There is something astonishing about a man who replaced luxury with simplicity and artifice with the natural world. St Francis (1181-1226), one of the most revered persons in Christianity, was a mystic, friar, poet and founder of the Franciscans. In some sense, there are two of him – one historical version and the other, legendary. To mark the 800 years since his death, his skeleton has been put on display at the Basilica of St Francis of Assisi.

Francesco was born to Pietro Bernardone, a prosperous cloth and silk merchant from Assisi, and Pica de Bourlemont, from Provence – both from noble families. Pica had their child baptised with the name Giovanni, but Pietro had been in France on business during his birth and instead named him Francesco (Frenchman). In his early twenties Francesco changed dramatically and became a renunciate, a kind of ‘hippie’, a visionary and hero of spirituality. What happened?

In 1202 Francesco (Francis) fought as a knight against Assisi’s enemy, Perugia, but was captured and imprisoned for nearly a year. He got very sick and nearly died. As the psychology of mystics often shows, near-death experiences can reset our life perspectives. Francis also had a pivotal experience with a leper, replacing revulsion with love and compassion. Perhaps he saw Christ in the leper.

In 1205 he was praying at the abandoned San Damiano Church when he heard the words ‘repair my church’. He sold cloth from his father’s shop to pay for repairs, creating a rift with his father, culminating in a renunciation of his inheritance and the clothing business in front of the Bishop of Assisi.

Francis had transformed from a wealthy, high-spirited youth to an ascetic with deep faith and endless love for creation. He adopted a life of poverty and preaching, gathering a small group of followers. In 1209, with 11 companions (12, counting himself) Francis journeyed to Rome and received approval from Pope Innocent III to found the Franciscan Order.

Although his life lasted 44 years, his vision and exuberance yielded vast accomplishments and enduring inspiration. He created the first live Nativity scene in December 1223 and one of the first poems in Italian: The Canticle of the Sun (1225). He is the patron saint of nature, animals and Italy.

According to Pope Francis: ‘Saint Francis is the example par excellence of care for the vulnerable and of an integral ecology lived out joyfully and authentically. He is the patron saint of all who study and work in the area of ecology, and he is also much loved by non-Christians.’

It is customary for churches to bless animals on Francis’ feast day, which is also World Animal Day. San Francisco is named after Francis, and Santa Clara is named after St Clare, the abbess who was his lifelong friend. Clare is the patron saint of those with eye diseases, laundry workers, good weather – and television.

In Roberto Rossellini’s neorealist film co-written with Federico Fellini, The Flowers of St Francis (1950), the saint, with his genuine smile, bare feet and brown cassock, stands amid the trees and fluttering birds, saying ‘may all on earth learn the secret of your peace…’ A bird lands on his shoulder; he speaks to it, kisses it, releases it to the sky.

In Gubbio, Francis spoke to a wolf that had been terrorising the town. The wolf was hungry, and Francis created peace between the wolf and the townspeople.

Another time Francis was staying near Greccio when one of the friars brought a rabbit to Francis that had been caught in a trap. Francis greeted the rabbit and asked how it had got trapped. ‘Francis caressed it and let it go, but it kept returning to Francis. After he had rested there a little while, the holy father, caressing it with motherly affection, released it so it could return free to the woods,’ wrote Thomas of Celano in his 1228 account of Francis’ life, the Vita Prima.

Another story has Francis near the lake in Rieti where a live fish was given to him. ‘After his custom, he called it by the name of “brother” and put it back again into the water,’ wrote St Bonaventure, who was commissioned to write the official biography of Francis. This action has a familiar ring to it – Pythagoras and the Buddha threw fish back into the sea, too (circa 500 BC).

Francis knew the book of nature and the tree of life, the spirit that moves butterflies and birds and the human heart. What can Francis’ mystical union be compared with around the world?

In Hinduism, perhaps this can be seen in the Atman Brahman belief system. In the Chandogya Upanishad, the story of salt dissolved in water shows that divinity pervades everything. This cosmic inclusiveness informed America’s Transcendentalists and the poet Walt Whitman.

Buddhism involves the notion of interdependence of beings. The Buddha (born Siddhartha Gotama, around 550 BC), has a similar trajectory, for Siddhartha was wealthy and surrounded by comforts, too. On four successive days, Siddhartha saw the Four Passing Visions: an old man, a sick man, a corpse and friars. His crisis, his awakening, led to his Buddhahood, which means ‘I am awake.’ He renounced the world and taught others how to find peace, compassion and the middle way.

In Taoism, the Tao or ‘the way’ creates, sustains and unifies everything. It is the energy that pervades everything. The Tao is ‘Something mysteriously formed / Born before heaven and Earth’, according to Lao Tzu.

For Native Americans there is the Sacred Hoop or Medicine Wheel – or ‘All My Relations’ for the Lakota Nation.

