Anthony: Words of Fire, Life of Light E-Book

Madeline Pecora Nugent

• Herausgeber: anna ruggieri
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Through detailed research and the actual words of St. Anthony, the author takes the reader on an imaginative journey into the lives and spiritual struggles of people who lived with, confided in, heeded, or defied this holy Franciscan.
In meeting those whose lives Anthony touched, the reader will come to live this saint.

Leseprobe

Anthony

Words of Fire, Life of Light

By

Madeline Pecora Nugent

Second Edition

Anthony: Words of Fire, Life of Light

By Madeline Pecora Nugent

Second Edition

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Nugent, Madeline Pecora.

Anthony : words of fire, life of light / by Madeline Pecora Nugent.— 2nd ed.

p. cm.

Rev. ed. of: St. Anthony. 1995.

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 0-8198-0777-X

1. Anthony, of Padua, Saint, 1195-1231—Fiction. 2. Italy—History—476-1268—Fiction. 3. Franciscans—Italy—Fiction. 4. Christian saints—Fiction. I. Nugent, Madeline Pecora. St. Anthony. II. Title.

PS3564.U348S7 2005

813’.54—dc22

2004013551

Cover art: Painting of Saint Anthony holding a lily and book, found in the convent of the Basilica of Saint Anthony in Padua, Italy; with the kind permission of the Messenger of Saint Anthony—Padua—Italy.

Art section: With the kind permission of the Messenger of Saint Anthony—Padua, Italy: Figures 1–4, 9–10, 15–17, 24; Courtesy of Sergia Ballini, FSP—Rome, Italy: Figures 5–8, 11–14, 18–23.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

“P” and PAULINE are registered trademarks of the Daughters of St. Paul

Copyright © 2005, 1995, Daughters of St. Paul

Published by Pauline Books & Media, 50 Saint Paul’s Avenue, Boston, MA 02130-3491.

Printed in U.S.A.

www.pauline.org

Pauline Books & Media is the publishing house of the Daughters of St. Paul, an international congregation of women religious serving the Church with the communications media.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 11 10 09 08 07 06 05

Dedication

To Father Benedict Groeschel, C.F.R., who today is preaching the same message that Anthony preached, which is the message of Christ, namely, “Repent and believe the good news.”

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Prologue

Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church, Bedchamber, Rome, Italy (Spring 1232)

Part One: The Beginning of Ministry

1. Master John, Holy Cross Monastery, Coimbra, Portugal (1220)

2. Maria, Lisbon Cathedral, Lisbon, Portugal (1220)

3. Emilio, Ship Bound for Portugal, Mediterranean Sea (Early Spring 1221)

4. Brother Philip, Portiuncula, Assisi, Italy (1221)

5. Superior, Monte Paolo Monastery, Between Arezzo and Forli, Italy (1222)

6. Father Gratian, Convent of the Friars Minor, Forli, Italy (March 19, 1222)

Part Two: Mission to Italy

7. Benedetto, Shore of the Marecchia River, Rimini, Italy (1222)

8. Bononillo, Saddle Shop, Rimini, Italy (1222)

9. Brother Giusto, School of Theology, Bologna, Italy (1223)

10. Father Vito, Rectory, Bologna, Italy (Early 1224)

Part Three: Mission to France

11. Friar Monaldo, Chapter Meeting, Arles, France (September 1224)

12. Novice, Road from Montpellier to Arles, Montpellier, France (Spring 1225)

13. Lord Varden, City Square, Toulouse, France (Summer 1225)

14. Lord of Chateau-neuf-le-Foret, Chateau, Limoges, France (Early Spring 1226)

15. Notary, Saracen Encampment, Jerusalem, Palestine (1226?)

16. Maid, Manor House, Brive, France (1226)

17. Minette, Brothel, Limoges, France (November 1226)

18. Peasant Woman, Cottage, Marseilles, France (Late 1226)

Part Four: Return to Italy

19. Pope Gregory IX, Lateran Palace, Rome, Italy (1227)

20. Lady Delora, Castle Courtyard, Rimini, Italy (Late 1220s)

21. Robber, Highway, Padua, Italy (Lent 1228)

22. Sister Helena de Enselmini, Convent of Arcella Vecchia, Padua, Italy (Spring 1230)

23. Brother Elias, Paradise Hill, Assisi, Italy (May 30, 1230)

Part Five: The Final Month

24. Ezzelino da Romano, Castle Fortress, Verona, Italy (May 1231)

25. Count Tiso da Camposampiero, Camposampiero, Twelve Miles Outside Padua, Italy (May 1231)

26. Brother Luke Belludi, Road Outside the City, Padua, Italy (About May 30, 1231)

27. Brother Roger, Convent of the Friars Minor, Camposampiero, Italy (June 13, 1231)

28. Paduana, City Street, Padua, Italy (June 13, 1231)

29. Abbot Thomas of Gaul, St. Andrew’s Monastery, Vercelli, Italy (June 13, 1231)

Chapter Notes

Bibliography

Spain and Portugal

Italy

France

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following persons for helping to make this book possible:

Father Leonard Tighe, Father Jack Hoak, and Father Claude Jarmak for reading the manuscript and making invaluable comments. In addition to his written comments, Father Tighe also met with me in person for a lengthy and profitable discussion of my manuscript.

I also thank my husband Jim, and teenage children: James, Amelia, and Frances for their important written and oral critiques of the manuscript.

Paul Spaeth for obtaining for me a pre-publication copy of the translated Sermons of Saint Anthony of Padua and Brother Edward Coughlin for giving me permission to quote from this text.

Father Sebastian Cunningham for his help in contacting Father Livio Poloniato, editor of the book: Seek First His Kingdom. I thank Father Livio and the Edizioni Messaggero Padova editorial staff (Padua, Italy) for granting me permission to quote from this text of St. Anthony’s sermons. I also thank Father Claude Jarmak, who translated many of the sermons in Seek First His Kingdom, for mailing me additional translated sermons not included in the book and allowing me to quote from them. Father Jarmak also researched for me in non-English texts. He located information that I could not otherwise have found and translated information for me. He gave me copies of his notes regarding the burial of Francis, the translation of his body, Francis’ tomb in the basilica, and the chapter meeting of 1230, as well as copies of two bulls issued by Gregory IX. He also mailed me photocopies of articles on the causes of St. Anthony’s death and on the 1981 study of his corpse. In addition to all of this, he kindly allowed me to borrow his well-used copy of the translated Lectio Assidua.

