the film, Cavalier’s Thérèse appears in delicate gauzy white—her nightgown, her Carmelite cape, the wedding dress she wears when she pledges her vows to Christ. And yet, she is no delicate ingenue. The drama that unfolds is a striking display of her inner certainty and undeniable boldness. The scene that most affected me has the twenty-three-year-old Thérèse lying in the infirmary, suffering a painful death by tuberculosis. Her sister Céline who had also joined the convent, is acting as her nurse. Thérèse speaks pointedly to her sister. “When I say “’I suffer,’ (je suffre)” she tells her, “you say ‘Good’ (bien).” Céline goes along, and there follows a series of quick cuts, snippets of scenes in which the ailing Thérèse repeatedly gasps the words “Je suffre”-and the obedient Celine replies “Bien.” I suffer. Good. I suffer. Good. I suffer. Good. As I witnessed this simple litany, Thérèse began to steal my heart. Is not “I suffer!” the most basic of human cries, common to each one of us? Babies cry out in pain and hunger, as do people who are not even fully conscious. We heard this cry again and again during the COVID-19 pandemic. This cry wells up from someplace deep in the brainstem; it is ancient as the psalmists’ lament. And yet, it finds a place precisely on Golgotha, in the anguish of the God-man who cannot help but cry out “why?” But only in Christ can this cry attain to goodness. Only here does suffering become redemptive. And like every saint, Thérèse discovers and lives the link between suffering and goodness in union with the Suffering One. But what Thérèse adds to the union with Christ in suffering is a holy audacity, a boldness, a thrilling “at-onceness.” For Thérèse, the secret of the holy life is an immediate giving up of the self, a surrender at the speed of light. And this is only possible because Thérèse’s soul is tremendously light. She attributes no great virtue to herself. She is simply a child, basking in the Father’s love. And with the sheer trust of a child she catapults herself confidently into the arms of God. Simplicity. Alacrity. Audacity. The Little Way amounts to a sort of dizzying act of trust in God. It is, in fact, the Great Way and is a truly saintly maneuver. We see the same in the deathbed scene of Mother Seton. She too is being ravaged by tuberculosis. She too is being nursed by her own kin. And like Thérèse, in this moment, her soul’s movements seem effortless. Her holiness becomes a kind of thrilling impetus for those around her. Death appears to have no hold. Don’t we want this same boldness, this same courage? It seems the only way to get it is, in imitation of Thérèse, to throw ourselves into the arms of the Father. Surrender, at the speed of light.
Asking the Little Flower to be with my courageous Alyce today who is suffering so much as we see the neurosurgeon about her cervical disease. Peace. God is always good.
SAINTS OF THE DAY FRIDAY, 2 OCTOBER, 2026 FEAST OF THE GUARDIAN ANGELS Angels are servants and messengers from God. "Angel" in Greek means messenger. In unseen ways the angels help us on our earthly pilgrimage by assisting us in work and study, helping us in temptation and protecting us from physical danger. The idea that each soul has assigned to it a personal guardian angel has been long accepted by the Church and is a truth of our faith. From the Gospel of today's liturgy we read: "See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father" (Matthew 18:10). The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that "the existence of the spiritual, non-corporeal beings that Sacred Scripture usually calls 'angels' is a truth of faith (328)." From our birth until our death, man is surrounded by the protection and intercession of angels, particularly our guardian angel: "Beside each believer stands an angel as protector and shepherd leading him to life (336)." The Church thanks God for our helpers, the angels, particularly on this feast day and September 29 which is the feast of Saint Michael, Saint Gabriel, and Saint Raphael, archangels. Today's feast appeared in Spain during the sixteenth century. It was extended to the universal Church and made obligatory in 1670. Be alert in your every action as one should be who is accompanied by angels in all your ways, for that mission has been enjoined upon them. In whatever lodging, in whatever nook or corner you may find yourself, cherish a reverence for your guardian angel. In his presence do not dare to do anything you would not do in mine. Or do you doubt his presence because you do not see him? Would it really help if you did hear him, or touch him, or smell him? Remember, there are realities whose existence has not been proven by mere sight. Brethren, we will love God's angels with a most affectionate love; for they will be our heavenly co-heirs some day, these spirits who now are sent by the Father to be our protectors and our guides. With such bodyguards, what are we to fear? They can neither be subdued nor deceived; nor is there any possibility at all that they should go astray who are to guard us in all our ways. They are trustworthy, they are intelligent, they are strong — why, then, do we tremble? We need only to follow them, remain close to them, and we will dwell in the protection of the Most High God. So as often as you sense the approach of any grave temptation or some crushing sorrow hangs over you, invoke your protector, your leader, your helper in every situation. Call out to him and say: Lord, save us, we are perishing. — St. Bernard PATRON: Spanish police officers. PRAYER TO OUR GUARDIAN ANGEL Angel sent by God to guide me, be my light and walk beside me; be my guardian and protect me; on the paths of life direct me. Amen. ANGEL OF GOD Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day (or night) be at my side, to light, to guard, to rule and guide. Amen.
