Pilgrimage to Venerate St Francis relics in Assisi 16th March 2026

I set off on the ides of March on a three-day pilgrimage unlike any that I’ve ever made before. This time, I wasn’t going to simply be at the tomb of a saint or in a place where a saint had been; I was actually going to see one. I arrived at the airport in Rome, took a local train, then a tube train to the railway station and boarded my train to Assisi. After squashing into the cramped space on the plane, first-class rail travel was rather luxurious, and worth the extra 1 euro for the extra legroom. Not sure what St Francis would have said about it, but never mind. On arrival in Santa Maria degli Angeli, I made my way from the railway station, just after 10pm, past the huge basilica of St Mary of the Angels that houses the tiny church of the Portiuncula, to my hotel. 

First thing in the morning, I set off into the countryside up the hill towards the convent of San Damiano, the church where Francis first heard God calling him to ‘rebuild my church, which as you can see is in ruins.’ Francis took this literally and rebuilt the church in 1206, the first of three, until I think he realised that God wasn’t talking about buildings. The noblewoman Claire later founded her order of poor ladies there, giving her vows to the lowly deacon, Francis, at a time when vows were generally given to the Pope!

I spent some time in the tiny church staring at a replica of the San Damiano cross, which hangs above the altar. Francis was fascinated by this Byzantine icon, which is now with Claire in her basilica, a bit further up the hill in the old town of Assisi. As the church began to fill with pilgrims, I made my exit and headed uphill to see it. By the time I got into the medieval town, it was filling up with pilgrims, all dressed in their puffer jackets. Having hiked up the hill some five miles or so, I was down to my tee shirt as the sun was shining and it was lovely and warm. I had to queue to get into the basilica and made my way into the side chapel to sit in front of the San Damiano cross, I even took a sneaky illegal photo (Sorry Claire!) whilst I was there. 

Next, I headed into the crypt and followed the line of pilgrims around to St Claire’s tomb. A moment of veneration and a quick prayer were all I was allowed before making my way round to a display of her relics, hair, clothes and other items that had been kept and preserved by her followers. 

Out of the crypt and back into the sunshine, I made my way through the medieval streets about half a mile or so to the basilica of St Francis. Bookings were essential for this part of the pilgrimage, and I had booked a 12.30 visit with a Friar. Friar Timothy from Washington was on duty for the month that Francis's relics were on display and led my English-speaking group of 9, along with a Polish-speaking group of about 30. The Polish group had an interpreter (Friar Timothy only spoke American). He had forgotten his glasses, and one of the group had to lend him a pair so that he could read his script!

After an introduction about the theme of the pilgrimage, ‘unless a grain of wheat dies and falls into the ground, it cannot live and bear fruit.’ He led us through the fourteen Giotto frescos telling the story of St Francis, and before I knew it, I was in front of the glass coffin bearing the saint's remains. The glass coffin was at the base of the altar steps. It was quite special, these remains have never been on public display before, since Francis died 800 years ago. The skeleton of the great saint was laid out, mostly complete, although the skull had partially collapsed. I managed to find a space to kneel on the side of the altar steps in sight of the saint to venerate and pray. It was an emotional experience for me to be so close to and to actually see St Francis.

Eventually, we were ushered along as another group was making their way towards the relics. We went into a separate room where we renewed our baptismal promises and were sprinkled with holy water. We were also given a pot with seeds to take home and had our pilgrimage brochure stamped to prove we had made the pilgrimage. 

The Pope grants a plenary indulgence to those who make the pilgrimage, say confession and attend mass, so I indulged in some self-reflection as I made my way back down to the Portiuncula to see what time evening mass was.

Having hiked all the way back down the hill and into the modern town, I had a couple of hours' rest in my room before walking around to the basilica of St Mary of the Angels to complete my pilgrimage. The tiny little church of the Portiuncula, another rebuilt by Francis and where he died, is set in the middle of the huge basilica which was built around it. I managed to squeeze into the little church and say some prayers before visiting the rose garden where Francis is said to have thrown himself naked into the roses to curb his youthful passions! The roses have been thornless ever since! I then joined the congregation in the main church, sitting next to the Portiuncula for the end of the Rosary prayers that proceeded mass. There were about 500 people at Mass that evening, and it was very special. 

The next day, I was on the 7am train back to Rome, having completed my pilgrimage in three days.