Bernard, one of the wealthiest young men of Assisi, became intrigued by reports about one of his peers—Francesco di Bernardone, previously known as something of a dandy and carouser—who had recently aroused wonder, as well as ridicule, by his ostentatious embrace of poverty. His curiosity piqued, Bernard invited Francis to dine with him and spend the night in his home.
During the course of the night, he was so moved by the sound of his guest’s ardent prayers that he confronted Francis the next day and asked his help in discerning God’s will. Opening the missal at random, Francis alighted on the text, “If you wish to be perfect, go and sell all you own, and give it to the poor.” A second time he opened the book and found, “Take nothing for your journey.” On a third attempt, he found, “If anyone would follow me, let him deny himself.” “This is the advice that the Lord has given us,” Francis proclaimed. “Go and do as you have heard.” Taking these instructions to heart, Bernard disposed of his property and adopted Francis’s way of life.
Becoming one of Francis’s most trusted companions, Bernard accompanied him on many journeys. He established a house in Bologna and undertook a special mission to the shrine at Santiago de Compostela. When Francis was on his deathbed in 1226, “like the patriarch Jacob, with his devoted sons standing around him, grieving and weeping over the departure of so beloved a father,” he asked, “Where is my firstborn son?” Placing his hand on Bernard, he bestowed a special blessing, and enjoined him to “be the head of all your Brothers.”
Bernard himself died around 1241 and was buried near his spiritual father in the Basilica of Saint Francis. His last words were, “I find this in my soul: not for a thousand worlds equal to this one would I want not to have served Our Lord Jesus Christ…. My dearest brothers, I beg you to love one another.”
Louis was born to a royal family. His father, Charles II, was king of Naples and Sicily. This had its downside. When Charles was taken prisoner in a battle with the king of Aragon, he agreed to secure his release by surrendering his three sons as hostages. Thus, Louis remained a prisoner in Barcelona for seven years. Yet he did not find this arrangement uncongenial. Impressed by the Franciscan friars who tutored him, he vowed one day to join them.
Upon Louis’s released in 1295, his father tried to arrange his marriage to the daughter of his former captor. Louis refused. What is more, he insisted on surrendering his title. “Jesus Christ is my kingdom,” he said, “If he is all I have, I shall have everything. If I don’t have him, I lose everything.” Though his family acceded to his wish, they drew the line at his becoming a Franciscan.
When Louis was twenty-three, a further setback to his desire for a simple life came when Pope Boniface VIII appointed him bishop of Toulouse. There was, of course, the matter of his first being ordained a priest. Louis agreed on condition that he could make a religious profession among the Friars Minor, thereby fulfilling his childhood dream. Clothed in a tattered habit, he appeared on foot in his new bishopric. Stripping the episcopal palace of all luxury, he set an example of simplicity for the whole diocese. But he hated the burden of office, and after only three months he asked to resign. Permission was denied. Nevertheless, he soon fell ill and died a few months later, on August 19, 1297.
Louis was canonized in 1317. The famous mission of San Luis Obispo in California was named for him.
The Third Order of St. Francis has traditionally claimed St. Roch as a member, and his name appears on the calendar of Franciscan saints. But little is known of his actual life. According to legend, he was born to a noble family in Montpellier, France. At the age on twenty, when his parents died, he renounced his fortune and took up the life of a mendicant pilgrim. While on a journey to Rome, he encountered a number of plague-stricken cities. There he courageously nursed the sick and effected many cures, supposedly by making the sign of the cross.
Eventually, Roch himself was struck by the plague. Rather than seek help in a hospital, he dragged himself into the woods to die. There he was discovered by a dog who brought him food and cured him by licking his wound. Upon recovering, he resumed his ministry, caring for the sick and curing many people, along with their livestock. Eventually he returned to Montpellier, where he died.
For many centuries, St. Roch was invoked as a protector against plague and pestilence. He is often depicted in the company of a dog – whose memory, some have argued, deserves equal veneration.
On July 30, 1941, a prisoner escaped from Auschwitz, the notorious Nazi camp in Poland. In retaliation, the commandant lined up inmates of cell block fourteen and ordered that ten of them be selected for death. When one of the ten cried that he would never see his family again, another prisoner stepped forward and volunteered to take his place. When the commandant asked who he was, he replied, “I am a Catholic priest.” His offer was accepted, and so Fr. Maximilian Kolbe assumed his place among the condemned.
Fr. Kolbe had entered the Franciscans at sixteen. Though a sickly youth, he was animated by pious zeal that was matched by a genius organization. After his ordination, he formed a movement called the Knights of Mary Immaculate and launched a series of journals, which achieved a circulation of eight hundred thousand in Poland. He also organized a community called City of the Immaculate, which grew to include 762 Conventuals friars, making it the largest religious community of men in the world. In the 1930s, he started a similar foundation in Japan.
He was back in Poland in 1939 when the Nazis invaded. Gauging the Nazis’ enmity for religion, he intuited his eventual fate and prepared himself for a long time suffering. “I would like to suffer and die in a knightly manner,” he stated, “even to the shedding of the last drop of my blood, to hasten the day of gaining the whole world for the Immaculate Mother of God.” He was arrested in February 1941, and by May he was on his way to Auschwitz. He survived three months of labor and horrendous suffering. But his final passion began in July when he and the other prisoners were locked in a death bunker with nothing to consume but their own urine. He passed the time leading his companions in prayer, preparing them for death, and keeping vigil with them as they gradually succumbed. When, after two weeks, Kolbe and three others were still alive, the Nazis dispatched them with injections of carbolic acid.
In 1982, Pope John Paul II, who as bishop of Krakow had often prayed at the site of Kolbe’s death, presided over his canonization in Rome. Present for the ceremony was the man whose life Kolbe had saved. The pope called Kolbe a true martyr and saint of our times whose heroic charity proved victorious over the architects of death.
