Last Days in Assisi

This is to be last post from Italy before I set off to Germany, and in it I will detail the last few excursions and events that occurred before the conclusion of my classes in Assisi.

On the day after my return from Cascia, realizing that I still had yet to pay a visit to San Damiano, the church St. Francis had heard the call to rebuild, I pointed myself in that direction.

It was only about a twenty-minute walk away from where I was staying, below the town itself. I, in my ignorance, had assumed that the Church was only memorable because it served to inspire Francis in his mission, but I soon found out that it also functioned as the place where St. Clare and her sisters lived for much of her later life as well as the location where the famous Canticle of the Creatures was written.

The chapel of the Church where I spent some time in prayer is small but packs much Franciscan history into the little space. At the back is the little crevice in the wall where St. Francis would store the money that he had begged for on the street for the repair of the Church. Throughout the apse are images from the life of St. Francis, including when he was disowned by his father and when Jesus on the Crucifix spoke to him. In that very chapel, too, is where St. Clare and the sisters venerated St. Francis’s body after his death in 1226.

As one walks past the altar of the chapel, one passes through a doorway into the compound and finds oneself inside the oratory. It was in here that the sisters would pray together, and the reconstruction faithfully shows the wooden benches and stalls. It was truly a humble existence.

Further on lies her dormitory where St. Clare slept on a straw mat and where she died in 1253. St. Clare was blessed to have received the Papal approbation for her Rule merely two weeks before she died.

St. Clare serves as a powerful inspiration regarding her willingness to give up the riches of the world every bit as much as St. Francis. She left her father’s house while she was still a teen to seek St. Francis’s help in establishing a community of sisters to follow a rule similar to what he was building with the men. It was likely much harder for a young woman of her age, vehemently opposed by her family, to go out into the ecclesial world by herself and attempt to found an order. One can imagine that were she to fail or become discredited, a future in marriage or entering an already established convent would be effectively closed off to her. She would become an outcast in society, and it was this very risk that she was running in addition to the comfortable lifestyle and honors. What a holy woman.

I wish to speak a bit also about the Canticle of the Creatures because this text is quite significant for the development of Italian literature. One must remember that in the thirteenth century, almost all texts in western Europe would have been written in Latin and that Italian as a standardized language did not exist. It would be Dante who, writing as a Florentine his stunning Divina Commedia, would set the standard as Florentine Italian. However, during St. Francis’s life, the Commedia was almost a hundred years in the future, and Dante was not born yet. Therefore, it is this short poem that is the first to be written in the locally spoken Italian. Since it is so short, I wish to copy it here below as it is a beautiful and profound reflection on man’s relationship with the natural world around him, created by God and giving glory to Him.

Altissimu, onnipotente, bon Signore, tue so’ le laude, la gloria e l’honore et onne benedictione.

Ad te solo, Altissimo, se konfano, et nullu homo ène dignu te mentovare.

Laudato sie, mi’ Signore, cum tucte le tue creature, spetialmente messor lo frate sole, lo qual’è iorno, et allumini noi per lui. Et ellu è bellu e radiante cum grande splendore: de te, Altissimo, porta significatione.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per sora luna e le stelle: in celu l’ài formate clarite et pretiose et belle.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per frate vento et per aere et nubilo et sereno et onne tempo, per lo quale a le tue creature dài sustentamento.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per sor’aqua, la quale è multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per frate focu, per lo quale ennallumini la nocte: ed ello è bello et iocundo et robustoso et forte.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per sora nostra matre terra, la quale ne sustenta et governa, et produce diversi fructi con coloriti flori et herba.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per quelli ke perdonano per lo tuo amore et sostengo infirmitate et tribulatione.

Beati quelli ke ’l sosterrano in pace, ka da te, Altissimo, sirano incoronati.

Laudato si’, mi’ Signore, per sora nostra morte corporale, da la quale nullu homo vivente pò skappare: guai a·cquelli ke morrano ne le peccata mortali; beati quelli ke trovarà ne le tue sanctissime voluntati, ka la morte secunda no ’l farrà male.

Laudate e benedicete mi’ Signore et rengratiate e serviateli cum grande humilitate.