Father Julian Stead for translating from the Italian a text on the possible causes of St. Anthony’s illness and death.

Dr. Alex A. McBurney, Dr. John T. McCaffrey, and Dr. Charles McCoy for studying Anthony’s symptoms and physical appearance and diagnosing what could possibly have been the cause of his illness and death.

Marilyn London, forensic anthropologist for the State of Rhode Island, for studying photos of and articles on Anthony’s remains and making medical judgments about Anthony’s health.

Father Geoffrey Chase for translating into English Anthony’s favorite song, O Gloriosa Domina.

Sister Mary Francis Hone for her valuable information on the lives of the Poor Ladies of the time and for checking for me some information on Sister Helena Enselmini and Brother Philip. I also thank her for making available to me an English translation of the first biography of St. Anthony.

Father Michael Cusato and Father Claude Jarmak for their insights into events involving Brother Elias.

Therapists Thomas Carr and Sister Katherine Donnelly for their insights into topics pertinent to their field. I particularly thank Mr. Carr for his editing of the chapter on Master John.

Professional artist Joseph Matose who read the manuscript and created a drawing of the saint that, I believe, accurately captures his personality. I also thank Joe for his faithful and fervent prayers as I completed the final manuscript of this book.

Joan and Butch Hitchcock of Signal Graphics for their time and help in reproducing out of print texts for me to use in my research.

Dr. Michael DeMaio for translating for me the beginning sentences of Quo elongati.

The library staff at Salve Regina University in the reference and library loan departments, particularly Joan Bartram, Nancy Flanagan, and Klaus Baernthaler, who researched and obtained for me through their interlibrary loan most of the texts used in writing this book.

Reference librarian Theresa Shaffer and others in the reference department at St. Bonaventure’s Library for researching Sr. Helena Enselmini, Brother Luke Belludi, Brother Philip, the Second Life of St. Anthony, and the papal bull, Quo elongati, and for photocopying materials and mailing them to me.

All those who prayed for me and for this text, particularly my mother, Amelia Pecora, friends, and acquaintances too numerous to name, the members of my Franciscan fraternity, and my ecumenical prayer group. I also especially thank Leonardo Defilippis and Father John Randall whose prayers enabled me to complete the chapter on Brother Elias, St. Anthony himself, and the Trinity whom I invoked daily. Anything good in this book is the result of powers far more perceptive than my own.

Introduction

“Tony, Tony, come around,

Something’s lost and can’t be found.”

St. Anthony is the only Doctor of the Church who is invoked when someone loses a pencil. Why? Because St. Anthony cares. And he is effective.

I am executive director of Saints’ Stories, Inc., a national, non-profit, tax-exempt organization that distributes one-page stories of the patron saints for all baptismal names. Those wanting stories write to Saints’ Stories, Inc. (520 Oliphant Lane, Middletown, RI 02842-4600) and enclose the names of their children, grandchildren, or themselves. Saints’ Stories, Inc., provides, for a small donation, the stories about their patrons. One of the saints often requested is St. Anthony.

Anthony was born eight hundred years ago, but his message is as fresh as if he were living now.

Today our Catholic Church is challenged from within and without. Some who call themselves Catholic openly challenge Church teaching on the sanctity of human life, God’s divinity, or humankind’s redemption by Christ. Some reject the Church’s interpretation of certain Bible passages. Anthony faced the same challenges. Society seems to value capable, intelligent, and healthy people more than the incapacitated, mentally deficient, and incurably ill. This was also the society in which Anthony lived and preached.

Anthony was loyal to his Church and fiercely in love with God. His knowledge of and insight into Scripture was phenomenal. Called in his own day “the hammer of heretics” and “the ark of the testament,” he battled heresies that questioned the value of all life, the authority of the Church, and the very nature of God. He was eloquent and effective in preaching the truth to a society that was generally ignorant of it. Moreover, he not only proclaimed the Gospel, he also totally lived it so that his very life was a witness to the profound truth of his words.

Anthony tenderly ministered to people whom others considered unimportant. Although he lived at a time when some Catholic clergy were dissolute and avaricious, he maintained his own purity and holiness by constant prayer and vigilance. He spoke out forcefully against sin and offered Christ’s infinite mercy and forgiveness to those who repented. Thus, Anthony was one of the most forceful and yet most gentle of saints.

Anthony believed that a preacher’s goal must be to bring listeners to repentance and penance, and he designed every one of his sermons with this in mind. Repentance means a total and genuine desire to turn away from sin, not just major sins but all sin. Penance means conversion of the individual’s entire spirit, a conversion from sin to goodness, from the world to Christ. Penance necessarily involves contrition, confession, and satisfaction for sin, but not in a superficial sense. Anthony advocated sincere sorrow, thorough confession, and complete and cheerful restitution. Both repentance and penance do not come about by saying a certain number of prayers given by the priest in the sacrament of Reconciliation. They come about by an absolute renunciation of a sinful life (and every person’s life is sinful to some degree) and by entirely embracing and submitting to a completely new life centered in God and God’s perfect will for each person.

St. Anthony has a powerful message for our time. We need to return to and embrace his values, to experience the breadth and depth of his faith, and to know and love his Christ. We need to totally relinquish our own will as St. Anthony did so that we may wholly do God’s will for us. Only then will we truly “repent and believe the Good News.”

Problems with Writing about St. Anthony

St. Anthony is a wonderful saint but most frustrating to write about.

Although he wrote three volumes of sermons as homily outlines for other preachers to use, no stenographer took down word for word what Anthony actually preached. Very few of his spoken words are recorded. When speaking and preaching, Anthony must have often expressed the same ideas that he wrote in his sermons, but just what did he say?

In this book, I have Anthony speaking, for the most part, words he either said on a particular occasion or words that he wrote in his sermons. If Anthony had preached his sermons exactly as he wrote them, his listeners would have been lost in a barrage of references, history, and allegory. Since he must have gone a bit slower, expanding on one point before moving to the next, I have often expanded a bit on his words, too. The chapter notes at the end of this book tell which sermons provided the basis for his counsel, prayer, or preaching in a particular chapter.

St. Anthony is called “the miracle worker.” Yet most scholars accept only a few miracles during his lifetime as genuine and different traditions accord these to different locations. Many other miracles took place following his death. Were some of these transposed, in the oral tradition, as taking place during his lifetime? I have had to decide which miracles to include and where and when they took place. The chapter notes refer to any variations on the miracles related in the book.