There is an amazing story about Padre Pio having a big row with his Guardian Angel one time. The devil had attacked him and given him a very bad beating and as he did so the saints Guardian Angel hovered above singing and praising God. Padre Pio was very angry that his Guardian Angel did not help. Such a very human response. But of course if the angel did not defend Padre Pio it was because God had not wanted it to. I remember reading one time that before great disasters like boats sinking of planes crashing there are always much higher numbers of people cancelling their journeys, up to 20%. It seems clear to me that their angel guardians had warned them not to go. How many people would be saved in all kinds of accidents and shootings if only they had been in a state of grace. Being in a state of grace allows our angels free range to help us. But being in a state of grave sin restricts what they can do. But the best protection of all is to have a devotion to and pray to our Guardian Angels.
I have recently started to pray to my Guardian angel every morning as I say my rosary. I must try and remember to do so at nights before sleeping. It is strange how life has come full circle. This is what I was taught to do as a child and I am returning to do so again.
SAINT OF THE DAY SATURDAY, 3 OCTOBER, 2026 SAINT THÉODORE GUÉRIN FOUNDRESS AND SUPERIOR GENERAL (2 October 1798 - 14 May 1856) St. Théodore (Anne Thérèse) Guerin was born on Oct. 2, 1798, in the village of Etables, France. Her devotion to God and to the Roman Catholic Church began when she was a young child. She was allowed to receive her First Communion at the age of 10 and, at that time, told the parish priest that someday she would be a nun. The child Anne-Thérèse often sought solitude along the rocky shore near her home, where she devoted hours to meditation, reflection and prayer. She was educated by her mother, Isabelle Guérin, who centered lessons on religion and Scripture, thus nurturing the child's love of God. Anne-Thérèse's father, Laurent, who served in Napoleon's navy, was away from home for years at a time. When Anne-Thérèse was 15 years old, her father was murdered by bandits as he traveled home to visit his family. The loss of her husband nearly overwhelmed Isabelle and, for many years, Anne-Thérèse bore the responsibility of caring for her mother and her young sister, as well as the family's home and garden. Through those years of hardship and sacrifice, indeed through all the years of her life, Mother Théodore's faith in God neither wavered nor faltered. She knew in the depths of her soul that God was with her and always would be with her, a constant companion. Anne-Thérèse was nearly 25 years old when she entered the Sisters of Providence of Ruillé-sur-Loir, a young community of women religious serving God by providing opportunities for education to children and by caring for the poor, sick and dying. While teaching and caring for the sick in France, Mother Théodore, then known as Sister Theodore, was asked to lead a small missionary band of Sisters of Providence to the United States of America, to establish a motherhouse, to open schools and to share the love of God with pioneers in the Diocese of Vincennes in the State of Indiana. Humble and prone to feelings of unworthiness, Mother Théodore could not imagine that she was suitable for such a mission. Her health was fragile. During her novitiate with the Sisters of Providence, she became very ill. Remedies cured the illness but severely damaged her digestive system; for the remainder of her life she was able to consume only soft, bland foods and liquids. Her physical condition added to her doubts about accepting the mission. Nevertheless, after hours of prayer and lengthy consultations with her superiors, she accepted the mission, fearing that if she did not, no one would venture to the wilderness to share the love of God. Equipped with little more than her steadfast desire to serve God, Mother Théodore and her five companion Sisters of Providence arrived at the site of their mission at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods, Indiana, the evening of October 22, 1840, and immediately hastened along a muddy, narrow path to the tiny log cabin that served as the chapel. There, they knelt