As you might observe, the Italian is of course not the same as modern Italian, but it is nevertheless quite comprehensible. What strikes me perhaps the most is the understanding of creation as inherently pointing back to its Creator and the profound gratitude that pervades it. It reminds me of the verse that says one must be “as a little child” to enter the kingdom of Heaven. And indeed, it is most often children who are thoughtful and observant enough to say at prayer, “Thank you God for my father” or “Thank you for the stars” or “Thank you for the trees.” As we grow older, we begin to take these things for granted as though they exist because of some necessity. But they do not; they are a loving God’s gift to his children, and we would do well to follow Francis’s example and give thanks.

The first eight strophes were the original ones, and thus initially, the poem ended with the thanks for Mother Earth. However, at a later period when he was attempting to settle a dispute between the mayor and the bishop of the local city. He felt deeply grieved that the two could not make it up with one another but continually bickered over their differences. Therefore, he sent a brother to sing the second-to-last bit about repentance. The very last strophe comes from when Francis was about to die, and that was when he added the verse on Sister Death.

The whole poem has a beautiful unity to it, and I am reminded of the words of T.S. Eliot regarding poetry, “Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.” I find that St. Francis’s poem, far from delving into any particular emotion of his, soars far above him and encompasses the very essence of nature itself, that is its divine reflection of the Almighty.

Another point that sticks in my mind from the last few days was a meeting I had with Msgr. Anthony Figueiredo of the Diocese of Assisi. We had originally met Msgr. Figueiredo back in 2025 by video call, and he had told me about the language academy in Assisi and the Casa Papa Giovanni where I was staying. He was originally ordained in the NeoCatechumenal Way but now is incardinated into the Diocese of Assisi. He is a very kind and gentle man and was very good to help me with my stay in Assisi.

Fr. Figueiredo introduced to me to a British friend of his named Gwen. Both of them are very involved in promoting devotion to Saint Carlo Acutis; in fact, they would be traveling to Australia and New Zealand to bring his relics to parish communities and the youth in that part of the world.

Gwen had moved to Assisi about eight years ago and had for the month of May begun a daily Rosary in English at the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva which I have spoken about in an earlier post.

Because she was traveling to Ireland with Fr. Figueiredo for a few days, she asked me to help fill in to lead the Rosary, which I happily did. I was very honored that she had asked me to do this.

My classes finished on Friday, and soon it was time to move on again. It had been a lovely time in Assisi, and I was thankful for all that God had given to me there.

I wish to close with some words from St. Francis which are inscribed on one of the arches leading into Assisi, words which he uttered in a prayer just before his death while facing the city from a valley not far away. I believe these words convey what is so very special about Assisi. He said:

“May the Lord bless you

Holy City faithful to God

Because through you

Many souls shall be saved

And in you many servants

Of the Most High will dwell

And from you many

Shall be chosen

For the Eternal Kingdom.”

All the Cardinals of the World Are in Rome

We were surprised to find out that an extraordinary consistory was being held at the Vatican. This means that the Cardinals of the world have been called "home" to meet with the Pope. As providence would have it, we have had the grace to meet some of those cardinals. Asher received a blessing from Cardinal Jean-Paul Vesco of Algiers in the morning today and then in the evening we saw him again and Asher was able to share some information with him about the Children's Rosary.

We spoke to Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa of Jerusalem. He was very receptive to the Children's Rosary, and we look forward to staying in touch with him.

Asher was excited to re-connect with Cardinal Rainer Woelki whom he met in Colgone, Germany, a few weeks ago. The Cardinal immediately recognized Asher and we had a very nice conversation with him.

We were happy to meet Cardinal Arthur Roche, who is the Prefect of the Dicastery of Divine Worship and Discipline of the Sacraments. We had met with the Secretary of this Dicastery yesterday, so the Cardinal was well aware of the Children's Rosary when we met.

Yesterday we met Cardinal Virgílio do Carmo da Silva from Timore Leste. He was with seminarians from his Archdiocese. He was eager for us to share information about the Children's Rosary with them. 

We look forward to future collaborations and remain open to what is left in store for us in these last few days in Rome.

