Praised be Jesus and Mary, now and forever.
Today we are celebrating the memorial of St. Theophilus of Corte, a model Franciscan priest, who stood out particularly for his death to self and his trust in God's providence. He too could surely say, as we said in the responsorial psalm, “Not to us, O Lord, but to your name give the glory.”
Corte is on the island of Corsica, and he was born there in 1676. At that time, Corsica was under the Republic of Genoa. His parents were John Anthony de Signore and Mary Magdalene Arrigui, two members of the local nobility. They were also noble in Christian piety, which made for a happy marriage. He was their only child. They sent him to school where he showed extraordinary ability. He could repeat the lessons word for word.
There were about 50 Franciscan friaries on the island, and Corte had two, one for the Capuchins and one for the observant Franciscans, the latter founded by St. Francis himself. When St. Theophilus was 16, he ran away from home to join the Capuchins, but his parents convinced him that he was being too hasty and he returned home. Still, not long after that, on September 17th, 1693, he was received into the observants. Four days later, he was clothed with the habit and began his novitiate. After the canonical year and a day, he made his solemn profession. He then resumed studying, now particularly to prepare for the priesthood.
Because he had a keen intellect, he was sent to Rome two years after his profession to study philosophy with the Order's best professors in the friary of Aracoeli. After that, he studied theology at Santa Maria la Nova in Naples. The Franciscan bishop of nearby Pozzuoli ordained him a priest in 1700, on November 30th. The following July, he finished his studies, and on the first anniversary of his ordination, he was made a lector, which meant that he would be teaching students for the priesthood. But teaching theology, as opposed to philosophy, was reserved for the best and brightest. Since he appeared to be among that number, he was encouraged to enter the competition for one of those positions.
He needed a quiet place to spend a few months to study in preparation for the public debate that this competition involved. He also wanted to spend time in prayer because he’d begun to have doubts as to whether a teaching career was really God’s will for him. So he went to the solitary Friary of Saint Francis at Civitella, today Balegra, a couple of days’ walk east of Rome in the mountains near Subiaco. The superior there was Saint Thomas of Cori, who had made this Friary a model of prayer, penance, and poverty. Their meeting would change the direction of Saint Theophilus’ life.
Saint Thomas was 21 years older, and this holy and experienced spiritual guide had no trouble seeing that St. Theophilus’ true vocation was not teaching, but spreading the model of the retreat of Civitella to other friaries. St. Theophilus felt that he couldn’t do that, at least not yet. He had signed up for the competition, and he had to keep his word by going to the debate. So he returned to Rome, but on his way back he fell into a pit and broke his right leg. He was carried back to the friary of Aracoeli on a cart and placed in the infirmary to recover. There would be no debate for him.
St. Thomas of Cori came to visit him, and now St. Theophilus no longer had any hesitation. He was destined to become a great teacher, but of practical knowledge rather than theoretical. After his recovery, he returned to Civitella and began the intensive Franciscan life of the retreat. He had the joy of having a saint for a teacher, and a friary full of good examples. But the happiness of living with that saint came to an end a little over a year later. St. Thomas was transferred to Palombara Sabina to open a second retreat.
St. Theophilus remained and became a model of perfect observance of both the Franciscan rule and the demanding statutes of the retreat. The friars who lived there could say, Our life is hidden with Christ in God. By acts of humility and mortification they strove to overcome the weaknesses of human nature. Immersed in a climate of prayer, they meditated the divine mysteries. But they were not cloistered. Saint Theophilus went out to the towns and villages of the surrounding area to preach Lent and retreats.
But the confessional was his preferred ministry. He would spend entire days there without stopping to eat. He treated penitents kindly and would rather confess well than confess many. He wanted it to be a true occasion of conversion. He especially wanted to help those who were dying. Whenever he was called, he would immediately drop what he was doing and go to the person’s bedside, regardless of how tired he felt, how difficult the journey was, or what the weather was like. Once he left in the middle of an operation that was being performed on him.
