By Father Bobby Barbato, OFM Cap.
When Francis of Assisi was near death, he asked to be taken from the bishop’s palace within the city walls of his native Assisi to the church in the woods, St. Mary of the Angels, called the Portiuncula. Yet before he lost sight of the place of his birth, he had the friars prop him up so he could give Assisi a special blessing. Francis prayed:
“Blessed may you be by God, holy city, because through you many souls will be saved and within your gates will live many servants of God, and many of your children will be chosen for eternal life.”
Francis, of course, knew that God was everywhere, but he also had a special regard for those places where he himself had experienced that presence in dramatic ways. While he wanted to die in the most special of these places, the Portiuncula, he also was grateful to be within sight of the place where he had been born, raised and spent much of his early life.
Francis’ regard for special places, I think, was shared by many of his followers, including St. Junípero Serra. When Serra finally came to found the mission that would be named after his holy father, Misión San Francisco de Asís, he chose the site with care. The missionary chose a place between a wide and beautiful bay and the vast and open sea as the most appropriate to be dedicated to the saint of Assisi, who praised God for the wondrous beauties of nature and found the Lord’s presence in sun and moon, in wind and water.
In 2026, we mark not only the 250th anniversary of the founding of what would become the city of San Francisco, but also the 800th anniversary of the death of its patron. Our brother, called Francesco di Pietro di Bernardone of Assisi, died late in the evening of Oct. 3, 1226. He was only about 44 years old. The amazing thing is that this man, who died near a small chapel in the woods below a small Italian city-state, is still remembered 800 years after his death and still revered around the world, and especially in the city named after him, more than 6,000 miles away from his native Assisi. Francis of Assisi is honored in many ways by many people, religious or not, who still marvel at his life.
In the past year, we reflected on the impact of the life and death of a pope who surprised the world when he made the saint of Assisi his model by taking the name Pope Francis. Why did this choice of a name make such an impact on the world? Why did a pope who made the Poverello (“the little poor one,” as St. Francis has often been called) his patron and model resonate eight centuries after the latter’s death? What can the people of the 21st century, especially those living in or near the city that bears his name, learn not only from the way this little man lived, but just as much how he died?
Francis of Assisi is famous for his voluntary poverty, for freely giving up the riches and status he had enjoyed as the son of a wealthy cloth merchant, Pietro di Bernardone, and his wife Pica. In a dramatic moment the young man gave everything back to his father, including all his clothes, ready to stand naked before God. All his life he regarded everything he had to use to survive as a gift from God, to be enjoyed or shared as God wanted him to. He often gave away the very thin mantle he wore to keep warm when he saw someone else shivering from the cold.
In a real sense, Francis’ continued embrace of voluntary poverty, using the minimum necessary, was practice for the moment of his death. As Pope Francis once remarked, there are no moving vans following us into the afterlife. We know that every human being will one day have to let go of everything. Francis knew this, and he wanted to be ready for that moment by learning to let go each day of his life. He did not think the things of the world were bad, but also knew they were passing, and nothing in this world could fulfill the deepest longing of the human heart.
As he grew closer to the end of his life, however, Francis learned that letting go of material things was nothing compared to facing the things that he still clung to in his heart, the things that were harder to let go of, like his desire to be popular. The closer he came to death, the more Francis needed to let go of pride and pretension. Like almost all of us, Francis found it difficult especially to let go of control.
After his conversion, Francis had founded a religious movement. It had grown tremendously, and Francis soon had men and women embracing his teachings and his way of life. Yet even in his own order of Friars Minor everything was not to his liking. Toward the end of his life, he found control of the group had started slipping from his hands. He felt other people’s ideas were interfering with his vision. This made him angry and depressed.
Francis turned to the Lord to seek his way out of this painful challenge. It was only in deep prayer that Francis learned that he had to let go of control of his order and, in a certain way, let go of his dreams. What helped him to make this final sacrifice was his trust in the promises of Jesus Christ. Once God had given him the grace to truly let go of every possession, material or spiritual, Francis found himself ready to face the end of his life.
Thus, by September of 1226, Francis of Assisi had found true peace. When he was told by his doctor friend that he had a terminal illness and would soon die, he did not become angry or depressed. Rather, Francis began to sing! When one of the brothers asked him if it was appropriate for him to sing when death was so near, he told him:
“Allow me to rejoice in the Lord, brother, and to sing His praises in my infirmities, because by the grace of the Holy Spirit, I am so closely united and joined with my Lord, that through His mercy I can well rejoice in the Most High Himself.”
It was at this time that Francis added a final verse to his already famous “Canticle of Brother Sun.” The saint and his brothers sang: “Praised by You, my Lord, through Sister Death, from whom no mortal can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin. Happy those whom death will find in Your most holy will. For the second death will do them no harm.”
Francis sang to share his joy with the world. He had learned from Jesus Christ that death is not to be feared, and he wanted to help others trust in the Lord’s promise. As death approached, everything Francis did was a way to share with the world the truth about “Sister Death.”
Francis had himself laid naked on the naked earth, to show that he trusted in the one who had made him from the dust of the earth in the first place. He blessed all the friars around him, even those who did things he didn’t like; Francis blessed all those who would join his order or be inspired by his example in the future.
A dear friend, Lady Jacoba de Settesoli, came to see him and he received her graciously. He even accepted one last almond cookie from her kitchen, praising God for the gift of sweetness.
Finally, to keep his focus on his Savior, Francis asked the brothers to read to him from the Gospel of St. John, hearing Jesus’ last words at the Last Supper, which urged them to trust in Him despite the power of death and the cross. At that moment Francis was truly ready to let go completely, to place his entire self into God’s hands. And so he gently slipped away.
When Francis died, the friars wept and church bells rang of their own accord. St. Bonaventure tells us nature itself marked the moment:
“The larks, friends of the light, at the hour of the holy man’s passing, when it was already twilight of the falling night, gathered in a great flock over the roof of the house and, circling for a long time with unusual joy, offered testimony of the glory of the saint who so often had invited them to divine praise.”
Francis’ life had not always been easy. He had suffered from illness and war, from ridicule and hatred. The man from Assisi had faced his share of the challenges and pain that come with being human. We remember him because when he came to the final challenge, letting go of everything into the arms of the merciful God who made him, he was able to do so with a joy that reverberated not only in the hearts of all those around him, but even down the centuries and around the world.
This is why we mark the 800th anniversary of his death as something to celebrate, as a moment of grace for the Church throughout the world and for all people of goodwill. It is certainly a moment of grace for the city that bears St. Francis’ name. I am sure as he looks down on the beauties of the natural world that surround it, the man from Assisi smiles upon this city. He wants to inspire those who live here or visit to praise and thank God, both for the natural gifts given by God and the beautiful city that people have built.
Francis of Assisi, however, also challenges all of us who live here to accept the Gospel by reaching out to God in prayer and reaching out to the poor and lonely, all those on the margins. Francis begs us to continue to try to make this city a place where true peace and Christian love have a home. What Francis said to his brothers just before his death, he says now to us: “I have done what was mine to do; may the Lord show you what is yours.”
Father Bobby Barbato, OFM Cap. is the rector of the National Shrine of St. Francis.