Mass Offered on June 25, 2026 for All the Members of the Children's Rosary

 

A Mass was offered on June 25, 2026 for all the members of the Children's Rosary and all who help the Children's Rosary. We continue to have a Mass said for this intention on the twenty-fifth of each month. The Eucharist is such a powerful gift from Our Lord that when we wanted to extend thanksgiving to all of you, we knew of no better way to express gratitude. May Our Lord's love be poured down on all of you through the powerful sacrifice of the Holy Mass. 

The pictures above are from the Children's Rosary at St. Francis Parish in the Aliwal North Diocese of South Africa.

Celebrating the Solemnity of St John the Baptist in Rome

Greetings from Rome. Asher and I are still in Rome spreading the Children's Rosary. We found a lovely church close to where we are staying called San Giuseppe al Trionfale. They have Adoration form 8 a.m. until 6:30 p.m. each day. We were able to make two visits to the Blessed Sacrament. I prayed in a special way for all the members of the Children's Rosary at Adoration. The Solemnity of St. John the Baptist has always held a special place in my heart. It was the first time I completed a Consecration to Jesus through Mary. We also filmed the first EWTN interview about the Children's Rosary on the Feast. It was not aired until September 29, 2013, but the filming was on June 24, 2013. Praise God that that interview helped to spread the Children's Rosary to more countries.

Visit to Cascia

In the last post, you might recall that I described my visits to Santa Maria degli Angeli, Pisa, and Eremi delle Carceri. These were really the halfway points on my trip, and the subject of this dispatch will be the conclusion of my visit to Assisi, which I think really was a lovely little break from some of the more frenetic few months that preceded it.

A few minutes after my hike to Eremi delle Carceri, I became sick again. I had not taken very diligent care of myself after my last illness, and this time it came on quite severely. Each day after finishing class, I would not usually have much energy left.

Nevertheless, the weekend was approaching, and I was remiss to “waste” it by remaining home instead of paying a visit to some nearby municipality of historical significance.

I had initially thought to visit Siena, given that it had been a preferred spot among my classmates at the Academy and that it was not hard to reach from Assisi. However, the day before I was set to leave, Fr. Youssef Abi-Zeid recommended to my mom that I visit Cascia. That Friday happened to be the feast of St. Rita, and the town was quite nearby to Assisi.

At once, I resolved to go. I soon discovered that thought the town was nearby, the method of arriving there by public transit was a bit tedious and required three bus changes. My mother recommended to me that I look into booking a ride as the car route was much more direct and would require much less complicated maneuvering between buses. Nevertheless, after the morning classes were over, I set out, determined to avoid booking a ride. I boarded the bus from Assisi center down to Santa Maria degli Angeli, where I was to catch the next bus. However, I was still not feeling well at all, and as I sat waiting for the bus to come, I began feeling a sneaking sensation of regret. Perhaps it would have been better, I said to myself, if I had just stayed back at the Casa Papa Giovanni. I belonged in bed, really; I had a bad headache, a nose that ran like a faucet, and the feelings of a low-grade fever. As the minutes ticked by before the bus came, I decided to book the room I would need that night, no easy task given the limited hotel rooms in a town like Cascia and the big feast occurring that day which was drawing in above-average amounts of pilgrims. Finally, I found a place not far from the town center that was available for that night. No sooner had I entered the credit card information and completed the payment than I looked up and saw the bus drive by…on the other side of the road. I had been standing on the wrong side. I could hardly have planned it worse.

I was now, as it were, caught out. I could not turn back, for I had already booked the room, and I could not well continue on as that was the last bus for the day. I found myself back at what my mother had originally suggested and what I probably should have just done from the beginning, booking a rideshare.

I quickly discovered that Uber was not to be relied upon in a place such as this. I tried calling a driving service I found online but hung up after only a couple of rings, thinking my proposal, an immediate hourlong ride, was likely preposterous.

Having felt sure that the Lord wanted me to visit Cascia on the feast of its patron, I uttered a short prayer to God and to St. Rita, “If you want me to get there today, you’re going to have to make it happen because I have run out of options.”

Just then, my phone pinged. I looked down. Someone with an Italian area code had sent me a WhatsApp message. It was someone the driving service I had tried calling, inquiring if there was anything they could help me with. Astonished, I responded, explaining my situation. He answered that his drivers could not help me but gave me two numbers of other taxiists to try calling. The first one of the two I tried told me his father could drive me and quoted me a reasonable price. Still not quite believing this extraordinary turn of events, I accepted and walked into the Basilica to wait until the driver would show up.