in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament to thank God for their safe journey and to ask for God's blessings for the new mission. Here, on this hilly, ravine-cut, densely forested land, Mother Théodore would establish a motherhouse, a school and a legacy of love, mercy and justice that continues to this day. Throughout years of sorrow and years of peace, Mother Théodore relied upon God's Providence and her own ingenuity and faith for counsel and guidance. She urged Sisters of Providence to “Put yourself gently into the hands of Providence.” In letters to France, she stated, “But our hope is in the Providence of God, which has protected us until the present, and which will provide, somehow, for our future needs.”In the fall of 1840, the mission at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods consisted only of a tiny log cabin chapel that also served as lodging for a priest, and a small frame farmhouse, where Mother Théodore, the sisters from France and several postulants lived. During that first winter, harsh winds blew from the north to rattle the little farmhouse. The sisters were often cold and frequently hungry. But they transformed a porch into a chapel and were comforted by the presence of the Blessed Sacrament in the humble motherhouse. Mother Théodore said, “With Jesus, what shall we have to fear?” During the early years at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods, Mother Théodore encountered numerous trials: prejudice against Catholics and, especially, against Catholic women religious; betrayals; misunderstandings; the separation of the Congregation in Indiana from the one in Ruillé; a devastating fire that destroyed an entire harvest leaving the sisters destitute and hungry, and frequent life-threatening illnesses. Still she persevered, desiring only that “In all and everywhere may the will of God be done.” In correspondence to friends, Mother Théodore acknowledged the tribulations. She wrote: “If ever this poor little Community becomes settled, it will be established on the Cross; and that is what gives me confidence and makes me hope, sometimes even against hope.” Less than a year after arriving at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods, Mother Théodore opened the Congregation's first Academy and, in 1842, established schools at Jasper, Indiana, and St. Francisville, Illinois By the time of her death on May 14, 1856, Mother Théodore had opened schools in towns throughout Indiana, and the Congregation of the Sisters of Providence was strong, viable and respected. Always, Mother Théodore attributed the growth and success of the Sisters of Providence to God and to Mary, the Mother of Jesus, to whom she dedicated the ministry at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods. Mother Théodore's holiness was evident to people who knew her, and many described her simply as “saintly”. She possessed the ability to draw out the best in people, to enable them to attain more than they thought possible. Mother Théodore's love was one of her great hallmarks. She loved God, God's people, the Sisters of Providence, the Roman Catholic Church and the people she served. She did not exclude anyone from her ministries or her prayers, for she dedicated her life to helping people know God and live better lives. Mother Théodore knew that alone she could do nothing, but that all things were possible with God. She accepted trials, trouble and occasions when she was treated unjustly as part of her life. In the midst of persecution, Mother Théodore remained true, a faithful woman of God. Mother Théodore died sixteen years after she arrived at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods. During those fleeting years, she touched a countless number of lives—and continues to do so today. The gift she gives to each succeeding generation is her life as a model of holiness, virtue, love and faith. PATRON: Roman Catholic Diocese of Lafayette in Indiana. PRAYER: Jesus, source of truth and life, who taught the world the way of salvation, grant us the help we humbly ask through your faithful servant Saint Mother Theodore Guernsey, who spent all her life to make you known and loved. May this grace be a consolation for us and may it unite us ever more to you and to one another in life and in eternity. Amen.
