Catholic Saints

March 14, 2025

VENERABLE PIERRE TOUSSAINT: From Haitian Slave to Hairstylist to Holiness

To watch the YouTube video, click on arrow in thumbnail below:

On a summer’s day, in the lush, tropical country of Saint-Domingue, now known as Haiti, a slave woman named Ursule cradled her newborn son in her arms. She gazed out the window, her eyes taking in the green, fertile fields of the sprawling Bérard family sugar-cane plantation located on the banks of the Artibonite River, near the port town of Saint-Marc. This land was her home, where she lived and worked as a personal maid to Madame Berard. Even though she knew that her son, too, would be a slave, in her heart she dared to hope for greater things in his future. Little did she know that this baby boy was destined to play an important role, not only in the history of her people, but of the Catholic Church as well.

The infant had been given the name Pierre, after the owner’s father, Pierre Berard. The date of Pierre’s birth is recorded in many sources as June 27, 1766; however, based on the more recent research of journalist and biographer Arthur Jones, Pierre’s year of birth is now believed to have been 1781. His father’s name is unknown. The roots of Pierre’s family tree stretched back to Africa, where his great-grandmother Tonette had been born and raised before being taken across the Atlantic as a slave to toil on the sugar-rich soils of Saint-Domingue. Pierre’s grandmother, Zenobe Julien, had earned her freedom through years of loyal service to the Bérard family. Five years after Pierre’s birth, his sister Rosalie was born, who would become his steadfast companion throughout the years ahead.

As Pierre grew, the Bérard family, recognizing something special in the young boy, had him educated by their children’s tutors. In the grand house, far removed from the backbreaking labor of the fields, Pierre’s mind blossomed. Intelligent and eager, he learned to read, write, and think critically — skills that would one day prove instrumental in shaping not just his own destiny, but in helping and influencing many others. Jacques Berard allowed Pierre free access to his library, where the curious boy spent many hours avidly reading books on many diverse topics, further broadening his education. He was a playmate to the Berard children, and raised with knowledge of all the social niceties. Tall and mild-mannered, he was trained to courteously greet and serve the family’s guests, and had an excellent command of the French language, both written and spoken. He was also musically inclined and a talented fiddler. Pierre was baptized and raised a Catholic, and found solace in the rituals and teachings of the Church. Yet, as he matured, he couldn’t help but wonder at the contradictions between the Christian message of universal love and equality and the harsh realities of plantation life.

When the senior Bérards returned to France, their son Jean Bérard took over the plantation. Soon, tensions began to escalate, which eventually would lead to enslaved and free people of color uprising in the Haitian Revolution. In 1797, as conditions became more dangerous, Jean & Marie Berard fled for New York City, taking with them 16-year-old Pierre, his younger sister, Rosalie, his aunt, and two other house slaves. They arrived in the young country of the United States shortly after George Washington, its first President, had completed his two terms in office. They were among many French aristocrats, from St. Domingue and from Europe–where the French Revolution had ended in 1794–who were seeking refuge in America.

Once settled in a stylish rented house in lower Manhattan, Jean Bérard signed Pierre up as apprentice to a Mr. Merchant (first name unknown). He was a hairdresser, who taught Pierre the art of hair styling, a skill in which he quickly excelled. This was a wise move on Berard’s part, since the city was full of wealthy society women whose lifestyle required elaborate hairstyles for their frequent social engagements. Male hairdressers, while popular in France, were a fairly new phenomenon in America, where wealthy women generally had their hair done by their lady’s maid.

Berard allowed Pierre to keep most of what he earned as a hairdresser. Pierre quickly mastered all the latest hairstyles of the French, including powdered wigs and false hair additions, along with the chignons and face-framing curls that were trendy among the Americans. He became what one biographer described as “the Vidal Sassoon of his day.” His client list read like a “Who’s Who” of 18th-century New York society: Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, wife of Alexander Hamilton, and their daughter, Eliza Holly Hamilton, were among his important clients, along with Catherine Church Cruger, known as “Kitty,” whose father would give the pistols to Hamilton for his duel with Aaron Burr. Another client, a  prominent socialite named Mary Anna Sawyer Schuyler, also related to the Hamiltons, became Pierre’s close friend, referring to him as “my Saint Pierre.” Most of his women clients were Protestant, but they deeply admired Pierre’s devotion to his faith, along with his pious, kind and gentle nature. Hannah Farnham Sawyer Lee, Pierre’s first biographer and the sister of Mary Anna Schuyler, recounts, “He often quoted in his native language from the Sermon on the Mount, and the Beatitudes seemed to have found their way into his heart.”

Pierre also met some French emigrants in NY who knew the senior Berards in France, with whom he corresponded for decades, generously assisting his godmother, Aurora Berard, who had fallen on hard financial times in Paris. He also regularly corresponded with friends in Haiti. A prolific writer, his letters filled 15 bound volumes and served as part of the documentation submitted to the Vatican for his canonization process.

After a while, Jean Berard returned to Saint-Domingue to check on his property there. While in Haiti, he learned that his plantation was lost. He planned to return to New York; however, he developed pleurisy, an inflammation of the lungs, and died while still in Haiti. Soon after his death, his widow, Marie, learned that she was completely destitute. By then, Pierre was earning good money as a hairdresser. He voluntarily continued to care for the widow Marie, allowing her to lead a life of dignity, and assumed financial responsibility for the household. Marie eventually remarried to Gabriel Nicolas, who was also from Saint-Domingue. Pierre and Rosalie continued to live in the Nicolas household.

Eventually, Marie’s health began to fail. Pierre knew that having company lifted her spirits, so he encouraged her to entertain, and would buy tropical fruit and ice cream for the guests. Before they arrived, he would style Marie’s hair, adorning it with a flower as a finishing touch. In 1807, on her deathbed, Marie gave Pierre his freedom. In 1811, he bought the freedom of his sister, Rosalie, and also of his fiancé, Marie-Rose Juliette Gaston, whom he had known in Saint-Domingue.

Pierre’s relationship with the abolitionist movement was complicated. From the growing number of Haitian refugees in New York, he heard reports of murder and devastation from the island of his birth. Despite his intimate knowledge of slavery’s evils and his awareness of New York’s abolitionist movement, he refrained from active participation and hesitated to engage in America’s abolition debate, mindful of the immense toll paid to end slavery on his native island. He avoided anything that could incite violence, explaining, “They have not seen the blood flow as I have.”  This stance led some Black Catholics in the 1990s to oppose his candidacy for sainthood, viewing him as too accepting of enslavement. However, the truth is that Pierre’s inner freedom transcended his legal status as a slave. He consciously chose to embrace God’s grace daily, becoming a powerful symbol of Divine generosity. Pierre himself articulated it this way: “I have never felt I am a slave to any man or woman, but I am a servant of almighty God who made us all. When one of His children is in need I am glad to be His slave.”

This perspective echoes that of Saint Josephine Bakhita, another former slave who expressed similar sentiments about her time of enslavement and her relationship with God. Pierre chose to exemplify human dignity and Christian charity to both the affluent and impoverished in the city. However, after gaining freedom, he chose the surname Toussaint, likely in honor of Toussaint Louverture [Loo-vah-TOUR], the leader of the Haitian Revolution. This choice suggests a connection to revolutionary ideals, despite his apparent reluctance to engage in overt abolitionist activities.

In his later years, Toussaint was reluctant to discuss the atrocities he had witnessed in Haiti. His approach focused on living out his faith through acts of kindness and generosity, becoming a beacon of hope and compassion in 19th-century New York.

Pierre and Juliette wed on Aug. 5, 1811. For the next four years, they continued to board at the Nicolas house. In 1815, Gabriel Nicolas, who had remarried, moved down South with his wife, and the Touissants purchased a home of their own in Manhattan. Although they never had biological children, when Pierre’s sister Rosalie died of tuberculosis, he and Juliette adopted Rosalie’s daughter, Euphemia. They enrolled Euphemia in a school for Black children in New York. Pierre tutored her in French and taught her to write in both French and English. She also had piano lessons from an accomplished musician named Cesarine Meetz, who gave recitals at City Hotel. Cesarine’s father, Raymond, owned a musical depository on Maiden Lane and was a minor composer and music teacher. When Euphemia died at the age of 14, also of tuberculosis like her mother, Pierre and Juliette were devastated with grief, for they had loved her as their own child.

The Touissants lived a life of charity, compassion and generosity in New York City. They frequently visited the Orphan Asylum, bringing joy to the children with baked treats as well as financial support. Their home became a sanctuary, where they fostered a succession of orphan boys, providing them with education and vocational training. Pierre and Juliet established a credit bureau and an employment agency, offering crucial support to those in need. Their home also served as a refuge for priests and travelers seeking shelter. Pierre’s bilingual skills in French and English made him an invaluable asset to Haitian refugees arriving in New York. He assisted these newcomers by organizing sales of goods, helping them secure funds for their livelihood.

Pierre and his family attended St. Peter’s Church on Barclay Street. He went to Mass every morning at 6:00 a.m., until in his later years illness prevented him from doing so. He was devoted to the rosary and had an excellent command of Scripture. St. Peter’s was the same parish that Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton had attended for a few years after her conversion to Catholicism in 1805, before moving to Maryland, where she founded the Sisters of Charity, America’s first community of nuns. There is no record of Seton and Touissant ever meeting one another; however, he played an important role in later raising funds for the Sisters of Charity’s orphanage in New York, even though it admitted only white children.

The Touissants’ contributions to the Catholic community were significant, including fundraising for the construction of Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Mulberry Street. They supported various Catholic institutions, including orphanages and schools, and also helped establish the first Catholic school for Black children in New York City, at St. Vincent de Paul on Canal Street. Pierre Touissant is called the “father of Catholic Charities,” because his legacy of compassion and service laid the foundation for what would later become the Catholic Charities organization.

During a cholera epidemic, Pierre fearlessly crossed barricades to care for quarantined patients. On at least one occasion, he brought a sick priest back to his house to nurse him back to health. He also showed heroic charity in his response to the outbreaks of yellow fever that occurred every summer in New York, something he had seen often back in Saint-Domingue. Hannah Sawyer Lee wrote the following about one such epidemic:“When the yellow fever prevailed in New York, by degrees Maiden Lane was almost wholly deserted, and almost every house in it closed. One poor woman, prostrated by the terrible disorder, remained there with little or no attendance, till Toussaint, day by day, came through the lonely street, crossed the barricades, entered the deserted house where she lay, and performed the nameless offices of a nurse, fearlessly exposing himself to the contagion.”

Despite his success, Toussaint faced significant challenges as a free Black man in New York, where slavery remained legal until 1829. He risked abduction by bounty hunters, and was barred from public transportation, forcing him to walk to his clients’ homes. His Catholicism added to his vulnerability, as anti-Catholic prejudice was widespread in New York at the time. Conversely, his reputation as an entrepreneur and highly-skilled master of his trade made him welcome in the homes of New York’s society families, not only as a hairdresser but as a trusted friend and confidante. Many clients came to view Pierre as more than just a hairdresser, seeking his advice on personal matters. His wisdom and discretion made him a trusted advisor. His clients were deeply impressed by his staunch commitment to discretion and his refusal to engage in gossip. This level of trust allowed them to confide in him freely, knowing their secrets were safe. One client remarked, “It was like the confessional to talk to Toussaint, you were so sure of his secrecy.” This steadfast refusal to share gossip was seen as evidence of his strong moral character. When pressed for information, Pierre would simply state, “Toussaint, Madame, is a hairdresser. He does not gather news.” This polite but firm response became well-known among his clientele, further establishing his reputation for discretion.

A significant friendship blossomed on Franklin Street in New York City, where Pierre and Juliette lived at number 144. Just down the street at number 70 resided the Moore siblings – Nathaniel Fish Moore, an enthusiastic amateur photographer and the future president of Columbia University, and his sister Sarah Ann. Toussaint’s skillful hands had long been tending to Sarah Ann’s hair, their relationship evolving from that of stylist and client to genuine friendship. Evidence of their bond survives in the Pierre Toussaint papers at the New York Public Library, where two letters from Sarah Ann reside. One, undated, simply requests a hairdressing appointment. The other, penned in 1840, speaks of a more personal connection – Sarah Ann had thoughtfully brought Pierre a rosary from her and Nathaniel’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

It was through this connection that Toussaint came to sit for Nathaniel Fish Moore’s camera. Nathaniel, ever eager to practice his craft, captured a striking portrait of  Toussaint in his later years. For decades, this photographic image lay dormant, passed down through the Moore family until 1944, when William Hodges, Sarah Ann’s grandson, donated it along with other salt prints to Columbia University’s Columbiana Collection. Initially misidentified and incorrectly credited, the photograph’s true significance remained hidden until many years after Pierre’s passing. But more about that later!

Through the 1820s and early 1830s, Pierre Toussaint’s fortune grew steadily through his tireless work.His days often stretched beyond 12 hours as he traversed New York’s streets, styling hair in the city’s most prestigious homes. Yet, this demanding work was not for personal gain; rather, it was a means to generate more resources for the less fortunate. When a friend suggested he had amassed enough to retire comfortably, Toussaint responded with characteristic selflessness: “Madam, I have enough for myself, but if I stop work, I have not enough for others.”

In 1835, disaster struck New York City, when the Great Fire of New York engulfed lower Manhattan, destroying between 530 and 700 buildings across 13 acres. Witnesses described the inferno as “immense iron furnaces in full blast,” with copper roofs melting and “fiery tongues of flame” leaping from buildings. This catastrophe is believed to have cost Pierre investments equivalent to almost a million dollars in today’s currency. Despite this significant financial setback, he persevered in his charitable endeavors.

Hannah Sawyer Lee eloquently captured the essence of his philanthropy in her 1854 memoir: “It must not be supposed that Toussaint’s charity consisted merely in bestowing money; he felt the moral greatness of doing good, of giving counsel to the weak and courage to the timid, of reclaiming the vicious, and above all, of comforting the sick and sorrowful.”

The 1840s brought stark reminders of the persistent racism in American society. Although New York had abolished slavery, prejudice and violence against Black individuals remained commonplace. In 1842, Toussaint and his wife faced a painful incident at Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Mulberry Street – a church whose construction he had helped finance. Unaware of his prominent status, ushers turned them away due to their race. As they turned to leave, some Cathedral trustees saw what was happening and rushed to apologize and welcome them into the church. But the damage had been done, underscoring the pervasive discrimination of the era. By contrast, Pierre’s own charity and inclusivity stood as a shining example of true Christian virtue, to be emulated not only in his day, but in ours.

Though he continued to grow steadily in spiritual strength and beauty, Pierre gradually began to decline physically during the following decade. On May 14, 1851, his beloved wife and partner, Juliette, died and was buried in the cemetery of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral beside their adoptive daughter, Euphémia. It was at this time that Pierre demonstrated the assertiveness he could summon when it truly mattered. At Juliette’s funeral, he requested that only Black attendees follow the procession to the graveyard, although white mourners were welcome at the graveside. This practice was repeated at his own funeral.

After Juliette’s death, Pierre’s health further deteriorated. He became increasingly inactive and was often bedridden. Two days before he died, he uttered the words, “God is with me.”  When someone asked him if he wanted anything, he replied, “Nothing on Earth.” Those were his last recorded words. Pierre Toussaint entered into his eternal home on June 30, 1853.

At his funeral Mass, St. Peter’s Church overflowed with mourners of all types – rich and poor, Black and white – wishing to pay their respects to the man whose kindness, dignity and charity illuminated the lives of everyone he encountered. Pierre Toussaint had managed the incredible feat of displaying true Christian charity, compassion, respect and mercy that transcended all the levels of society in which he moved. Father Quinn, who gave the eulogy, said that Pierre Touissant was “one who always had wise counsel for the rich and words of encouragement for the poor.”

As the funeral service concluded, Pierre’s white friends and associates honored his final request, stepping back to allow members of the Black community to bear his casket through the streets to St. Patrick’s Cemetery on Mulberry Street, as they had for Juliette two years earlier. At the graveside, people from all walks of life united in prayer as Toussaint was laid to rest beside his wife Juliette and adopted daughter, Euphemia.

New York’s newspapers paid tribute to Pierre Toussaint’s passing with lavish praise. One obituary eloquently stated: “His charity was of the efficient character which did not content itself with a present relief of pecuniary aid, but which required time and thought by day and by night, and long watchfulness and kind attention at the bedside of the sick and the departing.”

In 1854, Hannah Sawyer Lee’s biography, “Memoir of Pierre Toussaint, Born a Slave in St. Domingo,” published in Boston, became crucial in preserving details of his extraordinary life through notes left by her sister, Mary Anna Schuyler, and other sources. But in the turbulent decades following Toussaint’s death, as America grappled with political upheaval leading to the Civil War and its aftermath, his remarkable story faded from public memory, persisting mainly as oral history within Haitian-American and Black Catholic communities. A few decades later, the Touissant archives at the NY Public Library were compiled by Mary Ann Schuyler’s granddaughter Georgina.

But these did not draw much public attention until the 1930s, when Garland White, Jr., a young African-American student preparing for Confirmation challenged his teacher, a seminarian named Charles McTague, with the words, “You can’t name me one Black Catholic that white people respected!” McTague did not back down from the challenge. He managed to locate a Jesuit priest named John LaFarge, who remembered his grandmother’s stories about a devout Black man who had been her hairdresser for many years. McTague rediscovered Toussaint’s family gravestone in the Mulberry Street cemetery, where the inscription had faded to the point of being illegible. This discovery generated new interest in Toussaint’s extraordinary life and works.

In the 1950s, research and promotion of Pierre Touissant’s life was begun by the John Boyle O’Reilly Committee for Interracial Justice, an Irish-American group dedicated to social justice and equality. In 1951, a petition for the canonization of Pierre Toussaint was begun, and Cardinal Francis Spellman blessed a plaque to mark Touissant’s headstone. Spellman’s successor, Cardinal Terence Cooke, initiated the cause of canonization in 1968, which gained momentum over the following decades.

Fast forward to 1990, when, as part of Toussaint’s canonization process, his remains needed to be exhumed, examined and identified. Columbiana Curator Hollee Haswell provided the photograph taken in 1850 by Nathaniel Fish Moore to a team of forensic anthropologists, who compared it against Toussaint’s exhumed skull, leading to positive identification. Cardinal John O’Connor arranged for Pierre’s remains to be interred in the crypt beneath the altar of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, an honor usually reserved only for high-ranking clerics. Pierre Touissant thus became the only lay person, and the only Black person, to be buried in this crypt. A portrait of Touissant by Hunt Slonem now also hangs in the Cathedral.

In 1996, Pope John Paul II declared Pierre Toussaint “Venerable,” advancing him one step closer to sainthood. As of now, Toussaint’s canonization cause awaits an intercessory miracle — specifically, the instantaneous, complete, permanent, and medically-inexplicable healing of a serious medical condition — to progress to the next step of beatification. A second miracle is required for canonization. He is one of six North Americans under consideration for sainthood, potentially becoming the first Black North American saint.

Pierre’s legacy continues to thrive in the Archdiocese of New York and beyond. The Pierre Toussaint Guild, actively involved in advancing his cause for sainthood, also works to share his inspiring story globally. The Pierre Toussaint Scholarship Fund, managed by the archdiocese’s Black Ministry Office, perpetuates his mission by providing financial grants, mentorship, and opportunities for students to develop both their faith and careers. The foundation’s impact extends internationally, supporting the College Pierre Toussaint in Sassier, Haiti, enabling young Haitians to acquire skills to serve their community. In Miami, Florida, the Pierre Toussaint Haitian-Catholic Center bears his name, offering support services to Haitian immigrants. Though there are too many to list here, Pierre Touissant’s legacy extends to charitable and education institutions throughout the United States and beyond.

Additionally, Toussaint’s memory is honored through various public recognitions. A series of portraits in Gracie Mansion commemorates his good works. In April 2021, a significant portion of Church Avenue in Brooklyn, New York, was co-named Pierre Toussaint Boulevard. Additionally, the intersection near St. Peter’s Church in Manhattan, Toussaint’s former parish, was named after him in 1998. Most recently, in February 2024, Toussaint was featured in the New York Times’ “Overlooked No More” series of articles, which highlight remarkable individuals whose deaths originally went unreported in The Times.

In 1999, at a Mass in Toussaint’s honor, Cardinal O’Connor said, “If ever a man was truly free, it was Pierre Toussaint…. If ever a man was a saint, in my judgment, it was Pierre Toussaint. … No one can read this man’s life…without being awed by his holiness. He is now buried beneath this high altar with all of the bishops, archbishops and cardinals of New York. It will be a great privilege for me to be buried in a vault in the same section with Pierre Toussaint.”  Cardinal O’Connor further stated that it was not necessary to wait for Pierre’s official sainthood to emulate his virtues. “Beatified or not,” he said, “Pierre Toussaint remains a wonderful model, and I wish he were here.”

February 19, 2025

PT. 4 of 4: ST. FRANCESCA CABRINI – THE FINAL YEARS

To watch the YouTube video, which includes BOTH Parts 3 & 4, click arrow in thumbnail below:

Click here to read the previous three parts:

Part One: https://everydaylifespirituality.com/2024/12/15/st-francesca-cabrini-part-one/

Part Two: https://everydaylifespirituality.com/2024/12/22/st-francesca-cabrini-part-two/

Part Three: https://everydaylifespirituality.com/2025/01/26/part-3-of-4-st-cabrinis-excellent-adventures/

Although she had become a public figure celebrated for her accomplishments, Mother Cabrini hated the spotlight and refused to allow her picture to be published in newspapers. By this stage in her life, she yearned for a retirement of peaceful contemplation, hoping to pass on the mission work to her younger and stronger nuns, This dream, however, would never materialize.

At the end of 1907, Francesca Cabrini once again set sail for Buenos Aires to visit her school—this time by boat from Barcelona instead of by mule across the Andes! After her visit, she continued on to Brazil, where her Sisters had established a school in São Paulo. Her journey then took her to Rio de Janeiro, but during the train ride through mosquito-infested marshlands, she contracted malaria and fell ill for several weeks. Despite her weakened state, she managed to open a school in Rio; however, shortly after its opening, a smallpox epidemic swept through the city, affecting several of the nuns. The first Sister to contract the disease tragically died because the authorities insisted she be taken to the public plague house, where she received inadequate care. Distraught over this, Francesca quickly arranged for a cottage outside the city for the remaining sick nuns, nursing them tirelessly just as her sister Rosa had cared for her during her own battle with smallpox decades ago in Italy.

After returning to the United States, Francesca dedicated the next two years to visiting all her houses across the country. In 1910, she was approached by the Archbishop of Chicago with a request to open a second hospital. She discovered a prime property in an affluent neighborhood, which was generously donated to the Sisters. However, local wealthy residents opposed having a free hospital in their community and attempted to dissuade Mother Cabrini through bribery and political pressure. When these tactics failed, they resorted to vandalism by cutting the water pipes on a frigid night. The resulting flood froze into thick layers of ice, which Francesca and her Sisters, along with some immigrant supporters, laboriously hacked away with pickaxes. After repairing the damage and making a few rooms livable, Francesca moved in, to ensure that the building remained guarded at night.

Their adversaries were undeterred, and one night arsonists broke into the basement and set it on fire. Fortunately, the Sisters and the fire department managed to extinguish the blaze. The following evening, however, the arsonists returned. This time, Francesca was prepared; she dashed into the street shouting for the police. The frightened criminals fled, and although they were never apprehended, they never returned. Ultimately, the hospital opened and was so well-received that many individuals and organizations within the community rallied together to support its ongoing operation.

Once the hospital was established and thriving, Francesca returned to Italy with plans to announce at the Rome motherhouse her intention to retire, and to request that a replacement be elected as Superior General. However, the Sisters were shocked and dismayed at the thought of losing their beloved Mother-Foundress. They conspired to fulfill her request by electing a Superior who would serve for life—but that Superior turned out to be Mother Cabrini herself! Surrounded by her joyful Sisters at her birthday celebration, where she was informed by the Cardinal of this decision, she graciously accepted their choice and relinquished her dream of a peaceful retirement at West Park.

While in Italy, Francesca sought out Antonia Tondini—her old nemesis who had caused her so much distress while she was a young woman caring for orphans at the House of Providence. Antonia was brought into the convent’s reception room, where Francesca warmly embraced her and said, “Please forgive me for any trouble I involuntarily may have caused you.” Confused, and overwhelmed with emotion, Antonia began to tremble and weep. Afterward, a nun asked Francesca, “Didn’t she make you suffer terribly?” To which Francesca replied with remarkable grace: “Antonia Tondini was given by God not to know any better. She truly thought that when she treated me as she did, it was for my own good.” This exemplified the profound forgiveness that dwelt in Francesca Cabrini’s magnificent heart. She recognized that all she endured at the House of Providence had been a crucible, preparing her for her great mission.

That summer, she embarked on a journey to Paris and London, seeking new houses to replace the original ones that required expansion. Her stay in London lasted 10 months, but before returning to the United States, she was compelled to return to Italy for some much-needed rest. In December, she visited Rome, where she fell gravely ill. By mid-March, her health had improved somewhat, and she abruptly announced her need to return to New York, because the hospital there required her presence. On March 27, 1911, she set sail from Naples on what would become her final sea voyage. She had a strong sense that she would never return to her homeland. As usual, the sea air invigorated her, restoring some of her strength.

Back in New York, she faced challenges in raising the necessary funds for a new Columbus Hospital to replace the old one, whose needs had outgrown its capacity. Undeterred by these obstacles, she enlisted a young architect to design a 10-story building that would eventually rise at 227 E. 19th St. Unfortunately, due to delays caused by World War I, she would not live to see its completion.

In July, while visiting West Park, she burst out of her room one morning, exclaiming that she was dying. Though she did not pass away at that time, the nuns insisted on sending her to the Mount of the Holy Cross in Colorado—a health refuge for sick nuns donated by a benefactor. Once well enough to travel, she made her way there. A fellow nun tended to her needs in a log cabin nestled among glistening snow atop the mountain. She cherished the tranquility of the place and especially loved watching the eagles soar high above her. She spent much time in peaceful meditation, gradually regaining her strength.

As soon as she was able, she ventured to Los Angeles, where another school was desperately needed. She purchased four lots, but struggled to gather enough funds to construct the school. Lacking money for a contractor, she sent for Sister Salesia, a bricklayer’s daughter with considerable building skills. At that time, the Luna Amusement Park was slated for demolition. Mother Cabrini negotiated for the rights to salvage the wooden structures set for destruction. She hired skilled Italian carpenters and laborers on a daily basis and arranged for horses and wagons to transport the materials. The parish community rallied together as well, helping dismantle the frame structures of Luna Park. Francesca was often on-site supervising the work, sporting a wide-brimmed Mexican sombrero and carrying a bamboo cane. At noon each day, she drove a horse and cart between Luna Park and the new building site, delivering wine, coffee, sandwiches and sweets to everyone laboring there. Despite the strenuous work, laughter, singing and prayer lightened their spirits. After a month of hard work collecting building materials, Francesca found herself with more than enough for the Los Angeles school, so she arranged for the surplus materials to be shipped by freight car to expand the Denver orphanage.

Leaving Sister Salesia in charge, Francesca traveled to Seattle, where an orphanage was threatened by a planned highway expansion. The orphans needed relocation, prompting her search for a new site. Exhausted from countless trips through the city, Francesca spread a map of Seattle on the table, pointed to a spot, and instructed the Sisters to explore that location and report back. That evening, the excited nuns returned with news—they had discovered what they called “a little paradise on earth.” With a knowing smile, Francesca replied, “Yes, I knew it would be beautiful. I saw it all in a dream last night.” The following day, they visited the villa, perched on a hill with breathtaking views. The owner revealed that it belonged to his wife who loved the place and would never part with it. As they descended the hill back into town, Francesca firmly declared to her Sisters, “That paradise will be for our orphans…somehow or other.”

As dusk fell, streetcars became scarce. Although hiring a taxi felt extravagant, the exhaustion of her companions made it seem to Francesca the only alternative. But just then, a limousine carrying an elegantly-dressed woman approached them. On impulse, Francesca raised her cane, signaling for assistance. The car stopped, and the lady offered them a ride back to the convent. During their drive together, the woman learned that she was speaking with Mother Cabrini—a woman she greatly admired. When Francesca mentioned the beautiful estate they had seen earlier that day, the woman’s eyes widened in astonishment; it turned out that she owned that very property! After conferring with her husband, they offered Mother Cabrini the estate at an exceptionally reasonable price. A week later, two wealthy American men donated $160,000—sufficient funds for establishing not only an orphanage on the property, but also an adjoining chapel.

Once back in New York, she resolved to establish another orphanage closer to the city. During her search for suitable properties, she stumbled upon a stunning estate right by the river in Dobbs Ferry. One of the Sisters informed her that it was a neighborhood of millionaires, and the prices would be exorbitant; moreover, the building she admired was a private school for affluent Protestant boys. Undaunted, Francesca rang the bell, which was answered by a young man whose father was the president and owner of the school. Initially cool in his demeanor, he informed Francesca that the estate was not for sale. However, as their conversation progressed, Francesca’s charm began to work its magic on him. He graciously offered to give her and the other nuns a tour of the impressive building, which included classrooms, dormitories, a kitchen, dining room, chapel, gymnasium, and swimming pool—all in excellent condition. As they departed, Francesca handed the young man her card, in case his father would consider selling. Just before leaving, she bent down to tie her shoelace, and discreetly pushed a medal of St. Joseph into the soft earth of a flower bed. A few days later, she received a letter from the owner, asking her to make an offer on the property. Armed with her plan, Francesca approached several wealthy businessmen and successfully secured the necessary funds.

With financial backing in place, she and her nuns set to work on the improvements necessary before the March 31st grand opening of what would be known as the Sacred Heart Villa at Dobbs Ferry. Francesca felt inspired by Jesus to undertake the whitewashing of the building herself. Wearing a painter’s cap and pinning up her skirts, she joyfully began painting. However, the can slipped from her hand, splattering paint all over her from head-to-toe. Laughing, she wiped at her clothes and continued with determination. The nuns held the ladder steady as she climbed up; but when they offered to take over for her, she insisted that the whitewashing was her special task. For the next 15 days, she diligently applied her brush until the job was done.

During the opening ceremony, Francesca stood alongside the Cardinal. It was at this time that the last photograph of Francesca Cabrini was taken, capturing her shining eyes and serene smile as she stood observing the happy orphans around her.

On June 28, 1914, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Yugoslavia marked the beginning of the First World War. From that day on, a shadow was cast over Francesca’s heart and she was burdened with sorrow and concern for her Missionary Sisters in Europe. She prayed ceaselessly for their safety, entrusting them to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, their Divine Protector. Her usual smile was now tinged with sadness, and restful sleep eluded her; only her work provided a semblance of relief.

In August 1915, Francesca traveled to Seattle with plans to open an orphanage. The train journey proved arduous as she battled intermittent chills and fever, coupled with excruciating discomfort from sitting upright in coach for days on end. “If my Lord wants this mission accomplished,” she confided to one of the Sisters with her, “He will return to me the strength which has almost totally abandoned me.”  In Seattle, she found a fine building in the heart of the city—the former Perry Hotel, which had gone bankrupt. Her discreet inquiries revealed that the principal trustee was a Mr. Clarke based in New York. Although lacking his first name, Francesca refrained from further inquiries to avoid alerting competing interests to her intentions. She telegraphed her nuns back in New York with a clear directive: “Find a certain Mr. Clarke, who is in possession of the Seattle Hotel Perry, and ask it as a donation to charity.”