He never considered his apostolate an excuse for not following the community schedule. Whenever, however late he returned, he would always be in choir at midnight to pray matins with the other friars who had rested well. If he found the community engaged in prayer or some other exercise when he returned, no matter how tired he felt, he would join them immediately. His perfect observance was a miracle of human endurance.
After seven years at Civitella, he was transferred in 1709 to the retreat at Palombara that St. Thomas of Cori had founded. He stayed there for six years before returning to Civitella for another twelve, and then finally came back to Palombara to remedy the laxity into which it had fallen in his absence. In both places he was sometimes the superior and sometimes a subject. For two years he had a superior who took a dislike to him and took advantage of every occasion to humiliate him. It got so bad that St. Thomas of Cori went to Rome to have the abusive superior removed. St. Theophilus, however, just bore everything in patience.
He had great faith in Providence. Whatever he suffered was surely permitted by God for the sake of a greater good. Retreats were opened in various other places, and in 1730 the Order decided to open one in Corsica. St. Thomas of Cori had died the year before, and they foresaw that this would be a difficult job. So they chose St. Theophilus to lead the new retreat. The first four Corsican friaries in which he tried to open the retreat, he failed. But he was not worried. This was God’s work, not his. His part was to establish the retreat wherever he was sent, to work for that. God’s part was to bring success when and where he chose, and he chose Zuano.
When its superior resigned, St. Theophilus was sent to govern the friary. Slowly and gradually, he introduced all the customs of the retreat. Very rigorous silence, matins at midnight, all the masses celebrated for benefactors without accepting any offering and no begging for grain or wine beyond what was strictly necessary. The people thought that the friars would starve, but St. Theophilus said God will provide, and he did. In fact, they were able to expand the friary so that instead of having room for six friars, it could hold 16 or even 18. They had long wanted to build an extra wing at that friary, but they never found the money until they stopped looking for money.
One day at Zuano, St. Theophilus was called to the bedside of a dying person who had already lost the ability to speak. But when he arrived, the person regained the ability to speak long enough to make a confession and die reconciled with God. Another time, a 19-year-old man who was a slave of lust came to St. Theophilus in despair because his fiancée had just drowned in a river. His words consoled the young man and so thoroughly converted him that he became a very zealous priest and an eloquent preacher who died in the odor of sanctity.
In 1734, with the retreat in Corsica now established, his superiors called him back to Rome. He spent the next two years in the retreats of Civitella and Palombara before being sent on a new mission. Now 60 years old, he was asked to establish a retreat outside Florence at Fucecchio. He was not welcomed with open arms. In fact, those who resisted this project tried to get the town authorities and even the Grand Duke of Tuscany to stop him. Rumors were started to get people to stop sending alms to the friary.
Surrounded by this storm of opposition, St. Theophilus remained calm and confident of success. He said things like, Let’s leave it to God. The enterprise would not succeed if the devil didn’t stick his foot into it. And, Let’s serve God, and they’ll quiet down. Things did quiet down, and very suddenly, after the saint gave a sermon in praise of Saint Anthony. Suddenly, in a flash, the people became edified by the religious and happy to have them. At every feast, the friar’s church was now as packed as if it were Easter Sunday.
In 1740, he was 64 and still seemed quite healthy despite his penitent life, but one day he fainted when he came to the table. It turned out he had been suffering from a hernia that he had kept secret from his confreres. Periodically, he would have a doctor operate on him to fix it, but the problem would return. On May 10th he was called to assist someone who was dying. There was a cold wind that day, but Saint Theophilus didn’t want anyone else to go in his place. This is how he caught the fever that brought an end to his life nine days later.
Father Emilio, who was assisting him as he was dying, suggested he say like Saint Martin, O Lord, if I am still necessary to this people, I do not refuse the labor. Your will be done. Saint Theophilus replied, If I believed I was necessary to this friary, I would consider myself damned. The work was God’s. He would provide. It was not Theophilus’s. He died just not long after the sun went down on May 19th, and this meant that by the Italian reckoning, it was May 20th, the feast of St. Bernardine of Siena. 
Praised be Jesus and Mary, now and forever.