Passages in the Old Testament, such as Psalm 104, mention that ‘In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.’ The Jewish Kabbalah has a strong sense of the Creator and Creation as a unity. And in the 20th century, Martin Buber’s I-Thou relationships (unified and equal) are holistic in contrast to I-It relationships (unequal and transactional).

In Islam, the theme of interconnectedness shines in Surah Al-An’am 6:38: ‘And there is no animal that walks upon the Earth nor a bird that flies with its two wings but they are like yourselves.’ And in Only Breath, Rumi (the Sufi poet) envisions how we can transcend labels and divisions to seek unity.

French priest and scientist Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955) refers to ‘the divine milieu’, in which God is present in all of creation – a creation that is evolving towards a final union with God, the Omega Point.

In Laudato Si (Green Encyclical), the late Pope Francis wrote that ‘Francis [of Assisi] helps us to see that an integral ecology calls for openness to categories which transcend the language of mathematics and biology, and take us to the heart of what it is to be human’.

Before he became a friar, young Francis of Assisi had plenty of money, fine clothes, an entourage of friends and frequent parties. He even expected military glory. But when he was imprisoned by Perugia during the war with Assisi and had fallen sick – it was horrific, a dark night of the soul. His change of consciousness took him on a different course. It’s not that he had to lose the world to gain his soul, but rather that he had to shun the comforts and parties to immerse himself in the more authentic human condition, the magnitude of suffering. He learned how to live from the inside out rather than the outside in. He had a spiritual calling, even a call to adventure.

‘He devoured fasting as a man devours food,’ wrote G.K. Chesterton. Francis shunned comforts and money, ate very little, was quite ascetic, and referred to his body as ‘Brother Ass’.  Now, this lifestyle would not be the choice for most people today as it was not for most people then. In fact, in the High Middle Ages, Italy was transitioning to a money-based society with sophisticated financial tools. It was also the time of astrolabes, great universities, cathedrals and troubadour culture.

What can we learn from him today? Can Francis help us understand ourselves and our relationships with other beings and the natural world? Are our natural feelings and compassion blocked by our lust for more possessions and endless entertainment? Can we just be? How can we find the peace that overwhelms our pettiness and conflicts? What does balance mean, and how do we flourish without it being at the expense of others, or the planet?

In The Flowers of Saint Francis, the friars spin around, laugh and fall down so that God and fate determine their paths. St Francis was the Jongleur de Dieu – God’s court jester. That’s the way he saw himself. This term was popularised by Chesterton, who wrote that ‘he was not only a humanist but a humorist’. Holy foolishness is a blend of creativity and spirit. It’s about being cheerful and humble. It is illustrated throughout his life, from rebuilding churches to his creation of the first nativity scene. There is an ‘out of the box’ approach to life and service to others. Francis was creative in the way he redefined medieval religion through a more authentic and nature-based expression. He saw others as brothers and sisters – that’s how children generally are toward people and animals.

In the spring of 1225 at the convent in San Damiano, sick, blind and close to death, Francis wrote The Canticle to the Creatures:

Praised be you, my Lord
with all your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
who is the day through whom
you bring us light.

There is a tendency for independent thinkers and mystics, such as St Francis, to be shunned and fall into trouble – or worse. That didn’t happen to him or St Clare or St Teresa of Avila. Indeed, they were canonised and became saints. But they do show that mysticism is its own authority and that institutions need to be shaken up from time to time. That’s perhaps why there are comedians and mystics. It is the way of the mystic who cuts through the thicket of officialdom to bring us to a state of childlike bliss.

The creative act gets us to understand a new paradigm or see something as if for the first time. The artist takes risks and can deal with ridicule. This is not the newness-porn that’s often the overarching thing in the arts, but something more profound. Conventions are challenged, and art merges with life. It is a pathway of the soul into the larger world. It’s hard to define – but you know when something is genuine and original.

Clare of Assisi (1193-1253) came from a noble family who wanted her to marry when she was a teenager. She refused, inspired by Francis. On Palm Sunday Evening (20 March 1212), she left home and went to Francis and his companions. He placed her in a Benedictine monastery. Francis also made a house available to Clare and the other nuns across from the restored Church of San Damiano. The nuns were contemplative ascetics without beds and shoes, and they were vegetarian. The ascetic life probably did not help Clare’s health. Her close friendship with Francis helped guide their religious orders.

Francis had close friendships with three companions named Leo, Angelo and Rufino. He was also on good terms with St Anthony of Padua, who preached to the friars. He knew and befriended St Dominic (founder of the Dominicans). He was friends with Lady Jacoba, who had given him his favourite almond biscuits on his death bed. Death to Francis was a sort of friend: ‘Sister Death’ (Sora nostra Morte corporale). Francis’ friendships and ability to inspire others says a lot to us today about community.

The word ‘pilgrimage’ derives from the Latin word ‘peregrinus’ or traveller from afar. Pilgrimages feature the journey and the destination. These are special or sacred places, places set apart from everyday life. It’s generally a physical journey with the interior counterpart.