This task proved daunting with no first name, as the New York City directory listed at least 200 Clarkes! Undaunted, the Sisters patiently called each number until they finally located the right party—a shrewd Protestant man, who was taken aback by their request for such a large donation to a Catholic charity, and adamantly refused. When they reported back to Mother Cabrini, she instructed them to return and propose the lowest price he would accept. This time, he was struck by their sincere humility and agreed to negotiate. After numerous visits from the Sisters, and exchanging 90 telegrams with Mother Cabrini, he ultimately bypassed the other trustees and offered her the property for $150,000—a bargain at the time. Even the Archbishop encouraged Francesca to accept this deal. Despite her persistent fatigue, she reached out to rich and poor alike, and was able to raise $10,000 as a retainer, which Mr. Clarke accepted. However, opposition soon arose. The other trustees were furious, and influential local figures vehemently opposed an Italian orphanage in that location, out of fear it would diminish property values. They ensured that all banks in Seattle would refuse to issue a loan to Mother Cabrini. From November through April, Francesca faced relentless struggles in securing financing for the property. During Lent, she gathered all her nuns and orphans to pray before the Blessed Sacrament, placing their hopes in Jesus, while she prepared herself to accept His will—whatever it might be.

In the Seattle convent stood a statue of St. Anne holding a book and teaching young Mary to read. In desperation, Francesca wrote “$120,000” in the book held by St. Anne and spent the evening in fervent prayer. While she was praying, the doorbell rang. A young nun entered to inform her that a gentleman wished to see her. When Francesca greeted him, she discovered that he was Mr. Chilberg, the Jewish president of the Scandinavian Bank. He bowed respectfully before Mother Cabrini and apologized for being out of town when she had previously visited his bank. Upon his return, he had learned about her loan denial. He expressed complete faith in her mission and offered to arrange any amount she needed. Leading him to St. Anne’s statue, Francesca told him that the amount she needed was written in the book. He read it and nodded. She then invited him to join her in the reception room for a glass of wine, which he gratefully accepted. The following day, the contract was signed, and on April 30, Mother Cabrini officially took possession of the Perry Hotel. Together with her Sisters, she prayed for abundant blessings upon their great friend Mr. Chilberg for his generous support of their mission.

It became clear that the turmoil of wartime was not an ideal backdrop for fundraising efforts aimed at establishing an orphanage. One night, Francesca had a profound dream. As she recounted to her Sisters, “…St. Anne instructed me to relinquish my desire for a foundling home, and indicated instead a hospital that will do acts of mercy and yet sustain itself.” However, this goal proved to be as challenging as her initial one. The presence of an existing Catholic hospital in Seattle led some within the Church to deem another one unnecessary and unwelcome. Additionally, those who had previously opposed her acquisition of the Perry Hotel were now rallying against her new plans. These factions exerted pressure on local doctors, causing them to withdraw their support from Mother Cabrini’s Seattle Columbus Hospital. The situation escalated to the point where even the Archbishop forbade the opening of the facility. Although initially disheartened, Francesca soon decided to pivot her approach. Instead of a general hospital, she resolved to establish a center focused on physiotherapy and electrotherapy treatments—services that were in high demand and would not directly compete with the other Catholic hospital in Seattle.

One day, a young pregnant woman from a respectable family approached the convent with a request: she wanted her baby to be born at Mother Cabrini’s hospital. Several weeks before the delivery date, Mother Cabrini felt inspired to send a Sister to visit the young woman’s home with an urgent message to summon her doctor and come immediately to Columbus Hospital, where a bed awaited her. The young lady complied, and just hours later, she gave birth to a baby girl. Due to her premature birth, the infant’s survival was uncertain; thus, Mother Cabrini herself baptized the child, naming her Columbina, which means “little dove.”  The joyous event of the baby’s birth, and the happiness of the young parents, their family, friends and doctor, significantly eased the initial hostility towards Columbus Hospital. Over time, as word spread about the Sisters’ compassionate care, the hospital began to flourish.

In the fall of 1916, Francesca sensed that her life was nearing its end and felt compelled to visit some of her other houses. She informed the Sisters in Seattle of her intention to travel to Los Angeles. Her pale and fragile appearance alarmed the nuns in California, who had eagerly awaited her visit. Standing in the garden, she gazed lovingly at the Sisters gathered around her. The orphans burst into the garden, running toward her and joyfully shouting, “Mama Cabrini is here!” Francesca spent the winter in the warm California sun, enjoying long hours of deep meditation amidst the beauty of the garden. The orphans frequently visited her, and she delighted in sharing candy and telling them funny stories. Birds flocked to her feet, drawn by her quiet gentleness as spoke softly to them, scattering crumbs and seeds on the ground.

One of her nuns in Los Angeles, Sister Euphemia, suffered greatly from varicose veins, despite years of treatment from numerous doctors. Francesca suggested that she try wearing silk stockings to ease her discomfort. Taking this advice a step further, Sister Euphemia borrowed a pair of Mother Cabrini’s own cotton stockings and put them on. To her amazement, she found immediate relief. She shared this with Mother Cabrini, who laughed off the notion, but then gently admonished her: “I hope you’re not going to be so foolish as to say that my stockings cured you! It was your faith that did it.”

As Spring approached, Francesca realized she needed to travel to Chicago, due to issues arising at the new hospital. By the time she reached the Chicago Columbus Hospital on April 18, 1917, she appeared thin, bent, and frail, relying on a cane for support as she struggled to walk. The doctors quickly recognized that her malaria had worsened significantly and insisted on immediate treatment. Although the chills and fever eventually subsided over the following weeks, the treatment left her exceedingly weak. She also was suffering from chronic endocarditis, an infection involving the heart’s valves and lining.

Despite her frailty, Francesca rallied enough to participate in spiritual exercises at the convent that summer, being the first to arrive at the chapel each morning at 5:00 AM. Following medical advice, the Sisters arranged for her to be driven into the countryside daily, where she gathered wildflowers to adorn the chapel. Nostalgic for the farm life of her youth, she was inspired to purchase a farm for the Institute that would provide fresh produce for the hospital. After exploring rural areas further afield, she discovered a lovely farm in Park Ridge, Illinois, which she purchased in October. She found immense joy in stocking the farm with horses, cows, goats, pigs, and chickens.

By November, Francesca’s health had once again deteriorated. One morning during Mass, just after receiving Communion, she nearly collapsed. The Sisters quickly carried her to her bed. Though her strength waned daily, she yearned to be with her daughters during their recreation periods. She loved these times with the Sisters, and in the past had delighted them with her stories, and liked to play cards, although she was terrible at it and never won unless her opponents secretly let her. Mother Antonietta Della Casa, the Superior of the Hospital, now implored her to reconsider and conserve her energy. But Francesca firmly replied, “Oh, no! It is only now at their recreation that I can be together with them. If I am not, they will think I do not love them.”

During these cherished recreation times, she would bring them small gifts of fruit, candy, cake, or cookies—tailored to each Sister’s preference—as they gathered around her affectionately. On December 8, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, she asked the Sisters to write verses about the Virgin Mary. This would be the last time she could join them for recreation. Subsequently, she quietly withdrew to spiritually prepare herself for Christmas—a feast that held a special place in her heart. She ordered new habits for all of the Sisters, including one for herself, secretly knowing she would be buried in it. For the Order’s Christmas cards, Francesca requested a verse from the Psalms to be printed: “Oh, send out Thy light and Thy truth; let them lead me; let them bring me unto Thy holy hill, and to Thy tabernacles.” When a Sister objected that the verse seemed more fitting for a funeral than for Christmas, Francesca smiled and insisted, “Yes, I know, but this Christmas that verse goes well. Leave it the way it is.” Upon learning that the 500 children of the parish school would have to go without candy due to the difficult times, she exclaimed, “Oh, no! They must have their candy! Christmas would not be Christmas for them without it!”She instructed the Sisters to purchase the candy at her expense.

On December 21, despite suffering from the final stages of malaria, Francesca attended Mass and joined the Sisters in preparing the Christmas packages of candy for the children. The following morning, December 22, 1917, Mother Della Casa visited Francesca’s room to greet her and consult about the day’s tasks. A young nun came in to ask if Francesca wanted a bowl of broth. She agreed, and requested that her room be tidied so she could sit in her rocking chair. Mother Della Casa returned at 11:40 AM with a question for Francesca. After she left, Francesca locked the door and returned to her chair to pray and meditate in solitude. While sitting there, she felt a sudden pain in her chest and got up to unlock the door and ring for help. When a Sister entered, she found Francesca slumped in her wicker chair, her nightgown and handkerchief stained with blood. The young nun rushed to summon Mother Della Casa, who immediately sent for both the priest and the doctor. All the nuns hurried to Francesca’s room, finding her unconscious. The priest administered Last Rites just as Francesca opened her eyes one final time. She leaned her head against Mother Della Casa’s arm and cast a loving glance at all her Sisters before drawing her last breath.

A solemn Requiem Mass was celebrated by the Archbishop of Chicago, after which Francesca’s body was transported to New York for a second Requiem Mass conducted by Bishop Hayes at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. In accordance with her wishes, her body was interred at her beloved West Park on January 2, 1918. Hundreds of orphans dressed in white, carrying lilies and candles, followed her casket from the convent chapel to her tomb. In 1930, her remains were moved to their current location in the chapel of Mother Cabrini High School (formerly the Sacred Heart Villa) at 701 Ft. Washington Avenue.

In 1928, the process for her canonization began. Two miracles are required for sainthood, and in Francesca’s case, the first miracle involved an infant named Peter Smith, who was born at the New York Columbus Hospital on March 14, 1921. As was customary at the time, a nurse applied a solution of silver nitrate to the infant’s eyes. As she put the bottle down, she realized with horror that in her haste she had used a 50% solution instead of the intended 1%, resulting in severe chemical burns to the baby’s eyes. An eye specialist, along with other doctors, concluded that there was nothing they could do—the corneas of the eyes were destroyed, and the child would be permanently blind. The Mother Superior rushed in with a relic of Mother Cabrini, placed it on the baby’s eyes, and then pinned it to his nightgown. She and the Sisters, along with the nurse involved, spent the entire night praying in the chapel for a miracle.

The following morning, when the doctors returned to examine baby Peter, they were astonished to find his eyes intact and perfectly normal. However, that same day, the infant developed double pneumonia, with a temperature reaching 108°F—just one degree short of fatal. The doctor advised the Mother Superior to start praying again, as the baby’s condition was critical. “Doctor,” she replied confidently, “Mother Cabrini has not cured his eyes just to let him die of pneumonia!” They prayed once more, pleading for a second miracle. By morning, all symptoms of pneumonia had vanished. Peter Smith grew up healthy with normal vision, and as a young man, served as a soldier in the Army. The only remnants of his hospital ordeal were two small scars from the silver nitrate that had leaked from his eyes.

The second miracle involved Sister Delfina Grazioli, who had suffered since 1915 from adhesions of the gallbladder and intestines. Despite undergoing four surgeries, her condition showed no improvement, and she was painfully wasting away. By December 1925, doctors had given up all hope and predicted she had only a day or two left to live. Funeral arrangements were already underway; however, on the night of December 16, after praying to Mother Cabrini, Sister Delfina saw her in a dream. The next morning, although still very weak, she announced that she was cured. The instantaneous healing was confirmed by the doctors, and she never experienced a recurrence of her illness. Mother Francesca Xavier Cabrini was beatified on November 13, 1938, and canonized on July 7, 1946.

Throughout her life, Francesca believed that faith, simplicity, humility, and obedience were the foundations of all spiritual power. She often reminded her Sisters that the only necessary mortification was to perfectly observe the Rule of the Order and wholeheartedly carry out their daily tasks. She prayed fervently that she would never ask her nuns to do anything she herself was unwilling to do. Francesca valued openness and candor in others and detested any pretentious displays of piety. She did not want to see her Sisters carrying rosaries unless they were actively reciting them. Always gentle and kind in her approach, she never hesitated to speak her mind, but did so with compassion. Rather than giving orders, she made requests that were promptly obeyed. She discouraged self-pity and long faces among her Sisters. A sense of humor and fun bubbled out of her spontaneously, gladdening the hearts of everyone who came under the spell of her infectious smile.

In my research for this video series, I came across a quote from one of her biographers that described her life as “a quiet whirlwind.” I can think of no better description. Francesca Cabrini perfectly fulfilled the hope she once wrote in her notebook: “I wish to die of love after a life of total surrender to God….Oh Jesus, I love you so much, so much!….Give me a heart as large as the universe, so that I may love you, if not as much as you deserve, at least as much as I am capable of.”

January 26, 2025

PART 3 of 4: ST. CABRINI’S “EXCELLENT ADVENTURES”

Across the USA, Europe, and Over the Andes to South America

To watch the YouTube video, click the arrow in the thumbnail below (Video contains Parts 3 & 4):

Mother Francesca Xavier Cabrini stood lost in thought, her eyes tracing the raindrops that streaked the windowpane. She found herself at a crossroads, faced with a challenging decision that could greattly impact the future endeavors of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Order she had founded just over a decade earlier. When she and her nuns had arrived in New York from Italy in March 1889, their primary mission was to educate poor Italian immigrants, which led to the establishment of academies, colleges, and normal schools.*  However, what truly distinguished Mother Cabrini’s work was her commitment to founding orphanages that would provide destitute girls with the training to become virtuous Christian women.

Now, two years later, she had received an unexpected request to manage a hospital, a task she felt was beyond her expertise. Yet, Francesca understood the pressing need for hospitals to serve Italian immigrants in the United States, many of whom were plagued by illnesses and injuries resulting from their dire living conditions and hazardous jobs. In public hospitals, they often faced neglect due to their poverty and limited English, compounded by the medical staff’s inability to speak Italian.

As she pondered her next steps, Francesca reflected on the journey that had brought her here. Born prematurely in 1850 in Sant’Angelo, Italy, she had always been frail, but possessed an unconquerable spirit. As a child, the stories of missionaries had captivated her imagination and fueled her longing to serve others.  Despite being rejected by several religious orders due to her health, she had founded the Institute of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in 1880 with a handful of young women. Francesca’s aspirations initially pointed towards China, yet Pope Leo XIII had redirected her to America, where thousands of Italian immigrants awaited assistance. This marked a significant turning point in her life and mission. Upon arriving in New York, she quickly recognized the urgent needs of the immigrant community, both material and spiritual.

Bishop Giovanni Scalabrini, a devoted advocate for Italian emigrants to the United States, had established a small hospital on East 109th Street, entrusting its management to his Order, the Fathers of St. Charles Borromeo, under the direction of Father Felice Morelli. Despite the priests’ commendable efforts in tending to the spiritual needs of the patients, the hospital was on the brink of disaster due to the clergy’s lack of practical experience in healthcare management. Desperate to remedy the situation, Bishop Scalabrini had sought Francesca’s assistance during her recent visit to Italy. He explained that without her intervention, the hospital would be forced to shut down. However, Francesca was hesitant; she feared that the demands of running a hospital would compromise the religious spirit of her nuns, and that her own aversion to physical illness would make her unsuitable for such a role. Although she had cared for patients suffering from diseases like smallpox and typhoid when necessary, managing a hospital presented an entirely different challenge. She already had sought the advice of a Cardinal, who had encouraged her to undertake the task, and also had received a letter of recommendation from the Cardinal-Vicar in Rome.

The decision weighed heavily on her heart as she considered how it might transform lives within the immigrant community she had come to love so deeply. Yet she remained uncertain. Faced with this dilemma, Francesca turned to her usual source of guidance: prayer. She closed the curtains against the gloomy rain, and went to the convent’s chapel, where she knelt in front of the statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. There once again she poured out all her questions and concerns, praying fervently to be shown the right path. That night she had a vivid dream in which she saw the Virgin Mary, sleeves rolled up and skirt pinned back, moving through a hospital ward, comforting the sick. When Francesca rushed to offer her help, Our Lady turned to her and said, “I am doing what you refuse to do.” This dream left Francesca with no doubt about her path forward, and she promptly assigned ten nuns to the Scalabrini hospital.

In October 1891, she traveled to Nicaragua and New Orleans to open missions there. However, when she learned the following Spring that, despite the nuns’ valiant efforts, the hospital had failed, she rushed back to address the situation. She quickly discovered the root of the problem. Contrary to her intentions, the Sisters were still under the control of Father Morelli, who had not paid them the promised $25.00 per month. Additionally, Francesca was expected to assume responsibility for a substantial debt that had accumulated even before she had sent her Sisters there. Francesca refused to pay off the old debts unless her Order could gain ownership of the hospital. Unfortunately, this became impossible when the property was foreclosed that summer. As negotiations regarding the distribution of furnishings stalled, complicated by the fact that the nuns had not been compensated for a year, Francesca made a difficult decision: she and her Sisters would amicably part ways with the Scalabrinian Fathers.

In a show of support, Archbishop Corrigan of New York provided Francesca with $50 and recommended her to four wealthy Italians in the city. With a total of $250 collected from these benefactors, she rented two adjoining houses on Twelfth Street and established her own hospital. She transferred ten patients from the failed hospital to this new facility. The donated funds allowed her to cover the first month’s rent and purchase ten inexpensive beds. The nuns crafted the mattresses themselves and sewed sheets from a large bale of fabric. For the first week, there was no water or gas for cooking, so the Sisters bought food from a nearby restaurant and heated it on a coal stove positioned in the center of the ward. Their meager pharmacy consisted of a dozen bottles of medicine. A writing desk and surgical instruments were donated by a doctor, while another donor provided an ambulance. Lacking funds for their own beds, the Sisters slept on the floor.

Despite these hardships and the criticism that naturally followed, the Sisters’ steadfast devotion more than compensated for their lack of supplies. They cared for their patients with kindness and compassion, placing their confidence in Mother Cabrini and following her example of total trust in God. When it came time to name their new facility in 1892, Francesca chose “Columbus Hospital,” explaining that the year marked the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s discovery of the New World. She declared, “He was the first Italian immigrant. If we call it after him, all the Italian immigrants will know that this is their hospital.”She would subsequently give the same name to all future hospitals she founded in America.

The very first patients at Columbus Hospital were too poor to pay for their care, but Dr. Keane, the head physician, generously offered his services free of charge. He was resolute in his commitment to the hospital’s mission, dismissing any staff doctor who attempted to charge a fee. Alongside Dr. Keane, other charitable doctors—several of whom were Protestants—joined the staff and referred their private paying patients to Columbus Hospital, providing a crucial source of income. As word spread about the hospital’s dedication to serving the needy, donations of money and equipment began to pour in, allowing the small hospital to steadily grow.

Feeling confident that the Sisters could manage the hospital, Francesca returned to Italy in October 1892 to visit the nuns at the original Motherhouse in Codogno and in various convents scattered throughout the country. During her visit, she had the opportunity to meet with Pope Leo XIII, who was celebrating the 50th Jubilee of his consecration as a Bishop. These trips to Italy were essential for Francesca’s spiritual renewal; she often felt the need to retreat to the quiet life of the cloister, which refreshed her for her future endeavors.

She returned to New York in 1895 to find Columbus Hospital thriving. A pivotal moment had occurred when an Italian warship docked in New York, carrying two sailors suffering from typhoid fever. After being turned away from other facilities, the Missionary Sisters welcomed them into Columbus Hospital, gaining significant publicity when the Italian Admiral visited. This led to an arrangement with the Italian Consul General, allowing any sick Italian sailor on a merchant vessel to be admitted for a flat fee. Although finances remained tight, this official recognition ensured that the hospital was consistently full. In March 1895, Columbus Hospital received formal approval from the State of New York and was legally incorporated. That same year, it was relocated to East 19th Street, and in 1973 would merge with another hospital, transforming into the Cabrini Medical Center at 226 East 20th Street, where it operated until its closure in 2008.

With the hospital’s future secured, Mother Cabrini was free to embark on a new journey to South America. First, she traveled to New Orleans to check on her mission there, staying for two days before sailing onward. The mission she and her Sisters had established in Granada, Nicaragua, had been closed by the government following a revolution, forcing the Sisters to relocate to Panama. Francesca intended to visit them before continuing on to Argentina. In Panama, Francesca was captivated by the mission’s stunning location overlooking the sea. In one of her letters, she described it vividly: “One could imagine oneself to be on board a steamer, because on the south and southwest it is surrounded by the sea…. The room the Sisters prepared for me is surrounded on two sides by large orange trees, the fruit of which touches my windowsill. One looks out on a path leading to the sea and its beautiful isles, which seem to be playing in the bay…. In our garden we have six kinds of palms, banana and coffee trees, and various kinds of fruit, the names of which I do not know.” She cherished the tranquility of this beautiful place, despite the fact that 30 girls practiced the piano every day, and 12 girls had singing lessons. “You can imagine our eardrums!” she wrote with her characteristic humor.

After spending 4-1/2 months in Panama, Mother Cabrini set out with Mother Chiara for what would become her longest and most adventurous journey. Their destination was Buenos Aires, where the Archbishop had requested her assistance in opening a school. From there, they planned to travel down South America’s coast to Chile and then cross the Andes into Argentina. During this voyage, Francesca crossed the Equator for the first time. During a particularly dull stretch of scenery, she took advantage of her background as a former teacher and lover of geography by writing a little lecture about the area for her nuns back home.

While making a long stop in Callao, Peru, Francesca and her companion ventured into Lima to visit St. Rose’s burial shrine. The ship continued its leisurely journey toward Valparaiso, making frequent stops along the way. When they arrived in Santiago at the foot of the Andes Mountains, they received advice from the Archbishop to rest for a while, because the Archbishop of Chile had passed away, making immediate travel unnecessary. Though Francesca chafed at this delay in her plans, she recognized that there was little choice: heavy snow blocked access through the Andes, and it would be several weeks before the first caravan of the season could depart. Her traveling companion, Mother Chiara, was a timid and sickly woman, so Francesca had offered her the choice of their going around Cape Horn by ship, or crossing the Andes mountains. Mother Chiara, who hated sea voyages, chose the Andes route.

On November 24, during the Spring season in the Southern Hemisphere, their journey across the Andes began. The first segment was by train, which navigated precariously along the mountains, hugging the edges of vast gorges so deep that the bottom was invisible. At the railway’s end, they transferred to mule-drawn coaches that trailed the river along a winding road bordering a deep chasm, where turbulent waters churned far below. This marked the beginning of the Cumbre Pass. Only dark green pine trees dotted the landscape, while a huge volcano towered above them. After a long day of travel, the coaches halted, and the passengers eagerly devoured a simple supper. Later, the two nuns stepped outside into the night to admire the brilliant moonlight that bathed the mountains in a lovely blue glow, reflecting off the snow. Francesca mused that the night’s beauty resembled that of the Virgin Mary.

With this uplifting thought, she and Mother Chiara retired to their inn for the night. Exhausted from their travels, they fell into a deep sleep, but were roused at 3:30 a.m. by the sounds of the mules being saddled. They donned long, brown, hooded capes lined with fur—gifts from the ladies in Santiago—preparing for their mountain crossing. The best mules were assigned to them, which meant they would ride at the front of the line. Tiny Francesca had to stand on a chair to mount her mule.

The first hour of their journey was relatively easy; however, they soon found themselves navigating through deep snow as the path vanished. Two muleteer guides led them along a trail that often skirted a precipice. Francesca’s mule was curious about the edge, and despite her shouted warnings in limited Spanish, and frantic attempts to pull its head away, the mule remained undeterred. She glanced over at Mother Chiara, who lay limply on her mule’s back, clearly regretting her decision to traverse the Andes instead of opting for a ship voyage. Yet, despite the perilous conditions, the view was breathtaking—an immense abyss on one side and an expansive stretch of sparkling white snow on the other, with the mountains they still had to cross looming ahead.

Suddenly, one of the guides halted and instructed everyone to dismount; something was amiss. Before them lay a long and terrifyingly deep crevice. The men managed to get some mules to leap across it and informed the travelers they would need to do the same on their mounts. Being at the front meant Francesca had to make the first jump. Bravely, she agreed, confident she would clear it without issue. However, the intense cold and high altitude had sapped her strength, and as her mule leaped, she lost her grip. She began to slide off down the chasm and would certainly have fallen to her death if not for the quick reflexes of a vigilant muleteer who threw himself across and caught her just in time. With assistance from his hiking stick and his fellow guide, he pulled Francesca safely to solid ground, where she promptly fainted into a snowbank.

When she regained consciousness, she found that all her companions had successfully leapt across. Remounting her mule by standing on a boulder, she and the cavalcade continued their adventurous trek. Soon, Francesca recovered from her alarming experience and began to appreciate once again the stunning scenery around them. As they approached the border between Chile and Argentina, they descended the mountain through a feathery snowfall and stopped at an inn for lunch. When asked to write in the visitors’ book, Francesca became the first person ever to express something positive about the crossing. Despite its dangers, she had relished every moment of this adventure. In her diary-letter to the nuns back home, she reflected: “…I was very pleased to have ascended such high mountains, which gave me an inducement to incite myself to ascend the heights of spiritual perfection—a peak much higher than any in the Andes…. Prayer, confidence and total abandonment to God will always be our arms. We are good for nothing…. But I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.”

Francesca and Mother Chiara arrived in Buenos Aires, a city where she was virtually unknown, because the Archbishop who had invited her had since passed away. Fortunately, she remembered a priest, Fr. Broggi, whom she had met in Genoa two years prior. He welcomed them cordially and treated them to a delightful Italian dinner. Afterward, he introduced them to the new Archbishop, Ladislao Castellano, a warm and fatherly man, who assured Francesca that he would provide all the support his predecessor had promised. During this time, she also met the influential clergy of the diocese, who were in the city for a procession to a shrine of Our Lady to welcome the new Archbishop. These priests quickly fell under the spell of Francesca’s famous — though unconscious — charm, and she received all the assistance she needed.

The Sisters of Mercy took the two nuns in until they could establish their own convent. Fr. Broggi guided them around the city, introducing them to individuals who would be instrumental in their mission. As was her custom, Francesca walked through the city each day, searching for potential houses for her new school and returning home exhausted every evening; yet she persevered and inspected 60 possible locations. One day, at the very spot where her worn shoes finally fell to pieces, she found a house that met all her needs. Despite warnings that her choice was a grave mistake due to its high cost, she nonetheless insisted that she had a secret inspiration and would take the house at any price.

Without hesitation, she cabled New York and Italy for Sisters to leave immediately for Buenos Aires, alarming Fr. Broggi, who thought this decision was rash and premature. She reassured him, “Don’t worry, Father. If I were to think too much about procuring the means, the Lord would withhold His graces.”

On Christmas Day, she took possession of the house and wasted no time preparing it for the incoming Sisters. One day, Archbishop Castellano came to visit. When Francesca opened the door, he didn’t recognize her at first, as she was clad in an apron, wielding a broom and duster. He asked to see Mother Cabrini, to which she replied, “Certainly, Your Excellency. Please sit down in the parlor and I will call her.” She hurried away and returned moments later without her apron and cleaning tools, her face and hands freshly washed. The Archbishop burst into laughter; however, Francesca was never one to shirk domestic responsibilities.

As often happened with her business decisions, what seemed rash turned out to be brilliant. She later reflected: “The courage shown in undertaking a difficult enterprise made a good impression on the people, so much so that the principal families brought us their children; and this went on so well that when we left, the academy was already full and I had to arrange for a second and larger house.” Although some students came from Italian families, most did not; South America lacked quality schools at that time, making these capable Italian nuns most welcome.

After establishing her school in Buenos Aires, Francesca set sail back to Italy. During the voyage, eager to expand her mission further into Spanish America, Mother Cabrini sought more knowledge about Spain and its people, with hopes of opening a house there and recruiting Spanish nuns. In Rome, she met once again with her old friend Pope Leo XIII to receive his blessing. Noticing her poor health, he inquired how she managed such extensive work. She smiled brightly and replied: “Holy Father, I am your spiritual daughter. That is what gives me the necessary moral strength. I am not going to lose my health by serving that dear Jesus who made me a Missionary of His Sacred Heart.”

Three weeks later, she arrived in Paris, where she longed to open a house. But initial efforts were met with difficulty. Archbishop Cardinal Richard was away, and his Vicar-General denied Francesca permission to proceed until his return. Unable to sway him otherwise, she and Sister Frances, a young Irish nun, took refuge with Madame de Mier, whose sister attended the missionary school in Panama. The woman was frail; while she occasionally conversed with the nuns, most of her time was spent resting in her room. Though Madame de Mier had abandoned religious practice years prior, Mother Cabrini’s influence inspired her return to the Catholic faith. Sadly, upon Madame de Mier’s death several weeks later, Francesca and Sister Frances found themselves without shelter—and still without permission to open a convent in Paris. However, Madame de Mier had left Francesca some valuable furniture in her will—too luxurious for a convent, but suitable for equipping a boarding house for affluent ladies, which Francesca undertook as a temporary solution to help establish a foothold in Paris while potentially attracting French vocations.

On September 8th, she finally received permission from Cardinal Richard to establish herself in the same parish where her new boarding house was located. By September 29th, seven Sisters had arrived from Italy, and they opened their house. Because it was far too grand for a convent setting, the nuns occupied the servants’ quarters, while converting the coach house into their refectory. The elegant residence appealed to exactly the kind of ladies they wished to attract, and on October 1st, their first paying boarders arrived.

With Paris now established as part of her mission field, Francesca and Sister Frances traveled to England for ten days, where she instantly fell in love with London and its polite people who were always willing to help. She wrote: “In other countries they speak of nobility and courtesy; in London they practice them!…I was astonished at the courtesy shown me and inwardly implored blessings on this country of England which I should love to call—if possible—the ‘Land of Angels.’”  Although she was there with intentions of establishing an orphanage for Italian children, this project would ultimately need postponement for several years.

Francesca spent the majority of 1899 dedicated to establishing schools for impoverished Italian children across New York, Newark, NJ, and Scranton, PA. She also opened a boarding school for the children of affluent Italians, who often required spiritual guidance to maintain their faith. This establishment, known as Sacred Heart Villa, was located at 190th St. and Fort Washington Ave. in New York. It became not only the American novitiate, but also the closest thing Francesca ever had to a settled home. In later years, Sacred Heart Villa would evolve into Mother Cabrini High School.

That same year, she was invited to open a mission in Chicago, where the immigrant population faced challenges similar to those in New York. Following the Civil War, Chicago had transformed into a major urban center, second only to New York. The demand for cheap labor surged, due to numerous factories and infrastructure projects like railroads and bridges. Unfortunately, many areas rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1871 were filled with unsafe and unhealthy wooden tenements that housed Italians alongside Black migrants from the South and various other immigrant groups including Jews, Greeks, Croatians, Russians, Lithuanians, Poles, and Mexicans. Living conditions were dire; unsanitary plumbing was common; alleyways overflowed with garbage and dead animals; and toilets often backed up. Rats posed a significant threat to infants. Families resorted to sleeping with guns under their beds to fend off these pests at night, and food had to be stored in tin boxes or suspended from ceilings by ropes or wires. Such conditions bred diseases like typhoid and impetigo in summer, and rheumatism, tuberculosis, and pneumonia in winter. Immigrants faced constant peril in factories, where lost limbs or death were everyday risks. Yet amidst these horrors, a small but ambitious group of immigrants began launching their own businesses, which eventually flourished.

In May 1899, Francesca traveled to Chicago with 14 of her Sisters. Father Morechini of the Servite Fathers had prepared a building for her at his parish of the Church of the Assumption. Francesca’s task would be to organize both students and faculty in this burgeoning city. Her greatest aspiration was always focused on educating children, whom she envisioned as soldiers ready to combat the evils their parents had endured. Soon her school at the Church of the Assumption boasted 700 students. Before leaving Chicago, she laid plans for an orphanage and a potential hospital.

