Mar 6, 2025

⛪ Saint Colette of Corbie - Abbess and Foundress


Saint Colette of Corbie, born Nicole Boellet on January 13, 1381, came into the world in Corbie, a small town in Picardy, northern France, its streets shadowed by an ancient abbey. Her father, Robert Boellet, was a carpenter who crafted altars for the Benedictine monks, his hands steady with skill. Her mother, Marguerite Moyon, bore a gentle faith, her years marked by childless sorrow until, past 60, she prayed to Saint Nicholas for a babe. Colette—named for him—was their miracle, born when hope seemed lost. Their home, a timber cottage near the Somme River, hummed with prayer—Marguerite taught Colette the rosary at three, her small voice joining hers by a clay Virgin statue. Robert, proud but pious, told her tales of saints, his faith her first wood. At seven, she’d kneel in Corbie’s abbey, praying for hours, her love for Jesus already deep. This shows us God answers prayer, and a late bloom can bear holy fruit.

Colette grew short—barely four feet—but strong, her hands calloused from helping her father plane oak. At 14, in 1395, both parents died—plague or age took them—leaving her alone. She gave their goods to the poor, keeping only a cloak, her heart set on God. She tried the Beguines, a lay sisterhood, then the Benedictines, but their ease chafed her—she craved poverty. At 21, in 1402, she sought a hermit’s life, asking Corbie’s abbot to wall her as an anchoress in a cell by Saint Peter’s Church. Bricked in with a window for alms, she lived on bread, water, and prayer, her faith a flame in silence. This teaches us God shapes us through loss, and solitude can be His call.

A Vision to Heal the Church

In 1406, at 25, Colette’s life turned—a vision struck her. Saint Francis of Assisi appeared, his voice clear: “Reform my Poor Clares; the Church bleeds.” France then reeled—the Western Schism split popes between Avignon and Rome, England’s Hundred Years’ War burned fields, and plague shadowed towns. The Poor Clares, Francis’s daughters, had softened—some convents rich, their vows lax. Colette prayed, then broke her cell’s wall with help from a friar, her mission set. She sought Pope Benedict XIII in Nice—Avignon’s claimant—barefoot, her tunic patched. He blessed her, naming her superior of all Poor Clares, giving her a bull to wield. At 26, she began, her heart bold. This tells us God speaks clear, and holy tasks rise from quiet.

Colette traveled—France, Flanders, Savoy—founding or reforming 17 convents, her voice soft but steel. In 1410, she rebuilt Corbie’s Poor Clares, stripping wealth, restoring poverty, prayer, and fasting. She lived as she taught—bare feet, straw mat, scraps for food—her love a fire. Nuns resisted—some fled, others mocked—but her patience won them. By 1420, her reform spread—Besançon, Ghent, Poligny—her faith a root in schism’s storm. She met kings—Charles VII of France, Philip the Good of Burgundy—begging peace, her prayers their guide. This shows us God builds slow, and gentle strength heals His flock.

Miracles of a Pure Soul

Colette’s trust bore miracles, tender yet mighty. A stillborn babe, blue in its mother’s arms, stirred after Colette prayed—it cried, alive. A lame nun in Poligny, her legs twisted, walked after Colette’s prayer and touch—she danced in the cloister. Tradition says a drought parched Besançon—Colette prayed in the fields, and rain fell, crops saved. After death, a blind girl knelt at her tomb, praying, and saw Corbie’s spires; a mute boy there spoke her name. In 1450, a flood threatened Ghent—nuns prayed to her, and waters receded, walls spared. She’d say, “God does this, I’m His handmaid.” Her Poor Clares grew—hundreds joined, their prayers a tide across Europe. This teaches us Jesus honors faith, and holy lives spill grace.

Her truest miracle was her life—a carpenter’s girl who renewed Francis’s dream. In a Church of schism and war—Joan of Arc burned, popes at odds—her faith stitched peace. She’d pray in bare chapels, her reform a call to God’s love. This tells us living for Him outshines wonders, a root through time.

Her Last Days and Tomb

Colette lived to 66, her body frail but spirit tall. On March 6, 1447, in Ghent, Flanders—her last convent—she felt Jesus near. Sick for months—fevers, penance’s toll—she’d lain in her cell, praying through pain. She gathered her nuns—“Stay poor, love Francis’s way”—and died, her last prayer a sigh to Mary. They buried her in Ghent’s Poor Clare convent, her tomb a plain slab, her small form a relic—some say intact, a marvel. Pilgrims came—sick seeking cures, hearts seeking peace—dust from her grave a balm. In 1793, French Revolutionaries burned the convent—her relics scattered, some saved in Poligny or lost to ash—but her grace holds. This shows us a life for God endures, its light beyond ruin.

Sainthood and Shrine

Colette’s holiness rang—folk called her “saint” at death, her tomb a wonder. Her cause grew slow—on January 23, 1740, Pope Clement XII declared her Blessed; on March 6, 1807, Pope Pius VII canonized her, miracles—a healed child, a cured nun—sealing her glory. Her feast, March 6, fills France with joy. Her “shrine”—lost in Ghent—lives in Poligny’s Poor Clare church, where some relics rest, or in Corbie’s memory, its stones hushed. Pilgrims pray there, seeking healing or hope—a fever fades, a soul lifts. Her sainthood says God lifts the small, and saints guide us home.

Patronage and Legacy

Colette is a patron saint of childless couples, her birth their hope, and nuns, her reform their guide. She guards Corbie and Ghent, her homes, aiding the poor and all who seek children, her mother’s prayer their own. Her Poor Clares thrive—France, Belgium, Spain, America—keeping her poverty alive. Corbie names streets for her; hymns echo her faith. Her relics, though scattered, tie Picardy to God’s care. She’s a friend to all needing renewal, turning want to God’s bloom.

Why Colette Matters

Her feast, March 6, calls us to be pure, patient, true. A “confessor,” she lived faith daily, not once. In a Church of schism and strife, she built God’s peace with prayer and care. Today, she whispers we need no wealth—just a heart for Jesus.

For Your Spiritual Life

Colette’s tale lights our way. She left ease for Jesus, urging us to shed comfort. Her reform says renew with love. Her prayers brought wonders, pushing us to trust God deep. Her cell proves God is near, blessing the faithful. She turned France to Him with holy love—we can turn our lives, one step at a time.

A Prayer to Saint Colette

Dear Saint Colette of Corbie, daughter of prayer, you renewed Jesus’s poor with love, showing us His mercy in poverty, faith, and holy trust. Help me cast off what dulls my soul, so I seek Him clear. Teach me to serve simply, as you led your nuns, my hands His own. Give me strength to follow His call, a heart to pray through silence, and hope to trust His will. Fill me with His peace, as it held you, and let me see His wonders, big or small. Lead me to Him, as you walked so true. At your shrine, hear me, and through your prayers, may I live humbly, boldly, faithfully, shining His light in every dark place, now and ever. Amen.


Remains of Saint Colette Ghent, Belgium

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