Upon arriving at Cascia and checking into the hotel, I discovered that it was a few kilometers from the town center. Thankfully, the lodging provided a shuttle, and I was informed that one would be swinging by at 7:30. Accordingly, I got changed, showered, and waited. When he arrived, the driver agreed to take me directly to the Basilica where St. Rita’s relics were located.

When we arrived, I expected to find the Basilica closed since online it had said that the normal closing hours were some time ago. However, I was surprised to see that the doors were still open; they must have extended them for the feast. 

I walked in, prayed, and just had time to venerate the relics of St. Rita before an usher came through, informing us that the Church would be closing. I made sure to mention the intentions I wished to present to St. Rita, said a prayer of gratitude, and then walked slowly out.

Once outside, I took a moment to look about me, appreciate at the village around me bathed in the gentle Italian springtime sunset, and marvel at how God had managed to take me in the palm of His hand, as it were, and bring me to this place. I reflected on the challenges that had to be overcome: my illness, the bus, the lack of taxis, the limited hotel rooms. And then, on top of that, He had gotten me here just in time before the closing of the basilica. It was not easy, I admitted to myself, but then I do not believe it was supposed to be. St. Rita herself had been a saint of enormous suffering, as I will relate later, so perhaps this was her way of doing things; she would get me there, alright, even if it wasn’t the smoothest of trips. And it would not be the end. 

Feeling a bit hungry for a nice warm dinner on that rather chilly Umbrian spring evening, I walked through the stone streets looking for such a restaurant. However, there were none to be had. All of the restaurants were filled with locals and pilgrims who had had the same thought as me. Three restaurants that I entered told me they had no open tables, and so finally, I simply wandered into an ice cream shop and bought myself two Kind bars and a bag of nuts; so much for a nice warm dinner on a chilly spring evening!

However, perhaps it was for the best because in the course of my futile wanderings, I came across an old church at the end of a long street of shops called the Chiesa di San Francesco, or the Church of St. Francis.

Seeing that it was still open, I went in and took the opportunity to say my night prayers. There was only one other man inside, and he was sitting in the row adjacent to me. He nodded smilingly at me when he saw me, and something about him told me this was likely a priest. When he finished praying and turned towards me, his Roman collar came into view, and this confirmed my suspicions. Thinking this was a perfect opportunity to mention to him about the Children’s Rosary, I did so and gave him a book and a flyer. He responded very positively, saying that he though this would be an apostolate that would fit in well in his parish. I am very optimistic about where that could go, and again, I was sure that this was the Lord’s and St. Rita’s doing.

Upon going back to the hotel, I remember feeling having not had the feeling of gratitude for a bed that I had that night in a long time.

The next morning, after breakfast, the shuttle again took me into town where I attended Mass at the basilica. During that Mass, the priest preached beautifully on St. Rita’s life and on her witness of trust in God throughout suffering. I remember that it really moved me. Here is what he recounted:

Margherita Lotti was born at the end of the fourteenth century in a small hamlet near the village of Cascia. She was a girl known for her piety and virtue, and though she wished to enter the convent, her parents would not hear of it, and they married her off to a young man named Paolo di Ferdinando di Mancino. Paolo’s family had been involved in a style of medieval Italian gang warfare in which families became stuck in a cycle of retribution and killing that lasted for generations. After their marriage, Paolo liberally took part in this, but after some years of being under the influence of Rita, his character began to change. He became a kinder, gentler man, and he renounced the wars of retribution, to the great embarrassment and chagrin of his own clan. The couple had two children, and all seemed to be going well.

And then, one day, Paolo was brutally murdered while riding on his horse by members of the rival family that still had a vendetta out for him due to something he had done years before. Such a tragedy would be the undoing of many people, but Rita was not one such person. Instead of reacting with outrage and a bloodthirsty revenge like many of those in her society at the time, she dove deeper into prayer and embraced forgiveness, determined to end the family rivalries. However, her two sons were not of the same mind, instead expressing their willingness to kill to avenge their father. Rita began to pray earnestly for them that they might not do such a thing.