She then sailed back to Europe. Exhausted from her labors, she collapsed into a deck chair for some much-needed rest. Sea voyages were as close as she ever got to a vacation. Upon regaining some strength, she wrote to her nuns: “How lovely and sweet it is to undertake a sea voyage when one is tired and worn out with the labors of the missions! I’m like a fish — I feel better on sea than on land, and eat with a better appetite.” Her journey included stops in Paris and Lourdes before continuing on to Spain, where she opened a school and college in Madrid, along with two orphanages in Bilbao, before returning to Italy.

From birth, Francesca had always been frail, and a near-drowning incident in her childhood had left her with compromised lungs. When she founded her Order in 1880, she had been advised that she likely only had a couple of years to live. In 1889, when she first came to America, she was again warned that her health would not be able to stand the stress and strain. But she would only smile at these warnings. Putting all her trust in God, she knew that if He had called her to this work, He would make sure she had the strength to see it through. By 1900, Francesca was 50 years old; and although her face retained its youthful appearance, her health was gradually declining, due to extreme fatigue and fevers. Nevertheless, once in Italy, instead of succumbing to illness, she opened a chapel and school in Rome, an orphanage in Mariscano, convents in San Raffaele and Citta della Pieve, an exclusive academy for upper-class girls, and a sanatorium for sick nuns in Torino.

Francesca then spent seven months in Argentina visiting not only Buenos Aires—where her schools were thriving—but also the pampas, where many scattered groups of Italian immigrants worked. She had learned that her Sisters in Panama had been forced to leave that country due to civil war. Despite the fact that they had tirelessly nursed the sick during outbreaks of typhoid, yellow fever, and bubonic plague, and also those wounded in the conflict, the Sisters had been ordered away from Panama. Francesca promptly reassigned them to her schools in Argentina, while welcoming the new South American novices who were starting to arrive.

When she returned to Italy in the spring of 1902, Francesca Cabrini found herself gravely ill, confined to her bed, with the specter of death looming once more. In her weakened state, she began making arrangements for the governance of her Institute after her passing. However, on March 19, the feast of St. Joseph, a basket of oranges arrived from the Vatican gardens, a thoughtful gift from her steadfast friend and patron, Pope Leo XIII. Despite not having eaten for days, Francesca took one of the oranges and declared it delicious, claiming it had restored her energy. She soon recovered enough to visit the Pope, who bestowed upon her a blessing that would be his last for her. He passed away the following summer at the age of 93.

With renewed vigor, Francesca set out to visit her many convents across Italy and Spain. The elegant boarding house in Paris was relinquished in favor of an orphanage in Neuilly. Yet, her primary focus shifted towards founding a convent in London. With the support of Bishop Bourne of Southwark (Suth-erk), she established a house at Brockley, which would later move to nearby Honor Oak. She was now free to return to the United States, where she would spend the next four years.

Francesca’s aspirations led her toward the Rocky Mountains, with hopes of eventually reaching the Pacific coast. Her immediate mission was to assist Italian immigrants laboring in Colorado’s mining fields. Although these immigrants fared better materially than others across the nation, they still faced challenges. Separated from their families, with limited opportunities to practice their Catholic faith, they faced great temptations presented by their lucrative wages in the gold and silver mines. Setting up headquarters in Denver, Francesca and her nuns traversed rugged terrain to reach miners working underground. They descended hundreds of feet into dark shafts, walking miles along tunnels to offer brief moments of connection during lunch breaks.

The miners deeply appreciated these visits; they had felt isolated and forgotten until uplifted by the presence of these kind nuns who spoke their language. In recognition of their positive impact on worker morale, the mine superintendent provided accommodations for them, where they would sometimes stay for several days. During these interactions, Francesca learned about the pressing need for a hospital and orphanage because of frequent injuries or fatalities that left many children homeless.

Starting with a small school on Palmer Avenue for immigrant children who lacked parental supervision, Francesca later returned to Denver and strategically acquired a large property on the city’s outskirts. Despite initial protests from the Bishop regarding its isolation, Francesca’s keen understanding of maps and population trends proved invaluable as she secured properties that would thrive as the cities developed. Denver soon expanded in the direction of her property, constructing streetcar lines into what would become thriving suburbs.

She returned East and established St. Anthony’s Orphanage in Arlington, New Jersey. She also added an annex to the Columbus Hospital in NY. Francesca demonstrated remarkable financial acumen in managing her projects. While she sought donations from Italian communities, yielding modest sums, for larger amounts she also approached wealthy benefactors with surprising success. One notable encounter was with a Mr. Wentworth. After several unsuccessful attempts to meet with him, she finally cornered him outside his office one day. He asked her what she was selling. She declared, “Sell, Mr. Wentworth? Only children.” She passionately shared her dreams with him, leaving that day with a generous contribution.

Despite her aversion to begging, Francesca excelled at it by framing requests as opportunities for the donors, telling them, “In asking you for something, I am conferring a privilege upon you – the chance to do some good.” Her bright blue eyes and infectious smile made it hard for potential donors to refuse her appeals. They could only stare at her, dumbfounded…and reach for their checkbook. As she often remarked to her fellow nuns, “We have nothing, yet we spend millions.” Long before Women’s Liberation, Mother Francesca Cabrini employed all the skills of the greatest female CEOs.

In 1903, she returned to Chicago with plans to establish a hospital. One snowy April day, she spotted the six-story North Shore Hotel on Lincoln Park’s edge—a prime location selling for the bargain price of  $160,000, due to previous mismanagement. Despite raising only $1,000 initially—much to the Archbishop’s amusement—Francesca’s relentless spirit led her back into Chicago’s Italian community, where she successfully raised $10,000. Encouraged by the Archbishop to proceed with purchasing the hotel despite her trepidation, Francesca’s astuteness soon became evident during negotiations, when she suspected some deception regarding the property measurements. She sent two Sisters out with string and chalk to measure the lot accurately before signing any documents. The sellers of the property soon learned that although she was a woman and a foreigner — two strikes against her in that era — Francesca was not one to be easily deceived. They had, in fact, been secretly intent on retaining 25’ of the property for their own use. Seeing that they were defeated, they agreed to her terms. As a wise businessman once noted, “One does not fool with Mother Cabrini.”

However, when the time came to renovate the hotel into a hospital, unscrupulous contractors again tried to cheat the nuns. Francesca then took charge of the project herself, acting as chief contractor and retaining only the honest workmen. The dishonest ones she fired, after paying them only what was fair and not a penny more. She made friends with the remaining workers, fostering camaraderie while ensuring efficiency, and renovations expected to take 12 months were completed in just eight. Donations poured in, not only from Italians, but also from non-Italian Catholics, Jews, and Protestants. An eminent Catholic surgeon named John B. Murphy offered his services to Francesca’s hospital, acting as President and head-of-staff, and he was the one she turned to for medical advice. On April 26, 1905, the Columbus Hospital of Chicago officially opened its doors.

Francesca Cabrini’s legacy extends beyond her establishment of orphanages, schools, and hospitals; she also exhibited profound compassion for prisoners. She started this ministry at Sing Sing prison in Ossining, NY, where she communicated with Italian inmates in their native language—a necessity, since none of the official chaplains spoke Italian. To address this gap, she arranged for Italian-speaking priests to visit the prison for confessions, while her own nuns made regular visits several times a week. The prisoners on Death Row especially received tender compassion and comfort. In New Orleans, her Missionary Sisters visited a young Black man sentenced to hang, offering him solace and helping him reconcile with God before his execution. On the occasion of Mother Cabrini’s 25th Anniversary, the prisoners at Sing Sing sent her a beautifully-illustrated message of gratitude. Additionally, inmates from a Chicago prison contributed funds for a horse and carriage to facilitate the Sisters’ visits.

Despite suffering from a high fever, Francesca journeyed to the West Coast, where she opened a small orphanage, parochial school, and modest wooden chapel in Seattle. She even wielded a pickaxe herself for the chapel’s construction, placing a note and religious medals into its foundation. During her return trip, an attempted train robbery occurred, and a rifle shot pierced the train window precisely where Francesca had been sitting moments before she leaned forward to better hear the nun traveling with her. When the frightened conductor pointed out how narrowly she had escaped death, she calmly reassured him: “Sir, that bullet could never have found me, for the Sacred Heart protects me.”

Chronologically summarizing Mother Cabrini’s extensive travels across the U.S. during the early 1900s is challenging. Her primary bases of operation included New York, Chicago, Denver, Seattle, Los Angeles, and New Orleans. In 1905, while Francesca was in Chicago, a yellow fever epidemic ravaged New Orleans, claiming many lives among poor immigrants in the overcrowded slums. Often, it was only Francesca’s Missionary Sisters who were permitted into these homes, working alongside medical authorities to alleviate the immigrants’ suspicion of doctors and nurses. Miraculously, not one Sister contracted the illness, despite their constant exposure.

In the Fall of 1905, Francesca traveled to Los Angeles with plans to assist both Italian and Mexican immigrants. There, she established an orphanage on Sunset Boulevard, a school on Alpine Street, and a sanitarium in Burbank for children suffering from tuberculosis or at risk of contracting it.

By this time, Mother Cabrini had gained recognition among Italians everywhere. The Italian government officially praised her efforts and provided some financial support for her work. She was honored by the Queen of Italy, and acknowledged by politicians who conceded that she did more for immigrants than all other agencies combined. As one biographer noted: “The name ‘Mother Cabrini’ began to sound like music to the ears of the clergy and civil authorities, and of all Italians as well. There had never been—and has not been since—a woman in America quite like Mother Cabrini. As Americans witnessed the flourishing communities under her influence—hospitals, orphanages, schools, religious and social centers—they gradually began to respect immigrants and shed ignorant prejudices.”

Coming in Part 4: The Final Years, Miracles & Canonization

December 22, 2024

ST. FRANCESCA CABRINI-PART TWO

PATRON SAINT OF IMMIGRANTS

THE NEW WORLD: NEW YORK, NICARAGUA, NEW ORLEANS

TO WATCH THE YOUTUBE VIDEO, CLICK ARROW IN THUMBNAIL BELOW:

On March 31, 1889, the SS La Bourgogne docked at Ellis Island, NY. Among the throng of hopeful immigrants stood a small, fragile-looking woman dressed in a nun’s habit. Although she was almost 40 years old, her petite frame and innocent blue eyes made her appear hardly more than a child. Yet, this unassuming exterior housed an invincible spirit. Her name was Mother Francesca Xavier Cabrini, and accompanying her were six young nuns, all members of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, an Order she had founded less than a decade earlier. Sent by Pope Leo XIII, Mother Cabrini and her companions were charged with the monumental task of providing spiritual solace and material aid to the burgeoning Italian immigrant community in New York City. As they set foot on Ellis Island, little would anyone suspect that this unassuming group of nuns, led by their visionary founder, would soon transform the lives of countless Italian orphans and immigrants in New York, and then go on to establish a vast network of schools, orphanages, and hospitals all across North, Central and South America — and beyond.

As the fog lifted on that early morning, Father Felice Morelli and another priest approached the weary group of nuns. They explained that they were there to meet the Sisters and take them to St. Joachim’s Church on Roosevelt Street. At the rectory the nuns, hungry and tired from their long journey, were treated to a hearty Italian meal, which they gratefully devoured. Throughout the dinner, Mother Cabrini sensed an undercurrent of uneasiness from their hosts. When the meal ended, she politely suggested it was time for them to retire to their convent. A tense silence fell over the room before Father Morelli reluctantly admitted, “It is not our fault, Mother Cabrini, but the fact is…there is no convent.”

Francesca’s blue eyes widened in disbelief. “No convent!” she exclaimed. “But I was assured one would be ready for us!” Father Morelli could only offer a vague explanation, promising that Archbishop Corrigan would clarify the situation the following day. “But what are we to do for tonight?” Francesca asked. Father Morelli suggested a hotel, but with telephones still being a rarity, securing such accommodations proved too difficult. Eventually, he proposed a nearby rooming house in one of the Little Italy neighborhoods. Mother Cabrini agreed, and the priests took them to a rooming house where the nuns, now on the brink of collapse, looked forward to finally getting some much-needed rest.

Upon entering their room, the sisters quickly realized that sleep would be an elusive luxury. One of the nuns shrieked in horror as she pulled back a blanket, revealing sheets and blankets teeming with bedbugs. Nor could they could bring themselves to stretch out on the filthy boards of the floor. In the Institute’s early days, they had often made do with straw bedding, but though their convents in Italy were bare, they were immaculately clean. While poverty was one thing, this level of squalor was quite another. In that moment of despair, Francesca found the strength to uplift her companions. “My daughters,” she encouraged, “we are missionaries, and as such, we must be prepared for trials like these. This hardship is surely a sign of God’s impending blessing upon us!” They resorted to taking turns sitting in the few chairs, resting their heads on the table or against the wall. Their fitful attempts at sleep were frequently interrupted by sudden jerks awake, imagining vermin crawling over them. In the darkness, mice and other vermin scurried across the room. Francesca, naturally fastidious and terrified of mice, made no attempt to sleep herself, though she encouraged the sisters to rest as best they could. Instead, she spent the night in prayer for the great challenge that lay ahead of them.

And a challenge it certainly would be! The Italian immigrants who arrived in America in the late 19th and early 20th centuries faced immense hardship and suffering. Crowded into unsanitary slums, they were exposed to ruthless exploitation, often at the hands of their own countrymen who acted as unscrupulous agents and padroni. The newcomers were relegated to the most dangerous, poorly paid, and thankless jobs. Of the nearly 4 million Italian immigrants who came during this period, about 1-1/2 million eventually returned to Italy, unable to establish themselves successfully in the New World.

Life in America’s “Little Italy” neighborhoods was harsh. Forced into the most dangerous and grueling jobs – the only work available to them, which other immigrant groups, such as the Irish, had moved on from – many Italians faced frequent injuries, permanent disabilities, and even death. Their children ran wild in the streets, with some resorting to selling newspapers or shining shoes to earn a bit of money. In these moments of crisis, they had nowhere to turn for support or solace. For those who fell ill, the public hospitals offered little comfort. Many men learned only enough English to perform their jobs, while the women often learned none at all. Unable to communicate effectively with doctors due to the language barrier, many suffered in silence or died in utter loneliness. When tragedy struck, the children were often taken away and placed in institutions, where they inevitably lost the remnants of their faith and culture. Those men fortunate enough to recover from illness or injury returned to lives of crushing poverty and squalor. Despite these immense challenges, from a labor standpoint the Italians were generally viewed as useful to American society.

A major challenge was the provincial loyalties the Italians brought with them. Rather than uniting as a single community, they formed small enclaves based on their specific regions of origin within Italy. This factionalism made it difficult to organize for common causes or improvements. Another serious issue was that about two-thirds of the immigrants were men, often separated from their families. This upheaval, combined with the presence of some criminal elements, unfairly tarnished the reputation of all Italians, despite the fact that most were hardworking and law-abiding.

The Italians found little opportunity to practice their Catholicism in America, as they lacked the religious infrastructure that had aided other immigrant communities. While the Irish had plenty of priests, and the Germans had pastors and religious orders who spoke their language, the Italians had no such spiritual or cultural support. When they went to church, they often had the humiliating experience of being relegated to basement chapels. Those who did hear Mass regularly could seldom find a priest able to hear their confession. Not even when dying could they find a priest to attend them.

Archbishop Michael Augustine Corrigan, at the age of 50, had already served as a Bishop for 16 years. A kind man, he was known for his frequent smile, which helped to conceal a slight facial imperfection, earning him the disparaging nickname “Smiling Mickey” from his detractors. He was fluent in several languages, including Italian. However, when Mother Cabrini and her Sisters arrived at his office the next day, they were greeted not by his characteristic smile, but by a look of surprise and mild annoyance. “But didn’t you get my letter asking you not to come yet?” Archbishop Corrigan asked in Italian, his brow furrowed.

Mother Cabrini replied calmly, “No, Your Excellency. The letter must have crossed the Atlantic while we were on our way here. Bishop Scalabrini assured me that everything was prepared, but I arrive to find that nothing is ready. I wrote to you in February, mentioning that I might come in May or possibly before.”

The Archbishop sighed, “Even so, I hadn’t counted on your arriving so soon! I had written to you requesting a postponement of your departure from Rome. As of yet, we have no house for Italian orphans. The complexities and prejudices here present obstacles too significant for you to overcome. It’s unfortunate that you’ve crossed the ocean for nothing; however, I see no alternative but for you and your Sisters to return to Italy. I’m truly sorry.”

Francesca, however, stood her ground. “No, Your Excellency, we cannot do that. I came to New York under obedience to the Holy Father, and so I shall remain here.” She presented him with her carefully preserved bundle of letters. Archbishop Corrigan glanced at the documents, realizing the truth of her words. Faced with a direct order from the Pope himself, he knew he could not oppose it. Moreover, Francesca’s passion and resolve made a strong impression on him. Like so many before him who had looked into Francesca’s candid blue eyes, the Archbishop sensed that she was not someone to be easily dissuaded. Therefore, he decided to help the determined nuns. He personally escorted them to the convent of the Sisters of Charity, located at the corner of 51st Street and Madison Avenue. There they were warmly received by the Irish Superior, Mother Mary Martha, who immediately welcomed the homeless Italian nuns.

Francesca soon discovered the root of her difficulties regarding the orphanage: Mary Reid, an American woman married to Italian Count Cesnola, had generously donated $5,000 and selected a house on East 59th Street to be used for Italian orphans. However, Archbishop Corrigan opposed the location, fearing it would draw unwanted attention and reignite hostility towards Italians in the affluent neighborhood. Knowing how recently his own people, the Irish, had experienced American animosity, he was afraid of arousing it once again. During a subsequent meeting, Archbishop Corrigan explained his concerns to Mother Cabrini. “As long as the Italians inconspicuously keep to their Little Italies, there’s no harm done. But bringing a bunch of Italian orphans swarming onto 59th Street is inviting disaster! You can send some of your Sisters to teach at St. Joachim’s parish, and if you can find a house for an orphanage downtown, that would be all right.”

But because Countess Cesnola had already paid for rental of the 59th St. house, Mother Cabrini persuaded the Archbishop to meet with Countess. During that meeting, he shifted his argument, claiming that their funds were insufficient to maintain the orphanage in such an expensive area. Seizing her opportunity, the clever Countess dramatically knelt and exclaimed, “Your Excellency, remember that in the Lord’s Prayer we ask only for our daily bread – not bread for a year!” Archbishop Corrigan sighed. “All right, all right,” he conceded. “Since you have already rented that house, Mother Cabrini can take possession of it.”

On April 21, just three weeks later, Francesca and the Sisters moved into their new home. They were greeted by a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus at the entrance, with a loaf of bread placed at its base. Delighted by this auspicious sign, Francesca declared, “You see! Providence is never going to desert our little orphans!” The following Palm Sunday, Archbishop Corrigan visited, presenting Francesca with a blessed palm. She interpreted this gesture as a triumphant sign heralding the beginning of her great missionary career.

Five days after moving in, two disheveled little girls in tattered clothing became the orphanage’s first residents. Francesca welcomed them warmly, saying, “Remember, I am your mother, and you have a mother in every one of these Sisters. This is your home now.” She immediately set to work bathing them and untangling their hair. Resourcefully, she fashioned dresses for them from her own petticoat. Years later, one of these girls would join Francesca’s Missionary Sisters.

Acknowledging Archbishop Corrigan’s concerns about funding, Francesca sought ways to increase their resources. After being turned down by the Italian Consul in New York and other Italian officials, she realized that personal donations were their only hope. Sympathetic, wealthy women, including the Countess’ daughters, solicited contributions from their social circles, often supplementing the funds with their own money. Francesca and the Sisters also canvassed New York’s Little Italy, particularly Mulberry Street. They learned to navigate the diverse Italian communities, which each retained their distinct customs and dialects. Despite occasional cold receptions, they received many donations of money and food. Though most contributions were small, and the orphanage’s existence remained precarious, they managed to survive. Within four months, the orphanage housed 400 destitute children.

Even before the orphanage opened, Francesca had sent Sisters to work at Fr. Morelli’s parish, St. Joachim’s. She believed that establishing schools for poor Italian children, where both Italian traditions and religion could be preserved, was crucial to her Order’s mission. Initially, the Sisters supervised children during Sunday Mass, taught catechism in the afternoon, and offered Christian doctrine conferences in Italian to older girls and young women. By late April, they had established a day school within the church itself. Classes were held in the choir loft and beneath it (with a curtain for privacy), as well as in a room off the sacristy. Despite the lack of desks and limited books, they managed to instruct 200 children daily. Under Mother Cabrini’s nurturing care, the children flourished. During her school visits, they would gather around her eagerly, and she often presented each child with a small token, even if it was just a piece of candy. In return, the children offered their own little gifts to the Sisters.

Francesca’s efforts extended beyond the makeshift school. She and her nuns ventured into the immigrants’ homes, even in areas where the police were wary of entering. As a result, hundreds of Italian immigrants were encouraged to re-embrace their faith. Even adults who were not personally inclined to religious practice were willing to have their children instructed in the faith.

In May of 1889, a NY newspaper reported: “This week, young ladies with radiant faces, dressed in plain black religious hoods and robes, were seen coursing the overcrowded streets of Little Italy….They are the pioneers of a congregation called the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart, and in the short period of a month have already founded a school and orphanage….The Directoress of their congregation is ‘Madre Francesca Cabrini,’ a diminutive, youthful lady with great eyes and an attractive, smiling face. She does not know the English language, but she knows the universal language of the human spirit.”

Convinced of her Divine calling, Francesca would pore over maps of the United States, calculating distances and identifying strategic locations for future endeavors. To keep up with news and current trends, she would read the Italian newspaper, Il Progresso, and several New York papers, learning English by comparing stories of the same events. Despite the immense challenges ahead, she placed absolute trust in God’s guidance. By now, Francesca had developed a strong friendship with Archbishop Corrigan, who recognized the immense value of the Sisters’ work. To familiarize her with American life, he occasionally invited her on his countryside visits. During one such outing in Peekskill, he gestured across the Hudson River and declared, “Now, there, Mother, is where you should establish yourself!” Francesca responded, “May it please God, your Excellency, that you will prove to be a prophet!”

On July 20, Francesca embarked on a journey back to Italy, accompanied by two Irish postulants from New York City. She returned to the Motherhouse in Codogno to select additional nuns for her American mission. She was now 40 years old. Most of the Sisters were considerably younger, some still teenagers, infusing the Institute with a youthful vigor and an adventurous spirit, inspired by Mother Francesca Cabrini’s own invincible character. But amidst the excitement, there was sorrow when Guiseppa Alberici, the cook and Francesca’s longtime friend, passed away suddenly, severing another link to her past. Francesca spent a month at Codogno motivating her nuns, before visiting each of her Lombardy convents. The Sisters rejoiced at their Mother’s presence, many hoping to be chosen for the missions. In Rome, Francesca had a private audience with Pope Leo XIII, updating him on their progress and ongoing needs. After receiving his encouragement and blessing, she felt more than ever that the Pope was her steadfast friend and supporter.

While in Italy, Francesca had a vivid dream of a grand house on a wooded estate nestled alongside a wide river, surrounded by farmlands and orchards. Shortly afterwards, Archbishop Corrigan informed her by letter that the Jesuits were relinquishing their novitiate in the Catskills and relocating to the eastern bank of the Hudson River. They offered their property to Mother Cabrini at a remarkably low price. The estate boasted extensive grounds, farmland and orchards, two large houses and a smaller one. As yet unbeknownst to Francesca, the water supply was inadequate, but the offer remained a bargain, with favorable terms and financial backing promised from Italian friends. Recalling her dream, she wondered if this could be the place she had envisioned.

On April 18, 1890, as Francesca sailed back to New York, her anticipation grew. During this voyage, she began penning a series of diary-letters to her nuns in Italy, which later became an invaluable resource for her biographers. These letters were not only edifying and encouraging, but often chatty and amusing, revealing the captivating personality that charmed people wherever she went. Francesca Cabrini had a remarkable ability to bring out kindness in others. On every voyage, she quickly became a favorite among the ship’s company. She made it a habit to approach the head of the steamship agency, and once on board, introduce herself to the Captain and his staff. Invariably charmed, they would go out of their way to make her and the Sisters’ journey more comfortable. Francesca’s personal charisma likely contributed to her ability to accomplish so much with limited financial resources. She often received what she asked for, and frequently, people eagerly offered gifts and favors without her even having to ask.

Francesca grew to enjoy the ocean voyages, as they provided  her only opportunities for rest, and may well have contributed to her longevity. Despite her former fear of deep water, she claimed to never feel better than when breathing the clean ocean air. Even so, she found courage to brave the water only when necessary for her mission, and avoided any boat rides that were strictly recreational.

One night during Mother Cabrini’s voyage back to New York, the ship’s engine malfunctioned, forcing it to halt for repairs. Awakened by the fog horns, she quickly dressed and comforted the frightened Sisters, spending the remainder of the night in prayer. Come morning, she discovered that the ship was encircled by massive icebergs. The gravity of their situation struck her: had the engine not broken down, they might have struck one of the icebergs in the darkness. Overwhelmed with gratitude for Divine protection, the nuns assembled on deck, raising their voices in a heartfelt rendition of the hymn, “Ave Maria Stella.” Many fellow passengers, believing the nuns’ prayers had safeguarded them all, joined them on deck.

Upon her return to New York, Mother Cabrini wasted no time in looking over the property the Archbishop had mentioned. As she surveyed the grounds, a sense of déjà vu washed over her: this was the very place she had envisioned in her dream! Its proximity to New York City, coupled with the included old-but-functional furniture and the reasonable price, made it an ideal location. Here she would be able to house 300 girls, offering them a paradise compared to the city slums. When informed by the Jesuits of the property’s water shortage, she was not deterred. Convinced that a reliable well must exist somewhere on the grounds, she remained optimistic. In the meantime, a small well provided just enough water for drinking, while other needs would require a challenging 20-minute trek by the nuns and orphans to and from the Hudson River’s steep banks to fetch buckets of water. Laundry would be done in the river.

Once moved in, Francesca tirelessly inspected the West Park grounds, searching for signs of dampness while fervently praying to Our Lady of Grace. Her persistence paid off when she discovered a promising spot and ordered a well to be dug. Her intuition proved correct, and soon they had an abundance of water. In gratitude, Francesca promptly erected a statue of the Blessed Virgin beside the well. Francesca developed a deep affection for West Park, often expressing her desire to retire there one day. She would tell the Sisters, “This is where I shall be buried.”

Despite the obstacles, and the skepticism of many who viewed the purchase as imprudent, Mother Cabrini had secured a bargain. Her bold decision to acquire the property, which came to be known as West Park, would prove to be one of her wisest business moves

During her 3-1/2 month stay in New York, Francesca established operations at West Park, and relocated the 59th Street reception center to East 43rd Street. On August 16, she embarked on a return journey to Italy, accompanied by two aspiring novices. Once back in Italy, she opened a residence-house for normal-school students in Rome, similar to the one she had founded in Milan. While in Rome, Francesca consulted Cardinal Rampolla, the Papal Secretary of State, about her ambitious plan to open a mission in Central America. A wealthy Nicaraguan woman, Elena Arellano, had offered her a house in Granada, Nicaragua to establish a school. This proposal aligned with Francesca’s vision of expanding her missionary activities beyond a single country or social class, recognizing that the wealthy needed spiritual guidance as much as the poor, if not more so. Francesca’s decision to accept this offer marked a significant turning point in her career. It would lead to the establishment of select academies for Spanish-speaking girls in both Central and South America, elevating her Institute to international status. To support these new schools with teachers, she would also need to establish Houses in Paris, Madrid, and London.

In September 1891, Francesca returned to New York with 29 nuns. The number of her Missionary Sisters in America since her first arrival, less than 2-1/2 years earlier, now totaled fifty. She then prepared for her journey to Nicaragua with 14 nuns to establish the new school. On October 10, Francesca and her companions set sail on the SS New York. However, they encountered a fierce Caribbean hurricane shortly after passing Sandy Hook, New Jersey. Throughout that terrifying night, as monstrous waves threatened to engulf the ship, Francesca and her sisters prayed fervently, preparing themselves for the possibility of death. Francesca clutched her rosary and lit the candle of Our Lady of Loreto that she had brought with her, believed to hold special power against sea storms. She also invoked St. Aloysius, patron of Catholic youth, to protect the young nuns accompanying her. While other ships tragically met their doom off the New Jersey coast that night, the SS New York managed to navigate into open waters, narrowly escaping the hurricane’s destructive path.

On October 19, Mother Cabrini and her companions arrived at the port of Colon [Col-OWN] on the Panamanian coast, where the Eastern entrance to the Panama Canal was under construction. As they crossed the isthmus by train, Francesca marveled at the lush tropical landscape of coconut palms, banana trees, tamarinds, vibrant flowers, exotic birds and butterflies, beneath a turquoise sky. This vivid scenery evoked memories of the missionary magazines that had fueled her childhood imagination, and she felt a surge of excitement at finally experiencing life as a foreign missionary.

Upon reaching Panama, they boarded another ship. During a brief stop in Punta Arenas [Poon’tah Areenas], Costa Rica, they received a visit from the local Bishop, an astute and dynamic German. He extended an open invitation, saying, “If you ever need shelter, you’ll find it in my diocese.” Francesca recognized him as a potentially valuable ally in Central America.

As they entered the picturesque Gulf of Nicaragua on October 25, their arrival in Corinto [Cor-EEN-toe] was met with great fanfare. Approaching their ship were two boats, festooned with flags, carrying soldiers in ornate, gold-laced uniforms, with brass bands playing triumphantly. They had been sent by the President of the Republic and the Bishop to welcome the nuns. Similar enthusiasm greeted them in Granada, though Francesca remained cautiously mindful of the fickleness of public adulation, reminding the Sisters about the Gospel accounts of Palm Sunday leading so quickly to Good Friday.

In Granada, the nuns were taken aback by the relaxed moral standards. The women dressed scantily, even at Mass, and the high number of illegitimate children registering for their new school seemed to be taken for granted. Francesca, unwilling to appear complicit in what she viewed as immoral behavior, refused to admit these children. This ignited a firestorm of protest, leading to threats and acts of violence that deeply unsettled her and the nuns. However, the protestors had no idea of the resoluteness of Mother Cabrini who, despite her fear, stood firm in her convictions. Eventually, the protests subsided, and her steadfast principles earned her greater respect within the community. Soon, children who did meet the school’s criteria began arriving in droves, necessitating a move to larger premises within just a few months, due to the academy’s overwhelming success.

Life in Granada presented numerous challenges for Mother Cabrini and her Sisters. The intense heat and frequent earthquakes from a nearby active volcano forced them to sleep on the central porch that ran along the building. This exposed them to unfamiliar insects and reptiles, causing Francesca sleepless nights as she imagined beetles and snakes crawling towards her, despite the mosquito netting. One young nun took it upon herself to protect Mother Cabrini by standing guard against all toads, snakes, and lizards. Three of the Sisters contracted typhoid fever, and one nearly died; but Mother Cabrini nursed them all back to health with loving care. In order to avoid becoming embroiled in local politics and rivalries, the nuns quickly learned to refuse any gifts that were presented to them,

On December 3, the feast day of her patron, St. Francis Xavier, Mother Cabrini formally opened the school. She delivered a short speech in her high-pitched voice, using the best Spanish she could manage. She remained until she was confident of the school’s success, then departed with Sister Mercedes for the United States in early March 1892. Francesca opted for a different return journey, eager to experience more of Nicaragua beyond the affluent, aristocratic city of Granada. She decided to traverse Lake Nicaragua and the San Juan River, seeking a broader perspective on the country’s conditions.