Biographers during Anthony’s time recorded few personal details about their hero. Later writers fleshed out his history, but how accurately? I have had to decide what to include; again, the chapter notes tell of some of the discrepancies in Anthony’s story.

This book looks at Anthony through the eyes of those who knew him, thus giving the reader a sense of what it may have been like to know the saint. As much as possible, I have used details and characters who were real. Where details and characters were missing, I have supplied them in an imaginative way and indicated this in the chapter notes. In all cases, descriptions of historical places and events are as accurate as I could make them. I have remained true to history’s record of how Anthony looked and spoke, and I have created no miracles or background history for him. Scholars can refer to the references at the end of this book for more in-depth study of what we know and believe about St. Anthony.

This book is about St. Anthony and those whose lives he touched. In that sense, it is a book about us. In many characters, readers will find some characteristics of their own. By identifying with those who knew the saint, readers will meet the saint. I hope that in doing so, they will come to genuine repentance and heart-felt penance that will enable them to more deeply know, love, and serve the Lord to Whom Anthony so totally and freely gave his life.

St. Anthony’s Sermon Notes

Father Livio Poloniato’s book, Seek First His Kingdom, has excerpts of many of Anthony’s sermons and is an excellent introduction to Anthony’s spirituality and faith. Father Claude Jarmak translated many of Anthony’s beautiful prayers in the book, Praise to You, Lord: Prayers of St. Anthony. Both books are available from the Anthonian Association, Anthony Drive, Mount Saint Francis, Indiana 47146.

The Franciscan Institute has translated Anthony’s Easter Cycle of sermons, which includes his complete sermons for Easter and the six Sundays following. These are lengthy and intended for the scholar. This book, The Sermons of Saint Anthony of Padua, is available from the Franciscan Institute, St. Bonaventure’s University, St. Bonaventure, New York 14778.

St. Anthony’s Health

A 1981 study of St. Anthony’s skeletal remains and the historical record of Anthony’s appearance and health history yield some important information. Anthony was robust and just under 5 feet, 6 inches tall, slightly taller than a medium-sized person of his time. He had a long, narrow face with large, deep-set, penetrating eyes (presumably black or dark brown since he was Portuguese), dark hair, and an aquiline nose. His legs and feet were very sturdy, and his hands were long, with thin fingers. His beautiful, regular teeth showed very little wear for a man of his age. This means that he ate little, probably mostly vegetables.

Anthony’s knees showed signs of long hours spent in kneeling. The left knee had evidence of bursitis and osteitis and an infection under the kneecap. This could have been caused by a fall or, more likely, by excessive kneeling on that particular knee. His three lower ribs on the left side were also distended abnormally. This could have been caused by any number of factors: carrying heavy loads on that side (his books and manuscripts, perhaps?), or by kneeling, or by the swelling of an internal organ (perhaps a lobe of the liver), or by pressure of some sort on his corpse.

Anthony is variously described as being a bit stocky as a youth, then growing thin upon entering religious life (presumably from excessive fasting) and then, later in life, as corpulent. His skin is described as being brown, ruddy, bronzed. When he died, it immediately whitened and became like an infant’s.

Anthony suffered a severe fever in Morocco; no one knows what this was. However, he was ill off and on during the remainder of his life and many scholars of the saint believe that the fever was responsible for this chronic illness. We do know that, later in life, Anthony suffered from dropsy (edema) which is water retention in the body tissues. This was most likely the cause of his corpulency.

By studying paintings of Anthony by contemporaries, his description in the histories, and his bodily remains, one may make some very tenuous conclusions about the illness that caused this man to die before the age of forty. Innumerable causes of dropsy exist including a poor and unsubstantial diet. Some diseases which cause dropsy are kidney disease, heart disease, some cancers, and hepatitis.

No one can say with certainty what caused St. Anthony’s final illness and death. At least one author attributes the cause to asthma and diabetes. I have preferred to describe Anthony’s physical appearance without diagnosing its cause. The description that I use, however, does most closely resemble that of a person afflicted with chronic active hepatitis. I believe he may have contracted this disease from unsanitary conditions or contaminated fish on his journey to Morocco.

Canonical Hours

In Anthony’s day, time was divided into three-hour segments. These and the corresponding hours on our modern clocks are as follows:

Matins: First prayer of the night recited by monks. Usually combined with Lauds.

Lauds: Prayer said at dawn.

Prime: 6 AM

Terce: 9 AM

Sext: Noon

None: 3 PM

Vespers: Prayer said between 3 and 6 PM

Compline: Last prayer of day.

A Note on Capitalization

In this text, all pronouns referring to God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit are capitalized. This is not always the case in the translations of Anthony’s sermons. I have chosen to capitalize these pronouns out of respect for the Trinity, which Anthony had and which we all should foster.

Where to Go from Here

Many who read St. Anthony’s life and words feel drawn to a more spiritual way of living. Catholic Third Orders, Lay Associations, and Institutes can provide much guidance in this regard. The group whose Rule is the most closely paralleled modern up-date of that penitential Rule of Life lived by Count Tiso da Camposampiero in this book is the Confraternity of Penitents, 520 Oliphant Lane, Middletown, Rhode Island 02842, www.penitents.org, [email protected].

May the Lord direct you as you seek to know Him better and serve Him more faithfully!

Prologue

Cardinal of the Roman Church, Bedchamber, Rome, Italy (Spring 1232)

The old cardinal lay in bed, tossing and turning in the total blackness of his cold, damp sleeping quarters. This room always felt dank. Often he’d considered it a privilege to suffer the chill for the love of Christ, but tonight the nip in the night air of Rome was troublesome.

Or maybe it wasn’t the frost in the room. Maybe it was the chill in the consistory. He did not like to make enemies, and here he was, making plenty. The whole city of Padua and its surrounding towns hated him. Who did he number among his adversaries? The common people. The Friars Minor. The Poor Ladies. The priors of several monasteries. The university students and faculty. The Podesta, who governed Padua, and his council and knights. The Bishop of Padua and the Bishop of Palestrina. Ottone, the son of the Marquis di Monteferrato. The Cardinal of San Nicola. He had made enemies of all of them. All because he was cautious. They wanted Anthony of the Friars Minor canonized now. The cardinal wanted to wait.

