That enigmatic figure who was Francis of Assisi continues to fascinate people of every religious persuasion, even people who are distanced from religion. Wendy Murray has given us a book that can awaken depths of the spirit in both believers and nonbelievers.

We already know much about this complicated man: son of a wealthy merchant, a ladies' man, a carouser, "a true Italian among Italians, a warrior, a knight, a lover, a mad-man, and a saint." But what has not been told before with such understanding is the deep love Francis shared with the beautiful Clare, daughter of one of Assisi's noble families.

Murray tells of Clare's profound influence on him; she stood with him even when most of his followers finally abandoned him. His younger followers condemned him as being "simple, uneducated, and unneeded anymore." But Clare shared the love of Christ that captured his soul as it had hers. They never consummated their love; their love for Jesus was deeper and stronger. And, surrendering to that other love, they embraced poverty for the sake of Christ and founded two religious orders that still influence the world. The Franciscan order is the second-largest in the Roman Catholic Church, second only to the Jesuit order.

Much is made of Francis' sudden conversion, his embrace of a loathsome leper, but that was only the dramatic, irrevocable step in a long conversion process. That process began when he was captured by enemy forces, and his dream of being a famous knight perished as he languished for a year in a "dark, underground prison, with no light, latrine, or heat, and little nourishment." It broke his health for life.

The philosopher Hegel said that "real faith, like real wisdom, can only occur at eventide." The light that gives hope can only be seen in the darkest night when we reach the end of our know-how and our control of life. Francis' imprisonment started his reassessment of life and his search for a deeper meaning found only in complete surrender to God.

The final chapter of "A Mended and Broken Heart" is titled "Anyone's Saint."

Artfully and sensitively written, it alone is worth the price of the book. Francis understood that he belonged to the Crucified and took up his own cross as few ever do. "He would not kill for that cross, but he would die for it. He was poor. He feared nothing."

So in every age people haunted by a whisper from that ultimate mystery we call God find some strange kinship with this unlikely man. "He changed his world, and ours, even though by some standards he 'accomplished' very little." The world is unworthy of such a man; perhaps the church is, too.