At that time, the San Juan River journey was far from straightforward. Unlike today’s canal routes, suitable for large vessels, Francesca and her companion, Sister Mercedes, had to switch steamers a dozen times. Accompanying them on the steamers were some unexpected guests in the form of mice and other vermin scurrying about. “At least they are rather amusing to watch,” Francesca quipped about the mice to Sister Mercedes, attempting to lighten the mood. But her humor did little to ease their discomfort. They retreated to their cramped stateroom, where Sister Mercedes settled down to sleep on a small sofa, while Francesca’s mouse phobia kept her vigilant throughout the night. Instead of sleeping, she devoted her wakeful hours to prayer and standing guard against unwanted four-legged guests.

At times, the river narrowed, forcing them to switch to canoes, which navigated through a maze of swampy, dark jungles of thick vines and dense thickets. This challenging leg of their journey led them to the Mosquitia [MO-SKEE’-tee-ah] Reserve, a Native American territory that Cardinal Rampolla had specifically requested Francesca to visit. During their river voyage, Francesca had the opportunity of meeting two chiefs from the Reserve, an encounter which favorably impressed her. Upon reaching the Reserve with its community of mixed-descent people, the two Sisters visited the inhabitants in their humble dwellings, engaging them in conversation. Initially shy, the locals soon warmed up to the “Black Gowns,” as they affectionately called the Sisters. They implored Francesca to send nuns and priests to educate them, a request that resonated deeply with her missionary spirit.

Had circumstances allowed, Francesca would have promptly complied with their request. However, two years later, a new revolutionary government in Nicaragua expelled the Missionary Sisters in Granada, and by then, the Mosquitia Reserve had been transformed into the political department of Zelaya [Zell-EYE-ah]. This effectively quashed the opportunity she had glimpsed during her eventful journey.

Before returning to New York, Francesca decided to stop in New Orleans, driven by her concern for the Italian immigrants who needed help facing the harsh conditions and prejudice there. The climate, though warm, differed greatly from Italy, and their plantation wages were meager. The Creole aristocracy looked down upon the Italians, preventing them from becoming cotton-raisers themselves. Most alarmingly, Italians had been targeted by lynch mobs, which deeply shocked Mother Cabrini, providing a primary motive for her visit. She believed that the Italians themselves needed to overcome the prejudices against them, but required religious and moral support to do so. True to her method, she sought firsthand information to analyze and resolve the problems. Upon arrival, the Archbishop of New Orleans, Francis Janssens, and Father Gambera, a Scalabrinian priest, warmly welcomed her, pleading for a mission in the city. Francesca promised to send Sisters as soon as possible.

Two months later, despite limited funds, she assigned three Sisters to the task. Unable to afford the fare to New Orleans, she bought them tickets to a city en route, where they would beg for fare to continue south. Finding shelter in local convents, and soliciting contributions in Italian neighborhoods, they slowly made their way to New Orleans. Upon reaching their destination, the Sisters contacted Father Gambera. After collecting the grand sum of $17.30, they telegraphed Mother Cabrini, who promptly joined them on Aug. 6 with four additional nuns. Their initial lodging consisted of three rented rooms in a tenement on St. Philip’s Street, in the Italian section of a predominantly Black neighborhood. In the building’s large courtyard, they cooked on a crude, brick barbecue, using a bench as a dining table. Due to typhoid concerns, they went door-to-door for filtered water. When they later opened their convent, Mother Cabrini ordered that a jug of clean water always be at the door for any thirsty caller.

A week later, Mother Cabrini purchased the tenement at a low price. By August, they had established a convent, with a chapel open to the neighborhood. When crowds exceeded the chapel’s capacity, they used the courtyard as an outdoor church with a portable altar and awning. The space also served for social gatherings and religious instruction. Orphans were taken in, and a school was started, rapidly establishing the New Orleans mission.

Despite the heat, Francesca insisted on joining the Sisters in soliciting donations. They also ventured to rice and cotton fields in Louisiana and Mississippi, bringing comfort to isolated Italian immigrant groups who longed for a sympathetic word in their native tongue. A priest who spoke Italian would travel to these areas to say Mass and hear confession. Archbishop Janssens sometimes accompanied them where, sitting on a kitchen chair under the open sky, he would administer the Sacrament of Confirmation.

As always, once confident in the mission’s establishment, Mother Cabrini departed, leaving it in the Sisters’ capable hands with her customary words: “You can go ahead now; everyone to her own mission.”

Coming in Part Three: Across the USA, Europe, and over the Andes to South America

December 15, 2024

ST. FRANCESCA CABRINI – PART ONE

PATRON OF IMMIGRANTS & FIRST U.S. CITIZEN SAINT

THE EARLY YEARS: ITALY, 1850 – 1889

Mother Francesca Xavier Cabrini, circa 1889

To watch the YouTube video, click arrow on thumbnail below:

St. Francesca Xavier Cabrini has always been a cherished figure in my mother’s family. My introduction to her came in childhood, when a framed photo of her had a place of honor in our home—a photo that now graces my own home This deep-seated devotion stems from the connection to my maternal grandparents, Lorenzo & Angelina, who owned a bakery on First Avenue in Manhattan during the early 20th century. My grandparents had the honor of knowing Mother Cabrini, as she was called then. It was common practice for Mother Cabrini and her fellow nuns to visit local Italian businessmen seeking donations, and my grandfather’s bakery was one of their regular stops. Occasionally, Mother Cabrini would bring along some of the orphans, and my grandfather would delight in treating them all to pastries. At the end of the day, he would give away his unsold bread to her or her other Sisters. Remarkably, even today, a bakery operates at that same location, though it is no longer Italian.

I take great pride in this familial connection to such an extraordinary woman —diminutive in stature, yet monumental in her achievements — and I am grateful for the times she has listened to my prayers by interceding to God on my behalf. The film “Cabrini,” while impressive, only scratches the surface of her remarkable life. As I delved deeper into her story, I was astounded by the breadth of her travels and accomplishments. This inspired me to present her awe-inspiring life through a three-part series. Here begins Part 1: The Early Years (Italy, 1850-1889)

On the morning of July 15, 1850, in the quaint village of Sant’Angelo, nestled in the Lombardy region of Italy, Stella Cabrini, a 52-year-old woman was threshing wheat beside her husband, Agostino. She suddenly paused in her work, turned to him, and with a calm yet urgent voice, announced that their baby was ready to be born—two months earlier than expected.

The couple hurried back to their home, and Agostino summoned the midwife. As he waited anxiously, Agostino’s mind wandered to the memories of their nine children who had passed away over the years. Only three children had survived: Rosa; Maddalena, who had been disabled by polio; and Giovanni. Together, the four of them gathered in anticipation of welcoming a new family member, who would be the couple’s 13th child.

As they stood outside, a curious sight caught their attention—a flock of white doves appeared in the sky. The doves flew gracefully over the red-tiled roofs of Sant’Angelo and began circling above the Cabrini home. Agostino watched in awe; he had never seen these birds in their village before. Concerned for his grain storehouse, he and his children waved their arms to shoo the birds away. In his haste, Agostino accidentally ensnared one dove with his flail. The children rushed to gently free the bird and pleaded with their father not to harm it. Once released, the dove fluttered to rest on the windowsill of Stella’s bedroom. At that moment, a newborn’s cry pierced the air, followed by the midwife’s joyful announcement: “Agostino! It’s a girl, and pretty!” Overcome with happiness, Agostino tossed some grain into the air as an offering to the doves. The birds eagerly pecked at it before taking flight once more, disappearing into the western sky.

The family entered the room to behold the new baby cradled in Stella’s arms. Rosa exclaimed with delight at her sister’s silky blonde curls and striking blue-green eyes. Yet, amid their joy, the midwife voiced a somber warning: “She is so frail that if she lives, it will be a miracle. You must have her baptized as soon as possible.” As the hours passed and Stella regained some strength, the couple tenderly wrapped their precious baby in soft linen and made their way to the church of Sant’Angelo, where she was baptized Francesca Maria, in honor of two beloved children they had lost. Stella Cabrini lavished loving care upon her baby daughter, and against the odds, the little girl survived, although she remained frail.

It was her sister Rosa, rather than their mother, who took on the responsibility of raising Francesca, affectionately known as Cecchina. Rosa had a stern and uncompromising demeanor that made her somewhat unlikable. Yet it may have been this very nature that instilled in Francesca a sense of determination, and conversely, an extraordinary sweetness that balanced it.

As Cecchina’s beautiful curls began to grow, Rosa was determined to curb any hint of youthful vanity. She would take a brush dipped in olive oil and press it down on Cecchina’s curls, trying to straighten them out. The stiff bristles often brought tears to the little girl’s eyes. “There, that’s better! I won’t have you looking like a silly, simpering doll!” Rosa would declare. In later years, Francesca would joke that her hair was unlikely to ever turn white, due to the excessive oiling it had endured at the hands of her sister. Despite Cecchina’s childhood admiration for Rosa, as she matured into a woman, the two could not have been more different.

As was the custom at that time, little Cecchina was confirmed before she made her First Communion. In fact, her Confirmation, which took place on July 1, 1857, was the turning point of her life. In her own words, “The moment I was being anointed with the sacred chrism, I felt what I shall never be able to express….I seemed no longer on earth. My heart was replete with the most pure joy. I cannot say what I felt, but I know it was the Holy Ghost.” Writing in a notebook many years later, she addressed to Christ, “You know that my heart has always been Yours.”

The idea of being a missionary was planted in Cecchina during the evenings when she would sit near the fireplace and listen to her father read aloud from a Catholic missionary magazine. One day, a missionary from the Orient arrived at Sant’Angelo and preached about his work. His words aroused so much enthusiasm in her that she decided she wanted to be a missionary to China. Cecchina spent many joyful days visiting her Uncle Luigi Oldini, a beloved local priest in Livagra. Recognized for his extraordinary generosity, he was known to give away his own shoes and blankets to those in need. Cecchina cherished these visits, not only because of her deep love for her uncle, but also because they allowed her to engage in a delightful game she had created—one that she couldn’t play at home. She would craft little boats from paper, filling them with violets she picked, and send them sailing down the swift current in the canals near her uncle’s house. In her imagination, these flowers were her missionaries, embarking on journeys to far-off lands.

One fateful day, when Cecchina was about eight years old, she became so absorbed in her game that she leaned too far over the stone embankment and fell into the canal. The water flowed swiftly into a tunnel, and had it not been for a timely rescue, she might have drowned. A boy who witnessed the incident rushed to Uncle Luigi’s house, shouting for help. Her uncle arrived and found Cecchina lying on the bank, drenched and shivering. He felt immense relief as she opened her eyes. Gratefully, he thanked God for her safety and asked her who had saved her. “I don’t know, Uncle,” she replied. “I just found myself lying here.” He gathered her in his arms and carried her home, suggesting that perhaps it was her Guardian Angel who had intervened. Following this terrifying experience, Cecchina developed an overwhelming fear of deep water that kept her from approaching the canal again.

Cecchina’s sister Rosa was her first teacher. Holding a normal-school certificate, Rosa ran a small private school in their town and seemed to excel at teaching. She imparted lessons in religion, a bit of French, and instilled in Cecchina a deep appreciation for their Italian language. During this time, Francesca found herself particularly captivated by geography. Hours would pass as she immersed herself in the maps of her atlas, her imagination ignited by the facts she learned about various countries around the world.

At the age of 13, Cecchina was sent to a private school run by the Daughters of the Sacred Heart in nearby Arluno. There, she spent five years pursuing courses that would qualify her to obtain a teacher’s certificate. Her frequent quotations of Latin in her letters—often without any reference books at hand—demonstrated that she had mastered the language thoroughly. She also possessed an aptitude for mathematics, a skill she would later need for important business dealings throughout her life.

As a teenager, Cecchina’s spiritual director was the pastor, Father Bassano Dede’. A man of few words, his advice to her regarding her small troubles was almost always the same. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he would simply say, “Go and tell that to Jesus.” For Cecchina, this advice proved valuable, because later in her life, circumstances made regular spiritual direction impossible. So it was all the more important that she learned early on to trust completely in Divine guidance.

Teaching was essentially the only “white-collar” job available to women at that time. Following in Rosa’s footsteps as a teacher, Cecchina obtained her certificate at 18, passing her exams cum laude. Shortly thereafter, she applied to join the religious community but was turned away by the Superior. Though the nuns were greatly edified by her presence, they doubted her strength for religious life. Had Francesca been accepted by the Sisters, it’s unlikely she would have become the great saint we’re talking about today! With no other option, Francesca returned home in the autumn of 1868, where she assisted her mother and Rosa with household chores, while dedicating herself to prayer and acts of charity.

In February of the following year, tragedy struck when her father suffered a severe stroke. He lingered for a year before passing away, soon followed by the death of her mother and her disabled sister, Maddalena. This left just Rosa, Francesca, and their brother Giovanni, who managed the family farm with help from hired hands and his two sisters. Though they lived frugally, they were not lacking in money and continued to give generously to the poor. Together, Rosa and Francesca supported and cared for an elderly woman in their town who was suffering from cancer.

A remarkable transformation occurred in Rosa following their parents’ deaths. The sternness that had made her virtue less appealing faded away. She began to show a gentle affection toward Francesca, who had often faced her sister’s harshness in the past. Now approaching middle age, Rosa realized she would have to abandon her dreams of becoming a nun, and with acceptance came a newfound sweetness. Throughout her life, Francesca always spoke of Rosa with deep gratitude.

The year 1871 passed quietly and uneventfully. However, Spring brought an epidemic of smallpox to Sant’Angelo. Both Rosa and Francesca devoted themselves to nursing the sick in their village. Francesca’s deep aversion to the sight and smell of sores made her willingness to care for smallpox patients all the more heroic. But eventually, Francesca herself fell victim to the dreadful disease. Rosa took on full-time care for her sister, lovingly bathing her face with olive oil and milk to prevent scarring. Thanks to Rosa’s devoted care, Francesca recovered without any facial disfigurement from the smallpox.

After her recovery, Father Bassano approached her with a request: would she be willing to fill in for a couple of weeks for a sick teacher at the public school in Vidardo, just 1.5 miles away? He explained that without a substitute, the teacher might be permanently replaced. Kind-hearted Francesca could not refuse. This decision resulted in her remaining in Vidardo as teacher for two years. Initially, Francesca struggled with her first teaching assignment due to the unruly behavior of her students and her own feelings of shyness and awkwardness. In an attempt to manage the situation, she adopted a strict demeanor that mirrored her sister Rosa’s temperament, which ultimately proved ineffective in engaging her students. However, Francesca soon recognized this misstep and shifted to a more relaxed, genuine, and affectionate manner, which became one of her hallmark characteristics. This change not only helped her regain control over the mischievous children but also fostered a genuine enjoyment of learning among them.

In Vidardo, she met Fr. Antonio Serrati, who would become her guide for many years. Unbeknownst to Francesca, it was he who advised the Daughters of the Sacred Heart to deny her admission when she applied for a second time, as well as the Canossian Sisters, with whom she sought to join because of their mission in China. His reasoning was grounded in her fragile health; however, now that he had become a Monsignor and the Provost of Codogno, his deeper intention was a specific task he envisioned for her.

Codogno is a charming town in the province of Lodi. In the town stood an orphanage known as the House of Providence, which had fallen into disarray. The Monsignor proposed that Francesca take on the challenge of reforming it. The institution was under the leadership of Antonia Tondini, who had endowed it with 30,000 lire, making it difficult to remove her despite her extreme unsuitability for the role. In 1872, Bishop Dominic Gelmini of Lodi successfully persuaded Tondini and her friend Teresa Calza—who lived with her—to become nuns.  Although he knew they had no inclination for it, he hoped that this commitment would improve their character and behavior. They agreed to enter a novitiate with the Sisters of Nazareth but did not remain long. After a six-day retreat, they were allowed to make their profession along with their cook, a meek and mild woman named Guiseppa Alberici. They wore simple black gowns with no veil. But there any resemblance to a nun’s life ended. Not only did Tondini and Calza engage in loud and frequent quarrels, but Antonia also regularly funneled money meant for the orphanage into the hands of her irresponsible nephew, leaving the poor orphan girls neglected and often mistreated.

Francesca doubted her ability to effect any meaningful change during the two weeks that Msgr. Serrati requested of her. Nevertheless, she followed his advice and went to the House of Providence, where she was met with resentment, screams and insults from Tondini. During these outbursts, the orphan girls would seek refuge in Francesca’s room while the so-called nuns banged on the door, threatening them. Because it was clear that the girls needed Francesca, she felt compelled to stay beyond her initial two-week commitment. Although she appeared to be drifting further from her missionary aspirations, when she later reflected on her life, she recognized that each step had been Divinely orchestrated.

After a couple of months, hoping to improve Francesca’s situation, Monsignor Serrati and the Bishop suggested that she wear the habit to eliminate her status as an outsider. Although this felt like another sacrifice of her own plans, she agreed. She and two of her pupils were invested in the habit on October 15, 1874, soon joined by five other girls. For three years, she remained without vows—technically still a novice under the eccentric Tondini—yet she acted as a novice mistress, gathering the girls for spiritual conferences and assuring them that one day they all would become missionaries. That dream seemed more unattainable than ever, yet she clung to it fiercely. Francesca had developed a great devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and she placed her present situation trustingly into His loving care.

With supplies sent by her sister Rosa, Francesca tackled the chaos and filth of the House of Providence. Armed with fine combs, she painstakingly removed lice from the girls’ hair; baths, salves, and powders helped cure their skin ailments. She restored unsightly petticoats and dresses through washing and sewing, and taught the girls how to make bonnets and cobble their worn shoes. From her guidance, they learned self-sufficiency rather than dependency on others. She educated them in geography, mathematics, spelling and writing, while ensuring they all said their prayers. As some of the girls approached adolescence, Francesca considered the potential dangers they faced, and recognized that she would need to be their personal mother.

Francesca and her small band worked diligently at sewing and embroidery to support a new group of orphans they had taken in, which eventually swelled their numbers to about 30. The House of Providence began to function more like a true orphanage. However, Tondini seethed with frustration at any improvements made for the orphans, since they reflected poorly on her. But even all these improvements could not excuse the fact that the house of Providence was badly located.

One day, seven of the girls approached Francesca and declared, “We, too, want to become missionaries with you.” Francesca, now 27, took the girls with her to see Msgr. Serrati, where they earnestly pleaded to consecrate themselves to God through holy vows. The Monsignor gazed fondly at the petite, beautiful, golden-haired young woman he had placed in this challenging situation. Despite Tondini’s constant complaints about Francesca, she had never shown resentment or bitterness towards the odious woman. On September 14, 1877, Francesca and her seven orphan girls offered their vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience to God. She chose the name “Francesca Xavier Cabrini,” honoring the great missionary St. Francis Xavier with her middle name. The Monsignor then conferred upon her the title of Mother Cabrini, Superior of the House of Providence.

This recognition sent Tondini into a rage; her insults escalated into attempts at physical violence against Mother Cabrini. Fortunately, her new Sisters quickly gathered around her to offer protection. As the newly-appointed Superior of the House of Providence, it became Francesca’s duty to prevent Tondini from giving money to her slacker nephew. However, Tondini continued to sign promissory notes that she could not back financially. This left Francesca with no choice but to report the situation to Bishop Gelmini. By the end of 1880, the Bishop announced the termination of the House of Providence.

Now the pressing question was what would happen next for Mother Cabrini and the seven Sisters she had trained? Bishop Gelmini summoned her and said, “I know that you want to become a missionary. I know of no missionary order of women. Why not found one yourself?” Taken utterly by surprise by this unexpected turn of events, Francesca fell silent for a moment. Then, with her heart overflowing with gratitude to God, she looked at the Bishop and simply replied, “I will look for a house.” The six years Francesca had spent at the House of Providence had been marked by darkness and complexity—the most challenging years of her life. Yet by the end of that time, she had emerged fully formed and finally ready for her great calling.

Behind the Franciscan church in Codogno was a 17th-century monastery which had lain abandoned and empty since the time of Napoleon. Francesca told the Msgr. that this was where she wanted to open her convent. It was somewhat in need of repairs but solidly built and just what she needed. A young Milanese architect employed by Bishop Gelmini was commissioned to inspect the place and make an offer to the owner. Because the owner was fiercely against the church, the Msgr. instructed his friend to tell the owner that he was buying the monastery for the storage of cement. Little would he know that the cement would be of the spiritual kind! Francesca could not part with the orphans. She decided to take them with her and make of the monastery a missionary convent and orphanage combined. She also took with her Guiseppa Alberici, the meek and inoffensive cook from the house of Providence who was thrilled be included. Their fondest dream had come true; they were going to their own true home. They moved into the monastery on November 12, 1880. As she watched the orphans as running joyfully through the tall grass and wildflowers, she said to Bishop Gelmini and Monsignor Serrati: “Today his children know laughter, and their ringing voices are the bells announcing this, the new house of His Heart.”

The early days of the Codogno house were to become cherished memories for all of them. Francesca had just turned 30, yet her youthful appearance made her seem almost childlike. Her ethereal presence flitted through the Codogno house, moving with a lightness and swiftness that fascinated those around her. Despite this delicate exterior, she was a remarkably mature, determined, and wise woman. She possessed an endearing charm and charisma that won her friends wherever she went. She never struggled to attract vocations; instead, she drew souls to her, igniting their spirits with her fervor and ideals.

One night, a sister in an adjoining bed awoke, startled to see a radiant light surrounding Francesca’s short golden hair and face. Her expression was one of transfiguration, and her eyes reflected a vision ablaze with fervor. Alarmed, the sister cried out, causing the light to vanish. Mother Cabrini, noticing the commotion, asked, “What’s wrong, Daughter?” The Sister replied breathlessly, “The light! Mother, did you see it?” “Yes, daughter. It was nothing. Pray yourself back to sleep.” From that moment on, Francesca Cabrini would sleep alone in a small room.

There was much work ahead before she could hope to see her fledgling order thrive. Francesca and her Sisters went door to door in Codogno, appealing for donations of furnishings and money. She arranged credit with local merchants for flour, groceries, charcoal, milk, eggs, vegetables, meats and fish. She aimed to furnish the chapel and establish a private school within the house to generate income for supporting orphans. Simultaneously, she began formulating regulations for her Order. Her guiding principles would not consist of a convoluted theological maze or useless mortifications, but would instead focus clearly on imitating Christ. The Institute would embody the spirit of the Holy Family, ensuring all members were equal in love without preference or favoritism. They would wear simple, practical habits that would not hinder their labor. No veil was worn, but only a white bonnet, until Mother Cabrini and her first group of nuns later went to America, at which time they adopted a veil of black, lightweight fabric.

Francesca envisioned each new house as being independent and self-sufficient through begging, subscriptions, soliciting donations, and accepting paying pupils. The Mother Superior of each House would be chosen by Francesca based solely on administrative capability rather than sentimentality. She was resolute about not turning away those who were worthy, regardless of their physical strength. As time passed, more orphans and aspiring nuns sought refuge in her house; within a year of its purchase, it had to be enlarged.

From the outset, the question of what was possible and what was not was set aside. This was not due to any overconfidence; Francesca was naturally unassertive, retiring, and even timid. Rather, it stemmed from her deep faith in God. Almost daily, she would express the words of St. Paul: “I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.” These words became her personal motto and later the guiding principle of the Institute. She encouraged all the Sisters to embrace this same trust, telling them, “None of us will fail if we leave everything in the hands of God. Under Him, the question of possible and impossible ceases to have any meaning.”

It quickly became clear to the nuns at Codogno that they could expect anything to happen. A series of incidents unfolded that, while some could be explained through natural means, hinted at the marvelous—perhaps even the miraculous. Francesca herself refrained from labeling them as miracles, yet she could not prevent the Sisters from viewing them as such. These extraordinary events would continue throughout her life.

On one occasion, a Sister was sent to the kitchen to assist the cook, who was in distress over an empty milk container. The Sister approached Francesca’s room to report the situation and seek guidance. “Are you sure you looked well?” Francesca asked. “Yes, Mother. Sister Frances and I both checked. There isn’t a drop.” Raising her eyes heavenward, Mother Cabrini moved her lips in prayer before smiling and instructing, “Go down and look again more thoroughly this time.” The Sister complied and discovered that the can was filled to the brim.

In another instance, when Francesca learned from a Sister that the bread bin held only a few stale crusts, she said confidently, “You couldn’t have looked properly. Go look again.” The Sister was certain there was no bread left, but obeyed nonetheless—and found the bin overflowing with fresh loaves that they could not account for, since they had no money to purchase bread.

Father Gallone, the provost from the nearby town of Grumello, approached her with a request to open a school in his diocese. The establishment of this first branch of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart brought Francesca nearly as much joy as founding the Mother house in Codogno itself. By 1887, seven houses had blossomed under her guidance. At 37 years old, she felt an increasing impatience to embark on the missionary work she had long envisioned. She confided in Msgr. Serrati about her desire to establish her Institute in Rome and seek approval for missions across far lands. However, Msgr. Serrati hesitated at the enormity of her ambitions and suggested that such extraordinary endeavors should be left for saints.

One night, Francesca dreamt that the Christ Child appeared to her and said: “Francesca, go to Rome.” This gave her the determination to pursue her goal. Despite Msgr. Serrati’s attempts to discourage her, she firmly responded: “Dear and good Msgr. Serrati, I will not be deterred from the Way.” Reluctantly, he penned letters to acquaintances with connections in Rome. On September 24, 1887, Francesca and Sister Serafina boarded a train bound for Rome. As they traveled along the coast, Francesca gazed out at the sea for the first time — an awe-inspiring sight that marked another step in her extraordinary journey. At that moment, her phobia of water disappeared. She now regarded it as a symbol of the enormity of God, and as her road to the missions.

“Francesca, go to Rome!”

Francesca had two primary objectives for her journey to Rome: to secure papal approval for her Institute and to obtain permission to open a House in that city, from which all subsequent operations of the Institute could be directed. Upon arriving in Rome, she quickly learned that the key figure for her ambitions was Cardinal-Vicar Lucido Parocchi. Without delay, she sought an appointment, and after three days of waiting, the important prelate agreed to meet with her.

During their meeting, he questioned her about her Order and her intentions. Her swift and candid responses seemed to please him, eliciting a smile. However, he cautioned her that if he were to grant every fledgling Order’s request, every building in Rome would become an Institute. He graciously reviewed her handful of papers regarding the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart but pointed out significant gaps: where were the letters of recommendation? Where were the financial resources? Could she possibly raise a half-million lire to establish and sustain a Motherhouse in Rome?

“Francesca Cabrini, youthful mother,” he told her, “you are well appreciated in Codogno. Leave to the hands of the strong the foreign missions. Your Institute is too small, its background brief, and it has no money. For now, I suggest that you take your dream back with you to Codogno.”

Standing before him, she replied resolutely, “Forgive me, your Eminence. I will stay in Rome, for I know our Lord will change your heart. I thank you. God bless you.” It was only when she stepped out onto the street that she allowed her tears of disappointment to flow freely.

Thus began Francesca’s exhausting quest for approval and support to establish the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart in Rome. She often went without meals from dawn until dusk, knocking on every ecclesiastical door she could find, waiting hours in ante-chambers, writing letters, and walking endlessly through rain and cold in worn shoes. Despite her tireless efforts, she received little more than cautious advice and discouragement.

Francesca managed to secure a few more meetings with Cardinal Parocchi, who began to admire both the breadth of her vision and the passionate glow of her character. He found it increasingly difficult to resist her fervor. Finally, on the afternoon of October 22, he asked her pointedly, “Now, Francesca Cabrini, will you be obedient?” When she affirmed her willingness, he smiled and said, “Good. Well then, instead of the house you desire here for your missionary sisters, I request you to open two houses! I want you to establish a free school here in Porta Pia and a nursery in the suburb of Aspra. I can equip the schools, but your sisters will have to support themselves and pay rent.”

Overjoyed by this unexpected opportunity, Francesca shared the news with Msgr. Serrati in a letter. He responded enthusiastically, sending her every lire he could gather or borrow. With this support, she rented an unfurnished apartment on Via Nomentana and scoured junk shops and auctions for affordable furnishings. The apartment on Via Nomentana became the Rome Motherhouse for her Institute. Soon after, five of her Daughters arrived from Codogno to join her.

The Cardinal-Vicar Parocchi observed Francesca’s unswerving passion for Christ, as well as her remarkable wisdom and industriousness as she successfully established the schools at Porta Pia and Aspra with limited funds. She became dear to the Cardinal-Vicar, who, unbeknownst to her, highly recommended her at the Vatican. On March 12, 1888, she received a momentous acknowledgment from the Vatican: the recognition and approval of her Institute.

As she embarked on the ambitious project of opening a college in Piacenza, she forged a significant friendship with Bishop Giovanni Scalabrini. This relationship would herald her true mission in life. Bishop Scalabrini was deeply committed to providing moral and spiritual support to the ever-growing tide of Italian emigrants heading to America. The economic crisis of 1887 had prompted the Italian government to encourage emigration, leading to an annual outflow of approximately a quarter of a million people from Central and Southern Italy seeking work in labor-hungry America. Bishop Scalabrini took the emigrant cause to heart. He founded the St. Raphael’s Society, and in 1888, the Congregation of St. Charles Borromeo to minister to the emigrants’ spiritual needs. Two priests and a lay brother had taken over a former Protestant church in New York City, dedicating it to St. Joachim, while five other priests and two lay brothers had gone to South America to work with Italian emigrants there. Although the Bishop was doing what he could, it was pitifully inadequate. But when he met Francesca Cabrini, he recognized in her the ideal person for this mission. He spoke passionately to her about the plight of emigrants, declaring, “America needs your Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart, for there are prodigious works of light to be done.”

He had already spoken with Archbishop Corrigan of New York during a visit to Rome, who expressed a sincere desire for her to come and assist with orphanage work. When he mentioned this to Francesca, she replied, “But New York is too small a place for me.” The Bishop smiled. “Well, you ought to find the whole country of the United States large enough!” But Francesca smiled back and declared, “No, Your Excellency. For me the whole world is too small!”

At last, at the age of 38, Francesca was presented with the opportunity to cross the ocean. Yet, as she contemplated her journey to America, although far from the dark realms of China, Japan, India, and Africa, she felt an unexpected wave of fear wash over her. Uncertain about what lay ahead, she found herself at a crossroads, not knowing what God wanted her to do. However, on the eve of her long-anticipated audience with the Pope, she experienced a vivid dream. In it, her mother appeared alongside several saints and the Virgin Mary. Finally, Jesus Himself came to her, His Sacred Heart glowing with love and reassurance. He urged her gently: “Be courageous and fear not, for I am ever with you, and with Me you can do all things.”

The next morning, Bishop Scalabrini arrived in a carriage. Before he could speak, she shared her dream with him. He laughed joyfully and produced a letter from his pocket. “Here now is the dream you speak of,” he said. “It just came—a letter from New York. Archbishop Corrigan has an orphanage waiting for you there. Now you can actually depart for America!”

When Francesca finally met Pope Leo XIII, he was 78 years old and had been pontiff for ten years. His unique perspective on society encompassed concern for all classes—from the poor and humble to the affluent. He engaged her in conversation about her family, village life, childhood dreams, education, and the founding of her Institute. As he spoke, his demeanor reminded Francesca fondly of her father. He told her with a gentle chuckle that he was already well-acquainted with her story, but enjoyed hearing it from her own lips. He told her, “Sweet daughter, Cardinal Parocchi and others among my good sons tell me your dream of bearing light to the Orient.” He paused before shaking his head slowly. “No,” he said firmly. “The house and family of western civilization must first be put in order. Hundreds of thousands of our Italian souls in America have become lost like battered sheep—isolated from Christ and ordinary decency. The New World cries for the warmth and compassion of a mother’s heart—one tempered by love and sacrifice—the heart of an apostle.” He looked directly at Francesca Cabrini and declared: “You have that very heart. My daughter, your field awaits you not in the East but in the West. Francesca Cabrini, go to America! Plant there and cultivate the beautiful fruit of Christ!”