Over these past days, he had not been the only one, but he had been the most pugnacious, who insisted that canonizing Anthony of the Friars Minor was a bit premature. The man had not even reached forty when he died, a young age to achieve the ranks of sanctity, and he hadn’t been dead even a year. Certainly the Church’s declaration of sainthood should stand the test of time, not be in response to some fad, some popular movement to canonize a hero. Why, less than a month after Anthony’s death, bishops and clergy, government officials and nobility, commoners and knights had sent a delegation to the papal court. They had come with a long list of extraordinary miracles taking place at his tomb and begging the Holy Father to begin the canonization process. Then the letters began to come, and more envoys, month after month in a continuous stream, all begging the same favor. Canonize Anthony.

The old man turned on his pillow, burying the prickly gray stubs of his whiskers into the silk coverlet. If only he could stop reliving the afternoon. The images kept tumbling through his brain like a glass, bouncing, bouncing when it should have shattered. Fifty-three miracles attributed to Anthony’s intercession, and approved, all but one of them taking place after his death. That afternoon in the consistory, Brother Jordan, prior of St. Benedict, had read the list orally in his deep, monotone voice.

A hunchback woman straightened at Anthony’s tomb.

A man severely crippled in a fall from a church tower able to walk away from the tomb without his crutches.

A blind brother of the Friars Minor, after venerating Anthony’s relics, restored to sight.

A man deaf for twenty years hearing laughter again after praying to the dead friar.

A young man, unable to speak his entire life and painfully bedridden for fourteen years, carried to Anthony’s tomb, walking away freed of pain and paralysis and singing loud praises to God.

And that image of the glass. That one image that the cardinal could not erase from his mind. After Anthony’s death, a heretic knight from Salvaterra had come to Padua. At lunch, his family and friends were praising Anthony’s miracles. Angry, the knight emptied his drinking glass in one huge gulp and challenged, “If he whom you call a saint will keep this glass from breaking, I will believe all that you say about him.” The cardinal kept seeing the knight flinging the glass against the stone floor. The glass bounced, bounced again, and finally slid to rest. Unbroken. Believing, the knight carried the glass to the Friars Minor where he confessed. Now that knight was proclaiming the wonders of Christ and beseeching the Holy Father for Anthony’s canonization.

The miracles were authentic. John of Abbeville of France, Archbishop of Besancon and Bishop-Cardinal of Santa Sabina, and his learned committee had investigated every single miracle carefully. They had discarded many. But these fifty-three they accepted. Oh, they were authentic all right. But make Anthony a saint? Now?

The haste troubled the cardinal. Anthony had barely died at the convent of the Poor Ladies in Arcella when the nuns and the Little Brothers of Francis who lived in Padua began to argue over which convent should house the remains. What an embarrassing mess that was with townspeople taking up arms and choosing sides. Peace returned only when the Bishop of Padua and the clergy plus the minister provincial of the friars declared that the brothers would get the body because Anthony himself had requested burial at the friars’ Church of St. Mary’s. Backing up the decision were the Podesta of Padua and his city council.

So Anthony was buried at St. Mary’s where the processions to his tomb were outlandish. The numbers visiting choked Padua, and the murmuring of prayers at his grave sounded persistently like the hum of crickets in the swamps at night.

Worst of all were the outrageous candles lugged by pilgrims to the tomb. Each new devotee seemed determined to outdo the others. Many candles were so huge that they had to be lopped off to fit in the church. Others were so heavy that two oxen pulling a cart could barely drag them. Many tapers were ornately decorated with churches or flowers or battle scenes of wax. So much flame surrounded the tomb, both inside and outside the church, that night was as bright as day. It was another miracle that neither the small wooden church nor the town of Padua caught fire. This was not faith. This harbored on superstition and the push toward canonization on hysteria.

The cardinal was old and venerable. His pinched nose had smelled heresy in the air for three-quarters of a century. His dark eyes, once gentle as a deer mouse’s, had grown wary as a rat’s for having seen the brutal slaughter of an infidel and the equally vicious butchering of a Christian missionary.

He had watched Peter Waldo appear, dressed like John the Baptist and preaching repentance and poverty. His followers claimed to imitate Christ and the Apostles, but after twenty years, the Church denounced Waldo’s position. He had blasphemed the Church, its customs and clergy. He claimed that his group alone was the Church of Christ, obedient to God alone, and refused to submit to papal authority and excommunication.

The cardinal had seen, too, the growing strength of the Cathari, another more dangerous heretical sect. They rejected the very foundation of the faith by claiming that Christ had never taken human flesh, for flesh was created not by God, but by Satan.

The cardinal had seen supposedly holy priests fall into sin and generous monks grow greedy. He knew that time is a great test of sanctity and he wondered why so many wanted to rush this particular follower of Francis into heaven. Was it because this Anthony, baptized Fernando, had been the noble son of a Portuguese knight? Had the public been snared by the romance of a young dandy giving up his riches to embrace the poverty of Christ? And had the romance given weight to the miracles and perhaps even caused them through some mass, public hysteria and adulation?

The cardinal had come to see his mission as defeating the canonization. Yesterday he had pressed his points in the consistory. The pope had listened intently. The Holy Father seemed to agree that perhaps he was acting too hastily in canonizing Anthony now. Tomorrow the consistory would meet again. This time ambassadors from Padua would be present. The cardinal would press on. If God knew that he were right, the canonization would wait a few years until the world was certain about the holiness of Anthony of the Friars Minor.

All the cardinal wanted now was a little rest. If only he could relax. Long after midnight, the cardinal fell into a fitful sleep troubled by glasses bouncing through candle flames and knights kneeling at tombs.

Then the quality of his dreams changed. The vision clarified and became a scene. The pope, dressed in pontifical vestments, stood before the altar in a church that had to be new since every stone, every slab glimmered without a scratch, without dust, without the stain of candle smoke. Around Pope Gregory IX clustered cardinals, including the dozing man himself who, in his vision, was awake and alert. The stately prelates in red stood prayerfully as the pope proceeded to consecrate the altar. The pope looked about in confusion. He could find no relics of the saints to seal within the altar.

In the center of the church stood a casket in which lay a body covered with a white veil.

“Take relics from that,” the pope said, pointing down the aisle toward the corpse.

The cardinals exchanged glances, their noses wrinkling slightly at the idea. No one moved.

“Your Holiness, there are no relics. Only a body,” one cardinal said.

“Take courage and go quickly,” the pope said. “Take off the cloth and see what is inside. The body will provide new relics.”

Finally, one cardinal pursed his lips and nodded slightly. He bowed to the pope and stepped forward, walking down the aisle with a purposeful gait.

