The Courage to Lead: Lessons from 1219

It’s October 4, 2024. The sun sets, Rosh Hashanah ends—a time for reflection, renewal, peace. And yet the Middle East is anything but peaceful. Missiles have been fired from Iran toward Israel, and fierce battles rage between Hamas, Hezbollah, and Israeli forces in Gaza and Lebanon. It feels like we’re trapped in a cycle, doesn’t it?

A time for forgiveness. A time for hope. But instead... bombs. And here’s the kicker—this cycle of violence? It isn’t new. People have been fighting and killing in the name of their beliefs for centuries. But—here’s where it gets interesting—every now and then, someone steps out of the madness, someone who sees another way. A leader.

Picture this: 800 years ago, during the Fifth Crusade, with armies of Christendom and Islam clashing in Egypt, a humble friar named Francis of Assisi—yeah, that Francis, and by the way, he wasn’t always a humble friar; this guy once wore armor—decided to do something extraordinary. He crossed enemy lines. Not with a sword. Not with demands. He came with the hope of talking. Just talking.

Francis walked into the tent of Sultan Malik al-Kamil, ruler of Egypt, in what might as well have been the only peaceful place on earth at that moment. They didn’t talk about winning or losing. It wasn’t about conquest. It was about words. They listened to each other. For just a moment, they managed to bridge the divide between two worlds at war. You probably haven’t heard this story. And that’s a shame because, let’s be honest, we could use a few more stories like that right now.

This is the short story I’ve written about that remarkable encounter.

And if this has sparked something in you—if you want to know more—I encourage you to read the works of those who’ve really studied this incredible meeting. John V. Tolan’s "Saint Francis and the Sultan: The Curious History of a Christian-Muslim Encounter " and Paul Moses’ "The Saint and the Sultan " will give you the deeper story. The context, the cultural significance—everything history almost forgot in its rush to glorify the battles.

Now, let me take you back to that moment.

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The Crusader Camp

Outside Damietta, the Crusader camp stretched toward the horizon—a sea of canvas shimmering in the Egyptian heat. The stench of unwashed bodies, blood, and fear assaulted Francis’s senses as he threaded through the maze of tents.

His sweat-stained habit stood in stark contrast to the glinting armor and banners around him. A memory washed over him: the weight of a sword, the rush of battle, the hollow emptiness after. Francis was no longer the man who had worn armor. He had traded the sword for the cross and sought something even more powerful: understanding.

A commotion erupted ahead. Soldiers had surrounded a young Egyptian boy, their hands reaching for weapons as the child’s eyes widened in terror.

Francis’s heart raced. With a silent prayer, he pushed through the crowd. “Brothers!” His voice carried over the angry mutters. “What would Christ say if He saw us threatening a child?”

The soldiers turned, surprise and scorn mixing on their faces. A burly knight stepped forward, a scar livid on his cheek. “This is no child, friar. This is a spy.”

Francis met his glare. “And if he is? Does that justify harming him?”

The knight’s face flushed. “You speak of enemies? Have you forgotten why we’re here? This is holy war!”

“I remember all too well why we’re here,” Francis said. “That’s precisely why I must go further.”

Taking the trembling boy’s hand, Francis led him through the crowd. Whispers followed.

“The fool,” some muttered. “He’ll be dead before he reaches their lines.”

At the edge of camp, Francis knelt before the boy. “Go,” he said in the child’s native tongue. “Return to your people. Remember that not all who wear the cross seek to harm you.”

The boy nodded, wonder replacing fear in his eyes, then darted toward the city walls. Francis watched him go, then turned toward no-man’s land. He carried no weapon save his conviction—a flame that burned not with hatred, but with belief in peace.

To Meet the Sultan

Sir Aldo gripped Francis’s shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To see the Sultan.”

“Have you lost your mind? He’ll have your head on a pike.”

“Perhaps,” Francis said. “Or perhaps God has a different plan.”

Aldo’s face darkened. “God’s plan is to retake the Holy Land, not fraternize with the enemy.”

Francis met his old friend’s glare. “I remember all too well why we’re here. That’s precisely why I must go.”

Leaving Aldo behind, he approached no-man’s land. Doubt crept in. Was this truly God’s will or pride? He knelt in the scorching sand and prayed: “Lord, if this is not Your will, strike me down. If it is, give me strength.”

A cool breeze stirred. Francis rose and stepped forward, moving closer to a future where faith might unite rather than divide.

The Encounter

Francis entered Sultan Malik al-Kamil’s tent unarmed, bearing only his faith. The Sultan, intrigued by the friar’s courage, granted him an audience. What followed wasn’t a debate but a conversation—two men seeking understanding across the chasm of war. They discussed faith, philosophy, and the possibility of peace.

No treaties were signed that day. No armies laid down their weapons. But something shifted. For a brief moment, amidst the chaos, there was dialogue—a reminder that even the deepest divides could be bridged by words.

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Epilogue

Did that meeting between Francis and Sultan Malik al-Kamil end the Crusades? No. Did it stop the violence, the endless battles? No. But here’s what it did—it left something behind. A conversation. A spark. A moment of humanity in the middle of chaos. And moments like that, they matter.

Because St. Francis of Assisi didn’t just walk into the Sultan’s tent; he walked into history. ?His order, the Franciscans, would go on to guard Christian holy sites in Muslim lands, a role they still hold today. Think about that. Eight hundred years later, we’re still talking about it. That’s legacy.

More than that, Francis' decision to cross enemy lines planted the seeds for something bigger—interfaith dialogue. His willingness to put down the sword and just talk inspired generations. Maybe not enough to change the world overnight, but enough to remind us that even in the darkest times, there’s another way.

So, what’s the takeaway? Leaders don’t always lead with armies. Sometimes they lead with words. And if that lesson isn’t relevant in 2024—right now, when the world seems determined to repeat its mistakes—I don’t know what is.

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