Back at the Codogno house, excitement filled the air as Francesca Cabrini attended a jubilant Mass celebrated by Bishop Scalabrini, with Monsignor Serrati also in attendance. The atmosphere was charged with joy, yet beneath it lay a current of urgency. Francesca and her six daughters had little time to prepare for their journey to Paris, where they would proceed to La Havre. They hastily packed their few personal belongings before bidding farewell. Bishop Scalabrini, with a warm smile, blessed each of the emigrating missionaries, presenting them with rosaries and crucifixes to carry with them on their new adventure.

On the morning of March 23, 1889, at the port of La Havre, Francesca and her daughters ascended the gangplank of the old French liner, Bourgogne (Burg-O-nya). As soon as the ship set sail, however, her daughters began to succumb to seasickness, one by one. Panic-stricken, they fled to their cabin in search of refuge from the rolling waves, leaving only Mother Cabrini remaining on deck. Were these the brave missionaries she had envisioned for America?

Among the 1,300 passengers aboard, 900 were emigrants crammed below deck in steerage—700 Italians and 200 Swiss. Though her daughters struggled with seasickness, they descended with Francesca into the depths of the ship to mingle with the emigrants. Almost everyone was battling nausea and despair. Yet when she spoke to them in their rich Italian dialect, their spirits lifted; they became animated and welcoming. Some of the men rallied around her, gallantly assisting in comforting the elderly and young children who were suffering.

On March 31, the first glimpse of American land appeared on the horizon. As dusk fell, the ship entered New York Bay. Towering above them stood the Statue of Liberty, silently holding aloft her burning torch—a beacon welcoming all who sought refuge and opportunity in this new land. Francesca Cabrini’s heart swelled with hope as she prepared to embark on her mission among those who needed it most.

Coming in Part Two: The New World – New York, Nicaragua, New Orleans

October 23, 2024

JOSEPHINE BAKHITA: FROM SLAVERY TO SAINTHOOD

To watch the YouTube video, click arrow in thumbnail below:

The inspiring and unforgettable story of the slave who became a saint began around 1869, when she was born in a village in Darfur called Olgossa. It was located on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, in an area of rolling countryside known as Daju (DAH-jshoo). Many streams flowed down from the mountains, creating beautiful, fertile lands on both sides of the streams, surrounding the area with lush greenery. The baby girl’s birth name is unknown, because not even she herself remembered it later. Her father, whose brother was the village chief, was a landowner who had a staff of numerous field laborers and herdsmen to run his large and prosperous farm. The family was economically comfortable, and also very close and loving. The little girl had three brothers and three sisters, including a twin sister. There also were four other siblings who died before she was born. Of her early life she recalled, “I was as happy as could be and didn’t know the meaning of sorrow.”

Although destined to become part of Sudan, Darfur at that time was still a small independent Sultanate, ruled by a tribe called the Fur. Although the Fur had long been Muslim, their subjects did not necessarily share the Muslim faith, and the inhabitants of Olgossa at that time were not Muslim. The little girl had no early structured religious upbringing, but later said, “Seeing the sun, the moon and the stars, the beauties of nature, I asked myself, ‘Who is the owner of all these beautiful things?’ And I felt a great desire to see him, to know him and to pay him homage.”

In the 1800s, Mohammed Ali – no, not THAT one! — a Macedonian soldier in the Ottoman army, seized power in Egypt and forced the Sultan of Constantinople (now Istanbul), to recognize him as governor. He ruled from 1820 to 1849. Because he and his administrative and military leaders spoke Turkish, not Arabic, they were generally referred to as “Turks,” although for the most part they were European Muslims. Starting in 1820, Ali began carving out for himself a huge central African colony in Sudan. Unfortunately, the Turks indulged in heinous crimes in Sudan, unashamedly plundering for the personal enrichment of themselves and Ali. Their main form of profit was slave trading. Although the Muslim Sudanese could not legally be enslaved themselves, they were forced to hand over a large proportion of the slaves in their households and workforce. The only way to reimburse their losses was to abduct large numbers of fresh slaves from among the “un-believers” further south.

After Ali’s death, those who succeeded him, holding the title “Khedive,” wanted to adopt technology and education ideas from Europe, and the prevalence of slavery in the territories became an embarrassment to them. They began introducing anti-slavery measures, as was becoming increasingly common in the Western nations. But they were not effective, because the Sudan area was so large that raiders and traders could usually evade the police patrols. In 1873, the current Sultan of Darfur was defeated and killed in battle by a notorious slave trader named Zubayr. Darfur became part of the Sudanese province, leaving it open to raids by slavers from other parts of Sudan. Children between the ages of 10 to 15 fetched the highest prices on the slave market.

The little girl’s happy childhood began to unravel when she was around five years old. As she describes it: “One day, my mother decided to go out into the country where we had many fields full of crops and herds of cattle, to see if all the workmen were attending to the tasks. She wanted all of us children to go with her. But my eldest sister, who wasn’t feeling well, asked if she could stay home with our little sister, and Mummy agreed. While we were out in the field, we heard a great commotion: lots of shouting, and people running to and fro. Everyone immediately guessed what it must be — slavers raiding the village.”

They ran back home to find her twin sister crying hysterically and shaking with terror. She had hidden behind a wall, eluding the raiders, but her older sister had been taken. They were never able to find her.

About two years later, when the little girl was 7, she and her friend, who was a few years older, set out to walk in the fields near their home. After playing for a while, they began to gather herbs, when suddenly they were startled by two armed men emerging from behind a hedge. Wishing to get the older girl out of the way, they told her to keep walking and that her friend would rejoin her in a couple of minutes. They then instructed the little girl to go into the woods and fetch a package for them. Innocent child that she was, and used to obeying adults, the little girl did not suspect anything and went to do as she was told. Once she was in the woods, the men came up behind her. One of them grabbed her roughly, pulled a big knife from his belt, and told her, “If you shout, you’re dead! Come with us!” The other man pushed her forward, holding a gun to her back. The trembling child was so petrified that she could not even scream or speak. They forced her to walk until evening. Exhausted, her feet and legs bleeding from the sharp stones and thorn bushes, she sobbed pitifully, but the cruel men were unmoved by her tears.

At one point, one of the men asked her name. She tried to answer him, but no words would come. In her great stress and terror, she could not even recall her name. Impatiently, the other man snapped at her, “From now on your name is Bakhita. Don’t forget it!” Bakhita, which means “lucky” or “fortunate,” was a common name for slaves. They were often given names with positive connotations, as exemplified by the early Christian martyr Felicity, whose slave name meant “happiness.” The name Bakhita initially seemed a cruel irony, given the immense suffering she would endure. However, in hindsight, this name proved remarkably fitting, as it foreshadowed the profound grace and spiritual fortune she would ultimately find through her faith.

When they arrived at their destination, one of the men dragged Bakhita into a storeroom full of tools and other broken bits of equipment. There was nothing for her to lie on except the bare ground. Giving her a piece of black bread, he ordered, “Stay here,” then went out and locked the door behind him. Bakhita remained in that room for over a month. The only light coming in was from a very small window high up near the ceiling. Every so often the door would open briefly and scraps of food would be thrown in for her. Bakhita’s suffering in that horrible place was indescribable. She would cry until she fainted from exhaustion, then dream that she was among her family once again or happily playing with her friends in the fields. When she woke up in that harsh and lonely place, the heartbreak and despair were almost more than she could bear.

One morning, Bakhita was taken from the room and sold to a slave merchant, who put her in a caravan with some other slaves. As they set out on the road, seeing the countryside, the sky and water, and breathing the fresh air, Bakhita felt a little better, although her future was frightening and uncertain. The journey lasted eight days on foot. Upon arriving at the slave market, Bakhita and another little girl about her age began to plot to escape. Their captor’s routine was to put them in a separate room and shut the door. One evening, he came back to the market leading a mule laden with corn. He removed the girls’ chains and told them to husk the corncobs and feed some of them to the mule. He went away in a hurry, forgetting to close the door. Alone and free from the chains, it was the moment they had been waiting for. They fled into the open countryside, running all night as fast as they could, terrified not only of being recaptured, but because in the darkness they could hear the roaring of wild animals. Whenever the sound was closer, they climbed up into the trees for safety. When they heard approaching caravans, they would hide behind the thorn bushes. In Bakhita’s words, “For a good two hours, one group after the other passed just in front of us, but nobody saw us. It was the good God who protected us, nobody else.”

One night, the two girls were lost in the pitch-dark forest, surrounded by danger from wild beasts, not knowing in which direction to continue. Suddenly, Bakhita saw a form of light appear in the night sky above her. It was smiling down at her and pointing out the way they should go. The girls walked as directed, and as dawn approached, the apparition vanished. It was only much later in life that Bakhita realized the vision had been her Guardian Angel, who had led her in the path chosen by God, which — though not right away — ultimately would lead to her greatest good.

At sunset, they saw a cabin. As they approached, a man came up to them and asked where they were going. They replied, “To our parents.” When he pressed them as to where their parents were, they couldn’t answer. Realizing they were runaways, he told them, “Come and rest a bit. Then I’ll take you to your parents.” Entering the cabin, he gave them some water and left them alone so they could sleep. A little while later, he woke them up, gave them food and water, and put them into a big sheepfold. He put down a string bed, and fastened the two girls together by the feet with a heavy chain, telling them to stay there until further notice. As Bakhita later described it, “That was that – we were slaves again.…We cried and cried. He left us there among the sheep and lambs for several days, until a slave merchant passed, and took us out of the sheepfold and sold us to him. We had to walk a long way before rejoining the caravan. Imagine our surprise when we saw, among the slaves, some who had belonged to the master we’d escaped from! They told us how furious he’d been, and what a hue and cry there was when we weren’t found. He was blaming and hitting out at everyone he met, and threatening to cut us into pieces if he found us. Now I understand more and more the goodness of the Lord, who saved me then so miraculously.”

Bakhita and her companion were taken to El Obeid, the provincial capital of Kordofan. By this point, Bakhita had traveled almost 600 miles from the day of her abduction. The girls were taken into the household of the Arab chief, a wealthy man who owned many slaves. There Bakhita quickly became fluent in Arabic and eventually forgot her original language. The girls were assigned as handmaids to the ladies of the household and the chief’s daughters, who liked them and treated them kindly, making sure they lacked nothing. However, one day Bakhita committed a fault in the eyes of the master’s son. The exact nature of the transgression isn’t detailed in historical records, but it is believed to have been a minor offense, such as breaking a vase. Seizing a whip, he flogged and kicked her so badly she was confined to her sleeping mat for more than a month.

Three months later, she was sold to a Turkish Army General. She and another young girl were put to work as handmaids to his wife and his elderly mother, both of them heartless women who insisted that the girls never leave them even for a moment. If, because of lack of rest, they made any little mistake, they were whipped unmercifully. Years later, Bakhita recalled, “The whole three years I was in their service, I don’t recall having got through a single day without a beating. No sooner did my wounds heal than more lashes rained down on my back – without my even knowing why.” Once, overhearing Bakhita telling her companion about her escape from her first captor, the General’s daughter made Bakhita wear a big chain on her foot for over a month

One of the worst cruelties Bakhita ever had to endure had to do with the custom of slaves wearing designs or patterns cut into their bodies, a crude form of tatooing. Bakhita’s mistress decided to make “a gift” of these tatoos to those of her slaves who didn’t already have them – Bakhita and two others.

One of the most horrific experiences Bakhita endured was a brutal form of scarification, a practice common among slave owners in Sudan at the time. Her mistress decided to inflict this “gift” upon Bakhita and two other slaves who had not yet been marked in this way. A woman who was an expert in this hideous practice arrived. She took them to the porch, while the mistress stood behind them, holding a whip. The woman had a dish of white flour, a dish of salt, and a razor. Bakhita was made to lie down on the mat. The woman, who was ordered to spare her face, started off by using the flour to mark six designs on Bakhita’s chest, 60 on her belly and 48 on her right arm. Then, the woman cut into the designs with the razor. Once the cuts were made, salt was rubbed into them to produce scarring. Needless to say, the ritual was excruciating. Bakhita was left in a state of semi-consciousness for hours after the procedure, barely able to move due to the intense pain. No one tended to her wounds or provided any form of medical care. For weeks, she remained confined to her sleeping mat, enduring constant pain and discomfort. The scars remained with Bakhita for the rest of her life, and the experience remained one of the most terrifying memories from her time in captivity.

Eventually, the General decided to move back to Turkey. He selected 10 slaves, including Bakhita, and sold off the rest. They left Kordofan and traveled by camel to Khartoum, where they were put up at an inn. The General spread the word that he had slaves for sale. The Italian consular agent, named Calisto Legnani came over one day, and Bakhita was told to bring him coffee. The next day, Bakhita went to live in the Legnani household. Calisto Legnani was a kind man and took a great liking to Bakhita. Her duties were to help the housekeeper with domestic work. She always claimed that she was very happy in his service. Even though there was a Catholic mission in Khartoum, which Calisto frequently visited, Bakhita never knew of it and had never heard about Christianity.

In 1884, with civil unrest brewing in the area, Legnani was planning another trip to Italy. In Bakhita’s own words: “I don’t know why, but when I heard the name ‘Italy,’ although I knew nothing of its beauty and charm, a keen desire sprang up in my heart to accompany him. He liked me so much, I dared to ask him to take me to Italy with him.…He agreed, to please me. It was God who wished it, I realized later. I can still feel the joy I experienced at that moment.” Calisto, his friend Augusto Michieli, Bakhita, and a young black boy, all rode on camels in a caravan. After a few days journey, they reached Suakin, where they stayed for several weeks before boarding a ship for Genoa. While in Suakin, the news reached them that a gang of rebels had invaded Khartoum, wreaking havoc by vandalizing property, pillaging, looting, and stealing all the slaves. Bakhita realized that if she had stayed there, she, too, would have been stolen, and who knows what her fate would have been? She remained forever thankful to the Lord for having saved her yet again.

In Genoa, Augusto Michieli’s wife, Maria Turina, came to see her husband at the guesthouse where they were staying. After meeting Bakhita, Maria expressed a wish to have someone like her in her own household. Subsequently, before he left for Padua, Legnani entrusted Bakhita to the Michielis. Bakhita never saw him again. She and the Michielis made their way to the family home in a village called Zianigo, a short distance from Venice. There Bakhita was nurse to their little daughter, Alice Alessandrina Augusta, nicknamed “Mimmina.” As Bakhita later wrote: “The baby came to love me dearly, and I naturally came to feel a similar affection for her.”

Augosto Michieli returned to Suakin to open a hotel. Bakhita and the rest of the family remained in Italy for three years, until at the end of 1886, Augusto sent for them all to join him. The empty house in Italy was left in the hands of the local agent, Illuminato Checchini. Maria, Bakhita and Mimmina remained in Suakin for 9 months. When the decision was made to make it their permanent residence, Maria needed to return to Italy to sell the property there and pack up the furniture. She took Bakhita and Mimmina with her. As Bakhita later wrote: “Then I bade in my heart an eternal farewell to Africa. An inner voice told me I would never see it again.”

The agent Checchini often visited the house to assist and advise Maria in the selling of the property. He was shocked to learn that Bakhita had never been given any religious instruction, and asked the housekeeper to say prayers with Bakhita every morning. The prayers, said either in Italian or Latin, would have meant nothing to Bakhita, but Maria still was annoyed by it. She didn’t want Illuminato “upsetting the servants.” Neither she nor Augusto were religious; furthermore, she wasn’t Italian, but Russian, and claimed to be an atheist, like many upper-class Russians of that era. Illuminato, on the other hand, was the son of a village cart maker and not of the upper class. Renowned for his excellent guidance, he was instrumental in counseling the affluent and advocating for savings banks and mutual insurance societies. He was a deeply religious man and used to play the organ in his home parish of Salzano. He was great friends with the parish priest there, Father Guiseppe Sarto, and they kept in touch even after Illuminato moved away from Salzano.

One day, while visiting the Michieli house, Illuminato gave Bakhita a little silver crucifix. “Giving me the crucifix, he kissed it with devotion,” Bakhita later wrote, “then explained to me that Jesus Christ, Son of God, died for us. I didn’t know what it was, but impelled by a mysterious force, I hid it, in case my mistress took it off me. Before then I had never hidden anything, because I was never attached to anything. I remember how I used to look at it in secret, and feel inside myself something I couldn’t explain.”

Within a year, Maria Turina had sold off the property, but there was still some unfinished business remaining. She missed her husband, however, so she decided to travel out to Africa to spend some time with him. Since she didn’t plan to stay long, she decided it would be best to leave Bakhita and Mimmina in Italy during her absence. She asked Illuminato for advice as to where they could stay while she was gone, perhaps a boarding school where Bakhita could receive some education. By this time, Bakhita was 20 years old and had never had any schooling. Illuminato suggested the Catechumenate in Venice, run by the Canossian Sisters, who also had a convent in a nearby village. Maria, knowing how respectable these nuns were, felt reassured that the two girls would be properly looked after, and insisted that they not be separated. Illuminato offered to negotiate all the arrangements, and also personally guaranteed to cover all expenses in the event that there was any difficulty once Maria Turina left the country.

In Bakhita’s words: “When my mistress accompanied me to the Institute, she turned around on the doorstep to bid me goodbye and said: ‘There, that is your home now.’ She said this without having any idea what she was really saying. Oh, if she had realized what was going to happen, she’d never have brought me there! I was entrusted, together with the baby, to a Sister who was well experienced in instructing catechumens, Maria Fabbretti. Tears come to my eyes whenever I think of all the care she took of me. She asked if it was my desire to become a Christian and, hearing that I did desire it and had come with that intention, she was filled with joy. Then those holy Mothers instructed me with heroic patience, and brought me into a relationship with that God whom, ever since I was a child, I had felt in my heart without knowing who He was.”

The nuns faced challenges with Bakhita. Though she was obedient, cooperative, and eager to learn, she communicated only in a fractured blend of standard Italian and the local dialect. She struggled to understand anything beyond practical matters. All instructions had to be delivered verbally or illustrated through pictures, as she could not read books.

It wasn’t long before a little girl who lived across the street, 6-year-old Giulia Della Fonte, began coming over to play with Mimmina. She was fascinated by the kind Black nursemaid, who always smiled but didn’t look truly happy. Actually, at the time, Bakhita would have said she had been happy ever since arriving at the Legnani’s house in Khartoum. But despite her present fortunate circumstances, the horrific experiences she had endured had left her spirit crushed, and it wasn’t so easy to just dismiss the memories. But now she was hopeful that her spirit could be healed. She knew that with God there were no language barriers, and she could talk openly to Him about whatever was in her heart. She spent a lot of her free time in prayer, either in front of the large crucifix in the downstairs parlor, or in the domestic chapel where a statue of Our Lady of La Salette had been installed. She also would go with Mimmina to the nearby church of Our Lady of Health, where there was an old icon of the Madonna and Child. As is the case with so many of Europe’s venerated Marian icons, the figures depicted in it were black, making them even easier for Bakhita to relate to. She had a great devotion to Mary. “The Blessed Virgin protected me, even when I did not know her,” she later recalled. “Even in the depths of discouragement and sadness, when I was a slave, I never despaired, because I felt in me a mysterious force that supported me. ”

The year passed happily for Bakhita. Then, on Nov. 27, 1889, Maria Turina came back to Italy, announcing that Mimmina and Bakhita would travel back with her to Africa to live permanently, where Bakhita would have a new job tending the family’s hotel bar in Suakin. But Bakhita refused, much to everyone’s surprise, including her own, because she had never before refused to obey an order. “I refused to go with her to Africa because I was not yet well enough instructed to be baptized,” she wrote. “I also thought that, even if I had been baptized, it wouldn’t be easy to practice my new religion there, and therefore it was better for me to stay with the Sisters.” Needless to say, Maria was not pleased. She angrily reminded Bakhita of everything the Michieli’s had done for her. In those days, young women were not allowed to make their own decisions about their lives. They either had to defer to their parents, or in the case of a servant with no family of her own, her employers. Bakhita didn’t blame Maria Turina for her attitude. She knew it was justified, because they really had treated her kindly and had tried very hard to do what they thought was best for her. Also, she loved the family, especially little Mimmina. Feeling emotionally torn, she was tempted to give in, but in her heart she felt that it wasn’t so much about doing what she wanted with her life, but about her loyalty to God, who had protected and guided her so well thus far.

After Maria Turina stormed out, Bakhita spent a long time praying in front of the crucifix in the parlor. “It made me suffer to see her so disgusted with me, because I really liked her,” she later said. “It was our Lord who gave me strength to be so firm about it, because he wanted to make me his. How good he is!”

Even the nuns tried to persuade her at first to do what Maria wanted, even though they would have liked Bakhita to stay with them. But Bakhita insisted, “No. I won’t leave the house of Our Lord. It would be the ruin of me.” They didn’t quite understand this, because there was a Catholic mission in Suakin, and she would have access to all the Sacraments. But Bakhita knew that she would not be able to live her Christian beliefs to their fullest in an irreligious household in a non-Christian country. Father Jacopo, Rector of the Catechumenate, didn’t know what to do, so he wrote to the Patriarch of Venice, Domenico Agostini. He in turn sought advice from the Royal Procurator, who said that slavery did not exist in Italy, and therefore, Bakhita was not a slave but a free woman.

A meeting was held in the parlor of the Catechumenate on Nov. 29. Bakhita related the events this way: “The Patriarch spoke first. There followed a long discussion, which concluded in my favor. Mrs. Turina, weeping with rage and disappointment, seized the child, who didn’t want to be separated from me and was clinging to me to try to make me come. I was so upset, I couldn’t say a word. I left them weeping and went out, satisfied that I hadn’t given in.” The next day, Bakhita sat alone in her room, crying profusely. Mimmina had gone away to Africa, and she would never see her again.

On January 9, 1890, in the church of St. John the Baptist, Bakhita was baptized. Illuminato Checchini and his family were there, along with little Giulia, her mother and aunt. Some members of the old Venetian nobility were also present. Her godparents were Count Marco Avogrado di Soranzo and Lady Margherita Donati. It was decided that her baptismal name would be Guiseppina Margherita Fortunato. She was named Guissepina (Italian for Josephine) for the Countess, her godfather’s wife; Margherita for her godmother; and Fortunato as the Latin translation of her Arabic name, Bakhita. She was also confirmed and given her First Communion by the Patriarch on that same day. Bakhita stayed close to little Giulia during the reception afterwards, both of them feeling shy and overawed. When everyone else had gone home, Father Jacopo invited the girls to join him for lunch in his quarters. Bakhita was now transfigured with joy, her face radiant. Giulia thought, “This must be what a saint looks like,” and kissed Bakhita’s hands repeatedly. Knowing that she was loved by the Lord and belonged to Him made all the pain and sorrow of Bakhita’s past shrink into insignificance. She understood that the Lord had always been there, watching over her and guiding her. She knew that the suffering had had a Divine purpose. Even if she couldn’t understand it, she trusted God in his wisdom.

Bakhita remained at the Catechumenate for a whole year following baptism, as was traditional for newcomers. Giulia continued to visit her, and Illuminato also kept in touch. He assured her that as soon as she was ready to resume normal life, he would welcome her into his family as an honorary daughter. She would have a dowry settled on her and could look forward to favorable marriage opportunities. But when the end of the year came, Bakhita wanted to remain with the Sisters. They agreed, and she lived there until the summer of 1893. As she later wrote: “I stayed in the Catechumenate for four years, during which time I was hearing more and more clearly in the depths of my soul a gentle voice drawing me to want to become a Sister myself. In the end I spoke about it to my confessor. He suggested that I should speak to the Superior, Sister Luigia Bottesella, who wrote to the Superior of the Motherhouse in Verona, Mother Anna Previtali. That good Mother not only agreed to my request, but added that she herself wished to have the satisfaction of clothing me in the holy habit and, in due course, to receive my profession.”

It was traditional for women wishing to join the Order to confirm their vocation by returning to the world for a brief period. Bakhita spent three months with the Checchini family in Zianigo. Although she enjoyed it very much, she had no doubts about her future life path. She entered the novitiate in the House of Catechumens in Venice on December 7, 1893. A year later, she was called to Verona to be clothed in the habit of the Canossians. As was customary before taking religious vows, the candidate would be interviewed to confirm that they had the maturity to make a free choice and had not been pressured in any way. Bakhita’s examination was conducted by the Patriarch of Venice, who was now Illuminato’s former parish priest, Guiseppe Sarto. He told her, “Don’t have any fears about taking your holy vows. Jesus wants you, Jesus loves you. And you are to love him and serve him always in the same way.”

Taking the name Sister Josephine Margaret Fortunata, Bakhita professed her sacred vows in Verona on December 8, 1896, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. This turned out to be perfect timing, allowing Mother Previtali to witness the ceremony as she had hoped, because she passed away just a month later, on Jan. 11. Bakhita was given the medallion of Our Lady of Sorrows by the Reverend Mother Superior, and received into the community. The Checchinis attended the ceremony. Bakhita considered them family, and even after Illuminato’s death, she never lost touch with his children and grandchildren. After the ceremony, she was given a tour of the ancestral mansion of the Canossa family, the foundress’ childhood home, and met her nephew, 87-year-old Bishop Luigi di Canossa, who was eager to meet this new member of his aunt’s congregation.

For the next six years, Sister Josephine continued to live quietly at the Catechumenate in Venice. She helped out with the cooking and cleaning, and sometimes supervised the little schoolgirls. But her most frequent activity was handcrafting articles for sale to help fund the overseas missions. This consisted of simple embroidery, handloom-weaving, and beadwork using locally-made colored glass beads. She loved the beadwork, and it became a hobby that she continued throughout her life. She made little items as gifts for friends, who cherished them because they knew all the love that went into making them. She also helped embroider vestments and altar cloths. By now she had learned some basic reading and writing, although she only read her prayer book, the Canossian rule, and probably also the Gospels, because she came to know them so well.

In accordance with the wishes of Patriarch Sarto, she was moved in 1902 to the Canossian House in Schio, about 60 miles from Venice. When told of this transfer she smiled and said “We’re always in the house of Our Lord.” The following year, Giuseppe Sarto was elected Pope, taking the name Pius X. Schio was Sister Josephine’s home for the rest of her life, except for temporary transfers. She was appointed assistant cook, and in 1907 she was promoted to head cook. She saw it as a service of charity and did her best to produce delicious meals. She cheerfully put in the extra work to make special menus for invalids, and she always kept meals hot for the Sisters whose work prevented them from eating at the regular meal times. In 1910, her Superior requested that she dictate an account of her life to be written down by one of the other Sisters.

In May 1915, Italy came into the First World War on the Allied side. One night in May 1916, some wounded soldiers from the front reached Schio. An officer knocked on the door of the convent to ask if room could be made for them. The house was soon turned into a field hospital. Most of the nuns were transferred to Mirano, but Sister Josephine stayed on as head cook, with soldier-orderlies now working under her direction in the kitchen. She also sometimes helped with the nursing. Once, when a man was brought in with a fractured skull, there was not enough bedding, so she ran to get her own pillow for him to lie on.

The patients loved talking to her and hearing her fascinating life story. She spoke to them about God, would not tolerate bad language, and always reminded them to go to confession. Not all of the soldiers appreciated this, and one day some of the orderlies decided to play a prank on her. As she walked past, they suddenly set off an ear-piercing alarm, but she did not react. They asked in astonishment, “Aren’t you afraid of death?” She replied “Anyone whose soul is in the right place doesn’t have to be afraid.” As the war continued, everyone was on edge. Sister Josephine was almost arrested one day while out walking with Mother Superior, because the military policeman assumed that anyone who was not a native Italian was automatically a spy. On November 3, 1918, hostilities formally came to an end.

Sister Josephine fell seriously ill with pneumonia in 1922. She was so sick that the doctor advised the Sisters to call the priest, and she was given Last Rites. But a few days later she rallied and began to recover. When the doctor told her she was out of danger, she replied, “What a pity! When I was already so well on the way out, it would’ve been better to keep going. Now I’ll have to do it all again!” She was relieved of her post as head cook and giving lighter work as the portress, admitting into the school the mothers and their children, dealing with delivery men, contractors, and general callers. People loved to invent excuses to drop in to see her. She had the gift of making everyone feel like they’d known her all their lives, even after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Because she had suffered so much in her own life, she always understood when people poured out their sorrows and worries to her. They knew they could draw courage and fortitude from talking with her.  She was fond of saying, “In God’s will, there is great peace.”

Sister Josephine took her perpetual vows in August 1927 in the Canossian House in Milano. She was temporarily assigned to another of the congregation’s Venice houses in 1930, where she was interviewed about her life story by Ida Zanolini. It was published as “Storia meravigliosa,” which translates to “A Marvelous Story”. It was wildly popular in Italy, selling for the price of two lire a copy, and was translated into other languages as well. People began traveling to Schio to meet Sister Josephine. One day, she was called to the parlor to receive visitors at a particularly inconvenient time during recreation. She quipped dryly, “Mother, if it cost two lire to read me, how much does it cost to see me?” She always received the visitors with humility and courtesy, but never viewed her fame as anything but a nuisance.

In 1932, her superiors asked her to go on tour around the towns and villages of northern and central Italy for a series of publicity and fundraising events to support the Congregation’s foreign missions. Because Sister Josephine froze up in front of large audiences, and her Italian was not good enough for formal speeches, she was paired with Sister Leopoldina Benetti, an experienced missionary who had spent 35 years in China. Mother Benetti would deliver a talk on the missions and recount “The Marvelous Story” while Sister Josephine sat quietly next to her on the platform. At the end, Mother Benetti would turn to her and ask her to say a few words. Sister Josephine would stand up and thank everyone for coming, and say simply “Be good. Love our Lord. Pray for those who do not yet know him. It’s such a great grace to know God!”

In late 1936 she had an audience with Pope Pius XI in Rome. This marked the culmination of her mission promotion campaign — much to her relief, as she had not enjoyed it. Despite the overwhelming popularity of the presentations, which caused massive traffic jams in every town where they took place, Sister Josephine found it challenging to stand before large crowds without forming personal connections. She greatly preferred one-on-one interactions.

Thanks to the efforts of Fathers Oliveieri and Verri, Italian priests who worked to ransom young women from slavery, several other Black Sudanese nuns found their way to northern Italy. Sister Josephine met one of them, Sister Maria Agostino, a Visitation nun residing in a cloister in Soresina. As they exchanged stories, they were astonished by the striking similarities in their childhood experiences. Sister Maria, a few years older than Sister Josephine, was the same age as Josephine’s kidnapped older sister would have been. She also had been captured and sold into slavery, before being ransomed by an Italian, Father Blaise Verri. After receiving care from the Visitation nuns, she chose to join their Order. The two nuns felt a deep connection, believing they were long-lost sisters reunited. As they parted ways, they comforted each other with the promise that they would meet again in heaven. Sister Maria Agostina passed away at the age of 80, shortly before Sister Josephine’s own death.

Sister Josephine was never annoyed by curiosity about her color, even when expressed in ignorant ways. The townspeople called her “Madre Moretta,” which roughly translates to “Black Mother.” They did not mean this in any derogatory way; it was a term of endearment. But when “The Marvelous Story” was published, she did not like the fuss that was made over her and was upset that, after hearing her story, people would pity her. She felt that they were missing the point, not understanding that the story had a happy ending, because all of it had been for a purpose. “I’m not a ‘poor,’ thing, because I belong to the Master, and I’m in his house,” she would exclaim. “People who don’t know our Lord — they’re the ones who are poor!”