Poor Mother Theodore. I remember reading an account of their first years in America and it was really quite something. She reminds me of Job in Scripture, she certainly had not far to search for her Crosses. But it also reminded me how harsh Frontier life could be back then. It really was sink or swim. You either made it or you died really. One bad winter could bring death. But she and the other sisters persevered with the most incredible trust in God. Even for someone in good health it would have been a trial, but sick and frail she ploughed onwards. I have been thinking so much about trust in God recently and Mother Theodore was all about trust.
SAINT OF THE DAY SUNDAY, 4 OCTOBER, 2026 SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI CONFESSOR AND FOUNDER OF THE FRANCISCAN ORDER (1181 - 1226) In 1182, Pietro Bernardone returned from a trip to France to find out his wife had given birth to a son. Far from being excited or apologetic because he'd been gone, Pietro was furious because she'd had his new son baptized Giovanni after John the Baptist. The last thing Pietro wanted in his son was a man of God -- he wanted a man of business, a cloth merchant like he was, and he especially wanted a son who would reflect his infatuation with France. So he renamed his son Francesco -- which is the equivalent of calling him Frenchman. Francis enjoyed a very rich easy life growing up because of his father's wealth and the permissiveness of the times. From the beginning everyone -- and I mean everyone -- loved Francis. He was constantly happy, charming, and a born leader. If he was picky, people excused him. If he was ill, people took care of him. If he was so much of a dreamer he did poorly in school, no one minded. In many ways he was too easy to like for his own good. No one tried to control him or teach him. As he grew up, Francis became the leader of a crowd of young people who spent their nights in wild parties. Thomas of Celano, his biographer who knew him well, said, "In other respects an exquisite youth, he attracted to himself a whole retinue of young people addicted to evil and accustomed to vice." Francis himself said, "I lived in sin" during that time. Francis fulfilled every hope of Pietro's -- even falling in love with France. He loved the songs of France, the romance of France, and especially the free adventurous troubadours of France who wandered through Europe. And despite his dreaming, Francis was also good at business. But Francis wanted more..more than wealth. But not holiness! Francis wanted to be a noble, a knight. Battle was the best place to win the glory and prestige he longed for. He got his first chance when Assisi declared war on their longtime enemy, the nearby town of Perugia. Most of the troops from Assisi were butchered in the fight. Only those wealthy enough to expect to be ransomed were taken prisoner. At last Francis was among the nobility like he always wanted to be...but chained in a harsh, dark dungeon. All accounts say that he never lost his happy manner in that horrible place. Finally, after a year in the dungeon, he was ransomed. Strangely, the experience didn't seem to change him. He gave himself to partying with as much joy and abandon as he had before the battle.The experience didn't change what he wanted from life either: Glory. Finally a call for knights for the Fourth Crusade gave him a chance for his dream. But before he left Francis had to have a suit of armor and a horse -- no problem for the son of a wealthy father. And not just any suit of armor would do but one decorated with gold with a magnificent cloak. Any relief we feel in hearing that Francis gave the cloak to a poor knight will be destroyed by the boasts that Francis left behind that he would return a prince. But Francis never got farther than one day's ride from Assisi. There he had a dream in which God told him he had it all wrong and told him to return home. And return home he did. What must it have been like to return without ever making it to battle -- the boy who wanted nothing more than to be liked was humiliated, laughed at, called a coward by the village and raged at by his father for the money wasted on armor. Francis' conversion did not happen over night. God had waited for him for twenty-five years and now it was Francis' turn to wait. Francis started to spend more time in prayer. He went off to a cave and wept for his sins. Sometimes God's grace overwhelmed him with joy. But life couldn't just stop for God. There was a business to run, customers to wait on. One day while riding through the countryside, Francis, the man who loved beauty, who was so picky about food, who hated deformity, came face to face with a leper. Repelled by the appearance and the smell of the leper, Francis nevertheless jumped down from his horse and kissed the hand of the leper. When his kiss of peace was returned, Francis was filled with joy. As he rode off, he turned around for a last wave, and saw that the leper had disappeared. He always looked upon it as a test from God...that he had passed. His search for conversion led him to the ancient church at San Damiano. While he was praying there, he heard Christ on the