The Story of San Damiano
The year was 1205…
Along the hillside of a small Italian town, there stood an old, broken-down church with a young man inside, kneeling on its cold stone floor. The years had not been kind to this building, and those in charge of its upkeep saw little hope in its restoration. One could see right through the roof, and the crumbling walls were no better. It was simply a matter of time before it completely collapsed.
But the open roof looking out into the heavens spoke something to this young man, as did the holes in the crumbling walls—though he could not tell you why. Recent years had not been kind to him either. He had been a prisoner of war, fallen seriously ill, and, after recovering, unexpectedly saw his lifelong dreams come abruptly to an end. In all this, perhaps he felt a kinship with these stones. Like him, they were once lifted high and placed in prominence, garnering the attention of passersby—and now bore only the resemblance of some forgotten chapel.
Confused about what to do with his life, the young man had made a habit of frequenting this lonely place for its silence and solitude. Day after day, week after week, and month after month—despite no clear indication of the next step—the growing peace, deepening joy, and fiery love that kept expanding his heart told him he was where he was supposed to be. Little did he know what this particular day would hold, kneeling upon the ruining stones of the old church.
With his gaze fixed on the icon before him, one of Christ transforming death through resurrection, God spoke to that young man—words that would restore and empower him, words that would restore and empower the Church herself:
“Francis, go rebuild my Church, which you see has fallen into ruin!”
On that day, kneeling in the church of San Damiano, Francis of Assisi became a new man. The encounter united his heart to God’s heart—a son to a Father—and from that personal relationship flowed his personal identity and mission.
When God speaks, the way he speaks is just as important as the word that is spoken. He is his word, and as it penetrates our heart, his heart unites with ours—and what is spoken is effected within us. Divine life, light, and love overflow within us and can expand to the point of bursting out of us. These are his fingerprints—the marks of his presence. God created us for these encounters with himself—for an ongoing relationship as Father and child. Francis had no background in stone masonry or construction. The grace for the task was imparted the moment God drew near, and the joy he worked with was evidence that he bore within his breast more than just the skill needed to complete the task—it was evidence of his abiding union with the heart of God.
Francis rebuilt the church of San Damiano, but it was only a sign of what was to come. When God spoke those words to Francis that day, the grace imparted was not just for the sake of a building becoming functional again, but for the Church herself to be rebuilt. As God began to encounter his people through Francis, the living stones of the Church began to rediscover who they were as sons and daughters of the Father. They were picked up from the rubble heap and given their proper place, and the Church herself was rebuilt.
The church of San Damiano is more than a building of stone and mortar; it’s a symbol for us that nothing is so dead that God can’t bring life out of it. It’s a sign of hope that 820 years later, the little church on the hillside still stands for millions to make pilgrimage, inviting us to look beyond our own crumbling walls and open roofs and look out into the heavens for our hope.