In researching St. Josephine Bakhita’s life story, the one thing that amazed me the most was her capacity for forgiveness. When a fellow Sister once expressed righteous anger against the wicked people who had tormented Bakhita, she placed a finger on her lips and said, “Shhh…poor things, they weren’t wicked. They didn’t know God. And also, maybe they didn’t realize how much they were hurting me.…I pray for them a lot, that Our Lord, who has been so very good and generous to me, will be the same with them, and bring them all to conversion and salvation.” Whenever people asked her what she would do if she ever met her captors again, she had always replied “If I were to meet those who kidnapped me, or even those who tortured me, I would kneel down and kiss their hands. Because, if those things had not happened, I would not have become a Christian I would not be a sister today.”

It’s also quite possible that we wouldn’t be honoring her as a saint today if not for her early, harrowing experiences. However, it’s rare to find someone who can extend that sort of forgiveness and compassion towards those who inflicted such immense suffering upon them. One of the requirements for canonization is the demonstration of “heroic virtue” during one’s lifetime. In my view, St. Josephine Bakhita’s extraordinary ability to forgive exemplifies true heroism.

Whenever she met visitors to the House who were the parents of prospective missionaries, Sister Josephine could see that many of them were uneasy about their daughter’s choice. But she would say to them, “How many thousands of people in Africa would be brought to the faith, if only there were missionaries to tell them that God loves them, and that Jesus Christ died for them!” It was because of these people in Africa that she herself put up with going on tour. She would say, “Let’s hope it will help the missions, and especially my missions, and it doesn’t matter to me that I’ll never see them on this earth, because I’ll see them in heaven.” She knew she was fulfilling God’s will and making her own contribution simply by offering up her sufferings in humble obedience. She once told a heartbroken novice who was unable to be a missionary because of poor health, “Courage! You and I will both of us be saints and missionaries, and save many souls, by staying here.”

Sister Josephine stayed on at the Canossian house in Vimercate for two more years, then returned to Schio for good at the end of 1938. She was suffering from arthritis and the long-term effects of the brutal treatment she had suffered in her youth. After a bad fall in 1942, she needed a cane to walk, and by the following year was in a wheelchair. One day, a Bishop who was visiting the convent asked her what she was doing while sitting in her wheelchair. With a  cheerful smile, she answered, “I’m doing what you yourself are doing: the will of God.”

As World War II raged and bombs began to fall over Italy, the townspeople were frightened. But Sister Josephine reassured them, “No, don’t worry. Schio will be spared.” She refused to take cover in the air-raid shelter, saying, “No, no, our Lord saved me from the lions and panthers; do you think he can’t save me from the bombs?” Her prediction turned out to be correct. Bridges and military targets in the surrounding area were bombed, and at one point, 50 bombs dropped on the outskirts of town but failed to explode. One wing of the textile mill was destroyed, and some workers died. But the houses of Schio remained untouched at the end of the war.

By 1945, Sister Josephine was mostly confined to bed, because her health had declined so badly. “I’m going slowly, slowly, step by step to eternity,” she said. “Jesus is my captain and I am his assistant. I have to carry the suitcases. One contains my debts, the other, heavier, the infinite merits of Jesus. What shall I do in the court of God? I will cover my debts with the merits of Jesus, and I will say to the Eternal Father, ‘Now judge what you see.’ In heaven, I will go with Jesus and I will obtain many graces. I will come visit you in your dreams if the ‘Master’ allows me. In paradise, I will have power and I will obtain many graces for all.”

She was too sick to go to Mass, but said that her Guardian Angel would attend for her. Although she took a lot of prescribed medications, they didn’t do much for her pain. When asked about it, she would reply, “As our Lord wishes – it’s up to Him to decide.” She refused to wake the Infirmarian at night when she couldn’t sleep. “Why should I disturb the sleep of those who need to sleep?” she would say. “I can rest later, but that Mother has work to do during the day. Anyway, if I suffer a bit it doesn’t matter. I owe our Lord so much that what I offer him is nothing.”

At 11 AM on February 8, 1947, the priest came and asked her if she wanted to receive communion. She replied, “I’d better, because afterwards there will be no point….I’m going to heaven.” Toward evening, apparently reliving the tortures of her youth, she told the infirmarian, “The chains on my feet are so heavy!” The Infirmarian lifted away the bedcovers to give her some relief. Sister Josephine said, “That’s fine. Now I must go over there, to St. Peter.” The other Sister thought she meant the Cathedral, but Sister Josephine corrected, “No, not that St. Peter’s there, but St. Peter in heaven. I’ll introduce myself to him and ask him to call the Madonna to me.” The Sister told her that it was Saturday, the day of the Blessed Mother. Sister Josephine replied, “Yes, I am so happy….Our Lady, Our Lady.” At that moment, her eyes shifted and she broke out into a radiant smile, as if seeing a vision of the Heavenly Mother. “Look, look!” She exclaimed. “You’re here? Come, come, let’s go to the foundress….So, when I’m there I will not have to go away again and I’ll be there forever.” With that, she closed her eyes and passed into the next life.

The next morning, Sister Josephine’s body was laid out in an open coffin at the convent, so that the townspeople could pay their respects. The first visitor was an unemployed workman, who approached the coffin, removed his hat, and asked Sr. Josephine for help in finding a job, because he and his family were destitute. After leaving, he went to the Rossi textile mills and spoke to the foreman, who immediately gave him a job. Soon, despite the snow and ice on the ground, a long line formed to view the body of the beloved Mother Moretta. Some of them furtively cut off pieces of her habit or locks of her hair. Others touched their personal belongings, such as watches or rings, to her body for a few seconds, taking them home to cherish as blessed relics. She often had said that when she was dead, she “would not scare anyone.” Indeed, the children were not frightened of her, because she didn’t seem dead to them – she just lay there smiling peacefully, as if asleep. A large number of workmen from the Rossi textile mills came to see her when the factory closed for the day. After her funeral, a procession of nearly a mile long made its way to the cemetery where she would be laid to rest.

Josephine Margaret Bakhita was beatified in 1992. One of the miracles that led to her canonization involved a Brazilian woman with advanced diabetes, who was in danger of having her legs amputated due to severely infected wounds. After praying to Josephine Bakhita in the cathedral of Santos, Brazil, her wounds completely disappeared. This medically-unexplainable healing was later recognized by the Church as a miraculous event. Saint Josephine Bakhita was canonized on Oct. 1, 2000. Her feast day is celebrated on February 8th. She is the patron saint of Sudan and victims of modern slavery and human trafficking.

At her canonization Mass, Pope John Paul II said: “Abducted and sold into slavery at the tender age of seven, she suffered much at the hands of cruel masters. But she came to understand the profound truth that God, and not man, is the true Master of every human being, of every human life.…This experience became a source of great wisdom for this humble daughter of Africa. In today’s world, countless women continue to be victimized, even in developed modern societies. In Saint Josephine Bakhita we find a shining advocate of genuine emancipation. The history of her life inspires not passive acceptance, but the firm resolve to work effectively to free girls and women from oppression and violence, and to return them to their dignity in the full exercise of their rights.”

♥♥♥

September 21, 2024

THE BLESSED FAMILY OF ASSISI

The Family of St. Clare

To watch the YouTube video, click arrow in thumbnail below:

The Offreduccio clan of Assisi, the family of St. Clare, didn’t just produce ONE saint – they gave the world an entire holy dynasty! This family certainly carried the holiness gene – sanctity seemed to permeate their DNA!😇

In this post, we’ll explore the surprising spiritual journeys of Clare’s mother, two sisters, an aunt, and a cousin. Learn how this remarkable wealthy and noble family embraced poverty and revolutionized religious life in medieval Italy. From midnight escapes to miracle healings, their story is filled with drama, devotion, and Divine inspiration.

BLESSED ORTOLANA OF ASSISI

Ortolana Offreduccio knelt in the tranquil embrace of the church, the cool air wrapping around her like a comforting shawl. Her gaze drifted to the statue of the Blessed Virgin nestled in the alcove to her left, then shifted to the crucifix looming above the altar. It was the Fall of 1193, a time of joy and trepidation, for she had recently discovered she was with child. The news brought exhilaration to her and her husband, Favarone, yet a flutter of anxiety stirred within her. Childbirth in those days was fraught with peril, often claiming the lives of both mother and infant.

In the stillness, with only the flickering candlelight to accompany her, Ortolana placed a gentle hand on her barely noticeable belly, closed her eyes, and offered a heartfelt prayer to Jesus and His Blessed Mother, beseeching for a safe delivery and a healthy child. Just then, a voice broke the silence, soothing and resonant: “Fear not, for you will safely give birth to a light which will shine on all the earth.” Startled, she opened her eyes and scanned the empty church. Soon realizing the voice was of Divine origin, her worries dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of peace that enveloped her throughout her pregnancy.

Born into the noble Fiumi family, Ortolana (sometimes called Hortulana) was a descendant of a lineage of knights and was raised with deep Catholic faith and piety. Before her marriage, she embarked on numerous pilgrimages to sacred sites, including Rome and the Shrine of Archangel Michael on Mount Gargano in southeastern Italy. Pilgrimages in those days typically included a retinue of nobles, knights, and their attendants. Among her companions was a woman named Pacifica, described by some as a friend, though it remains uncertain if she was the same Pacifica who was Clare’s cousin. Ortolana and Pacifica even ventured to the Holy Land, a perilous but not uncommon undertaking in the wake of the Crusades, fully aware of the dangers that lay ahead on their journey.

Upon her return from her pilgrimages, Ortolana married the man chosen by her parents: Sir Favarone Scifi de Offreduccio, a knight hailing from one of Assisi’s most esteemed noble families. In her new life in Favarone’s elegant palace, Ortolana embodied kindness, love, and loyal devotion as a wife, nurturing her faith with the same fervor she had shown on her journeys.

On July 16, 1194, joy filled the household as she welcomed a beautiful, golden-haired baby girl into the world. As she gazed into her daughter’s innocent face, memories of the heavenly words she had heard in church months earlier, proclaiming her child to be a “light to the world,” echoed in her mind. In that moment, she decided to name her daughter “Chiara,” the Italian form of Clare, which means “clear, bright, and shining.”

Ortolana and Baby Chiara (Clare)

Ortolana’s family soon expanded with the arrival of four more children: Don Boso, Penenda, Agnes, and Beatrice. True to her name, which means “the gardener,” she lovingly referred to Clare and her other daughters as “her little plants.” Years later, Clare would embrace the title of “the little plant” of St. Francis, who, as she described, “took so much care, through his words and through his works” to “cultivate and make it grow.”

However, in 1200, turmoil struck Assisi with an uprising that forced the nobility, including Favarone, Ortolana, and their children, to flee to Perugia, while war raged against their city. The battle of Collestrada in 1202 saw Assisi’s defeat, leading to the capture and imprisonment of many knights, including Francesco, the son of a prosperous silk merchant, Pietro Bernadone. Francesco endured nearly a year in captivity. Finally, peace returned in 1210, allowing Ortolana, her husband, and their children to return to their beloved Assisi.

Ortolana’s piety and faith permeated every aspect of her life, and she passed these virtues on to her children. The family lived near the Cathedral, often visiting to pray and attend Mass. Gracious and charitable, Ortolana frequently ventured out to the poor neighborhoods of Assisi, offering aid and sustenance to those in need. Ortolana and Clare became very well-respected in Assisi because of their pious and charitable way of life.

During this time, Francesco Bernardone, whom we now know as St. Francis of Assisi, underwent a profound conversion and transformation following his time as a prisoner of war. He left his family and their thriving business to pursue a life of poverty, humility and good works in imitation of Christ. By 1210, now a deacon, he was entrusted by the Bishop to preach during Lent. Ortolana and her daughters attended one of his sermons, eager to hear to the words of this young man who had become such a controversial figure in Assisi. This moment proved pivotal for Clare, who was captivated by Francis’ eloquent preaching and fervent spirituality.

On the night of Palm Sunday in 1212, she made the courageous decision to join Francis’ burgeoning movement, becoming his first female follower and the founder of the Poor Ladies of San Damiano, now known as the Poor Clares.

I won’t delve deeply into Clare’s life here, as I covered her remarkable journey in a previous post titled “The Life of St. Clare of Assisi:‘The Other Francis’.” I encourage you to check it out for a more detailed exploration of her story.

Little is known of Ortolana’s initial reaction when her daughter Clare left home to follow Francis. Perhaps the apparent betrayal deeply wounded the kind-hearted mother — or maybe, with a mother’s intuition, she had sensed it coming. Regardless, the family was in for another shock when, just 16 days after Clare’s departure, her younger sister, 14-year-old Catarina, inspired by her sister’s courage and dedication, also ran away from home to join Clare.

After Favarone’s death, Ortolana, now a widow, made the decision to follow in both of her daughters’ footsteps. Around 1226, she disposed of her wealth, distributing the proceeds to the poor, and wrote a farewell letter to her family. Ortolana then joined The Poor Ladies at the San Damiano convent, where she was personally invested into the Order by Francis himself. True to her name, Ortolana was entrusted by Clare with the care of the monastery’s vegetable garden, a vital role in ensuring the survival of a community that subsisted on what they could grow and what was donated.

One day, a gravely-ill boy was brought to Clare and Ortolana at their monastery, with the hope that the prayers of these two devout women would bring about a miraculous cure. To the amazement of all, the child was healed. Clare attributed the miracle to Ortolana’s heartfelt prayers; however, Ortolana humbly insisted that it was Clare’s prayers that had brought about the healing. The truth of whose prayers truly obtained this grace remains a mystery, but it seems likely that the intercession of both saintly women played a part. This miraculous cure serves as a testament to the power of prayer and the holiness of this remarkable family.

Within the walls of the monastery, Ortolana continued to dedicate herself to hidden sacrifices for Jesus. Her days were filled with prayer, penance, and labor, all aimed at serving God and her fellow sisters. The miracles attributed to her during her life and after her death reflect the strength of her faith and the sanctity of her actions.

Ortolana passed away around 1238. Her cause for canonization was initiated in recognition of her virtuous life and the miracles attributed to her. Ortolana of Assisi was declared a Blessed by the Catholic Church, although the exact date of her beatification is not well-documented. Her legacy is particularly honored as the mother of Saint Clare and Saint Agnes of Assisi, both canonized saints, as well as Beatrice, who also is recognized as a Blessed.

At St. Clare’s canonization, Pope Alexander IV said, “Her mother, named Ortolana, [was] intent upon pious deeds, followed her daughter’s footprints, and afterwards accepted this religious way of life. In this excellent garden which had produced such a plant for the Lord, she happily ended her days.” (Bull Can., 10: CAED 241).

CATARINA/ST. AGNES OF ASSISI

Catarina Offreduccio

Just 16 days after Clare’s departure, inspired by her sister’s example, Agnes made the dramatic decision to run away from home and join Clare at the convent of the Benedictine nuns in San Paolo, where Francis had taken Clare temporarily until a residence could be built for her.

Favarone, enraged at the loss of yet another daughter, sent his brother Monaldo, accompanied by some other relatives and armed knights, to storm the convent and persuade – or force – Catarina to return home. When they arrived and confronted her, only to be met with her staunch refusal to leave, Monaldo drew his sword to frighten her. But he was struck with a violent pain in his arm, causing him to drop the sword. Then the other men forcibly pulled Catarina from the monastery by her long hair, striking her as she resisted with all her might. Two different accounts describe what happened next: In one version, they dragged her down the mountainside with such force that she was rendered unconscious. In the other account, when Clare arrived to defend her, Catarina’s body became miraculously heavy, making it impossible for them to carry her. In any case, it became clear to the men that they were up against supernatural forces, and they ultimately left her behind.

Catarina ran back to the convent, overjoyed to be able to remain with her sister. Francis, for his part, was impressed and deeply moved at Catarina’s heroic resistance to the threats of her family, and he realized what spiritual treasures dwelt in the soul of this young girl. As he had done with Clare, he cut off Catarina’s long, lovely hair, and gave her a rough, penitential garment and veil similar to Clare’s. At receiving the habit, Catarina chose as her new name “Agnes,” which means “pure” or “holy,” reflecting the values that Catarina embraced as she dedicated herself to a spiritual path. The name Agnes also carries a legacy of sainthood, being associated with Saint Agnes of Rome, a martyr of the 4th century known for her purity and faith. Some sources say that Francis himself suggested this name, because Catarina reminded him of a gentle and innocent lamb, and the name also honored Christ, the spotless Lamb of God.

St. Agnes of Assisi

As one of the Poor Ladies of San Damiano, Agnes exhibited such a high degree of virtue and faithfulness to Clare’s ideals, inspired by Francis, that her fellow nuns believed she had discovered a road to perfection known only to herself. At the young age of 22, she was appointed by Francis as Abbess of a new community of Poor Ladies in Monticello, near Florence. Agnes governed the community with wisdom and charity, teaching the nuns to love and embrace Lady Poverty and the difficult but rewarding life of virtue. Though life in the convent was harmonious, Agnes’ great cross was being separated from her beloved sister Clare, as evidenced by a moving letter she wrote, expressing her heartache at the separation. Describing herself as “extremely distressed and saddened,” she wrote: “What shall I say, now that I can no longer hope to see my sisters again?” Still, she carried on bravely with her new duties, offering her sufferings to Jesus, the Lamb of God.

Agnes went on to establish Poor Ladies communities in Mantua, Padua and Venice, inspiring many young women to leave their worldly lives to pursue a life consecrated to God in monastic seclusion. Like her sister Clare, she embodied the Franciscan spirit and lived in humble faithfulness. Agnes was favored with many extraordinary graces from God. It is said that she experienced levitation during prayer, similar to St. Francis, and was blessed with a vision of the Infant Jesus. One year, from Holy Thursday until Holy Saturday, she became so immersed in prayer that she lost all track of time, believing she had prayed for only one hour when, in fact, three days had passed.

In 1253, Agnes was summoned to Assisi because Clare was dying. She devoted herself to nursing Clare until her sister’s death on August 11, and took on the solemn task of planning her funeral. Just before Clare passed away, she comforted Agnes with the words, “My beloved sister, it is the will of God that I go, but be comforted, you will soon come and rejoin me with our Lord.” This prophecy was indeed fulfilled when Agnes died three months later, on November 16, and was buried next to Clare and their mother, Ortolana.

Agnes’ tomb became a site of numerous reported miracles. In 1753, the year marking the 500th anniversary of her death, she was canonized as St. Agnes of Assisi by Pope Benedict XIV.

One well-known quote from St. Agnes during her lifetime resonates powerfully even in the 21st century: “The most deadly poison of our times is indifference. And this happens, although the praise of God should know no limits. Let us strive, therefore, to praise him to the greatest extent of our powers.”

BLESSED BEATRICE OF ASSISI

Beatrice Offreduccio

In the year 1229, Beatrice Offreduccio found herself at a crossroads. Because of her mother’s decision to join the Poor Ladies of San Damiano, Beatrice at 18 years of age had become the sole heiress to the Offreduccio family fortune. The weight of responsibility pressed upon her, urging her towards marriage and a life of nobility. However, the path her sisters had chosen beckoned to her as well.

Inspired by Clare and Agnes, Beatrice made a decision that would alter the course of her life, as it had that of her sisters. She turned her back on wealth and privilege, choosing instead to join the Order of the Poor Ladies at San Damiano. Within the austere walls of the monastery, Beatrice immersed herself in prayer, embraced mortification, practiced fasting, and performed good works. She outlived her mother and her sisters Clare and Agnes, becoming a pillar of the community at San Damiano.

Blessed Beatrice of Assisi

Beatrice’s devotion to her sister Clare extended beyond Clare’s earthly life. During Clare’s canonization process, Beatrice served as the ninth witness. Her testimony provided invaluable insights into Clare’s childhood, her embrace of St. Francis’s teachings, and her leadership as Abbess of the Poor Ladies.

Beatrice died in 1260, and was laid to rest in the church of St. George, which later became part of the Basilica of Santa Chiara in Assisi. In recognition of her pious life, the Catholic Church eventually declared Beatrice a Blessed, cementing her place in religious history.

BIANCA

Bianca

Bianca was either the sister or sister-in-law of Favorino Offreduccio, Clare’s father. As such, she was aunt to Clare, Agnes, and Beatrice. But Bianca was more than just a relative; she was a confidante and co-conspirator in Clare’s spiritual journey.

On that fateful night of Palm Sunday in 1212, when Clare made the daring decision to leave her family’s home, it was Bianca who stood by her side. Together with Clare’s cousin Pacifica, who may have been Bianca’s daughter, they slipped away under the cover of darkness. Their destination: the humble Portiuncula chapel, where Francis of Assisi awaited.

In that small, candlelit sanctuary, Clare took her first steps towards a life of radical poverty and devotion. Bianca witnessed as Francis cut Clare’s hair and gave her a simple habit, marking the birth of the Second Order of Francis, a profound moment that would ripple throughout history.

But Bianca’s role didn’t end there. Inspired by Clare’s courage and conviction, she too eventually joined the Poor Ladies of San Damiano. This decision wasn’t made lightly; it meant abandoning the comforts of a noble life for a path of austerity and prayer. Yet Bianca embraced it wholeheartedly, her choice a testament to the powerful bonds of family and faith that fueled the Order’s growth.

While the details of Bianca’s daily life within the convent walls are lost to us, her presence alongside Clare speaks volumes. In those early, uncertain years, as the Poor Ladies faced opposition and struggled to establish their way of life, Bianca’s staunch support must have been a real source of strength for Clare.

From aunt and niece to sisters in faith, Bianca and Clare’s relationship evolved into something profound. Together, they helped forge a new path for women seeking a life of deep spiritual devotion. Bianca’s story, though less celebrated than Clare’s and Agnes’, is a reminder of the quiet supporters who often play crucial roles in monumental changes.

Bianca of Assisi stands as a symbol of loyalty, courage, and the transformative power of faith. Her legacy lives on in the Order she helped establish, a testament to the enduring impact of those who choose to follow their convictions, no matter the cost.

BROTHER RUFFINO

Ruffino & Clare

Ruffino Offreduccio was a relative of St. Clare’s, most probably her cousin.  He was one of St. Francis of Assisi’s first 12 followers. Ruffino’s spiritual journey was marked by an intensity that captured the admiration of Francis, who used him as example of the “ideal friar.” Francis often praised Ruffino’s “virtuous and incessant prayer,” marveling at how Ruffino seemed to commune with the Divine even in sleep. A man of angelic purity, so profound was Ruffino’s piety that Francis used to say that he was “canonized in Heaven” while still walking the earth, and often referred to him as “Saint Ruffino,” except in his presence.

Yet Ruffino was no preacher. His was a contemplative nature, more comfortable in silent communion with God than addressing crowds. His focus on the Divine was so complete that the world around him often faded into insignificance. This single-minded devotion, while admirable, posed challenges when Francis sought to broaden Ruffino’s ministry.

In a tale recounted in “The Little Flowers of St. Francis,” Francis once instructed the reluctant Ruffino to preach in Assisi. When Ruffino hesitated, Francis, in a dramatic gesture of spiritual authority, ordered him to strip to his undergarments, go the the church and preach that way, as a gesture of holy obedience and humility. The scene that unfolded in the church was at first comical, with townsfolk laughing at the half-naked friar. But Francis, moved by Ruffino’s obedience, began to question himself: “How could you, a humble son of a merchant, send the distinguished Ruffino to preach as if he were a madman? You shall do the same thing you have ordered him to do!”

He then removed his own mantle and habit and went to the church, carrying both his and Ruffino’s garments. The people, seeing Francis also in his underwear, believed he and Ruffino had truly lost their minds from excessive penance. While Ruffino was preaching, Francis ascended the pulpit and began to speak about holy penance, voluntary poverty, and the nakedness of Christ during His Passion. This moved the crowd to tears, so deeply inspired were they by the actions of both Ruffino and Francis. From that day on, they were so greatly revered by the people that those who managed to touch the hem of their garments considered themselves blessed.

Ruffino’s spiritual journey was not without trials. In a harrowing episode, he faced severe temptation from the devil, who appeared to him as a crucifix, sowing doubt about his salvation. The demon told him that all his good deeds were in vain, because he was not among the elect destined for eternal life. This caused Ruffino great distress and doubt, both about his faith and his following of Francis.

Brother Masseo, another early follower of Francis, tried to console Ruffino, but it was Francis who ultimately helped him overcome the crisis. Through Divine revelation, Francis learned of Ruffino’s condition and confronted him, revealing the details of his temptation. Francis assured Ruffino that it was the devil, not Christ, who was tormenting him. Moved by Francis’s words, Ruffino confessed his struggles and found great comfort and consolation. Francis encouraged him to continue his prayers and advised him on how to boldly respond to the devil’s accusations the next time he appeared. He assured him that this trial would ultimately be beneficial. When the devil returned, Ruffino responded as Francis had instructed, and the devil was unable to harm him. The demon fled in rage, causing a landslide of rocks from Mt. Subasio. Ruffino was then consoled by a real vision of Christ.

Brother Ruffino was one of the four brothers who were close to Francis during his last illness, and he was privileged to see the stigmata wound in Francis’ side before he died. In 1246, along with Brothers Angelo and Leo, Brother Ruffino provided crucial material for the “Legend of the Three Companions,” a pivotal biographical work that would shape future narratives about Francis.

Ruffino passed away around 1270. Though never officially beatified or canonized, his legacy as a paragon of Franciscan spirituality endures.

Brother Ruffino

The sanctity of the Offreduccio family members reflects their steadfast commitment to embodying the Franciscan ideals of poverty, humility, and prayer. Their lives were characterized by profound faith and a selfless dedication to serving others, creating a powerful legacy that continues to inspire future generations. Through their actions, they set a remarkable example of how to live a life devoted to God and the well-being of those around them, demonstrating that true greatness lies in humility and love.

August 28, 2024

ST. CLARE OF ASSISI: “The Other Francis”

Chiara Offreducio, known as St. Clare of Assisi

To watch the YouTube video, click arrow in the thumbnail below:

The honey-colored stone buildings gleamed in the bright Italian sunshine as dawn broke over the town of Assisi one day during Lent in the year 1212. The lively medieval town, perched on the slopes of Monte Subasio in the heart of the Umbria region of Italy, offered breathtaking views of the surrounding misty valleys and rolling green hills. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of livestock and the pungent smell of tanned leather. As the sun climbed higher, the narrow, winding streets echoed with the sounds of daily life – merchants hawking their wares, craftsmen at work, and the distant chiming of church bells. To everyone else in Assisi, it was just an ordinary day. But for a young woman named Chiara Offreduccio, it was the day that would determine her destiny.

Morning in Assisi, Italy in the 1200s

In the modest church of San Giorgio on the outskirts of town, Chiara (Italian for Clare) sat with her family during the Lenten service, listening to the preaching of a young man named Francesco Bernardone. The more he spoke, the more Clare was riveted by his words about a life dedicated to truly living the Gospel values. His radical ideas were beginning to take root, attracting admiration, as well as scorn and suspicion, from his fellow citizens.

She glanced at her two younger sisters, Beatrix and Catarina, sitting on either side of her, and then turned her head slightly to look at her mother. They all were listening politely, but none appeared moved and inspired as Clare herself was feeling. She had heard the gossip around Assisi about Francesco (Italian for Francis), a wealthy, charismatic, handsome young man who loved parties and revelry, but had suddenly decided to leave his family and their thriving silk business to pursue a life of poverty, humility and service to others in imitation of Christ.

As she walked home with her mother and sisters, Clare thought about her own life. She knew she was fortunate and blessed to belong to a wealthy and noble family. Born on July 16, 1194, she was the eldest daughter of Favorino Sciffi, the Count of Sasso-Rosso, and his wife, Ortolana. Their family legacy traced back to an ancient Roman lineage, their wealth evident in the grand palace that graced Assisi and the castle perched on Mount Subasio’s slope. Ortolana, noble and deeply pious, had embarked on pilgrimages to Rome, Santiago de Compostela, and the Holy Land. Her faith was etched into her very being, and she had instilled her deep spirituality into her daughters from their early childhood.

As was typical for most young women of her status, Clare had received a basic education in reading, writing, a little Latin, and basic arithmetic, along with religious instruction. She spent her days learning household management, personal hygiene, skincare, fashion, sewing and embroidery. In her leisure time she could pursue dancing, music, poetry or painting as she wished. Her wardrobe consisted of elegant garments made of the finest materials, often decorated with elaborate embroidery and fur. As a young woman of marriageable age, she attended social events, feasts and tournaments. Marriages among the wealthy were often arranged for political or economic advantages and were crucial for forming alliances and consolidating wealth and power. Clare was expected to marry well, and for the past several years had been facing increasing pressure from her family, especially her father, to do so. She finally had persuaded her parents to let her delay marriage until she was 18, and that time was fast approaching.

But for years now, Clare had found herself detaching from all the worldly trappings of her life, wanting a more deeply meaningful and spiritual existence. She spent many hours in prayer and contemplation, and practiced penances to achieve greater virtue. Unlike most of her friends, who were caught up in frivolous pursuits, she saw all the poor people of Assisi and its surrounding areas, and felt a deep compassion and sense of responsibility for them. As a child, she sometimes had hidden food from her plate to later give to the poor. Little by little, Clare found herself torn between two worlds. But despite all her inner turmoil, she did not know what to do or what God expected of her.

That is, until today.

Francis’ words stirred the depths of Clare’s soul

Francis’s words stirred the depths of her soul, and she finally had a focus for the nagging restlessness and dissatisfaction with her life that had haunted her throughout her teenage years. Francis and his followers exuded a peace that seemed sorely lacking in the people around her, who were mainly focused on material possessions and power. Clare now knew that her heart beat to a different rhythm—one that echoed the footsteps of the wandering friar named Francis, called “Il Poverello” or “The Little Poor Man”— a radical path that led not to marriage and privilege, but to a sacred union with Christ. That day marked the beginning of her profound spiritual journey, guided by Francis’s teachings and example. From then on, every chance she got, Clare listened to Francis preaching.

Her father announced that it was time she prepared to get married, and that he had an eligible suitor in mind for her. Clare realized that she didn’t have much time left to make a major change in her life before it was too late. She went to see Francis and poured out her heart to him. After listening carefully, Francis, recognizing her sincerity and devotion, advised her to leave behind her worldly possessions and follow the path of humility, simplicity, poverty and service to God, as he had.

On the night of Palm Sunday, March 20, 1212, with the consent of the Bishop, Clare, along with her Aunt Bianca and a cousin, set out for a prearranged meeting with Francis and his companions. Their meeting place was the Portiuncula, a small chapel dedicated to the Blessed Mother, which Francis had restored. There, in the soft glow of the candles, Francis cut off Clare’s beautiful golden hair, a symbolic act demonstrating that she was no longer bound by the laws of man or society, but by the will of God. Clare then exchanged her exquisite dress for a rough woolen habit and veil, her fine leather shoes for wooden sandals, and her jeweled belt for a knotted rope. Francis then brought her to the convent of the Benedictine nuns of San Paulo, since she was the first woman follower of Francis, and there was no residence for her as yet. With the Benedictine Sisters, Clare would learn how to live the life of a nun in a religious community.

It didn’t take long for Clare’s father to find her and attempt to force her back home. She adamantly refused, professing that she would have no other husband than Jesus Christ. Clare’s family, desperate to reclaim their daughter, tried every tactic. They dangled jewels and whispered promises of status and prestige. When persuasion failed, they resorted to force. One day, they stormed the chapel where Clare sought solace. She clung to the cold stone of the altar and defiantly revealed her cropped hair. The scissors had severed more than her lovely hair; they had cut her ties to earthly things. Her family, stunned by her resolve, finally relented and left Clare in peace.

