Francesco
the light of the man who found greatness in simplicity
Praised be You, my Lord,
With all Your creatures,
Especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who brightens the day and with his light illuminates us.
He is beautiful and radiant,
With great splendor:
Of You, Most High, he is the image. (*)
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Like the sun, Saint Francis of Assisi shone during his life here on Earth, not because of the greatness of riches, but because of the light of his example.
In simplicity, he found his greatest strength and, through it, left his mark on history as a living testimony before an opulent society increasingly distant from the reality of the poorest. Among the friars, he made a point of being called simply Francesco, because he believed that titles such as Holy Father created a distance between him and the others.
It was during the time he spent in prison that Francesco encountered, in the Gospels, a Jesus different from the one he had known until then: a Jesus who walked alongside workers, the most ordinary and simple people, teaching everyone without making distinctions. This encounter marked the beginning of a profound transformation in his life. It was from this experience and from the recognition that he needed to act and set an example that, some time later, his understanding of the true meaning of being “brother” and “sister” was born — a fraternity that embraced not only people, but all creatures.
In nature, he recognized the work of the Creator and learned to live in harmony.
Before the wolf, he taught that gentleness is stronger than violence. He asked the wolf not to attack people anymore and asked the men to care for the animal as well, ensuring it had food. In this way, he showed that coexistence among those who are different also requires care and respect.
Among the birds, he found an alliance and the serene companionship of one who understood the language of nature.
Like the breeze, he knew how to carry a gentle message, yet with the strength to reach restless hearts and leave comfort and hope within them.
Like the tree, he found in the firmness of his roots the support to extend his branches and welcome everyone. Like fertile soil, he knew how to plant and wait with hope for the harvest of good fruit.
In humility, he revealed true wisdom and, in love, his mission.
It was his closest companions — Frate Leone, Frate Illuminato, and Frate Masseo — who recorded many of the events of his life and the miracles they witnessed. Thanks to these accounts, precious moments have come down to us, such as the conversations between Francesco and Chiara, his great friend.
Among the birds, he found an alliance and the serene companionship of one who understood the language of nature.
Like the breeze, he knew how to carry a gentle message, yet with the strength to reach restless hearts and leave comfort and hope within them.
Like the tree, he found in the firmness of his roots the support to extend his branches and welcome everyone. Like fertile soil, he knew how to plant and wait with hope for the harvest of good fruit.
In humility, he revealed true wisdom and, in love, his mission.
It was his closest companions — Frate Leone, Frate Illuminato, and Frate Masseo — who recorded many of the events of his life and the miracles they witnessed. Thanks to these accounts, precious moments have come down to us, such as the conversations between Francesco and Chiara, his great friend.
This episode is found in
“Fioretti di Santa Chiara”
(**)
It was a winter day when Francesco visited Chiara and the sisters at San Damiano. As always, he was already about to leave, just as he had arrived, accepting no comfort other than that which came from the perfect poverty and perfect joy of those young women living in seclusion at San Damiano.
As he said goodbye, he made his way to the door. Outside, the wind whistled through the olive trees, the snow fell heavily, and swirling gusts covered the path. Barefoot, Francesco pulled his hood over his head and went out.
Chiara accompanied him for a few steps. She did not want to stop him, but wished at least for the promise of another visit.
— Sister Chiara, it is good for the world that our paths should part. I leave you to your own care.
She looked at him and, amid the gleam of the snow covering the ground, felt lost:
— What will I do without you? You guide me and illuminate me.
Francesco raised his eyes to the overcast sky.
— The Lord will guide you.
— And will we not see each other again?
Francesco looked around and saw a thorn-covered bush.
— We will see each other again when the roses bloom.
It was only the beginning of winter, and the roses would not bloom again for many months. Chiara understood that a long season would separate them.
— May your will be done, together with the Lord’s — she replied, bowing her head.
Francesco began to walk away. But at that moment, something unexpected stopped him. On the snow-covered bush, a branch of roses bloomed.