A few months later, both of her sons died before her eyes of a sickness that swept through her town, and she was left with nobody. Rather than express indignation at God for this great Job-like tragedy (she had, after all, lived the life of a saint), she instead thanked God for the gift He had given to her of her husband and two sons and thanked Him that the souls of her sons had reached Heaven safely without being stained by the blood of their father’s killers.

After this, being now a widow and childless, she was permitted to enter the convent which had been what she had originally desired to do. During her time there, she was afflicted with a deep would to the forehead which would not heal, much like receiving the stigmata. This wound was so much a burden to her that often the other sisters did not wish to pray with her as the smell was so putrid. On one pilgrimage to Rome, she was quite old, necessitating that she be carried. The sisters were so resistant to having to be in close proximity to the smell for the whole journey, that, miraculously, the wound healed up just for the journey. But, of course, it came back once they got home.

St. Rita died on May 20, 1456, 570 years exactly before I arrived in Cascia, and her sanctity by that point was already widely known. For instance, the flowers in her garden were known to bloom deep into the wintertime when it was prohibitively cold for them to do so. As I say, this was my first experience with St. Rita, and I must say that I was deeply moved. She was so deeply a woman of God, a woman of suffering, and of patience that lies buried deep in the heart of Umbria.

After that wonderful Mass, I walked around the town some more and hiked up to the Church of Sant’Agostino. It was a wonderful old church with absolutely nobody inside, to the great contrast with what one would find below at the Basilica. I stayed and prayed in silence for an hour, drinking in the stillness and fresh interior.

Following this, I started walking back to the hotel. This was a walk of about 25 minutes, but it turned out to be more challenging than I had anticipated since the road was quite narrow, and the cars traversed it at high speed. I was forced to walk on the other side of the jersey barrier, and in this spot the ground sloped down at an extreme angle; it was quite literally almost impossible to go on foot.

At the hotel, I waited for the ride to arrive that I had reserved to take me back to Assisi. Not long after, he pulled up, and we were speeding along the road in return to my home away from home.

In conclusion, it was quite apparent to me after I returned that that little excursion to Cascia, though it had not been without its tribulations, had also been a special experience well worth remembering and treasuring.

Visit to Pisa

On the Sunday that followed my Florentine adventure, having sated my desire for excursions, I stayed in and contemplated the rainy weather from my room. I was, moreover, becoming quite sick and could do with a bit of rest. I stayed in bed and listened to an audiobook.

By Tuesday I was feeling a little better and was badly in need of a haircut, having received my last such trimming in the Congo. Indeed, it was less of a trimming and more of a mowing since I had received the typical African buzz once finds on the continent. This had enabled me to continue on for a couple of months without another haircut.

One of my Italian teachers recommended a barber down in Santa Maria degli Angeli, the commune just below Assisi, and considering that I had not had much opportunity to see that area, I decided to go there. After the cut, I realized I had just enough time to attend Mass at the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli and make it back to the Casa Papa Giovanni in time for dinner. This basilica is a very important one, and so I reflected that this was as good a time as any to see it.

In fact, the Basilica is a later addition, having been built in a Mannerist style which became popular in Italy as a kind of interim between the Renaissance and Baroque periods. It is a grand structure that completely encloses the Porziuncola, a small ninth-century chapel that was in pitifully bad condition at the time when Francis first heard the call to “rebuild [His] Church.” In addition to San Damiano, he worked to rebuild the Porziuncola, and the little chapel always remained dear to him throughout his life. This was so much the case that in 1216, he obtained in a vision with Our Lord the grace of complete remission of sins and temporal punishment for anyone who visits the Porziuncola with sincere repentance. Pope Honorarius III ratified this, and in the years after St. Francis’s death, the little chapel became so inadequate to house the throngs of pilgrims who came to make good on that grace that the large basilica was built.

St. Francis also came here to die at the end of his life, a fitting emblem of his characteristic simplicity and poverty.

I am embarrassed to say that I was quite ignorant of all of this history, thinking only that it was a remarkably large church that I had stumbled upon and that it had an evening Mass. I saw the Porziuncola inside but did not go in, I think because there were so many people there. It was only later that I realized its great significance, and the next time I went back, I went in.