Clare’s hair was cut as a symbol of her renunciation of worldy things and her commitment to God.

In order to give her the greater solitude she needed, Francis then sent Clare to Sant’ Angelo in Panzo, another Benedictine convent, nestled on the flanks of Subasio. There, Clare’s days were spent in prayer and contemplation. But fate wove another thread into her story: Sixteen days later, her sister Catarina arrived, also wanting to pursue the path Clare had chosen. Catarina shed her former name and embraced a new one—Agnes. The family had now lost two daughters to a higher love than human marriage. Soon their father’s brother Monaldo arrived, flanked by a group of stern men. As Clare prayed for Agnes’ safety, Monaldo demanded Agnes’s return, but Agnes would not be swayed. Eventually, their uncle gave up and left.

It wasn’t long before other women joined Clare and Agnes. It was obvious that a convent would have to be built for them as soon as possible. Their dwelling, hastily constructed near the church of San Damiano, became a peaceful sanctuary of simplicity, poverty, austerity and seclusion. This was the first community of the Poor Ladies of San Damiano, as they called themselves — the Second Order of Francis. After Clare’s death, they would become known as the Clarisse, or Poor Clares in English.

In the beginning, having no formal rule to guide them, Clare and her companions followed a simple formula vitae, or life formula, given to them by Francis, which can still be found among his works. Unlike the Franciscan friars who roamed the countryside preaching and evangelizing, Clare’s nuns found their sanctuary within the sturdy walls of enclosure. For women, an itinerant life such as the friars led was a distant dream. Their days were etched with the simplicity of manual labor and prayer. The daily life of the Poor Ladies of San Damiano combined the joy and simplicity of the Franciscan call within the framework of their contemplative community.

Their days began with Morning Prayer, Mass and reception of the Eucharist—the heartbeat of their existence. Throughout the day, they prayed the Canonical Hours, read Scripture and other spiritual literature, and lived mostly in silence. Clare considered work a grace—a way to banish idleness without extinguishing the spirit of prayer. They made altar breads (hosts), tended to secretarial tasks, sewed, cooked, and maintained the monastery. Two sacred hours were set aside for private prayer—one at dawn, the other in the evening. Some sought to pray before the Blessed Sacrament; others communed with God in nature. Music—from Gregorian chants to contemporary compositions—enriched their days, echoing Francis’s love for all things. This was a time of great simplicity and devotion, where the women relied solely on their faith and the teachings of Francis. They imitated Christ, following His footsteps with joy, trusting to God for their daily existence.

In 1215, at the insistence of Francis, Clare reluctantly accepted the mantle of Abbess at San Damiano at the age of 21. She continued in that role until her death in 1253. She preferred the titles “mother,” “handmaid,” or “servant.” Shyness veiled her authority, and when she gave orders, it was with humility. The tedious tasks, like scrubbing floors and mending habits, she reserved for herself. The nuns were her flock, and she looked after them with maternal tenderness.

Clare had a profound and special devotion to the Holy Eucharist. To deepen her love for Christ crucified, she memorized the Office of the Passion, a beautiful book of prayers composed by Francis himself. She would emerge from prayer with her face luminous, glowing with peace and joy. Eyewitnesses claimed she possessed a radiant beauty, even without the luxurious trappings of her earlier life. Under Clare’s wise and gentle and guidance, the community of San Damiano flourished. It became a sanctuary of every virtue, a true nursery of saints. The nuns there lived lives of simplicity and holiness, inspired by Clare’s example. They called her “alter Franciscus”—”another Francis” — because she so perfectly mirrored his virtues, his simplicity.

Francis and Clare shared a rare and enduring friendship and spiritual bond. Francis was Clare’s inspiration, her touchstone, her spiritual father figure. When residing at Assisi, he often visited Clare to give her holy counsel, to which she trustingly deferred. Clare, in turn, played an important role in supporting and encouraging Francis throughout his life, especially during times when he was assailed with doubts. When he expressed to Clare his wish to lead a more contemplative life, Clare persuaded him to continue his mission of working among the people.

St. Francis & St. Clare

Clare’s heart was filled with joy as she saw her family join her in this sacred journey. Her younger sister Beatrix, her widowed mother Ortolana, and her faithful Aunt Bianca, all eventually followed Agnes into the Order, creating a close-knit family of faith. However, as the community grew, so did the need for a more structured rule. In 1219, while Francis was away in the East, Cardinal Ugolino, the protector of the Order, drafted a written rule for the Poor Ladies, based on the Rule of St. Benedict. Unfortunately, this new rule, approved by Pope Honorius III, inadvertently stripped the Poor Ladies of their Franciscan identity of absolute poverty, making them more like a congregation of Benedictines. When Clare discovered that the new rule allowed the holding of property in common, she was deeply troubled. This was entirely against the intentions of Francis, who had forbidden both his friars and the Poor Ladies from possessing any worldly goods, even in common. They were to depend entirely on what the Friars Minor could beg for them. Clare’s resistance to these changes was both courageous and steadfast.

When Francis, ill and with failing eyesight, came to visit to San Damiano for what would be the last time, Clare provided a small hut for him in an olive grove near the monastery and served as his caretaker. In this peaceful and secluded place, Francis composed his famous “Canticle of the Sun.” After Francis’s death, Clare and her community had the opportunity to venerate his remains, especially the stigmata on his hands and feet, a moment poignantly captured in one of Giotto’s frescoes.

In 1228, Cardinal Ugolino, now Pope Gregory IX, visited Assisi for the canonization of Francis. He took this opportunity to visit Clare at San Damiano and urged her to accept some provision for the unforeseen needs of the community. Clare, however, firmly refused. When Gregory offered to absolve her from her vow of strict poverty, she responded with unwavering conviction, “Holy Father, I crave for absolution from my sins, but not to be absolved from the obligation of following Jesus Christ.” The Pope was deeply moved by Clare’s heroic commitment to poverty. His admiration and fatherly affection for Clare is evident in his letters to her, which still exist today.

Ultimately, on September 17, 1228, he granted her the unique privilege — the first of its kind ever issued by the Vatican — that allowed Clare and her community to continue living in absolute poverty as St. Francis had intended. The original autograph copy of this privilege is preserved in the archive at Santa Chiara in Assisi, a testament to Clare’s unwavering faith and dedication.

THE RULE OF THE POOR CLARES:

Clare’s loyalty to Francis’s ideals and teachings was evident throughout her life. Always dedicated to his rule and mission, she was the embodiment of the spirit of the Franciscan movement.  The Rule of the Order of the Poor Ladies, written by Clare of Assisi in the 13th century, is a set of guidelines for the nuns in this religious community. The Rule emphasizes simplicity, humility, and a deep commitment to spiritual life, inspired by the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi.

Here are the key points in simple terms:

  1. Poverty: The nuns live a life of extreme poverty, owning nothing personally or as a community. They rely entirely on donations and alms for their needs.
  2. Chastity: They take a vow of chastity, dedicating their lives to God and refraining from marriage and romantic relationships.
  3. Obedience: The nuns vow to obey their superiors and the rules of the Order.
  4. Enclosure: They live in a cloistered environment, meaning they stay within the confines of their monastery and do not go out into the world.

There is no evidence that Clare ever ventured beyond the boundaries of San Damiano. Yet, her influence was so great that Popes, Cardinals and Bishops often came to consult her. Although we do not have too many details of her life in the cloister, “hidden with Christ in God” to use the words of St. Paul, we do know that, inspired by Francis, Clare embraced a life of profound poverty, humility, and self-denial. She became a living reflection of St. Francis’s virtues, dedicating herself entirely to the service of God. Clare also witnessed the foundation of monasteries of Poor Ladies spreading far and wide across Europe, a testament to the enduring legacy of her devotion and leadership.

THE EUCHARISTIC MIRACLE OF ST. CLARE

In the year 1234, the valley of Spoleto was under siege by the army of Frederick II. As the soldiers prepared to assault Assisi, they scaled the walls of San Damiano under the cover of night, much to the horror of the nuns. Despite being ill at the time, Clare went to the chapel and prayed, “Behold, my Lord, is it possible You want to deliver into the hands of pagans Your defenseless handmaids, whom I have taught out of love for You? I pray You, Lord protect these Your handmaids whom I cannot now save by myself.” She suddenly heard a voice from the tabernacle say, “I will always protect you.” Clare then calmly took the ciborium – a large covered cup containing the Eucharist — from the altar and approached an open window where the invaders had placed a ladder. With unwavering faith and courage, Clare raised the Blessed Sacrament high. Miraculously, the soldiers who were about to enter the monastery fell back as if blinded by a dazzling light, and those who were ready to follow them fled in terror.

Eucharistic Miracle of St. Clare

This miraculous event, an account of which is recorded in the writings of Tommaso da Celano, a Franciscan Friar who lived during the time of St. Clare, is the reason St. Clare is often depicted in art holding a ciborium.

Some time later, a larger force led by General Vitale di Aversa, who had not been present during the first attack, returned to launch another assault on Assisi. Clare and her nuns knelt and begged God that the town be spared. Suddenly, a violent storm arose, scattering the soldiers’ tents. They fled in panic. The grateful people of Assisi attributed their deliverance from harm to Clare’s intercession. Their love for Clare, whom they called “the Seraphic Mother,” became even more fervent as she neared the end of her life.

Even as the years etched lines on her face, Clare’s heart remained aflame with the love of Christ. She outlived Francis by 27 years, but suffered serious illness for most of those years. On a cold Christmas Eve in 1252, Clare  lay in her humble cell at the convent of San Damiano. She was gravely ill, her frail body unable to join her fellow Sisters at the Midnight Mass in the new Basilica of St. Francis, one mile from the convent. Her heart ached with longing to be present at the celebration of the Holy Eucharist. As the night progressed, feeling lonely and on the verge of tears, she closed her eyes and poured out her soul to God, expressing her sorrow and yearning.

Suddenly, a miraculous vision unfolded before her. The bare wall of her cell transformed into a vivid scene of the Midnight Mass at the Basilica. She could see the altar, the flickering candles, and the priests in their vestments. The sacred hymns and prayers filled her ears as if she were physically present in the Basilica. Her heart swelling with joy and gratitude, Clare watched the entire Mass unfold, recognizing the familiar faces of the friars and the faithful gathered there. The vision was so clear and detailed that she could recount every moment the next day. This miraculous event brought immense comfort to Clare, reaffirming her deep connection with the Divine, even in her physical weakness. It was a testament to her steadfast faith and the special graces bestowed upon her. Because of this vision, Pope Pius XII designated Clare as the patron saint of television in 1958.  

Having heard that Clare was seriously ill, Pope Innocent IV came to visit her a few days before she died, and gave her absolution. On August 11, 1253, she breathed her last, after murmuring softly to herself, “Go forth in peace, for you have followed the good road. Go forth without fear, for He Who created you has made you holy, has always protected you, and loves you as a mother. Blessed be You, my God, for having created me.”

Wax figure of St. Clare at the Basilica di Santa Chiara in Assisi

Clare was canonized on September 26, 1255 by Pope Alexander IV. Just a year after her canonization, the foundations of the Basilica di Santa Chiara began to take shape beside the ancient church of San Giorgio. But Saint Clare’s influence extends far beyond Assisi, with her name gracing numerous places worldwide.

A charming tradition that has endured through the centuries is an offering of eggs to the Poor Clares as a plea for good weather, especially for weddings. This custom is particularly cherished in the Philippines, at the Real Monasterio de Santa Clara in Quezon City and in Obando, Bulacan. The practice is said to have originated from the dual meaning of Clare’s name in Castilian, where “clara” signifies both a clear interval in weather and the white of an egg.

St. Clare of Assisi’s feast day is celebrated in the Roman Catholic Church on August 11, and in the Church of England and other Anglican Communion churches with a Lesser Festival on the same date, ensuring that her spirit and contributions to faith and community remain vibrant and honored across the world.

SPIRITUAL LESSONS FROM ST. CLARE OF ASSISI

Beyond her miracles, St. Clare of Assisi’s life offers several inspiring aspects:

  1. Radical Poverty: St. Clare embraced a life of radical poverty, following in the footsteps of St. Francis. She renounced material wealth, choosing simplicity and dependence on God. “If we love things, we become a thing,” she said. “If we love nothing, we become nothing.” Although we may not choose or be able to embrace poverty to such an extreme as she did, her commitment to poverty was a powerful witness to the Gospel. Clare’s life reminds us that material success and possessions will not follow us into eternity. Rather than obsess over money or allow it to cause us undue anxiety, we can embrace Christ’s words during the Sermon on the Mount: “Do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat or drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides.  Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for the day is its own evil.”  Matt. 6:25-34
  2. Courage and Perseverance: Clare’s decision to cut her hair and leave her family to join Francis was bold and courageous. Despite societal norms, she stood firm in her faith and vocation. In this way, she stands as a role model for modern women to pursue their own path fearlessly, in accordance with God’s plan. Her perseverance in discerning and following God’s call to live a life of prayer and service is admirable, inspiring us to discern and follow God’s call in our own lives.
  3. Deep Prayer Life: Clare’s devotion to prayer was steadfast. She spent hours in contemplation, seeking intimacy with God. Her reliance on prayer sustained her during trials and inspired others.
  4. Compassion for the Poor: St. Clare cared for the poor and marginalized. She established the Order of Poor Ladies, later known as the Poor Clares, to serve those in need. Her compassion extended beyond words to practical acts of love.
  5. Eucharistic Devotion: During the siege of Assisi, Clare’s faith and unwavering belief in Christ’s Real Presence in the Eucharist led her to courageously hold up the Blessed Sacrament, resulting in the enemy’s retreat. She was, in today’s vernacular, “willing to bet her life on it.”
  6. Sisterhood and Community: Clare fostered a strong sisterhood within her order. Her leadership and commitment to communal life created a supportive environment where women could grow spiritually together, inspiring us to help one another to do the same.
  7. Joy Amid Suffering: Despite physical ailments, Clare radiated joy. Her joy came from her relationship with God, and she shared it with others. Her example teaches us to find joy even in adversity.

St. Clare’s life inspires us to live authentically, love selflessly, and seek God above all else. She followed in the footprints of Christ, leaving her own behind for others to follow.

Clare followed in the footsteps of Jesus

POWERFUL PRAYER TO ST. CLARE

O glorious Saint Clare!

God has given you the power of working miracles continually, and the favor of answering the prayers of those who invoke your assistance in misfortune, anxiety, and distress.

We beseech you, obtain for us from Jesus, through Mary, His Blessed Mother, what we beg of you so fervently and hopefully, if it be for the greater honor and glory of God and for the good of our souls.

O Blessed Saint Clare, your life shines like a beacon and casts its light down the ages of the Church to guide the way of Christ. Look with compassion on the poor and humble who call on you for help.

As you bow before your Eucharistic Lord in Heaven, speak to Him of my afflicted body and my broken spirit. Ask Him to heal me and to wash away my sins in His precious Blood.

Great Servant of Christ, remember the needs of my family and all those I pray for. Defend us from everything that would threaten our faith.

Hear the cry of the poor and make it a song of intercession, rising from your poor heart to the Eucharistic Heart of Jesus, our Healer, our Savior, and our Lord. Amen.

Saint Clare, Pray For Us!
Amen.

St. Clare of Assisi, pray for us!
August 4, 2024

KATERI TEKAWITHA, “Lily of the Mohawks”

First Native American Woman Saint

To watch the YouTube video, click on the arrow in the thumbnail below:

Kateri Tekakwitha, “Lily of the Mohawks”

Around 1656 in the Mohawk village of Ossernenon, located in what is now northeastern New York State, a baby girl was born. Little did anyone know that this child would grow up to become a significant figure in both Native American and Catholic history. Her parents named her “Little Sunshine,” because she was born at sunrise and had a cheerful disposition. Her father, Kenneronkwa, was a Mohawk chief of the Turtle Clan, one of the three separate extended family networks of the Mohawk nation, the other two being the Wolf clan and the Bear clan. Her mother was an Algonquin woman named Kahenta, who had been captured by Mohawk warriors and brought to their homeland. She was eventually adopted and assimilated into the tribe, but with one important difference: before her capture, Kahenta had been baptized as a Catholic and educated by French missionaries. Kenneronkwa wished to maintain peace between the Mohawk nation and the French, and was tolerant of the spread of the Catholic faith. Kahenta likely introduced Little Sunshine to Jesus, Mary, and the Christian faith as she grew up in a fully Mohawk culture, although Kenneronkwa did not consent to the baptism of his children.

Their village was a melting pot of cultures and traditions. Because the Mohawk had lost so many of their people  to warfare and disease, they actively absorbed captured natives from other tribes, particularly their rivals, the Huron. This diversity would have exposed the children of the village to a rich tapestry of Native American cultures from an early age.

Four years later, a devastating smallpox epidemic swept through the village, claiming the lives of Kenneronkwa, Kahenta, and their baby boy. Little Sunshine survived, but the disease left its mark – her face was scarred, her eyesight impaired. She was adopted by her father’s sister, and her aunt’s husband, who had succeeded Kenneronkwa as the new chief of the Turtle Clan. In their Haudenosaunee culture, this adoption meant that they treated her exactly as if she were their own biological child. Haudenosaunee parents typically gave their children names later in life, after observing unique traits about them. The little girl’s adoptive parents renamed her ‘Tekakwitha,’ which in English means ‘she walks groping for her way’ or ‘she puts things in their place.’ This name reflected both her physical reality—having to feel her way around due to her impaired vision—and her personality traits. Little Tekakwitha, now an orphan, indeed had to navigate her way through her new life while dealing with the physical and emotional scars of her ordeal.

Tekakwitha’s childhood and teenage years were set against a backdrop of considerable upheaval. The Mohawk were caught between French and Dutch colonists competing for control of the lucrative fur trade. In 1666, when Tekakwitha was about 10 years old, a significant French military campaign targeted the Mohawk territory. The Mohawk, facing overwhelming odds, strategically withdrew from their settlements rather than engage in direct conflict. The French resorted to destructive measures by burning Mohawk towns and destroying food supplies, thus creating a severe threat of famine. But the Mohawk people, including young Tekakwitha, managed to survive, aided by the support of the other Haudenosaunee nations and their traditional practice of maintaining substantial food reserves. In the aftermath, the Mohawk rebuilt their communities, with each clan establishing new primary settlements.

In 1667, when Tekakwitha was 11, three Jesuit missionaries arrived in her village. She was fascinated by these strange men in black robes, speaking of a God she had never known. Her uncle did not want Tekakwitha to convert. He was wary of Christians and often opposed them, which created tension when she began showing interest in Christianity. But this encounter with the Jesuits eventually would prove to be a great turning point in Tekakwitha’s life.

Despite her interest in Christianity, Tekakwitha continued to grow up immersed in Mohawk culture. Over the years, her eyesight had improved somewhat, and she became skilled in the traditional women’s arts of learning to make clothing, weave mats, process animal pelts, tend crops, and prepare food. But there was something different about Tekakwitha – she was described as a modest girl who often avoided social gatherings.

Despite the turmoil around her, Tekakwitha’s strength of character shone brightly. In the summer of 1669, when she was around 13, she shocked everyone by refusing to consider marriage. In a bold statement to her confessor, she declared, “I can have no spouse but Jesus,” and even went as far as to say, “I have the strongest aversion to marriage.”

That same year, Mohican warriors attacked her village. Instead of hiding, Tekakwitha joined other girls in helping a priest named Jean Pierron tend to the wounded, bury the dead, and carry food and water to those in need, demonstrating her compassionate and caring nature.

As Tekakwitha grew older, the pressure to conform to traditional expectations intensified. When she was about 17, her adoptive mother and another aunt tried to arrange her marriage to a young Mohawk man. But Tekakwitha stood her ground. In a dramatic turn of events, she fled from her cabin and hid in a nearby field to avoid the marriage. Her determination was so strong that eventually, her aunts gave up their efforts to marry her off.

In the 1600’s, the Haudenosaunee men and women donned cloth garments, adapting their attire to various occasions, much like we do in our modern world. The women’s fashion, in particular, was a vibrant tapestry of colors, adorned with intricate beadwork that told stories of their rich culture. Unmarried Mohawk women of that era had a unique custom of leaving their hair loose and unbraided, a symbol of their status and freedom. Tekakwitha, however, stood out from the crowd with her distinctive choice of attire. While her peers favored the popular red shawl draped over their shoulders, Tekakwitha opted for a Marian blue shawl that she wore over her head. This wasn’t merely a fashion statement; it served a practical purpose, shielding her sensitive eyes and partially concealing her scarred face. Although self-conscious about her smallpox scars, she embraced them with true humility, viewing them as a blessing that allowed her to focus more on her spiritual life rather than receiving attention for her appearance.

In the spring of 1674, when Tekakwitha was 18, she met Jesuit priest Jacques de Lamberville, who was visiting her village. In a brave move, Tekakwitha openly shared her story with him and expressed her desire to become a Christian. This marked the beginning of her formal Christian education as she started studying the catechism with Lamberville.

Tekakwitha’s journey to Catholicism was significantly influenced by Mohawk converts who had embraced the faith. These role models lived out their faith in a way that made a deep impression on her. Their commitment to Jesus Christ and their ability to integrate their Catholic faith with their Mohawk culture showed Kateri that she could do the same. However, her decision to convert was not an easy path, as it sometimes led to tensions within her family and community, particularly given the complex political landscape of the time. Even before her religious conversion, her refusal to marry and start a family – values deeply ingrained in Mohawk culture – strained her relationship with her adopted parents. Her embrace of Catholicism in 1676 only increased the tensions.

Tekakwitha’s baptism on Easter Sunday of 1676 marked a significant milestone in her spiritual journey. The choice of her baptismal name, “Kateri,” which means “Catherine” in English, remains a topic of speculation. Some biographers suggest she named herself after St. Catherine of Siena, the contemplative mystic, while others propose St. Catherine of Alexandria, who was martyred for her faith. It’s possible that Kateri identified with both the mystic and the martyr, adding profound meaning to her chosen name and identity. Her baptism marked the beginning of her deep and personal relationship with God. Her faith was not just a set of beliefs but a way of life that influenced every aspect of her existence.

Holy Mohawk Catholics played a significant role in Kateri’s conversion. Many lay Catholics bore witness to their faith, sharing their testimonies of life in Jesus Christ and inviting their fellow Mohawk to follow Him. While Jesuit priests were involved in her instruction, it was the evangelization by Mohawk Catholics, living out their faith within their culture, that deeply impressed her. By this time, some of the Mohawk Catholics advocated for re-establishing themselves at the St. Francis Xavier du Pres settlement at Caughnawaga — now known as Kahnawake. It was situated on their traditional northern frontiers in what is now southern Quebec. Known as “the praying village,” it was founded by a devout Oneida married couple, in conjunction with the Jesuits. Migrating to Caughnawaga would allow Mohawk Catholics to live their faith intentionally and position them to dominate a trading route with the French, while also guarding the southern approach to Montreal.

Kateri Tekakwitha found herself at the center of a cultural and spiritual storm. Her adopted father took a very harsh approach to maintaining unity and keeping people rooted in Mohawk territory. This stance, largely supported by the influential clan mothers, led to severe consequences for those who chose to leave. But rather than convincing them to stay, the chief’s stringent policies actually encouraged Mohawk Catholics more than ever to migrate to Caughnawaga. Kateri, as the daughter of a Turtle clan chief, was in a quandary further complicated by her adopted sister’s conversion and subsequent move to Caughnawaga with her husband.

As a devout Catholic, Kateri’s decision to observe Christian practices, such as refraining from work on Sundays and holy days, was perceived by many as shirking her duties to the Mohawk nation. Yet, despite facing opposition from her tribe and even her own family, Kateri remained steadfast and courageous in her faith. She endured escalating hostility, including being insulted and ostracized, harsh labor, having stones thrown at her, and being denied food, yet she persevered in her Christian beliefs. Even as she faced persecution from her own people, Kateri prayed for their conversion and forgiveness, showing a remarkable capacity for love and understanding. In a particularly cruel attempt to prevent her departure, one of her aunts falsely accused Kateri of incest with an uncle, figuring that this would make her unwelcome in the praying village.

Aided by the encouragement of a Jesuit priest, Kateri’s unwavering faith led her to Caughnawaga in 1677, a year after her conversion. In this welcoming community, she could fully embrace her identity as a Mohawk Catholic woman. Kateri showed exceptional devotion to her faith, particularly to the Blessed Sacrament, which she visited frequently throughout the day. She attended daily morning Mass and was often the first to arrive at the chapel, even in harsh winter conditions. At Mass, the priests would pray in Latin, while the congregation sang in their native language. The sermons were preached by Haudenosaunee catechists. Kateri participated in Vespers and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament in the evening, and received the sacraments regularly. She spent many hours in prayer, both in the chapel and in nature. Along with the other residents, she prayed the Rosary as she worked in the fields. She also worked alongside the Jesuits in caring for the sick, wounded and elderly. Because of her personal sanctity and exemplary virtue, Kateri was soon invited to join the Holy Family Confraternity, a spiritual community at Caughnawaga dedicated to living out Gospel values. They would meet every Sunday afternoon and prayed a special form of the rosary. Her profound spirituality attracted a group of devout women, known as “Kateri’s band,” with whom she contemplated establishing a culturally-aligned religious order, but was discouraged from doing so by the Jesuits, probably because of her poor health. She formed close bonds with Marie-Thérèse Tegaiaguenta, an Oneida convert about her age, and Father Claude Chauchetière, who became her spiritual advisor. Throughout her time in Caughnawaga, St. Kateri’s guiding principle was reflected in her motto, “Who will teach me what is most agreeable to God, so that I may do it?

Still experiencing pressure from her relatives to marry, on March 25, 1679, at the age of 23, she made her consecration of virginity, framing her commitment in matrimonial terms. Instead of getting married in the traditional sense, she decided to become a “bride of Christ.” In this way, St. Kateri demonstrated that she was not rejecting the traditional Mohawk values of marriage and family. Instead, she chose to live out these values spiritually through her union with Jesus. Making a private vow of perpetual virginity was unusual for a young woman in her culture. Her biographer, Fr. Claude Chauchetière, described her chastity as “the most beautiful flower in her crown”.

Kateri’s Vow of Chastity

However, even in this rose garden of spirituality that was Caughnawaga, she wasn’t immune to the thorns of human nature. A painful incident arose when a woman in the community, driven by jealousy and misunderstanding, falsely accused St. Kateri of seducing her husband during a hunting trip. This accusation was particularly hurtful, as it echoed similar false claims made against her in her homeland. Despite the pain this caused, Kateri’s response was one of grace and restraint. She denied the accusation, as did the woman’s husband, but chose not to retaliate. Instead, she made the personal decision to abstain from future hunting trips, wanting to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. Eventually, the the woman  realized her error of rash judgement and repented. But the shadow of this accusation lingered, prompting a Jesuit priest to seek confirmation of St. Kateri’s innocence on her deathbed. While this questioning was undoubtedly distressing for Kateri in her final moments, it served a greater purpose. The priest’s intention was to secure a deathbed testimony that would silence any future detractors and preserve Kateri’s legacy of purity and devotion. This poignant episode highlights Kateri’s unwavering faith and character in the face of adversity, further cementing her status as a model of Christian virtue.

Kateri Tekakwitha’s relationship with nature and creation was deeply intertwined with her faith and cultural heritage. She had a profound connection with the natural world, which was a significant part of her Mohawk heritage. The Haudenosaunee people, including the Mohawks, held a deep respect for nature, seeing it as a gift from the Creator. This respect was reflected in their daily lives, rituals, and spiritual practices. For Kateri, nature was not just a backdrop for her life but a living testament to God’s presence and creation. She often found solace and inspiration in the natural world, which she saw as a reflection of God’s beauty and handiwork. This connection with nature was evident in her prayer life and her contemplative practices.

Kateri would often retreat to the woods to pray, finding in the quiet and solitude of nature a perfect setting to commune with God. The forests, rivers, and fields around her were not just physical spaces but sacred places where she could feel closer to the Creator. Her deep love for the natural world was a way for her to express her gratitude and reverence for God’s creation. She saw the land as a sacred trust, something to be cared for and preserved for future generations. Her relationship with nature resonated with the Haudenosaunee belief in responsible stewardship of the earth, and also was in harmony with her Catholic faith, which teaches respect for God’s creation and the importance of caring for the environment.

Kateri’s devotion manifested in intense ascetic practices that often surpassed the expectations and comfort levels of her Jesuit mentors. These penances, driven by an ardent love for Christ, included extreme fasting and bodily mortifications, which she often concealed from the concerned Jesuits and shared only with close confidantes like Marie-Therese. The severity of Kateri’s self-imposed disciplines reflected a 17th-century Western Catholic theology that emphasized Christ’s suffering. Another intention behind her penances seemed to be reparation: Kateri took on her own body the punishments due to sin that might otherwise fall on the Mohawk nation, whom she loved deeply. Kateri’s asceticism also incorporated traditional Mohawk practices designed to prepare individuals to display their orenda, or “greatness of spirit,” in the face of extreme pain, such ritual torture and death at the hands of enemies. When Marie-Therese informed the Jesuit father that Kateri was lying on a bed of thorns, he ordered her to stop out of obedience.

After a painful illness that left her bedridden in the longhouse, Kateri died on Holy Wednesday, April 17, 1680, softly repeating her last words, “Jesus, Mary, I love you,” in her native language. She was buried according to her people’s traditional customs. The Haudenosaunee Catholics of Caughnawaga honored her with the highest praise they could give: “She died as she lived. That is, a saint.” Upon drawing her last breath, her skin became clear and smooth, with no sign of smallpox scars.  Her face radiated a smiling beauty and serenity which remained until her burial.

Immediately following her death, Kateri appeared in visions to some of her loved ones, assuring them that she was going home to God. These apparitions held a deeper meaning in traditional Haudenosaunee culture than might be apparent to Catholics accustomed to European culture. According to Haudenosaunee beliefs, the souls of the dead would visit their loved ones before departing to the village of the dead.

One night, one of the Jesuits had a dream in which St. Kateri appeared to him. In the dream, their chapel was overturned, and one of Caughnawaga’s Catholics was burning at the stake. This prophecy seemed to come true when a powerful windstorm flattened the church, nearly killing the Jesuits inside. They prayed to Kateri for protection and credited their survival to her intercession. This event, along with the eventual martyrdom of Caughnawaga’s Haudenosaunee Catholics, reinforced their belief in her protective presence. This vision of the overturned church and the persecuted indigenous Christian might have multiple fulfillments. Further south, the La Florida Mission Martyrs, primarily Appalachee and Timucua Catholics, were killed for their faith during an invasion and persecution led by the English. The vision’s fulfillment has likely repeated itself in more recent times, particularly during the 19th and 20th centuries.

Although St. Kateri did not experience martyrdom herself, her witness and prayers had a profound impact on the Haudenosaunee Catholics of Caughnawaga, deepening their commitment to the Catholic faith.

Kateri Tekakwitha’s journey to sainthood is a fascinating tale that intertwines Native American and Catholic traditions. The first written account of her life didn’t appear until 1715, decades after her death. Her commitment to chastity earned her the title “Lily of the Mohawks,” drawing on the flower’s symbolism of purity in Christian iconography. Artistic depictions of Tekakwitha often feature a lily and cross, with feathers or a turtle added to acknowledge her Mohawk heritage. She acquired several other poetic titles, including “the Mohawk Maiden,” “the Pure and Tender Lily,” and “the New Star of the New World.” Her gravestone bears the inscription “the fairest flower that ever bloomed,” reflecting how she was viewed by both her tribal community and European settlers.