The others followed. The first cardinal lifted the veil and touched the long, thin fingers that lay folded in prayer on the bosom of a patched, gray habit. A fragrance so sweet that the sleeping cardinal could smell it in his dream wafted from the corpse. The scent was of myrrh, incense, and aloes.

“St. Anthony,” one of the cardinals said with reverent softness. The word swept through the group. “St. Anthony! St. Anthony!” The cardinals began to pluck at the body, at the wool habit, at the black hair cut in a tonsure, each greedy to snatch a relic to hide away for his personal reverence.

The dreaming cardinal woke in a cold sweat. Too shaken to move, he lay staring into the darkness. He did not fall asleep again until shortly before dawn and the hour of his morning Office.

With pink streaking the sky, the old man secured his breeches and under-tunic, then knelt and prayed the worn pages of his breviary. He tried to focus on the words through the remembered image of the corpse in the coffin. As he read, he felt calmness seep into his soul like broth into newly baked bread. Through a vision, God had made His will known.

Pushing to his feet, the cardinal shuffled out of the bedchamber into an outer room where three clerics, awake and dressed, waited for his orders. As one went to get his cassock and shoes to help him dress, the cardinal caught his arm.

“Wait. I must tell you a vision,” the cardinal said. His red-rimmed eyes were stinging with glaucoma or perhaps with tears as he told of his dream. “So God sent me this vision,” he concluded as the clerics stared, wide-eyed at him, “to tell me that Anthony is worthy of the honor of the altars.”

Later, as he was leaving his residence on his way to the consistory, he met the ambassadors of Padua. Before they could speak, he held up his hand and noticed with wonder how vividly his veins stood out in the sunlight. “I am an old man, beyond my usefulness,” he said. “I fully opposed the canonization of Anthony and had resolved to do all I could today to stop it.” He watched a shadow of pain cross the face of the plumpest, most highly adorned fellow. He knew that he, like a magician, had the power to change that look with a word. “Today God gave me a dream and I am of a totally different opinion now. I know well that Anthony is a saint and is worthy to be canonized. I will do all in my power to hasten his canonization.” He beckoned the ambassadors to follow him, almost feeling on his back the glow on the plump one’s face.

The cardinal was as good as his word. Not only did he speak eagerly of Anthony’s greatness but he also spent the greater part of the day sidling up to opposing cardinals and persuading them to yield to the judgment of those who favored Anthony’s cause.

The cardinals agreed. The pope consented. The Church decreed. The canonization took place in the cathedral of Spoleto on Pentecost, May 30, 1232. The old cardinal sat with the others. Weeks later, he heard from a priest that the bells in Lisbon, where Anthony had been born and baptized Fernando, had rung of their own accord at the very moment that had rung at the cathedral. While the Romans were cheering their new saint, the Portuguese of Lisbon were seized with a strange joy and burst into song and dance to the mysterious pealing of the bells. Only later did they learn of their beloved Fernando’s canonization.

When Pope Gregory IX read the decree of canonization, the cardinal allowed himself to grin in public. To him, the words sounded as forceful as if they came from Christ Himself.

“Surely God...frequently is pleased to honor...his faithful servants...by rendering their memory glorious with signs and prodigies, by means of which heretical depravity is confused and masked and the Catholic religion is more and more confirmed.... Of this number was Blessed Anthony...of the Order of the Friars Minor. In order that a man be recognized as a saint...two things are necessary; namely, the virtue of his life and the truth of the miracles.... We have been assured of the virtues and of the miracles of Blessed Anthony, whose holiness We have also experienced...when he dwelt for a short time with Us. We have decided...to enroll him in the number of the saints...and We request that you should excite the devotion of the faithful to the veneration of him and, every year, on the thirteenth of June, that you should celebrate his feast.”

The cardinal sighed and closed his damp eyes momentarily. Anthony belonged to the world but lived in heaven. The cardinal had done what God had wished. It mattered little if he died that very moment, for now his mission was complete.

Part One

The Beginning of the Ministry

1

Master John, Holy Cross Monastery, Coimbra, Portugal (1220)

Master John was sitting in his cell at Holy Cross Monastery in Coimbra, Portugal. Before him on a small table lay an open text of St. Augustine’s work, On True Religion. Next to it lay the Scriptures, open to Matthew’s Gospel. Master John was preparing his lesson for the following day when he heard a tap at his door.

“Come in,” he said as he pushed his body to standing position and shook out his arthritic knees.

As John started toward the door, his hand outstretched in greeting, he saw that the one who had knocked was a slightly built young priest. John broke into a grin. Even his nearsighted eyes could tell who the young man was.

“Fernando, my star student! Come in.” John clasped Fernando’s forearm and shook it heartily. Fernando returned the gesture.

“Which philosopher have you come to discuss today? Aristotle? Or the writings of the saints? Bernard, perhaps? Jerome? Gregory? I am working on St. Augustine for tomorrow’s lecture. Perhaps you could enlighten me.”

Dressed in the white linen rochet and cord worn by the Canons Regular who followed the rule of St. Augustine, Fernando smiled. “I think not, Master. You are the teacher.”

“Come. Sit down.” John tugged Fernando toward the extra chair that stood beside his desk, waiting for inquiring students just like Fernando. As John eased his bulky body into his own chair, he winced at the pain in his knees. “Don’t mind me, Fernando. I’m getting old.”

Fernando settled into his chair, his long hands clasped in his lap. “We are all getting old, Master.”

John propped his elbow on the small table. He planted his chin on his upraised fist and made himself comfortable. He always enjoyed Fernando’s visits. Their discussions often went far into the evening. “So, you did not come to talk about age. What is it today?”

“Master, I have come to tell you that I have asked the Friars Minor to accept me into their Order.”

The news was totally unexpected. John’s fist fell to the table and he sat bolt upright.

“The Friars Minor? A mendicant Order? Since when have you been thinking of this, Fernando?”

“For a long time, Master.”

“A long time? You, Fernando, who are the son of a noble knight? Those men live more poorly than Christ Himself. What do they have? A patched tunic. A frayed cord for the waist. Not even sandals. God alone knows the condition of their breeches. They are beggars. They plead for alms like beggars, sleep like beggars, smell like beggars.”

Fernando was staring at John with that intensely deep look of his. “I know, Master. Here we have a powerful priory, lands, a subsidy from the king. The Friars Minor have nothing but God. That is what I want, Master.”

