St. Clare and the Power of the Eucharist

Fr. Scott Haynes

Feast of St. Clare – August 11 

Introduction: A City in Peril

The year was 1240. Italy trembled under the shadow of Frederick II’s imperial ambitions. In his struggle with the papacy, the excommunicated emperor had hired Saracen mercenaries, fierce Muslim warriors from Sicily, to ravage the Papal States. Their swords burned through villages like lightning, leaving only ash and lamentation behind.

The city of Assisi, jewel of Umbria and home to the Franciscan movement, lay in their path. Behind its stone walls, panic brewed like a storm. The men prepared weapons; the friars prayed. Yet, just beyond the city’s gates, another community watched and waited, not with swords, but with psalms.

At San Damiano, a cluster of women vowed to absolute poverty lived in silence and prayer. Their abbess was Clare of Assisi, once a noble daughter, now the “little plant” of Francis. When word came that Saracen troops were advancing toward their cloister, fear rippled through the sisters. They had no walls of iron, no soldiers, no escape route. What could frail women do against seasoned warriors?

The Invasion of San Damiano

Historical accounts, including the Acts of Canonization and early hagiographies, record what happened next. The mercenaries stormed Assisi’s outskirts, plundering, burning, and slaughtering. Soon they reached San Damiano. The sisters, trembling, gathered around their abbess. Their cloister, poor and unfortified, was an easy prize. The soldiers intended not only to loot, but to desecrate.

Clare, though weakened by years of illness and fasting, rose from her bed with a strength not her own. Her biographers write that her face shone with a calm fire. In that hour of terror, she did not summon armed guards. She turned instead to the Lord of Hosts.

The Weapon of Heaven

Scripture gives us the words that must have burned in Clare’s heart:

“Thou art my protection and my refuge: my God, in Him will I trust.” (Psalm 90:2)

Supported by her sisters, Clare walked to the little oratory. There, in a small silver pyx, was the Blessed Sacrament. With trembling hands, she placed the pyx in a small monstrance or ciborium, veiled it in linen, and clutched it to her breast.

Then, gathering her daughters, she went to an open window overlooking the advancing horde. Saracen soldiers scaled the walls, their armor glinting in the sun, their cries like wolves in the night. Death and desecration stood only paces away.

St. Clare, confident of the God's power, lifted high the Body of Christ.

The Prayer of a Bride

Eyewitnesses preserved her words:

“Behold, my Lord, is it possible that You would deliver into the hands of beasts Your defenseless servants, whom I have nourished with Your love?”

Then she heard an interior voice:

“I will always protect you.”

This echo of the divine promise recalls the words of Isaiah:

“Fear not, for I am with thee: turn not aside, for I am thy God: I have strengthened thee, and have helped thee, and the right hand of my just one hath upheld thee.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Strengthened, Clare pressed on:

“Guard, O Lord, these Your handmaids, for I cannot guard them.”

As she prayed, she made the sign of the Cross with the Host over the marauders.

The Miracle Unfolds

What happened next stunned the invaders and sealed Clare’s place in history. A sudden terror seized the soldiers. Their limbs weakened, their boldness vanished. As though struck by an unseen force, they abandoned their ladders and weapons, retreating in confusion and fear.

The chronicles testify that the sisters, peering from behind Clare, saw the enemy scatter “as if driven by a mighty wind.” No blood was shed. No sister was harmed. The cloister remained inviolate, by the protective hand of Christ.

In that moment, the words of the Psalmist became flesh:

“Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His face.” (Psalm 67:2)

A Second Trial, A Second Triumph

The story does not end there. A year later, the Saracens returned with greater fury. Once more, they reached the walls of San Damiano. Once more, Clare raised the Blessed Sacrament on high. And once more, the enemy fled without striking a blow.

The Church has long cherished this event as a Eucharistic miracle, a sign that the Real Presence of Christ is not passive but active, a fortress stronger than stone, a sword sharper than steel.

Franciscan and Papal Voices

Saint Clare’s biographers saw in this miracle the essence of her vocation: to fight not with arms but with adoration. Pope John Paul II captured it beautifully:

“Her whole life was a Eucharist because from her cloister she raised up a continual ‘thanksgiving’ to God—in prayer, praise, supplication, intercession, weeping, offering and sacrifice.”

And Pope Benedict XVI, in a 2010 catechesis, said:

“In the simplicity and humility of her life, Clare was a courageous woman who knew how to live and defend her faith.”

Theological Meaning: The Eucharist as Shield

Why did Christ intervene through the Eucharist? Not because the Blessed Sacrament is a talisman, but because it is Christ Himself—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Clare understood what Saint Thomas Aquinas would later write:

“O sacrum convivium, in quo Christus sumitur.”

