St. Francis’ Great Crusade and Evangelization

The beloved saint of earth and animals also went on the Fifth Crusade late in his life. When he was young, Saint Francis (whose feast day is Oct. 4) had longed to go as a warrior. But on this occasion, his was a visit for peace.

Today’s conflict with the self-described Islamic State, its infiltration into the West, and its systematic destruction of religious antiquities — coupled with resistance from the West — echoes the period of global religious conflict known as the Crusades.

“The things that befell Malik-al-Kamil owing to the monk (râhib) are very well-known.”

For a period of about 200 years, between 1095 and 1272, Muslims (then known as Saracens) surged westward, seizing cherished Christian pilgrimage sites; including Jerusalem and the tomb of the Holy Sepulchre. Various popes and kings in the West mounted a series of assaults to halt their advance. Only once during the Crusade’s eight campaigns did Christian forces re-take Jerusalem, a victory that occurred during the First Crusade in 1099.

The only other occasion when Christendom laid claim to the Holy City was in 1229, when the Muslim leader Malik al-Kamil freely handed it to them. This gesture historically is attributed in part to the humble friar, Francesco di Bernadone, better known as Saint Francis of Assisi (1182 -1226).

In brief, the First Crusade was launched in 1095 to secure the pilgrimage sites in the Holy Land from Muslim advance and was the only Crusade in which Christians secured Jerusalem.

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In the Second Crusade (1145 to 1148), Christian forces attempted to regain territory lost to the Muslims — but they failed.

Jerusalem returned to Muslim hands, which prompted the Third Crusade (1187 to 1191). The Holy City was not re-taken by the Christians, but the valiant King Richard I of England secured limited Christian access to Jerusalem.

The Fourth Crusade – launched by Pope Innocent III in 1198 – was botched altogether. The Crusaders became waylaid in Constantinople, waging war against fellow Christians for political reasons. They never made it to the Holy Land.

When Pope Honorius III dispatched the Fifth Crusade in 1219, Francis — who grew up with aspirations of knighthood — would not be denied his intention to go, not as a warrior, but to win the soul of the sultan for Christ. He was determined to visit Malik al-Kamil, even if it meant death, as all deemed it would.

Al-Kamil was among Islam’s favored military champions, nephew of the great Saladin and known as a mystic and lover of religious poetry. He surrounded himself with astronomers, doctors, and Sufis, with whom he frequently consulted about matters of the soul. On the occasion of the Fifth Crusade, he and his legions had set up camp along the Nile in the vital port city of Damietta, over which Saracens and Christians vied for control.

Upon Francis’ arrival at that Christian camp, he was distraught to learn of an ill-advised assault the Christians intended to wage. History notes they advanced against the Saracens in the siege of Damietta on Aug. 29, 1219, and a massacre ensued. Five thousand Christians fell — 1,000 more were taken prisoner.

At this point, Francis informed the commander of the Christian army of his intention to cross enemy lines to seek a meeting with the sultan. The commander refused to grant permission, but Francis went anyway. With his companion, Brother Illuminato, the men walked straight to the camp of the Saracens.

As the two friars approached the city’s edge, they were immediately arrested and threatened with decapitation. (The heads of Christians brought a good price for the Muslim warrior.) The friars insisted on a meeting with the sultan, and in due course were led to him. The sultan promptly asked if they wished to convert to Islam and Francis said they did not. Instead, he said, they had come with the desire to present the sultan’s soul to God on behalf of Christ. The sultan fetched his sages to judge whether this man’s teaching was genuine.

The sultan explained to the sages the clerics’ stated reason for coming; they answered he was bound by duty to cut off their heads. The sultan conceded he was indeed so bound, but decided to act against his own law, stating that execution would be an evil reward for ones who intentionally risked death in order to save his own soul for God.

Rather than kill the friars, he set about testing the authenticity of their faith. He spread before them a multicolored carpet — booty from a previous victory — decorated with crosses.

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His thinking was if Francis were to tread on the crosses while walking toward him, he would insult his Lord; but if Francis refused to walk on the carpet, he would insult the sultan in disdain to approach him.

Francis looked at the carpet — then walked in full strides the length of it to approach the sultan. Al-Kamil asked why he did not fear to trample on the crosses. Francis, referencing the booty, said, “It is the cross of bad thieves.”

The sultan was disarmed. He invited the little friar to remain with him for an extended period. Francis declined, saying he and Illuminato would prefer to return to the Christian camp. The sultan offered them gold, silver, and silk garments to take with them, but Francis again refused, saying the sultan’s soul won for God was the only treasure he’d wanted.

Al-Kamil gave the friars food for the journey and dispatched a military escort to guide them back to the Christian army. And so a friendship had been won.

Francis had always emulated noble knighthood and, in this encounter, he brought its magnanimity to bear. He acknowledged Malik al-Kamil as an equal in dignity, offering his own life in exchange for his soul.

The sultan understood this and the gesture won him — if not to conversion — mutual respect and reciprocity of valor. It bore fruit a decade later when, in 1229, the same Malik al-Kamil conceded Jerusalem to the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II, who (as luck would have it) had known Francis from childhood, sharing the same hometown of Assisi.

By the time of the Jerusalem agreement, Francis had been dead for three years. But some speculate the mutual good will shared by Francis and the sultan 10 years before influenced the outcome. There exists a cryptic reference on the tomb of a counselor to al-Kamil that reads: “The things that befell Malik-al-Kamil owing to the monk (râhib) are very well-known.”

This is a composite sketch based upon a variety of 13th-century sources and is described in detail in Wendy Murray’s book “A Mended and Broken Heart, the Life and Love of Francis of Assisi,” published by Basic Books.