John rubbed his bald head in confusion. “But Fernando. It is poor enough here at Holy Cross. Prior John has kept us all in misery with his mishandling of the monastery finances. His sins of usury have gained him money paid back with unlawful interest, yet he has used none of that ill-gotten money on this monastery. I’ve complained to the Holy Father. He excommunicated Prior John but has done nothing more to remedy the matter. You are already in poverty. We all are.”

“I am speaking of poverty of spirit, Master. This is what I need.”

Poverty of spirit? What did that mean? Suddenly John knew what must be the real reason for Fernando’s decision. Prior John. Had he accosted Fernando?

Master John fought to keep the fury out of his voice. “Fernando, has Prior John been making advances toward you?”

Fernando shook his head. “No, Master. Not anymore.”

John closed his eyes and groaned: “Not anymore. What did he do to you?”

Fernando’s voice was steady but pained. “Nothing, Master. His looks at me seemed strange at times. Sometimes he touched my wrist in a way that was too tender, not of God’s love but of man’s passion. I pulled away. He never tried anything more with me, Master. He has not bothered me for years.”

John threw back his head in relief. “Thank God, Fernando!”

For he had touched many, male and female, Christian and pagan alike. Despite being sent into the desert to do two years of solitary penance for several years of these crimes, the elderly prior had not repented. Master John had no solid proof, but he knew. A few canons at Holy Cross too frequently “consulted” Prior John for “spiritual guidance” also. The prior made continual excursions into Coimbra on “business” as well. From that city, gossip about Prior John seeped into Holy Cross.

“Fernando, you do not have to leave. I have written to the pope again. I have asked him to investigate Prior John. You will see. He will be dismissed.”

“Master, I am not leaving because of Prior John.”

“But you said yourself, in one of your sermons—I remember it so well, I wish I had said it—you said, ‘Sham sanctity is a thief that goes about in the dark of night.’ I was sure you meant Prior John and those like him. And then I remember, too, in another sermon—how did you put it?—‘The false religious are errant stars who, in the dark of this world, lead others to shipwreck.’ You are right, Fernando.”

Fernando leaned toward John, his palms extended slightly upward, his long, expressive fingers fanned, as if he would hand his Master a message. “Prior John and the others are not beyond hope, Master. Are you not praying for them daily as I am? God’s grace and the Church are calling them to repentance. If any one of them responds, the devil will forsake his soul and he will be lifted up by God. As Psalm 27, verse 10 says, ‘My father’ the devil ‘and my mother’ carnal concupiscence ‘have forsaken me; but the Lord has raised me up.’ There is hope for those men. I am not leaving because of them.”

“Then why, Fernando?”

Fernando closed his dark eyes and brought his clasped hands toward his bowed chin. When he lifted his head, his gaze at John seemed to plead his words. “Master, please try to understand. It is no longer enough for me to fast and pray, to celebrate the Mass, to preach. I am happy doing these things, it is true, happy, too, with receiving guests in the refectory and scrubbing the kitchen and circling the garden in prayer. But they are not enough. Even my night watches are not enough, although I begged Prior John to be allowed to continue them. I have not given up all, Master. I have held on to my life. I want to give God my life so that I may merit eternal joy.”

“Have you prayed about this, Fernando?”

Fernando’s voice trembled. “Oh, Master, I have been praying and praying. He wants me to give Him my life.”

John groaned. Of course, Fernando had been praying. Ever since he arrived at Holy Cross eight years ago, Fernando had been praying. When John’s arthritis kept him awake at night, he often paced through the monastery to walk the pains out of his feet. Countless nights he had caught Fernando deep in prayer in the chapel. Sometimes Fernando would be kneeling before the altar, his eyes fixed somewhere above it, as if looking at Someone no one else saw. Other times he would be before the alcove of the Blessed Mother, his left knee on the floor, his body bent over his right leg, his hands on his right knee. More than once John caught him totally prostrate, face down on the stone floor. Ever since King Alphonsus had placed the silver reliquaries of the five martyred friars into the chapel at Holy Cross, Fernando had prayed there, too, his head pressed against one coffin or the other.

“Fernando,” John would say, “go to bed.” Always the slight shoulders would droop just a bit with disappointment and the deep-set eyes would look sorrowful. But the words obediently came, “Yes, Master John.”

What did all these prayers mean? Could God have truly spoken to the person sitting across from him? John leaned toward Fernando. “God has told you to join the Friars Minor?”

Fernando’s gaze was unwavering. “Not in so many words, Master. I heard no voice, if that is what you mean. But I must do it.”

“But why?”

“Because I want to give God my life, Master. This is what He wants me to do.”

“But can’t you give it to Him here?”

“That is what I thought, Master. But I no longer think that.”

John leaned back in his chair. “Fernando, have you spoken to Prior John about this?”

“Yes. He said there is a rule. No one may leave the monastery without the permission of all the canons who live here.”

“True. They will never give you permission.” John placed his arm on the table and leaned into it. “Fernando, you are a priest, one of the youngest we have ever ordained. We had to have an exemption from Church law to ordain you, but it was done because you are full of promise.”

As he spoke, John saw the color rise in Fernando’s dark face at the compliment. He knew that compliments made Fernando uneasy, but sometimes the truth had to be told.

“We are sixty canons here, Fernando, and you, despite your youth, are the brightest man among all of us. Admit it, Fernando. You love books. I have heard you in your room, studying, reading aloud Scripture, philosophy, and the writings of the saints. You drive them into your brain with your recitations until they become a part of you. You know history, science, nature, all the controversies of our faith. Your memory is phenomenal. Have you ever read one thing that you have forgotten? I think not. You will throw all this away to beg for scraps with men who cannot even write their names? Fernando, that Order’s founder, Francis, will not allow the friars to own even a breviary. Your knowledge will be wasted.”

Fernando’s eyes were downcast at the tirade, their gaze resting on his hands clasped again in his lap.

“You are a preacher. You love to preach. No one else can speak the words of fire that you do. Your words bring repentance and conversion to those deepest in sin. I have never heard of one decent preacher in the Friars Minor. Join them and you will throw away your gift.”

John paused. What else could he say?

Fernando’s voice came steady, but his gaze remained on his hands. “Master, do not credit me for what others understand through my words. Unless there is inwardly He Who truly preaches, my tongue labors in vain. My preaching is good for preparing the way. But it is the inner anointing through the inspiration of grace, along with the outer anointing of the sermon, which teaches about salvation. When the anointing of grace is missing, my words are powerless.”