crucifix speak to him, "Francis, repair my church." Francis assumed this meant church with a small c -- the crumbling building he was in. Acting again in his impetuous way, he took fabric from his father's shop and sold it to get money to repair the church. His father saw this as an act of theft -- and put together with Francis' cowardice, waste of money, and his growing disinterest in money made Francis seem more like a madman than his son. Pietro dragged Francis before the bishop and in front of the whole town demanded that Francis return the money and renounce all rights as his heir. The bishop was very kind to Francis; he told him to return the money and said God would provide. That was all Francis needed to hear. He not only gave back the money but stripped off all his clothes -- the clothes his father had given him -- until he was wearing only a hair shirt. In front of the crowd that had gathered he said, "Pietro Bernardone is no longer my father. From now on I can say with complete freedom, 'Our Father who art in heaven.'" Wearing nothing but castoff rags, he went off into the freezing woods -- singing. And when robbers beat him later and took his clothes, he climbed out of the ditch and went off singing again. From then on Francis had nothing...and everything.Francis went back to what he considered God's call. He begged for stones and rebuilt the San Damiano church with his own hands, not realizing that it was the Church with a capital C that God wanted repaired. Scandal and avarice were working on the Church from the inside while outside heresies flourished by appealing to those longing for something different or adventurous. Soon Francis started to preach. (He was never a priest, though he was later ordained a deacon under his protest). Francis was not a reformer; he preached about returning to God and obedience to the Church. Francis must have known about the decay in the Church, but he always showed the Church and its people his utmost respect. When someone told him of a priest living openly with a woman and asked him if that meant the Mass was polluted, Francis went to the priest, knelt before him, and kissed his hands -- because those hands had held God. Slowly companions came to Francis, people who wanted to follow his life of sleeping in the open, begging for garbage to eat...and loving God. With companions, Francis knew he now had to have some kind of direction to this life so he opened the Bible in three places. He read the command to the rich young man to sell all his good and give to the poor, the order to the apostles to take nothing on their journey, and the demand to take up the cross daily. "Here is our rule," Francis said -- as simple, and as seemingly impossible, as that. He was going to do what no one thought possible any more -- live by the Gospel. Francis took these commands so literally that he made one brother run after the thief who stole his hood and offer him his robe!
Francis never wanted to found a religious order -- this former knight thought that sounded too military. He thought of what he was doing as expressing God's brotherhood. His companions came from all walks of life, from fields and towns, nobility and common people, universities, the Church, and the merchant class. Francis practiced true equality by showing honor, respect, and love to every person whether they were beggar or pope. Francis' brotherhood included all of God's creation. Much has been written about Francis' love of nature but his relationship was deeper than that. We call someone a lover of nature if they spend their free time in the woods or admire its beauty. But Francis really felt that nature, all God's creations, were part of his brotherhood. The sparrow was as much his brother as the pope. In one famous story, Francis preached to hundreds of birds about being thankful to God for their wonderful clothes, for their independence, and for God's care. The story tells us the birds stood still as he walked among them, only flying off when he said they could leave. Another famous story involves a wolf that had been eating human beings. Francis intervened when the town wanted to kill the wolf and talked the wolf into never killing again. The wolf became a pet of the townspeople who made sure that he always had plenty to eat. Following the Gospel literally, Francis and his companions went out to preach two by two. At first, listeners were understandably hostile to these men in rags trying to talk about God's love. People even ran from them for fear they'd catch this strange madness! And they were right. Because soon these same people noticed that these barefoot beggars wearing sacks seemed filled with constant joy. They celebrated life. And people had to ask themselves: Could one own nothing and be happy? Soon those who had met them with mud and rocks, greeted them with bells and smiles. Francis did not try to abolish poverty, he tried to make it holy. When his friars met someone poorer than they, they would eagerly rip off the sleeve of their habit to give to the person. They worked for all necessities and only begged if they had to. But Francis would not let them accept any money. He told them to