For the rest of that week, the classes continued as normal. We had a tour on Wednesday that included San Rufino, the site where St. Francis was baptized.

That next weekend was, much as the last one, unplanned up until the last second. After some uncertainty, it became clear that it would make the most sense for me to go to Pisa, not just to see the Leaning Tower but also to see a nun, Sr. Ajayi, with whom we had been in contact with a few years back who was from Pisa.

After my morning classes ended on Friday, I quickly booked a train ticket as well as a last minute hotel room and was on my way. It turned out that I was on the exact same train with a lovely Ecuadorian couple that I had gotten to know over the last couple of days. They were originally from Ecuador but moved to Spain a few years ago since they had retired.

Upon reaching Pisa, on my way to my hotel, I walked past the famous leaning tower and the quite beautiful Pisa Cathedral. The hotel was quite close to the tower and was a charming little place with its wood-paneled walls and carpeted steps. The next morning, I met Sr. Ajayi who kindly took me to her residence, and we discussed how she might go about instituting the Children’s Rosary in her local, which she and her fellow sisters run. I gave her many Italian books and flyers that Stefan Borneis from Germany so kindly sent me. She is a really quite winsome person, and I was glad I had decided to go to Pisa for the weekend.

However, the weekend was not yet completed, and the next day, Sunday, having a free afternoon on my hands, I decided to take a stroll up to Eremi delle Carceri, a very high site elevated over Assisi. It was where St. Francis would go to meditate in some caves with his fellow brothers. The hike up there was certainly no walk in the park as it was about an hour and a half of pure climbing, but once I arrived, I found a lovely complex with hiking trails, a chapel, and the small structures in which St. Francis slept and said his hours with his brothers. 

I was particularly struck by St. Francis’s bed which was in actual fact simply a rock, smoothed down by the many years of his body lying on it. It was really a powerful witness to me that this man would sleep for weeks on end on this slab of rock with minimal covering in the nighttime cold on the top of the mountain that I can imagine was brutal. As I side note, I think when one learns enough about St. Francis, it becomes clear that he was a man who cared almost impossibly little about his own comfort. Even the basic pleasures that I think every human looks forward to—a full meal, a cozy bed, warm clothes in winter, an elegant set of clothes—all of these he systematically denied himself for decades. It was a place that would definitely have been worth a second visit even just because of the extensive network of trails that were marked for hiking on. Though I must say, these paths were unexpectedly challenging; I remember coming upon one patch alongside a long slope that was quite muddy and pockmarked with long marks from others having lost their grip in the same spot. I am happy to report the same did not happen to me.

Instead, I managed to pick my way gingerly through the rough trails and visit each of the little caves where Francis and his brothers had prayed. I have included a picture of the cave just below where I poked my head in. People had left little objects of devotion behind, but no one would dare spend much time in there, I think. I myself hardly wished to crawl into the small, dank space. It is remarkable how the brothers would do so for hours on end for days at a stretch. 

That evening, I walked back home by the scenic route and was back in time for dinner at the Casa Papa Giovanni.

Vatican News Article Highlights Children's Rosary Visit to the Pope

While we were waiting for the Pope to arrive on Wednesday, a reporter from the L'Osservatore Romano/Vatican News approached Asher and asked if he could ask him some questions for an article in L'Osservatore Romano. He knew a good deal already about the Children's Rosary and Asher as he remarked that he researches who the Pope will be meeting. The conversation was highlighted in two articles listed below.

Udienza generale - il racconto - Uno sguardo di amore, rispetto e compassione - L'Osservatore Romano

Dal Papa con uno sguardo di amore, rispetto e compassione - Vatican News

A translation of the portion of the article featuring the Children's Rosary is below:

“As a further witness to the prayer of the Rosary, from the United States Mrs. Blythe Kaufman, accompanied by her son Asher, a young seminarian of the Diocese of Hartford, presented to the Pope Children’s Rosary, the lay movement she founded 15 years ago, now present in 53 countries, which promotes moments of prayer for children in parishes, schools, and orphanages. At the end of the audience, they gave the Pope a book containing the testimonies of many children who live this experience, as well as of priests who host the initiative in their parishes.”