FEATURE STORY
ST. CLARE
K
nown to contemporaries as Chiara Offreduccio, Clare was born in
1194 in Assisi, a small city in the Umbria
A woman with an iron resolve
region of Italy, the eldest daughter of Favorino Scifi, count of Sasso-Rosso, a forceful but honest Catholic gentleman. Her lovely mother Ortolana, of the noble Fiumi family from Florence, was conspicuous for her piety and care for the poor.
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Clare was an attractive, highly intelligent young woman. Well-educated, Clare had a first-rate intellect; her letters exhibit a fine literary style. Young women, even members of noble families, were expected to find work for their hands. She exhibited a great talent for embroidery, examples of which still display the clean artistry of her industry. Beyond that, Clare was a handful. She was as inflexible and single-minded as any man or woman who keeps themselves focused on God. Earthly endeavors had no appeal to Clare. From her youth, she desired spiritual union with Jesus above all else – despite pressures to the contrary from family, society, government and even the hierarchy of the Church. Such dedication is disturbing to those who think that docility, meekness, modesty and humility really mean being fainthearted, submissive, spineless and cowardly. Courageously resolute saints like Clare have a tendency to disturb people who aren’t. Taking seriously Christ’s declaration that perfection comes by renouncing riches, power and fame, Clare herself was going to achieve that ideal – come hell or high water. At age 18, she heard the words of a man considered a traitor to his well-born merchant class and her life turned a somersault. Francesco Bernardone, son of a wealthy cloth merchant, was poking about the tumbledown ruins of a church called San Damiano on the outskirts of Assisi when he heard the voice of God: “Behold My Church has fallen into ruin. Rebuild My Church!” Francesco, Assisi’s master of revels, left behind the soft arms of his ladies, the dicing tables of his friends and all his fine clothing. He donned a coarse woolen tunic of "beast color," the same as worn by the poorest Umbrian peasants. Around it, he tied a knotted rope. Thus attired, Francesco took literally the command he heard. Begging for stones from friends and neighbors, who were at first sure he’d gone mad. Yet Francesco restored the walls of San Damiano and two other churches, aided by men touched by his love of poverty. In time, Francesco grasped that God meant him to use human hearts, transformed into living stones and galva-
