There are lives that, though separated by centuries, seem to sing the same song. Francis of Assisi, along the roads of medieval Italy, and Marie Eugénie of Jesus, foundress of the Religious of the Assumption in nineteenth-century France, never met in time. And yet, when you look closely at their way of seeing the world, you discover a deep harmony, almost miraculous. Both of them knew how to see that the ground we walk on is not a mere inert backdrop, but a sacred place where God becomes present, speaks to me and awaits me.
To bring Francis and Marie Eugénie together today is not an exercise in abstract theology; it is a close invitation to transform the way I am in the world. Their spiritualities, though born in very different contexts, give me a single impulse: to understand that caring for the earth, in small details and bearing in mind its "black holes," is one of the purest ways of living my faith.
Two spiritualities, one same impulse
What do a friar who called the sun "brother" and a woman passionate about education and the renewal of society have in common? At first glance, they might seem very different. Francis is the freshness of intuition, the fraternal embrace of poverty and of every creature, poetry made life. Marie Eugénie is the depth of thought, the gaze fixed on Jesus Christ and his Good News to transform culture, the conviction that faith must be embodied in history.
But if I look more closely, the heart of both beats to the same rhythm. Francis contemplates nature and bursts into song because he discovers in it the traces of the Creator: the beauty of water, the warmth of fire, the humility of the earth. Marie Eugénie, for her part, senses that everything created has a sacred dignity because it has been thought of and loved by God.
Both agree on something essential: creation is not an object to possess, but a family to belong to. For Francis, care is born of fraternity; for Marie Eugénie, of justice and love of truth. Together they tell me something vital for today: I cannot love God, whom I do not see, if I trample on the earth and the life he has placed before my eyes. Holiness does not take me away from the world; it plunges me into it with a renewed delicacy and respect.
Caring for creation as an extension of "Thy Kingdom come"
Marie Eugénie has a dream she often repeats: she wants the spirit of Jesus and of the Gospel to permeate everything. For her, the prayer of the Our Father and, in particular, the deep desire that "thy Kingdom come," is not a set phrase nor a longing for the hereafter. It is a task for the here and now. She dreams of transforming society from within, making the justice, the truth and the love of Jesus Christ become a reality in everyday life.
If I bring that insight to the present day, an almost inevitable question arises: is not the care and keeping of creation one of the most urgent ways of building that Kingdom?
For a long time we thought that faith consisted only in caring for human relationships or for the individual soul. But the dream of the Assumption invites me to go further. To work for the Kingdom today means defending life in all its expressions. It means understanding that when I care for the water I drink, when I sow with respect, when I restrain excessive consumption or protect those who suffer from the deterioration of their surroundings, I am making God's project present.
Francis teaches me that true peace comes only when I am reconciled with creation. Marie Eugénie reminds me that I must build that peace through work, education and social commitment. Uniting both visions helps me understand that caring for our common home is neither a fashion nor an ecological add-on to my faith: it is, in itself, an act of love for the Kingdom of God.
Caring for the earth as a contemplative act
In the spirituality of the Assumption, everything is born and comes to fullness in adoration. One cannot understand its mission without that calm, deep gaze that pauses before God in prayer. And it is precisely there, in contemplation, that the relationship with nature changes completely.
When I look at the world in a rush or with an eagerness for profit, nature becomes a mere "resource": something to use, consume and discard. But the contemplative gaze works differently. It is a gaze that does not possess, that does not exploit, that knows how to pause, to be surprised and to admire. It is the ability to see, in a leaf, in a mountain, or in the smile of a person and the nobility of their heart, the quiet presence of God who sustains all things.
This is how caring for the earth ceases to be a heavy duty or a list of rules and becomes an attitude of the heart. Cultivating a garden, protecting a river, reducing what I use, caring for myself and for others, or simply walking with gratitude through the countryside become acts of prayer. I learn to treat creation not as a storehouse of materials, but as a space inhabited by the Spirit.
Francis adores God by praising him through and with his creatures. The Assumption teaches me to adore God and then to look at the world with his very eyes. Both experiences feed one another: the more I adore, the more I respect what surrounds me; and the more I care for the earth, the closer I feel to its Creator.
In our time, so in need of hope and of care, the voice of Francis and the insight of Marie Eugénie join to offer me a simple, close invitation: to live the faith with my feet on the earth and my heart in God. To keep what has been given to me is not a burden, but a privilege and a joy. It is the most beautiful way to give thanks, to say with my whole life: "Lord, everything you have made is holy, and I want to care for it with you."
Magdalena Morales Valverde, r.a.
Santa Cruz de Tenerife Community