Tekakwitha’s legacy sparked an increase in Native American participation in Catholicism. In the 1730s, a convent for Native American nuns opened in Mexico. By the 1880s, Indian Catholic missions and bishops were petitioning for her official veneration alongside Jesuit martyrs Isaac Jogues and René Goupil.

Over the centuries, devotion to Kateri Tekakwitha grew, and numerous miracles were attributed to her intercession. Her reputation spread across North America, with French Canadians reporting miraculous recoveries. People would take dirt from her grave and touch it to their bodies. Many personal miracles were attributed to St. Kateri, and among the French, she was known as the “Genevieve of Canada” for her aid during times of conflict and famine. Native communities across the continent heard of Kateri Tekakwitha long before any Catholic missionaries arrived there.

The path to Tekakwitha’s canonization began in earnest at the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore in 1885. Support came from both U.S. and Canadian Catholics, with 906 Native Americans signing letters advocating for her sainthood. Her cause progressed steadily: her spiritual writings were approved in 1936, she was declared Venerable by Pope Pius XII in 1943. There were so many reports of miracles that St. John Paul II waived the first miracle requirement for her beatification in 1980.

The miracle that led to St. Kateri’s canonization was the healing of a five-year-old boy, Jacob Finkbonner, a descendant of the Lummi nation in Washington state. He was cured of a fatal flesh-eating disease that had attacked his face. Doctors had given up all hope of his recovery. Interestingly, one of Finkbonner’s ancestors had signed a petition to canonize Kateri back in the 19th century.

On Oct. 21, 2012, Kateri Tekakwitha was canonized by Pope Benedict XVI. Although St. Juan Diego is considered the first indigenous saint of the Americas, Kateri Tekakwitha is the first Native American woman saint. Along with St. Francis of Assisi, she is the patron saint of ecology and the environment. Her patronage also includes Native Americans, orphans, people in exile, those ridiculed for their faith, and World Youth Day. She is also one of the patron saints of Canada. Her feast day in the United States is July 14; in Canada, it is celebrated on April 17.

St. Kateri Tekakwitha’s canonization has sparked a renewed interest in the Native American roots of Catholicism in North America, fostering a deeper appreciation for indigenous contributions to the faith, and has reinvigorated efforts to recognize other Native American holy figures, such as the Martyrs of La Florida Missions, Nicholas Black Elk, and Rose Prince. These emerging stories of Native American saints and martyrs are enriching the Catholic Church’s understanding of its diverse heritage in North America.

St. Kateri Tekakwitha was a remarkable figure whose life bridged Indigenous and European cultures during a tumultuous period in North American history. Her life was a powerful witness to the transformative power of faith. Despite the challenges she faced, including the loss of her family, physical ailments, and cultural pressures, St. Kateri remained committed to her spiritual path. Her ability to integrate her Catholic beliefs with her Mohawk identity, her devotion to prayer and the sacraments, and her unwavering commitment to purity and holiness all highlight the central role that faith played in her life. Her legacy remains complex. She is viewed by some as a symbol of religious transformation. Others regard her as a victim of colonization, even though Christianity was never forced upon her; she willingly chose it and embraced it with her entire being. Regardless of interpretation, her story continues to inspire many, showing that true sanctity is possible even in the face of great adversity.

St. Kateri Tekakwitha,
First Native American Woman Saint

PRAYER TO ST. KATERI TEKAKWITHA

by Harold Caldwell

O Saint Kateri, Lily of the Mohawks,
Your love for Jesus,
so strong, so steadfast,
pray that we may become like you.

Your short and painful life 
showed us your strength and humility.
Pray that we may become 
forever humble like you.

Like the bright and shining stars at night,
we pray that your light 
may forever shine down upon us, 
giving light, hope, peacefulness
and serenity in our darkest moments.

Fill our hearts, Saint Kateri Tekakwitha
with your same love for Jesus 
and pray that we have the 
strength and courage 
to become one like you in heaven.
Through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

June 29, 2024

ST. MARGARET MARY ALACOQUE, Sacred Heart Visionary

St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

To watch the YouTube video, click arrow on thumbnail below:

“I need nothing but God, and to lose myself in the heart of Jesus.” Those were the words written by an extraordinary woman whose life was utterly transformed by mystical encounters with Christ. Her name was St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, and her powerful visions of the Sacred Heart of Jesus left a lasting impact on the entire Church. If you’re ready to be inspired by the remarkable journey of this visionary saint – her profound faith, incredible supernatural encounters, and the great spiritual legacy she left behind – then keep reading as we explore the extraordinary life and mission of St. Margaret Mary, the Visionary of the Sacred Heart.

Margaret Mary Alacoque was born on July 22, 1647 in Verosvres, a small town in Burgundy, France, a region surrounded by a chain of jagged mountain peaks. She was the fifth of seven children born to Claude, the royal notary of the town, and Philiberte Lamyn Alacoque. Margaret had three older brothers and one younger brother, and two sisters, one older, one younger than she. Both sisters died young, leaving Margaret as the only surviving daughter of the family. The house of her birth consisted of two large buildings separated by a courtyard. The first house, called the cabinet house, was where Margaret was born and today is a chapel devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

During the 1600’s, the Catholic Church in France was plagued with schisms and heresy, especially Jansenism, a strict, puritanical interpretation of morality with a very limited view of salvation. The dogma of God’s infinite love for man was looked upon with coldness, indifference and doubt. Despite this, Margaret Mary’s family were devout Catholics, and Margaret was devoted to Jesus Christ from early childhood. To make her behave, all an adult had to tell her was that her behavior was offensive to God, and she altered her conduct immediately. When she was 4-1/2, Margaret went to live with her godmother, Mademoiselle de Fautrieres de Corcheval, who was childless and greatly wanted Margaret with her. Since her godmother’s castle was near Margaret’s home, and her father often traveled and would be able to visit regularly, her parents consented.

The Château de Corcheval was an imposing castle, surrounded by mountains and forests. Margaret deeply appreciated its air of solitude. Just outside the gates of the castle was a chapel shaded by trees, where she often went to pray. Two of Mme. de Corcheval’s lady companions taught Margaret to pray, read and write, and als0 taught her catechism. She developed a great and tender devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Whenever her friends couldn’t find her in prayer at home, they looked in the church, where she usually was found in deep prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. This great love of prayer helped to make her one of the greatest contemplatives of the Church. Margaret wrote in her autobiography, “I was constantly urged to repeat these words, the sense of which I did not understand: ‘My God, I consecrate to Thee my purity! My God, I make to Thee a vow of perpetual chastity!’…I did not know what I had done nor what the words ‘vow’ and ‘chastity’ signified.” She only understood them as giving the complete gift of herself to God.

In 1655, when Margaret was eight, her godmother died, and Margaret returned to her family. At the end of that same year, her father, Claude, who was only 41, died of pneumonia. Though an honest, devout Christian, he was a poor businessman who did not pay his debts nor collect his fees, leaving his family only a modest amount. Margaret’s mother was determined to remedy their financial situation, which caused her to have to travel frequently. So, her two eldest sons were sent to Cluny and the other two went to their Uncle Antoine Alacoque, a priest and the cure’ of Verosvres. Margaret was sent to the Poor Clares of Charolles. Her time there made such an impression on her that she realized this was the kind of life God wanted her to have, even though the Poor Clares Order was not hidden enough to suit her. The nuns prepared her for First Holy Communion at the age of nine. She was a lively little girl who loved playtime and amusements, but after her First Communion she no longer found them as attractive.

Shortly thereafter, she became seriously ill and had to return back home, where she was tenderly cared for by her mother and brothers. Despite their excellent care, she did not seem to be getting better. In Margaret’s own words, “They could find no cure for my malady till they gave me to the Blessed Virgin. They promised her if I were cured, I should someday be one of her daughters. They had no sooner made the vow than I was cured. I ever after experienced the Blessed Virgin’s protection…as of one belonging entirely to her.” During her long hours of convalescence, Margaret felt strongly attracted to prayer. She was more determined than ever to belong unreservedly to God.

It was only after she recovered from her illness that Margaret noticed all the unfortunate changes that had come over the household. Her mother’s efforts to reestablish the family fortune had not succeeded. A new lease of the land was made in the name of her Uncle Touissant Delaroche, who took over its management. His wife became the absolute mistress of the home, where Margaret’s grandmother Mme. Alacoque and her unmarried daughter Catherine were already living. Margaret’s mother was pushed aside, divested of any influence in the household, and treated very unkindly.

Of this Margaret wrote: “God permitted my mother to be deprived of authority in her own house and forced to yield to others. Those in charge so lorded it over her that both she and I were soon reduced to a state of captivity….We had no freedom in our own house, everything was under lock and key, so that I could not even find my apparel when I wished to go to Holy Mass. I was even obliged to borrow clothes. It was at this time that with all my strength I sought my consolation in the most Blessed Sacrament.” But because they lived in the country, far from the church, Margaret could not go to church without the permission of the family. This often was withheld with an absurd accusation that Margaret was covering up a secret rendezvous under the pretense of going to Mass or Benediction.

Hurt and frustrated, Margaret would hide in a corner of the garden, in the stable, or in some other secluded place, where she knelt and poured out her heart in tears to the  Blessed Virgin. She remained there for days without eating or drinking. The other people in the village, pitying her, would come in the evening to give her some food. She would finally return to the house fearful and trembling, where she then was accused of neglecting the house and children, and was not allowed to speak in her own defense. God was her only refuge from all her trials. She prayed continuously, and began to practice austere penances.

But the greatest cross to Margaret at this time was her inability to help her mother in any significant way. When her mother became ill, she was left entirely in Margaret’s care. Margaret was unable to obtain from the head of the household the necessary nourishment for her mother, so she had to beg for eggs and other nutritious food from the people in the village. This was a great trial to Margaret, who was naturally timid and often was received very rudely. One time, her mother was gravely ill, and the doctor said that nothing short of a miracle could save her life. Margaret ran to the church and begged God to heal her mother. When she returned home, her mother was much improved and was completely healed within a few days.

Enduring her relatives’ cruelty was heroic for Margaret. She had a tender, sensitive nature and blossomed under attention and affection, which was sorely lacking in her present environment. Aside from church, her favorite spot was a little wooded area in a valley right outside the gardens that surrounded the house. This would become Margaret’s chosen refuge, where she liked to pray and where she had her first visions. From there she could see the main altar of the church, which was less than half a mile away. Leaning on a rock, she would spend hours in contemplation. At night from her window she could see the little lamp burning before the tabernacle.

It was during this difficult period that the Lord Jesus began to appear to Margaret. In her innocent way, she thought that everyone was favored with such visions, so she did not think it out of the ordinary. She usually saw Jesus crucified or carrying His cross. These visions allowed her to regard her malicious relatives as instruments through whom God would accomplish His holy will, and she was able to treat them with charity.

When Margaret was 17, her circumstances dramatically changed for the better. Her eldest brothers, who were now of age, took charge of the business affairs. Her mother was once again in a position of authority in the household. During the previous 10 years, their Uncle Toussaint, who had most likely died by this time, had regained the fortunes of the family. This meant that now Margaret and her siblings were free to enjoy their lives once again. Since most of them were of marriageable age, there was much social activity at the house. Margaret herself was attracting a lot of attention, and had already received a few good offers of marriage. In appearance, Margaret is said to have been a little above average height and of a delicate constitution. She had an expressive face with soft, clear eyes. Her personality was agreeable and  vivacious, her manner cheerful and graceful, yet with keen intelligence, solid judgement, a noble soul and a great heart.

Young Margaret

Although she maintained her pure, innocent nature, once released from her previous adversity, she now delighted in parties and amusements, cut her prayers short, and stayed away from confession. Lively and bright, she was so fond of fun that it could have led her astray, had she not constantly sought the guidance of Our Lord. At times she would be pierced by remorse, beg God for forgiveness and undertake severe penances. “In spite of all this,” she said. “I fell once again into vanity, and again I offered the same resistance.” One day, during Carnival time, she returned from a masked ball to find the Lord waiting for her. She wrote of this encounter: “My Sovereign Master presented Himself before me all disfigured as He was during his flagellation. He reproached me saying that…I was losing infinitely precious time, of which he would demand of me a rigorous account.” After this experience, Margaret wept bitterly and again subjected herself to severe penances.

She had not forgotten her vow of chastity, and did not want to marry. She felt great pressure to do so by her family, however, especially her mother, who seemed to feel that her own future would be more secure once Margaret was married and settled. On the other hand, Margaret strongly felt God’s urging to honor her earlier vow. Torn between love for God and love for her mother, Margaret suffered much mental anguish for the next several years. She wondered whether she was truly bound by her childhood vow, since she had not fully understood it at the time. She also felt that she was not worthy of a religious vocation. She decided to devote herself to the service of the poor, giving whatever extra money she had to needy children. She also taught them prayers and catechism in a large room within the Alacoque home. She visited their families and nursed the sick ones, despite the fact that she had a horror of blood, wounds and disease.

When Margaret was 20 years old, and still torn between loyalty to her mother and loyalty to God, her two older brothers died within a short time of one another. Her brother Chrysostom then became sole proprietor of the estate and head of the family, and married at the age of 22. James, her youngest brother, was preparing for Holy Orders. Her mother, remembering her past sufferings at the hands of relatives, did not want to live in a household ruled by a daughter-in-law. She tearfully begged Margaret to make a decision to marry and bring her to live with her and her husband. Chrysostom told Margaret it was high time she got married, and James offered her half of his inheritance as a dowry, to further persuade her.

In the midst of all this pressure, God came to the rescue. One day, after Holy Communion, He said to her, “If you are faithful to me, I shall never leave you. I will render you victorious over all your enemies….If you are faithful to me, I shall teach you to know me and shall manifest myself to you.” Arriving home from church, she told her family of her decision. Her mother, convinced that Margaret really meant it, no longer insisted that she marry. In her memoirs, Margaret wrote, “After this, my mother shed no more tears in my presence, but she wept before all with whom she spoke on the subject. Those persons never failed to tell me that if I left her, I would be the cause of her death.”

Despite Margaret’s resolve, her family was not yet convinced. But now she was sure of what she was going to do and lived in peace about her decision. While visiting some relatives in Macon, she learned that her cousin, a pious young woman, was preparing to enter the Ursuline convent. She urged Margaret to come with her. But Margaret preferred to enter a convent where she knew no one, so that her only motive would be the love of God.

Around this time, her brother Chrysostom arrived to take her home, because her mother was very sick and not expected to live. Margaret wrote, “They made me understand that my mother could not live without me, and that I should have to answer to God for her death. This was told to me even by ecclesiastics, which caused me cruel suffering, as I tenderly loved my mother. The devil made use of this ruse to make me believe that my mother’s death would be the cause of my eternal damnation.”

In this state of mental torment, Margaret poured out her tears and prayers at the foot of the crucifix. God answered her prayers by gradually changing the hearts of her family members. A visiting priest of the Order of St. Francis became friendly with the family and had a serious discussion with Chrysostom about his opposition to Margaret’s vocation. Fearful of offending God, Chrysostom had a long talk with Margaret and realized how determined she was about her vocation. He immediately arranged for her departure and accompanied her to the Convent of the Visitation in Paray-le-Monial, which she had decided upon. No sooner had she crossed the threshold than she heard an interior voice whisper, “Here it is that I wish you to be.” She returned home to say her last, heart-rending farewells. Upon leaving her mother, she was swept with a terrible wave of bitterness. “It seemed to me,” she said, “that my soul was being torn from my body.”

She entered the convent of the Visitation on May 25, 1671, at the age of 23. Shortly thereafter, she asked Mother Thouvant, the Mistress of Novices, just what she could do to give herself entirely to God. MotherThouvant answered, “Go place yourself before God like canvas before a painter.”

On Aug. 25, 1671, Margaret received her habit. Almost immediately afterwards, she began to sense the constant presence of the Lord. As one witness at her canonization described, “She was so united to God that, whether working, writing, or reading, she was always on her knees with such recollection as one might expect to see in church.”

The Lord appeared to her in visions from time to time, encouraging and consoling her, and sometimes reproving her for her faults. The other nuns, not knowing about this, were baffled by her behavior. As one biographer put it: “What most astonished the Sisters was not only the long hours that she passed on her knees in the choir or in her cell, her face radiant, her eyes full of tears, but the state of constant abstraction from which it was necessary to arouse her. Her work fell from her hands, and she forgot everything. The poor child’s soul was in heaven, and she did not know how to conduct herself on earth.”

Margaret Mary as a novice,
in an ecstatic state

The Mistress of Novices told Margaret that her behavior was not in accordance with the spirit of the Visitation Order, and if she did not change it she would not be allowed to profess her final vows.

Of this Margaret wrote: “I made every effort to follow the method of prayer taught me, along with other practices; but my mind retained nothing of all those teachings. The beautiful points of prayer vanished, and I could neither learn nor retain anything but what my Divine Master taught me. This made me suffer greatly, for His operations in me were frustrated as much as possible, and I had to resist Him as much as I was able.” To help her overcome her state of absorption, Margaret Mary was assigned as an aide to the Mistress of the Infirmary, who was told to keep her constantly employed. Margaret swept floors, cleaned the nuns’ cells, weeded the garden, and other such tasks. Not being allowed time for prayer, she went to the Mistress and asked if she could resume it. She was reprimanded sharply, told she needed to learn how to unite prayer and labor, and sent on to other numerous and demanding tasks.

It was now August 1672, and Margaret was not yet called to her final vows. She was admired for her humility, obedience, and charity, and although not skillful in domestic ways, she was so willing and eager that the other nuns were touched by her goodness of heart. Yet, as one witness at her canonization attested, “I heard from the Superioress and Mistress of Novices that she would one day be a saint, but that she was so extraordinary that perhaps she was not intended to live out her life at the Visitation.”

Around this time, 52-year-old Mother Marie-Francoise de Saumaise became the Superior of the Visitation convent. She possessed good judgement and fairness, was extremely kind, and had a perfect understanding of the rules of the Visitation Order.  She immediately recognized in Margaret Mary the workings of the Spirit of God, and decided she should be allowed to take her final vows on Nov. 6, 1672. Following this, Margaret rapidly increased in virtue to the point that the whole community was astonished. She entered into a state of entire absorption in God. The other Sisters constantly were having to rouse her from this absorption, and they found her often in the chapel, where she knelt motionless for hours with closed eyes and joined hands, seeing and hearing nothing. But if she was asked to do something in the name of obedience, she responded immediately.

Another Sister once asked her, “My dear Sister, how can you remain kneeling so long?” Margaret replied, “At such times I do not even know that I have a body.”  In today’s terms, it would seem that these were out-of-body experiences, where her spirit resided in the heavenly realm while her body remained on earth. The Sisters called her an “ecstatic.” Other saints who were considered ecstatics were Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Siena and Teresa of Avila, to name just a few.

It was during such ecstatic episodes that Margaret received the grand revelations of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. There were four distinct revelations in all, each separated by a considerable period of time. The first occurred on Dec. 27, 1673. As Margaret Mary knelt before the Blessed Sacrament, she felt entirely filled with the Divine Presence. The Lord said to her,

“My Divine Heart is so passionately in love with humankind that it cannot contain itself within the flames of its ardent charity. It must spread them abroad by your means, and manifest Itself to them.”

He told Margaret Mary nothing more at this point, except that He was going to use her to make this known to the world, but did not tell her when or how. Then Jesus asked for her heart, which she willingly gave, and placed it within His Sacred Heart.

The second revelation took place on July 2, 1674. Margaret wrote: “The Divine Heart was presented to me in a throne of flames, more resplendent than a sun, transparent as crystal. It was surrounded with a crown of thorns, signifying the punctures made in it by our sins, and a cross above.”

During the third revelation, Jesus appeared brilliant with glory, His five wounds shining like five suns. He revealed to Margaret His wish to be known, loved, and honored by all, and to draw them away from damnation. He said that the ingratitude He received from humankind in return for His great love was much more painful to Him than all He had suffered during His Passion. He promised that if an image of His Heart was venerated and worn over a person’s heart, He would “imprint His love on their hearts and destroy all unruly inclinations.”

Sacred Heart of Jesus Revelation to
St. Margaret Mary

Shortly after this vision, Margaret Mary came down with a fever that resisted every remedy. The Mother Superior commanded her to ask God for healing, saying that she would recognize such a healing as a sign of the genuinely supernatural character of Margaret’s visions. After Margaret Mary obediently said a short prayer, her fever vanished, her pulse steadied, and the physician pronounced her cured. Now Mother de Saumaise was faced with a dilemma. The instantaneous cure seemed an acknowledgment of Sr. Margaret’s sanctity. But although Margaret’s visions were extraordinary, she was only 26 and had been a nun for merely two years. After seeking counsel, the Mother Superior concluded that Margaret Mary’s case might involve an overactive imagination and maybe some cleverly disguised illusion of the evil spirit.

When she was told this, Margaret Mary did not know what to do. She tried to resist the interior attractions, fearing that she was in error. “But I could not succeed,” she wrote. “It was impossible for me to resist the spirit that moved me.” One day, while pouring out her heart in prayer, she heard a voice say to her: “Have patience, and await My servant.” She didn’t know what the words meant, but felt comforted knowing that she would receive God’s assistance when the time was right.

It wasn’t long before Margaret Mary met this foretold “servant of the Lord,” who would become her spiritual director, invaluable friend and ally. He was Claude de la Colombiere, a 32-yr.-old Jesuit priest who arrived at the convent to give a conference to the Sisters. When Margaret Mary arrived at the conference, she naturally had no idea he was. But she distinctly heard an interior voice say, “Behold him whom I send to you.” When Fr. de la Colombiere later heard Margaret Mary’s confession, he spoke as if he knew everything that was going on in her soul. Although hesitant at first, before the priest left Paray, Margaret Mary confided everything to him. She emerged from this conversation enlightened and consoled. Father de la Colombiere had told her not to fear the guidance of the Spirit, as long as it did not interfere with her religious obedience. He advised her to follow Its instructions, and that she should make continual thanksgiving for such great favors.

Fr. Claude de la Colombiere

On June 16, 1675, the last of the four Sacred Heart revelations took place, during which Jesus showed His Heart to St. Margaret Mary, saying “Behold the Heart that has so loved men…Instead of gratitude, I receive from most only ingratitude.” He made known to Margaret His requests for devotion to His Sacred Heart, and also made 12 promises of graces that would be bestowed upon all who follow the devotion.

For more about the Sacred Heart devotion and promises, check out my post, “Unlock the Power: The Sacred Heart Devotion”.

Then Jesus charged her with her great public mission to make devotion to His Sacred Heart known throughout the world. Margaret Mary asked, “Lord, how can I?” But Jesus told her to address herself to that servant of God who had been sent to her expressly for the accomplishment of this task — meaning, of course, Father de la Colombiere. When Margaret Mary confided all this to the priest, he asked for a written account that he could study. After examining it carefully and seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit, Father de la Colombiere told Margaret that she could rely on it, for it indeed came from Heaven. On June 21, Margaret Mary and Father de la Colombiere solemnly consecrated themselves to the Divine Heart of Jesus.

After the last revelation, Margaret fell into a period of intense physical and mental suffering. Her health failed, and she became an object of speculation and suspicion to the other Sisters, who could not comprehend her strange mystical behavior. This is understandable, since they did not know about her visions and revelations. Only her Superiors and Father de la Colombiere knew of these. The Community was divided in opinion about her. They acknowledged her virtue, but her conduct was baffling to them. Some of the Sisters wondered if she were possessed by the devil, and some even sprinkled holy water when they passed her.

In June 1678, Mother Greyfie was elected Superior in place of Mother de Saumaise. She was an austere, rigorous character who had “an extreme distrust for the guidance of extraordinary souls.” It seems that God brought her to the convent to prove beyond a doubt the authenticity of Sister Margaret Mary’s mission. Mother Greyfie, who had heard from Mother de Saumaise about the four Sacred Heart revelations, resolved to ignore them and to see that Margaret adhered in all things to the common life of the Community. She called Margaret Mary to account for whatever went wrong in the convent, and began to take away the permissions that Margaret had previously been granted. One of these was the Holy Hour every week on the night between Thursday and Friday that our Lord had requested of her. Margaret obeyed, but when the Lord in a vision appeared irritated, she feared that a terrible punishment would come upon the community. She told this to Mother Greyfie, who paid no attention. But one day shortly thereafter, one of the youngest and most likable sisters died suddenly and unexpectedly. Mother Greyfie took this as a sign of the Lord’s anger, and quickly restored Margaret’s permission to resume her Holy Hour.

Mother Greyfie still enforced the rest of her orders upon Margaret Mary, however, and paid no attention to Margaret’s physical maladies. Even when Margaret was sick with a high fever, she was obliged to follow every exercise of the Community. Mother Greyfie did not act this way to be cruel; she was responsible for the souls of the Sisters in her charge, and did not want to be a victim of deception. To rise above her doubts once and for all, she resolved to demand a miracle that would have many witnesses. She commanded that Mary Margaret should follow all the Community exercises for five months without once returning to the infirmary due to illness. She told Margaret Mary to ask the Lord to grant her the health to be able to carry this out and not be a burden to the Community, until the the feast day of the Presentation of Our Lady, 5 months in the future. Margaret Mary proceeded to follow these instructions to the letter. There occurred an instantaneous cure, followed by perfect health. But at the end of the five months, on the day designated by Mother Greyfie, Margaret Mary’s condition relapsed so severely that God’s intervention seemed evident.

Shortly thereafter, Father de la Colombiere returned to France and once again visited the Convent in Paray. He had long conversations with Mother Greyfie about Margaret Mary, whom he had always held in high esteem. He told Mother Greyfie that he truly believed that “what passed in this dear Sister came from God.” Upon meeting with Margaret Mary again, it appeared to him that Mother Greyfie’s severity had served to increase Margaret’s virtue and the divinity of her revelations. Father de la Colombiere was by this time extremely ill, and spent his last 6 months of life in Paray. His final wish was to be buried near the altar where Jesus had appeared to Margaret Mary. He died on Feb. 15, 1682. Today he is known as St. Claude de la Colombiere, having been canonized by Pope John Paul II on May 31, 1992.

Mother Greyfie’s six years of being Superior were ending, and Mother Marie-Christine Melin took her place. She was exceedingly kind, and her personality was directly opposite from the severity of her predecessor. She understood the workings of Margaret’s soul and shared with her all the new devotions. She appointed Sister Margaret Mary Mistress of Novices. The novices loved her, because Margaret enkindled the fire of Divine love in their hearts, animated them with her words, and inspired them by example to emulate her. Without disclosing her part in the revelations, she spoke to them of the beauty and treasures of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the graces they could obtain through devotion to it.

“The Divine Heart is an ocean full of all good things, wherein poor souls can cast all their needs,” she said. “It is an ocean full of joy to drown all our sadness, an ocean of humility to drown our folly, an ocean of mercy to those in distress, an ocean of love in which to submerge our poverty.”

Up to now, none of the Sisters except the Superiors knew that Margaret was the recipient of the Sacred Heart apparitions. But this secret was revealed one day by accident. Mother Melin asked one of the Sisters to read to the Community some notes written by Father de la Colombiere during a retreat. Towards the end of these notes, he described a conversation he’d had with the person who had received the Sacred Heart revelations. Although he did not mention Margaret Mary by name, the nun who was reading suddenly discerned that it was Margaret Mary. As she later said, “When I came to what concerned the revelation of the Sacred Heart, I looked at the venerable Sister. She was sitting with her eyes lowered and looking profoundly annihilated…The Community, feeling the same emotions, understood then that it was Margaret who had made these predictions.”

Devotion to the Sacred Heart slowly began to spread from convents and monasteries to the faithful public.. On Feb. 4, 1689, on the First Friday of the month, the first Catholic Mass in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus took place in the chapel of the Convent of the Visitation, in the presence of only the Community. The first public Mass in honor of the Heart was celebrated on the Feast of the Sacred Heart, 19 days after Pentecost, in the Church of the Visitation.

In 1690, Margaret Mary felt her life was drawing to a close, and she begged the Mother Superior to destroy everything that she had ever written, so that no attention would be given to her after her death. Of course, this request, made out of humility, was ignored. She was regarded by all the Sisters as a holy and privileged soul, and they privately looked upon her as already a saint. Despite her angelic and pure expression, her clear gaze seemed to penetrate one’s very soul, and she often had the ability to read hearts. But this was not intimidating, because of her sweetness and modesty. Small miracles seemed to follow her. One day, another Sister wounded herself while splitting wood with an axe. Not wanting to create a fuss, she hid the wound, but when Margaret passed nearby, she secretively touched her wound to Margaret’s garment. The next morning, there was no trace of the wound.

Margaret spoke often of her impending death, but since she was only 43 yrs. old and relatively healthy, no one took it seriously. But she sweetly and humbly insisted that it would be that year, and even told them how it would happen at a time when they were least expecting it. She even named the two Sisters whose arms would hold her as she died.

In the Fall of 1690, the day before she was to begin her retreat she came down with a slight fever. The doctor reassured the Sisters that it was nothing serious, and to all outward appearances, this seemed to be the case. But Margaret Mary, knowing better, asked for a particular Sister, saying that she wanted her nearby when she died. To this Sister, she looked to be suffering, not so much physically, but from inner, spiritual pains that were difficult to discern. Margaret Mary told the other Sister of her all-consuming desire to be with God in Heaven, but said she would remain on earth as long as God willed it.

On Oct. 16, she begged to be given Last Rites, but as she did not appear to be dying, it was refused. So she asked at least to be given Holy Communion. When the Host was brought to her, she opened her arms wide and fervently thanked Jesus for coming to her. She then received what was to be her last Communion on earth.

The next day, she had some fainting spells and again asked for Last Rites, and was again refused. The doctor said he did not feel she was near death, but Margaret replied, “You’ll see!” That evening, she had a slight convulsion, and the Sister tending her ran to call the Mother Superior. When she came, and mentioned summoning the doctor, Margaret said, “Mother, I no longer need anyone but God alone, and to be buried in the Heart of Jesus.” All the Sisters gathered around her bed, weeping. Margaret Mary rallied enough to tell them all to love God without division or reserve. She then asked once again for the Last Rites. As the priest administered the Sacrament, she tried to raise herself up for the anointing. Two Sisters went spontaneously to support her in their arms. Though no one remembered until later, these were the same two Sisters that Margaret had predicted would be holding her when she died.

Death of St. Margaret Mary

Margaret Mary passed from this life to the next at 7:00 p.m. on Oct. 17, 1690, with the name of Jesus on her lips. At that moment, the cry “The saint is dead!” was proclaimed throughout the town. For two days, the townspeople came to view her body, and touched it with chaplets, medals and crucifixes to obtain a blessed relic. She was buried near the spot upon which she had knelt when the Lord appeared to her.

In 1824, the cause for the canonization of Margaret Mary Alacoque was begun.  Two extraordinary cures followed. She was beatified on Sept. 4, 1864 and canonized on May 13, 1920. St. Margaret Mary is the patron saint of devotees of the Sacred Heart, those suffering from polio, and those who have lost parents. Her feast day is celebrated on October 16.

The Sacred Heart of Jesus

PRAYER OF ST. MARGARET MARY TO THE SACRED HEART OF JESUS

Lord Jesus, let my heart never rest until it finds You, who are its center, its love, and its happiness. By the wound in Your heart, pardon the sins that I have committed, whether out of malice or out of evil desires. Place my weak heart in Your own divine Heart, continually under Your protection and guidance, so that I may persevere in doing good and in fleeing evil until my last breath. Amen.  

– St. Margaret Mary Alacoque