treat coins as if they were pebbles in the road. When the bishop showed horror at the friars' hard life, Francis said, "If we had any possessions we should need weapons and laws to defend them." Possessing something was the death of love for Francis. Also, Francis reasoned, what could you do to a man who owns nothing? You can't starve a fasting man, you can't steal from someone who has no money, you can't ruin someone who hates prestige. They were truly free.Francis was a man of action. His simplicity of life extended to ideas and deeds. If there was a simple way, no matter how impossible it seemed, Francis would take it. So when Francis wanted approval for his brotherhood, he went straight to Rome to see Pope Innocent III. You can imagine what the pope thought when this beggar approached him! As a matter of fact he threw Francis out. But when he had a dream that this tiny man in rags held up the tilting Lateran basilica, he quickly called Francis back and gave him permission to preach. Sometimes this direct approach led to mistakes that he corrected with the same spontaneity that he made them. Once he ordered a brother who hesitated to speak because he stuttered to go preach half-naked. When Francis realized how he had hurt someone he loved he ran to town, stopped the brother, took off his own clothes, and preached instead. Francis acted quickly because he acted from the heart; he didn't have time to put on a role. Once he was so sick and exhausted, his companions borrowed a mule for him to ride. When the man who owned the mule recognized Francis he said, "Try to be as virtuous as everyone thinks you are because many have a lot of confidence in you." Francis dropped off the mule and knelt before the man to thank him for his advice. Another example of his directness came when he decided to go to Syria to convert the Moslems while the Fifth Crusade was being fought. In the middle of a battle, Francis decided to do the simplest thing and go straight to the sultan to make peace. When he and his companion were captured, the real miracle was that they weren't killed. Instead Francis was taken to the sultan who was charmed by Francis and his preaching. He told Francis, "I would convert to your religion which is a beautiful one -- but both of us would be murdered." Francis did find persecution and martyrdom of a kind -- not among the Moslems, but among his own brothers. When he returned to Italy, he came back to a brotherhood that had grown to 5000 in ten years. Pressure came from outside to control this great movement, to make them conform to the standards of others. His dream of radical poverty was too harsh, people said. Francis responded, "Lord, didn't I tell you they wouldn't trust you?" He finally gave up authority in his order -- but he probably wasn't too upset about it. Now he was just another brother, like he'd always wanted. Francis' final years were filled with suffering as well as humiliation. Praying to share in Christ's passion he had a vision received the stigmata, the marks of the nails and the lance wound that Christ suffered, in his own body. Years of poverty and wandering had made Francis ill. When he began to go blind, the pope ordered that his eyes be operated on. This meant cauterizing his face with a hot iron. Francis spoke to "Brother Fire": "Brother Fire, the Most High has made you strong and beautiful and useful. Be courteous to me now in this hour, for I have always loved you, and temper your heat so that I can endure it." And Francis reported that Brother Fire had been so kind that he felt nothing at all. How did Francis respond to blindness and suffering? That was when he wrote his beautiful Canticle of the Sun that expresses his brotherhood with creation in praising God. Francis never recovered from this illness. He died on October 4, 1226 at the age of 45. Francis is considered the founder of all Franciscan orders and the patron saint of ecologists and merchants. PATRON: Against fire; animals; Catholic Action; dying alone; ecology; environment; families; fire; lacemakers; merchants; peace; zoos; Assisi, Italy; Colorado; Sante Fe, New Mexico; archdiocese of San Francisco, California; archdiocese of Denver; archdiocese of Sante Fe, diocese of Salina, Kansas. PEACE PRAYER OF SAINT FRANCIS Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; 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. Amen.
They say Saint Francis was the most Christlike saint of all. Perhaps this is because he took the gospels very literally and threw himself into it 100% He came along at just the right time and more nor less saved the corrupt Church of his day more nor less single handed. He did not preach against all the filth in the Church openly. He brought about change by what he did. By what he was. Perhaps there is a lesson in this for us all. I have lost count of the number of religious Orders who based themselves on the life of Francis. Perhaps the one that brought us the greatest number of saints was the Capuchins. They were until recently the strictest. But all religious orders become corrupt eventually and need reform. The Franciscan Friars of the Renewal broke away from the Capuchins as a reform.