“They are never powerless, Fernando.”

“That can be a great source of pride, Master. And pride keeps a person from Christ.”

“Do you want to give up preaching? To protect yourself from pride? Is that it?”

“I don’t know if that’s it.” Fernando lifted his left hand toward Master John as if begging him to understand. “The friars have given God everything. Everything. I must do that. I must give God everything. Even my preaching if that is what He wants. Everything. Master, I have not given God my life.”

Suddenly John remembered. Fernando had been praying at the tombs of the five friars who were martyred in Morocco. He chose his words carefully. “If you become a friar, you will be a martyr. That is what you think. That is what you desire.”

John expected his statement to make the young man fidget. He was wrong. “Oh, if only God would count me worthy to share the martyr’s crown! What joy, Master! I have asked the friars to accept me on the condition that they send me to Morocco.”

John slapped the table in exasperation. “The friars agreed to this?”

“Yes.”

John pushed back his chair with such force that it toppled beneath him. “Well, why not agree?” he shouted at Fernando. “The Order has no form, no rule, no novitiate. It has nothing but Francis. You know yourself, Fernando, had Francis not returned from the East when he did, his rag-tag band of serfs and free men would have splintered into disaster. You have fallen under the spell of a merchant’s son, Fernando. Sometimes I think he is a crazy merchant’s son.”

Fernando looked up at Master John with that penetrating gaze. “I am not joining because of Francis, Master. I am joining because of Christ.”

John paced around the table. “Why do you keep saying ‘am joining’? You will never get permission to leave here.”

“The friars are returning tomorrow to invest me, Master.”

“Tomorrow!” John’s fist slammed onto the table so suddenly that On True Religion jumped and tumbled to the floor. As Fernando bent to pick it up, emotion swelled inside of John’s gut and threatened to overcome him.

His voice came shaky but subdued, his back to the priest so that Fernando could not see the trembling of his mouth. “Leave me, Fernando. And pray. Pray hard. Discern. Does God want you to die? Or do you?”

“I will pray, Master.”

John heard the rustle of cloth, the shuffle of sandals, the soft closing of the door to his cell. Turning to the table, John sank to his knees and buried his head in the volume which Fernando had just placed on the wood.

Fernando, Fernando! You could be all I never was, all I wished I could be. You will go to Morocco and be killed? For what?

John’s breath came in great gulps as Fernando’s life sped like a gale through his mind. He was as powerless to stop the recall as a sapling is to impede a tempest.

Fernando was too weak to become a knight as was his father Martino, a wealthy noble of Lisbon. However, Fernando was well educated and good with figures and accounts. So Martino planned, “He will manage my estate and land.”

A religious man, Martino attended daily Mass. One day, fifteen-year-old Fernando approached him with the statement, “I want to become a priest.” Martino had vehemently opposed him. “Why leave your inheritance? Be holy at home.”

Fernando persisted. Martino relented.

Fernando sought out Prior Gonzalo of St. Vincent’s Abbey, daughter monastery to Holy Cross, which lay just outside the walls of Lisbon. “I am worried about the world’s influence,” he had confessed. “I am tormented beyond measure by the allure of marriage and the call of the flesh, yet I wish to live my life for God. Father, if I continue to accompany my friends and do not abandon the world for Christ, I will fall into serious sin and lose my soul.”

Knowing well what temptations Fernando was abandoning, Prior Gonzalo had admitted the young man as a novice.

Thus, chubby, pale Fernando came to pray in the dark chapel as well as toil in the sun. His long, pampered fingers grew sturdy pulling weeds in the monastery garden. His fleshly arms thinned and muscled out as he wrestled with hoes and brooms. Within months, Fernando had grown ruddy and muscular and seemed to have conquered the temptations of the flesh.

But he was not content.

After a year or so at St. Vincent’s, he asked Prior Gonzalo to transfer him to Holy Cross. “Too many friends and family members visit me here. They are drawing me back into the world. To follow God, I must leave the world and be alone with Him,” he explained.

So Fernando was transferred to Coimbra, the capital of Portugal, one hundred miles from Lisbon. Here he had few visits from family and none from friends.

Here, at Coimbra, Master John had met Fernando. In John’s class, Fernando proved himself to be insightful, quick, genteel, graceful, a young man whose nobility was evident at a glance. When assigned to the kitchen, he was an efficient cook and housekeeper, equally at home with pots and brushes. At work in the garden, he tilled and planted and harvested with diligence. In his free time, he lived in the library absorbed in books or in the chapel sunk in prayer. When he preached at church, the congregation sat awestruck.

Of the many monastery duties, Fernando seemed best suited to that of guest master. And that was the duty to which Prior John eventually assigned him. In the guesthouse, Fernando distributed alms when the occasion warranted and received visitors from all walks of life including priests, paupers, bishops, lepers, nobles, beggars, Queen Urraca of Portugal, and the Friars Minor.

The Friars Minor lived at the friars’ monastery at Olivares, which had been given to them by Queen Urraca herself. Fernando had become friends with many of the mendicant followers of Francis. When one of the martyrs, Brother Questor, died, Fernando confided a vision to Master John. “While celebrating Mass, I saw Brother Questor’s soul winging its way through Purgatory, ascending like a dove into glory.”

Master John should have attached more importance to Fernando’s attraction to the Friars Minor. Fernando had often told him about Francis of Assisi, repeating stories that the friars must have told. Francis had dreamed of being a noble knight. Yet he had given up everything to follow Christ in utter poverty and total love. From the crucifix at San Damiano Church in Assisi, Christ had spoken to Francis, saying, “Go, Francis, and repair My house which you can see is falling into ruin.” Francis had begun by begging stones to rebuild the structure. Idealistic men had joined him until Francis had founded an Order to rebuild the Church with living stones, the people themselves who form the Church of Christ. By simple preaching, austere lifestyle, and holy example, Francis and his followers were evangelizing the populace in fields, markets, and public squares. From Assisi, they were spreading across the world into pagan lands and heretic strongholds. The world was beginning to listen to the message of these friars in robes of unbleached gray or tan wool.

One day, five young Friars Minor from Italy came begging alms. They were on their way to Morocco, they told Fernando, to preach Christ’s message to the pagans. Their zeal and exuberance had impressed him. At mealtime, Fernando, in his usual theatrical way, had told his fellow followers of St. Augustine about his encounter with these followers of Francis. “Brother Berard said he was going to die for God’s glory. Brother Peter agreed. Brother Otho joked about being food for ravens. Brother Adjutus spoke little but laughed with him. Brother Accursius said that nothing better existed than to die for God Who died for us.”

