The Joy of the Franciscan Jubilee Year
Dear brothers and sisters in the spirit of our father St. Francis,
​
As we stand on the threshold of this Franciscan Jubilee Year — eight hundred years since the holy death of our Seraphic Father — I wish to write to you not simply to inform you about an upcoming retreat, but to prepare your hearts for a grace the Church desires to give us. What lies before us is more than a series of conferences. It is an invitation to rediscover joy — not a shallow or passing joy, but the deep, demanding, and radiant joy that marked the life of St. Francis and continues to mark every authentic Franciscan vocation.
​
This letter is written in anticipation of our retreat so that, when we finally gather, the soil of the heart may already be loosened, and the seed may fall upon ground ready to receive it.
​
Why a Franciscan Jubilee Matters Now
​
Every Jubilee in the life of the Church arises at a moment of need. God does not grant Jubilees merely to commemorate the past, but to heal the present and re-orient the future. The eight hundredth anniversary of the death of St. Francis comes at a time when joy has become rare, fragile, and often misunderstood. We live in a world of constant stimulation and persistent anxiety, where many are entertained but few are at peace, where emotions are plentiful but hope is thin.
​
Even within the Church, joy is sometimes confused with enthusiasm, optimism, or outward success. When these fade — as they inevitably do — discouragement sets in. St. Francis offers us something far more solid. His joy did not depend on circumstances. It endured sickness, rejection, misunderstanding, poverty, and the slow stripping away of all natural supports. And yet, at the end of his life, he could still sing.
The question this Jubilee places before us is simple and unsettling: What kind of joy was this — and why does it endure when so much else fails?
​
Joy Begins with Conversion, Not Comfort
​
Franciscan joy does not begin where the world expects it to begin. It does not begin with achievement, recognition, or emotional consolation. It begins with conversion. St. Francis himself tells us this plainly in his Testament: “The Lord gave me…” Everything begins with grace. Everything begins with God acting first.
​
Before Francis preached joy, he wept. Before he sang, he repented. Before he embraced poverty, he allowed his heart to be broken open by mercy. His conversion was not a single dramatic moment, but a progressive surrender. The leper whom he first feared became the sacrament through which God healed his heart. What was once bitter became sweet — not because the bitterness vanished, but because love transformed it.
​
This is the first truth I want you to carry into the retreat: joy is not opposed to penitence. In the Franciscan tradition, penitence is the doorway to joy. When sin is named honestly, forgiven sacramentally, and relinquished freely, the soul experiences not humiliation, but relief. The burden is lifted. The heart breathes again.
​
For those of us who belong to the Confraternity of Penitents, this is not theoretical. Penitence is our vocation. But it must always be remembered that penitence is not an end in itself. It exists so that love may be purified and joy restored. When penitence loses its joy, it becomes moralism. When joy loses penitence, it becomes illusion. Francis holds the two together.
​
The Jubilee as a Return, Not a Pause
​
Biblically, a Jubilee is always a return. Slaves return to freedom. Land returns to its rightful owners. Debts are forgiven. Relationships are restored. The Jubilee proclaimed by Christ in the synagogue at Nazareth is not a poetic image; it is a program of restoration. In Him, God comes to reclaim what has been lost.
​
This Franciscan Jubilee is not meant to interrupt ordinary life for a brief moment of inspiration, only to leave us unchanged afterward. It is meant to re-establish a way of living. Francis did not experience conversion once and then move on. He returned again and again to the Gospel, again and again to the Cross, again and again to prayer and penance. His joy deepened precisely because his conversion deepened.
​
As we approach this retreat, I ask you to reflect honestly: Where has routine replaced desire? Where has familiarity dulled gratitude? Where has the penitential life become something carried rather than something chosen? These questions are not accusations. They are invitations.
​
Joy That Can Survive the Cross
​
If conversion opens the door to joy, the Cross determines whether that joy will endure. Franciscan joy is never sentimental. It is cruciform. This is why Francis speaks so provocatively of “perfect joy.” He does not locate it in success, reputation, or even spiritual fruitfulness. He locates it where the ego no longer has a claim — where love remains even when everything else is stripped away.
​
This teaching is not meant to discourage us; it is meant to free us. Many Christians lose joy because they unknowingly attach it to outcomes: visible progress, recognition, effectiveness, or interior consolation. When these disappear, joy collapses. Francis teaches us a deeper freedom: joy rooted in fidelity rather than results.
​
The Cross purifies joy by removing the need to be affirmed. It teaches the soul to rest in belonging rather than achievement. For penitents, this is especially important. The world may not understand your sacrifices. Your fidelity may go unnoticed. Your witness may seem small. None of this diminishes joy when joy is anchored in Christ crucified.
​
Eucharistic Joy: The Center That Holds Everything Together
​
Francis’ joy would not have endured without the Eucharist. His reverence for the Sacrament was not peripheral; it was central. He was astonished by the humility of God — that the Lord of heaven would place Himself into human hands, remain hidden, and be entrusted to our care. This astonishment sustained his joy when strength failed and suffering increased.
​
The Eucharist anchors joy in something objective and stable. Christ is present whether we feel it or not. He remains faithful when we are tired, distracted, or dry. This is why Eucharistic joy can survive seasons of darkness. It does not depend on emotion; it depends on presence.
As penitents living in the world, you know how easily the heart becomes scattered. The Eucharist gathers what is divided. It recenters life. It reminds us who we are and to whom we belong. A retreat rooted in Eucharistic faith is not an escape from reality; it is a return to it.
​
Joy That Is Ecclesial, Not Isolated
​
Francis’ joy was never individualistic. He loved the Church — not idealized, but real. He knew her wounds. He saw her weaknesses. And still, he remained faithful. His joy was protected because it was ecclesial. He did not seek a purer alternative to the Church; he sought holiness within her.
This matters deeply today. Many lose joy by withdrawing emotionally or spiritually from the Church when they encounter disappointment. Francis shows us another way: fidelity without illusion, love without denial, joy without naïveté. The Eucharist binds us to the Church not because she is perfect, but because Christ has chosen to remain within her.
​
Sent Forth in Joy
​
Finally, Franciscan joy is never meant to terminate in interior peace alone. It is meant to be given. Not through loud proclamation, but through quiet witness. Your joy, lived faithfully in family life, work, parish, and community, becomes a form of evangelization. It testifies that the Gospel is livable, that hope is reasonable, and that love endures.
​
This retreat will invite you not to do more, but to be more deeply who you already are: penitents whose lives quietly proclaim the joy of belonging to God.
​
As we approach this Jubilee retreat together, I ask you to begin praying for one grace above all others: the grace to receive joy as Francis received it — through conversion, through the Cross, through the Eucharist, and through hope.
​
The rest will unfold in God’s time. With gratitude for your vocation and confidence in God’s work among you,
Fr. Joseph Tuscan, OFM Cap. Spiritual Guardian of the Confraternity of Penitents