Ancient cultures around the world highlight pilgrimages. The Eleusinian Mystery in Greece, focused on the story of Demeter and Persephone, included a pilgrimage. In Islam, pilgrimage, or Hajj, is one of the Five Pillars. Jerusalem has many pilgrimage areas for Jews, Christians and Muslims. A popular pilgrimage is Camino de Santiago (Way of Saint James) in Spain. Henry David Thoreau saw himself as a pilgrim during his long walks – ‘I walk out into nature such as the old prophets and poets…’ The Kanwar pilgrimage is India’s largest and has pilgrims obtain water from the Ganges and deposit it at Shiva shrines. People from the Yoruba culture travel to the Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove to bask in spirit and nature. Pachacamac was the Pan-Andean pilgrimage site for the Inca and many cultures before them.

Francis made several pilgrimages to Rome, including the time in 1209 when he sought Pope Innocent III’s approval for the Franciscan Order. In 1214, St Francis went on a pilgrimage with companions to the shrine at St James, founding monasteries along the way. While on a 40-day fast and prayer retreat at Mount La Verna in September 1224, Francis received the stigmata. Modern pilgrims sometimes follow the ‘Way of St Francis’, a path that connects Florence, Assisi and Rome.

A pilgrimage has many spiritual, psychological and physical benefits. In Science and Spiritual Practice, Rupert Sheldrake writes that ‘many pilgrims find that as they travel on foot, they meet other pilgrims, and non-pilgrims, in a socially levelled way’.

From 1095 to 1291, there were eight Crusades to the Holy Land – even a Children’s Crusade. Francis of Assisi’s journey brings us to the Fifth Crusade. Why was Francis in a dangerous arena trying to meet Sultan Malik al-Kamil (Saladin’s nephew)? In 1213, Pope Innocent III released a papal bull that initiated the Fifth Crusade, whose aim was to recapture Jerusalem. But first, Egypt needed to be conquered because of its strategic importance and rich agriculture. Egypt was also the military base of the Ayyubid Sultanate. The Fifth Crusade included a few European armies, as well as the Teutonic Knights, Knights Templar and the Knights Hospitallers in attendance.

Giotto’s St Francis and the Sultan (around 1297) is a vivid painting of Francis’ attempt to convert the Sultan with a Trial by Fire. The painting is in the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence and shows the courage of which Francis was capable. While it is apocryphal that there was a trial by fire, it seems very likely that Francis really did go to Egypt during the Fifth Crusade, as contemporary sources say. Accompanied by Brother Illuminato, Francis set out for Damietta to meet the Sultan. Most likely, Francis wanted to stop the violence and preach to those who would listen. He knew what war and peace bring.

Sultan al-Malik al Kamil was the ruler of Egypt, Palestine and Syria. The Sultan was well-educated, fair and just. It was common for Muslim rulers to engage in dialogue with scholars, scientists, merchants and others at court. Muslims, Jews and Christians were used to each other and often worked with each other.

The Crusaders had few paths to victory, but they did control Acre in northern Israel and were threatening Damietta, a port city in northern Egypt. The Sultan worked vigorously to limit any gains from the Crusaders, and also made a few attempts to negotiate a peace treaty with the Crusaders. He wanted the Crusaders out of Egypt – plus, he was contending with an attempt from his brother to seize power. The Crusaders did not accept any treaties. The Crusaders were overconfident, possibly expecting the very brilliant and multifaceted leader, Frederick II (Holy Roman Emperor, King of Sicily and Stupor mundi or Wonder of the World) to save them – as well as the mythical king from the East, Prester John, to bring victory.

It was in this atmosphere of violence that the sultan respected the courage and spirit of Francis, allowing him to preach before returning to the Christians. Francis and the Sultan created a small pocket of humanity in the middle of a war zone. The fact that the Sultan responded with hospitality instead of execution proves that, even in the worst of times, the ‘other’ is rarely the monster we’ve been taught to fear. Dialogue can be the true higher power.

Indeed, the path of conflict didn’t yield the prize that the Crusaders had hoped for. In November 1219, they destroyed the Chain Tower on the Nile and breached Damietta’s defences, only to find starving, decimated survivors. In 1221, the Crusaders lost Damietta to the Sultan, signed an eight-year treaty, and were forced to leave Egypt, ending the Fifth Crusade. Their labours had come to nought.

This episode in the life of Francis qualifies as Holy Foolishness. It took a fearless compassionate person who had to contend with belligerents in both camps. This interfaith episode shows what is possible if people can think and imagine and move beyond fear. Francis believed in peace, brotherhood and unity. It is impossible to say whether Francis’ intention was more to convert the Sultan or bring about peace, and yet both of them – St Francis and the Sultan – can be seen as models of rectitude and wisdom, common sense and broader thinking.