For Clare, the Host was not a symbol but a Person, the Bridegroom of her soul. In her moment of peril, she clung to Him with nuptial boldness, echoing the words of the Song of Songs:

“I found Him whom my soul loveth: I held Him: and I will not let Him go.” (Canticle of Canticles 3:4)

Spiritual Lessons for Today

1. Trust Beyond Fear

When earthly securities fail, the Eucharist remains our fortress. As the Psalmist proclaims:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?” (Psalm 26:1)

Like Clare, we are called to cast aside anxiety and lean wholly upon Christ’s presence.

2. Eucharistic Reverence

Clare’s miracle summons us to rediscover the awe and majesty of the Blessed Sacrament, not only in moments of peril, but in the quiet rhythm of daily life. Pope Innocent IV, who confirmed Clare’s Rule on her deathbed, called her “a shining light in the house of God,” a witness that true strength flows from Eucharistic intimacy.

3. Spiritual Warfare

The Saracen raiders who scaled San Damiano’s walls can symbolize the spiritual enemies of every age: sin, despair, pride, and unbelief. Clare’s response was not with violence, but with adoration. In her uplifted hands, the monstrance became a weapon of light, for “the Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace” (Exodus 14:14).

4. Defender of the Vulnerable

Clare placed herself between danger and her daughters, shielding them not with steel but with faith. Authentic Eucharistic devotion blossoms into concrete charity, a love that guards, comforts, and strengthens the weakest members of Christ’s flock. As Pope Alexander IV declared at her canonization, Clare was “a tower of strength for the poor and a light for the lowly.”

Aftermath and Canonization

The miraculous defense of San Damiano did not mark the end of Clare’s trials, but rather deepened the radiance of her witness. For thirteen more years, she remained in the small cloister that had become both her battlefield and her sanctuary. Illness consumed her strength; fasting wore her fragile frame. Yet she endured with a serenity that astonished all who came to her bedside. Like the Apostle, she could say:

“I fill up those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ, in my flesh, for His body, which is the Church.” (Colossians 1:24)

When the hour of death drew near in August 1253, Clare’s thoughts were not of herself but of her daughters and the Rule that had been the heartbeat of her vocation. With a courage equal to that shown against the Saracens, she obtained from Pope Innocent IV the solemn confirmation of her Rule, a triumph of holy perseverance. The Pope, who once hesitated to grant such radical poverty, now placed his seal upon her way of life.

On August 11, as the bells of Assisi tolled, Clare lifted her eyes heavenward and prayed:

“Blessed be You, O God, for having created me.”

With that hymn of gratitude, her soul, long espoused to Christ, passed into glory.

The news spread like fire through Umbria. Pope Innocent IV came to Assisi for her funeral, and such was his reverence that he proposed celebrating the Mass of Holy Virgins in place of the Requiem. Though protocol prevailed, his gesture foretold what soon followed: the Church’s recognition of Clare as a saint.

Two years later, Pope Alexander IV, once Cardinal Rainaldo, the very man who had affixed his signature to Clare’s Rule, raised her to the altars. His decree of canonization overflowed with poetic praise, hailing her as:

“A candelabra of sanctity, a garden of humility, a fountain of compassion, a mirror of chastity, a flame of love.”

The canonization document shone with biblical imagery, echoing Christ’s words:

“You are the light of the world. A city seated on a mountain cannot be hid.” (Matthew 5:14)

Five years later, the Basilica of Saint Clare welcomed her sacred remains. Pilgrims flocked to kneel where she rested, their prayers rising like incense. Today, her relics in Assisi still draw thousands, who find in her poverty a wealth the world cannot give.

Clare Speaks Across the Centuries

Though eight centuries have passed, Clare’s voice remains vibrant. In her letters to St. Agnes of Prague, she writes:

“Love Him totally who gave Himself totally for your love.”

These words are no mere counsel; they are the melody of her life, a life spent gazing upon the Eucharistic Lord. And her last breath sealed that melody in praise:

“Blessed be You, O God, for having created me.”

Like a final chord resolving in peace, her death became a canticle of thanksgiving.

Conclusion: The Eucharist, Our Fortress

What does this story mean for us, in an age shadowed by fear and strife? It means that holiness is not weakness but the strongest power on earth. It means that prayer is not an escape but the most potent weapon in the arsenal of God. And above all, it means that the Eucharist is a living flame, a fortress, a shield in the day of battle.

In the hour of peril, Clare did not take up a sword; she lifted the Host. And heaven moved. Her miracle at San Damiano is not a relic to be admired but a prophecy to be lived: the prophecy that hearts ablaze with Christ can scatter darkness without striking a blow.

Let us then draw near to this living fire, saying with the Psalmist:

“Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror of the night: nor of the arrow that flieth in the day… For He hath given His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” (Psalm 90:5,11)

Saint Clare of Assisi, bride of the Poor Christ, teach us to find in the Eucharist the courage that conquers fear and the love that casts out darkness.

O Eucharistic Lord,

who shielded St. Clare and her daughters

with the light of Your presence,

teach us to trust in Your power,

to live in Your love,

and to bear Your radiance to the world.

Through Christ our Lord. Amen.