What possible relevance could a 13th-century woman from the middle of medieval Italy have for moderns today?

A lot.

Margaret of Cortona was born in Tuscany in 1247. Her mother died when she was seven. Her father remarried two years later but there seemed to be little affection between Margaret and her stepmother. So, at 17 (which was not so “young” in the 13th century), she ran off with a certain wealthy son of a local lord, who kept her as a mistress and for whom she bore a son. It’s said she pressed him to marry her but, in today’s parlance, he had “commitment issues.”

Her lover was killed on a trip; they found his body when his dog came home without him. Making a break, she returned the jewels and everything she received from him to his family and went home. Her prodigal father was ready to take her back; her stepmother was not. It’s said she briefly considered earning a living by her beauty (i.e., prostitution) but because she had always kept on praying, felt inspired to go and put herself in the care of a new group of priests called the “Franciscans” in Cortona. Thanks to the support of some generous women who saw the young lady adrift and with God’s grace and Franciscan support, turned her life around. After three years, she entered the Third Order of St. Francis. Her son was schooled there and it is said he became a Franciscan friar himself.

Taking seriously a life of poverty, she is reported to have had a calling in which she heard the Lord asking her “What is your wish, poverella (my poor one)?” Her answer was “I wish nor seek nothing but you, my Lord Jesus,” after which began a series of mystical experiences for her.

Margaret’s mysticism did not disconnect her feet from the ground, however. She was very much involved in care for the poor, founded a third-order community, established a confraternity to support the poor and sick, and took the local bishop to task for his worldly lifestyle. She died Feb. 22, 1297, was buried and remains incorrupt, and was canonized in 1728.

Jacopo Calvi, a Bolognese painter primarily active in the second half of the 1700s, painted this “Ecstasy of St. Margaret.” The saint is depicted in a brown Franciscan habit with two usual attributes of penance: the cross she grasps, held by an angel, and a skull and bones (at her left foot) reminding her of human mortality. Her eyes are fixed heavenward, with the usual expression of a person in ecstasy, while the painter depicts the heavens as opened.

The dominance of brownish colors, i.e., the absence of brighter, flashier hues (often common in Baroque painting) emphasizes both the Franciscan and penitential dimensions of the painting and its subject. The attraction of this world is downplayed by voluntarily assumed penance. Though not in this painting, one commentator says that Margaret is often also depicted with a dog, since it was a dog who led her to her dead lover.

So, what can Margaret of Cortona say to our world?

She experienced the attraction of the physical and sensual. She “moved in” with a rich guy. She had an out-of-wedlock child though the affluence of her lover’s family buffered the challenge. It’s said she wanted him to regularize their relations and marry, but he never did.

Sound familiar? Cohabitation? A child born out of marriage (at least in a world that didn’t consider killing him a solution). A man ready to take advantage of a woman he found attractive, but not attractive enough to whom to make a lifetime commitment.

But there’s another important note here. It’s clear that, even though she was aware that how she was living was wrong, she ultimately never gave up on God. She never stopped praying, even amid her guilt. That’s important, because so often sinners either abandon prayer, convinced that God “hates” them (the truth being he does not give up on them) or — worse — they convince themselves that their “lifestyle” is actually good, and that it is only outdated mores or ecclesiastical backwardness that demands a “license for our love.” Even worse, they convince themselves that while “the Church” may not approve of things, “God” doesn’t really object.

It’s important to keep that prayer lifeline alive because, ultimately, it was what brought Margaret back to her senses … and to the true God. In her case, it was a radical conversion by which she renounced the pomp and senses of this world. Perhaps not everyone is called to that, but we are all called to basic moral teachings about which, deep down, Margaret always remained in conflict with herself. That — and not the suffocation of guilt — is the sign of a healthy conscience: one that continues to be that quiet (and sometimes not quiet) voice reminding us, “This is not how it should be.”

Margaret of Cortona knew many of the temptations and experiences moderns do, yet provides an example of finally turning to God. Perhaps many contemporaries will find in her a valuable patroness.

(Although not on the U.S. liturgical calendar, this feast day is observed in some Spanish-speaking countries).

For more background, see here and here.