The Queer Motherhood of Saint Francis of Assisi

Today, the church commemorates the Transitus, the eve of the death of St. Francis of Assisi, especially important this year in the 800th anniveresary of his passing into Eternal Life. According to a Franciscan Friars website, “The word transitus comes from the Latin word for “passing over.” Rather than dwelling on death, the service celebrates Francis’ journey into the fullness of life and invites participants to reflect on their own call to follow Christ with faith, hope and joy.”

To mark this day, Bondings 2.0 offers an essay by Emma Cieslik (shr/her), a queer museum professional and religious scholar researching the intersections between gender, sexuality, material culture, and religion. She presents one way that St. Francis’ life and message can be significant for the LGBTQ+ Catholic community. Tomorrow, on the feast of St. Francis, we will offer a scripture interpretaion of the Sunday liturgical reading from a lesbian Franciscan.

One day, a beautiful and poor woman living in the desert decided to send her sons to live in the palace of the king, their father. After they arrived, the king welcomed them with open arms, rejoining at how much they resembled him. Although shockingly short and simple, this parable was part of St. Francis of Assisi’s argument to Pope Innocent III to found his order, the Franciscans. According to Thomas of Celano, Francis’s pope-appointed biographer, Francis saw himself as the poor woman leading his sons to the king, as “Lady Poverty” (a title he used for himself during his lifetime) leading his children to God. 

As Celano wrote in Memoriale in Desiderio Animae, “Francis himself was this woman, not because he was soft in his deeds, but because he was fruitful and bore many children.” 

Although St. Francis, the 13th-century Italian friar, is well known and loved by Christians around the world–and people are familiar with his radical commitment to poverty, fewer know about his radical queerness. From welcoming women into his male-only order, transgressing gender norms of his time, and living among the lepers, an ostracized community whose illness was seen as a sexually transmitted disease, Francis’s understanding of motherhood is strikingly similar to that among the LGBTQ+ community today. 

Italian mystic and poet Francis of Assisi was born into a wealthy merchant family. His disillusionment about wealth started early, and legend has it that he was selling textiles in the marketplace one day–his father was a silk merchant, and a beggar asked for alms. After concluding his business, Francis abandoned the cloth and ran after the beggar, giving the man everything in his purse. Francis’s commitment to poverty not only drew ire from his friends and father but later members of his community and the Church. 

Along with renouncing his wealthy father, Francis lived among beggars, stripped himself naked, and nursed lepers in the colonies near Assisi. His commitment–and embodiment of–Lady Poverty attracted a number of followers who lived in a deserted leper colony near Assisi. By 1209, he led his followers to Rome to secure permission from Pope Innocent III to found the Franciscans. By 1910, he and his followers were recognized by the Church, and the Franciscans began attracting more followers, including women like Clare of Assisi and Jacoba of Settesoli who were welcomed into his largely male order. 

Not only did he espouse and celebrate his queerness, but he also created pathways for others to do the same. Clare of Assisi, who later founded the Second Franciscan Order known as the Poor Clares, cut her hair and styled it in a tonsure style like the other monks. She envisioned herself as Jesus, while Francis, who implored the monks around him to call him mother, fashioned himself as Mary. Their relationship was one that celebrated diverse forms of families.

And Francis didn’t just use gender expansive terminology to describe himself. Shortly before his death, he welcomed Roman widow Jacoba de Settesoli into his order. When he heard she was nearing, he reportedly said (as documented in Celano’s “Treatise of the Miracles of the Blessed Francis,” “Blessed be God, who has guided the Lady Jacoba, our brother, to us.” 

Francis called his followers to nurture one another and those beyond their order like mothers. As he wrote his Letter to the Faithful, “we are mothers of our Lord Jesus Christ when we carry him in our hearts and in our bodies, lovingly, and with a pure and sincere conscience, and give birth to him through the working of his grace in us which should shine forth as an example to others.” Radical for his time and ours, St. Francis’ call to act as mothers–not of body and blood but of action and community is one that resonates with the LGBTQ+ community. 

Not all–but many–queer and trans people were and are disowned by their families because of who they are and who they love. For this reason, today in the LGBTQ+ community, “mother” is an endearing term used for mentors and icons, tying back to the Black and Latine queer ballroom scene in the 1960s. Back in the 1960s, Black and Latina trans women and drag queens created houses that welcomed in queer and trans people seeking love and mentorship. 

As assistant professor of gender studies Ariana Steele shared in an article about the term’s origin, “most queer mothers are someone who took you under their wing when you needed support and showed you how to live in this transphobic and homophobic world with dignity, grace, and at least a little attitude.” The appropriation of the term “mother” by white queer folks and outside of the community is problematic–we cannot say that Francis knew or intentionally committed to this form of motherhood because it didn’t exist at the time, but the 13th-century saint’s call for all of us–regardless of gender–to mother one another and radical invitation of welcome is a strikingly similar use of the term. 

“When it comes to ‘mother,’ we must not lose sight of the queerness of mothering or being mothered; this is a queer practice of taking ownership over our lives and supporting those who need the most help,” Steele said. St. Francis is an excellent example. Along with depicting himself as a mother and calling his mostly male followers to do the same, Franciscan scholar Kevin Elphick argues that the beloved saint himself dearly loved another–an unnamed male companion that has largely been written out of history. His own care for lepers, who were ostracized and cast out of their communities, and commitment to live among them represents his commitment to those living on the margins, strikingly similar to the Black and Latina “Mothers” of the late 20th century who not only provided support and strength to queer and trans youth but also courage amid the mounting HIV/AIDS epidemic. 

As we recognize the 800th anniversary of his death tomorrow, October 4th, St. Francis calls us all to be mothers to one another–not through body but rather through communion with one another. Not only is Francis a model of affirming parents but also queer and trans parents who are made better by their own experiences, as well as all gender expansive believers living their truth and protecting and nurturing the identities of others. 

–Emma Cieslik (she/her), October 3, 2026

Further reading:

Bondings 2.0: “On Feast of St. Francis: Witnessing Poverty, Patience, and Faith in LGBTQ Community“