The five friars had gone to Morocco as chaplains to the sultan’s soldiers under Dom Pedro, brother of Portugal’s King Alphonsus. Dom Pedro was the well-paid head of the sultan’s armies.

Father John Robert had gone into exile with Dom Pedro. But when Dom Pedro sent the martyrs’ remains to Holy Cross, he sent John Robert along with them. From John Robert, the monks at Coimbra had heard the stirring details of the martyrs’ deaths.

In Morocco, John Robert said, the friars had preached about Christ to those who would listen and those who would not. Hearing their rash proclamations, the sultan thought them mad and ordered them either to return to Europe or to be silent. They refused. So the sultan punished them with twenty days of imprisonment, starvation, and excessive torture.

Upon their release, they returned with joy to preaching, thus infuriating the sultan who ordered Dom Pedro to put them aboard ship and send them home. Having earlier tried to persuade the friars to moderate their zeal, Dom Pedro now twice attempted to deport them to Spain. But the stubborn friars would listen to no reason and, eluding their guards, found their way back to the sultan.

When Berard mounted the sultan’s chariot to speak, the sultan’s sanity seemed to snap. “Enough!” he had cried. He ordered them to be tortured and killed and, thus, the blood of the five friars had been spilled in Morocco.

Moved to tears, Dom Pedro had used his political influence to claim the bodies and encase them in two silver caskets. The remains made their way throughout Spain and then into Portugal, finally reaching the capital city of Coimbra. Not knowing whether to bury them in the monastery at Olivares as befitted their humility or in the cathedral as befitted their martyrdom, Alphonsus’ s wife, Queen Urraca, who had gone on foot to meet the procession, declared that the mule bearing the reliquaries be released to go where it pleased. To everyone’s surprise, it plodded to Holy Cross where it knelt before the altar until the holy burdens were removed from its back.

Master John had seen this mule’s behavior and had thought it odd and yet glorious. God had wanted the martyrs to be enshrined here at Holy Cross. But why? Now he felt angry with God. Had God brought the martyrs here so that He, through their presence, could claim Fernando?

For no one could deny that the presence of the martyrs’ bodies had wrought a change in that young priest from Lisbon. His voice cracking with emotion, Fernando had preached at the Mass of the martyrs. Then, many times afterward, Master John had caught him praying at their caskets, his head resting against the gleaming metal, his cheeks often streaked with tears.

Had Fernando been praying to die?

Tomorrow he would leave. God wanted this? Why, God? Why Fernando?

John knew that he must pray. He was still kneeling at the table, his head buried in the book. Now he pushed to his feet, pains once again shooting through his knees. He would go to the chapel and pour out his heart to God.

Fernando, however, had beat him there. Before the alcove of the Blessed Mother, Fernando bent almost prostrate to the stone floor.

John slipped into a pew toward the chapel’s rear. Why, God? Why Fernando? Are You calling him, Lord? In every life, You give a call. Many calls. To do Your will is to submit, to obey. Are You calling him to the Friars, Lord? To die? He has such potential. Lord, can You want this? Are You calling him, Lord? Lord, I beg You, if this is from Fernando and not from You, foil his plans.

Then from deep inside John, like a furtive mouse, poked a thought. If You are calling, Lord, this monastery will allow Fernando to leave.

The next day, Prior John called together the entire monastery. The men sat in the meeting room, each in his accustomed place on the benches arranged along the walls. Fernando, standing in the room’s center, presented his question. Whispers swept along the walls. Although Master John, due to his poor vision, could not clearly see the faces of the men, he had grown accustomed to nuances of speech. He did not hear a gasp of shock as he had anticipated he would. Perhaps Fernando had spoken to the men earlier, one by one. Or perhaps God had.

The men began to cast their votes. One by one they agreed with Fernando. Reluctantly. Sorrowfully. Against their better judgment. But they agreed. With each vote, John’s spirit fell. They were voting to send Fernando to his death. He could see the budding lily of Fernando’s promise being crushed by a massive, fatal paw.

Now it was John’s turn to vote. He stood uncomfortably. “Fernando, I do not understand why God would want your life. But if God truly wants it, then you must give it. You have made it clear that you have prayed, that this desire for martyrdom is not only from your own will but is from God Himself. What we, in our poor understanding, deem folly, God often sees as wisdom. If it is God’s will that you go to Morocco, then you must go.” John’s voice began to quaver as he limped toward the young man with the anxious face. “Fernando, I will not be the only one to oppose you.” John extended his arms to Fernando and embraced him. The young man’s body was trembling. John’s voice was thick. “Go, then and become a saint.”

“Oh, Master,” Fernando whispered, his voice quivering, “when you hear of that, then you will praise God.”

Late in the day, two Friars Minor, one of them the provincial minister, Friar Jean Parenti, came, bearing a coarse gray habit. In the guest receiving room, in the presence of Master John, Prior John, and all the canons of the entire monastery, Fernando removed his white rochet and cord and kissed them. He handed them to Prior John and slipped into the scratchy, floor length tunic. Around his waist he tied a frayed length of rope. “Thank you,” he said, embracing each canon present before he stepped out of his sandals, leaving them on the floor behind him as he left barefoot.

After Fernando had gone with the friars, John, still feeling the sting of the rough wool against his palms, knelt in the chapel and lifted his eyes to the icon of the Blessed Mother. For long moments he stared at her. “Be with Fernando,” he whispered over and over.

He prayed for Fernando daily for a week before two friars came to Holy Cross with the news that Fernando now bore a new name. The wanderers renamed him after the saint of their convent at Olivares.

John knew much about that saint. Nearly a thousand years ago in Egypt, that man had waged a life-long struggle between a desire for holy solitude and a call to Christian community. He had renounced wealth to become a poor hermit. He had struggled with temptation and the devil and had emerged the victor. He had lived a life of deep prayer and constant penance in utter solitude and yet had founded the first Christian monasteries based on his principles of total renunciation of the world for Christ. The man was a source of encouragement of persecuted Christians, a counselor to lowborn folk and to emperors, a preacher of the Gospel and a champion against heretics who proclaimed that Jesus was not divine. And now Fernando bore his name: Anthony.

From now on, Master John’s prayer would be, “Lord, be with Anthony.”

2

Maria, Lisbon Cathedral, Lisbon, Portugal (1220)