Chiara smiled.
As Francesco disappeared in the direction of Spello, carried away by the heavy snowstorm, she returned to San Damiano carrying a branch of roses with her. When she arrived, she placed it at the foot of the Crucifix.
This other account was given by
Frate Illuminato at Christmas in 1223.
On his way back from the city of Rieti, Francesco passed through Greccio.
When he arrived at the small village, he noticed that the mountainous landscape of the place bore similarities to Bethlehem, in Judea, where, according to the Gospels, Jesus had been born.
That resemblance awakened in Francesco the desire to represent the birth of Jesus in a tangible way. He gathered the villagers and the animals in a grotto, creating a scene that recalled the night in Bethlehem.
It was Christmas 1223.
Thus, in Greccio, a tradition was born that would become the origin of nativity scenes as we know them today.
During that day, the small village prepared for the celebration. The villagers eagerly awaited the reenactment of the birth of Jesus.
That resemblance awakened in Francesco the desire to represent the birth of Jesus in a tangible way. He gathered the villagers and the animals in a grotto, creating a scene that recalled the night in Bethlehem.
It was Christmas 1223.
Thus, in Greccio, a tradition was born that would become the origin of nativity scenes as we know them today.
During that day, the small village prepared for the celebration. The villagers eagerly awaited the reenactment of the birth of Jesus.
Francesco, however, arrived at that Christmas in a weakened state.
Shortly before, he had undergone a painful operation on his temples, in the hope of relieving the suffering that afflicted his eyes. The procedure had not brought the expected result. The pain remained, and he was nearly blind.
Even so, that night, he was in the village square, by the well, speaking to the people about Christ and His disciples.
His illness did not diminish his serenity, nor did it take away his joy in sharing his teachings.
It was then that a woman made her way through the crowd.
She was leading her son by the hand, blind since birth and now an adult. Beside her walked her husband, leaning on a wooden staff because of a serious ailment in his leg.
When she reached Francesco, the woman fell to her knees. Her voice choked with emotion, she pleaded for her son to be healed.
Without hesitation, Francesco stopped what he was saying.
Instead of remaining on his feet, he knelt beside the mother and began to pray.
A profound silence fell over the square.
It seemed that even the wind had stopped.
Only his voice could be heard, gentle, yet clear enough to reach everyone who was there.
As he prayed, Francesco extended his hand over the leg of the man, who remained standing, unable to kneel.
Then the unexpected happened.
The man dropped his staff.
Before everyone’s eyes, he bent his knees without difficulty and joined his wife in prayer.
A murmur of astonishment swept through the crowd and, shortly afterward, turned into joy.
Francesco, however, remained serene.
When he finished the prayer, he slowly stood up. He placed his hands on the blind man’s face and said almost in a whisper:
— May Christ remove the veils from your eyes, so that you may contemplate the greatness of creation.
At that moment, the man saw for the first time.
The entire square erupted in exclamations of joy and gratitude.
I watched everything, unable to understand.
As a humble and unworthy disciple, I gathered the courage to ask what troubled my heart:
— Why? Why, Holy Father, do you not do this for your own eyes? Why do you not ask to heal yourself?
Francesco turned to me with a serene gaze.
Then he replied:
— My dear brother, I have much to offer others. Many are the miracles that the Lord has performed in me, without my asking for anything. This power that has been granted to me is not for me, but for others. The Lord, Most High and Powerful in all things, nourishes me with another kind of food: that which does not spoil or perish, that which enters and satisfies for all eternity.
Note:
This and other stories about Francesco can be heard in the lecture “Francesco in the Light of Truth.”
(*) Excerpt from the Canticle of the Creatures, written by Saint Francis on the eve of his death
(**) Fioretti di Santa Chiara: a literary work of a spiritual and biographical nature, composed of short stories about the life and legacy of Saint Clare of Assisi, based on ancient accounts.
