Saint Joan of Arc: The Maid of Orleans and Warrior of God by Jeff Callaway

Saint Joan of Arc: The Maid of Orleans and Warrior of God

By Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet

A Complete Lifestory of the Greatest Catholic Warrior Saint

The story of Joan of Arc stands as one of the most remarkable testimonies to Catholic faith, divine providence, and unwavering courage in the entire history of Christendom. She was no ordinary peasant girl, and hers was no ordinary life. In the span of just nineteen years upon this earth, this child of France would hear the voices of Heaven, lead armies into battle, crown a king, face down the fires of injustice, and ultimately become one of the greatest saints the Roman Catholic Church has ever known. Her life was Catholic through and through, from her mother's knee to the flames that consumed her body but could never touch her soul. This is her story, the story of La Pucelle, the Maid of Orleans, Saint Joan of Arc.

The Catholic Foundation: Domremy and a Mother's Faith

On the feast of the Epiphany, January 6, 1412, in the small village of Domremy on the border between France and Lorraine, a child was born who would change the course of history. The village itself lay on the frontier, caught between the warring factions that were tearing France apart during the Hundred Years War. But in this humble place, in a modest home of stone and timber, Jacques d'Arc and his wife Isabel welcomed their daughter into the world. They named her Jeanne, though history would come to know her as Joan.

The house where Joan grew up still stands today, a testament to the humble origins of greatness. It was a Christian home, thoroughly Catholic in every way. Her father Jacques was a small farmer who owned his house and about forty acres of good land. He was known throughout the village as a man of integrity, a good Catholic who took his faith seriously. Her mother Isabel was described by neighbors at Joan's later trials as a good Catholic, a true Catholic, a woman of deep piety and devotion. The influence of Isabel d'Arc on her daughter cannot be overstated. In Joan's own words during her trial at Rouen, she testified that her mother taught her the Pater Noster, the Ave Maria, and the Credo, and that no one besides her mother taught her the beliefs of the faith. Think about that for a moment. Isabel d'Arc could neither read nor write, yet she passed down to her daughter such a profound understanding of Catholic doctrine that Joan would later astound learned theologians with her answers.

This was not the hollow religion of superstition or mere ritual that some practice. This was faith that went to the very essence of what it means to be Catholic. Isabel taught her daughter obedience to God above all things, a horror of sin so deep that Joan would later say she would be the saddest woman in the world if she knew herself to be in mortal sin. She taught her the practice of constant prayer, a great love for the Holy Mass and for Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament, the necessity of frequent Confession and Holy Communion. Joan learned to sew and spin, to work hard in the fields during harvest time, to be a daughter her parents could be proud of. But more than any earthly skill, she learned to love Jesus Christ and His Blessed Mother with her whole heart.

The little room at the back of the house that was Joan's had a tiny window that looked directly across the road to the church. When Joan knelt to say her prayers in that room, she could almost feel as if she were kneeling before the altar itself. The church of Domremy, still in use more than six centuries later, contains the grey stone baptismal font where the infant Joan was held by her godparents as Father Jean Minet baptized her into the Catholic faith. Against one of the columns stands the statue of Saint Margaret, which young Joan would often deck with wreaths of flowers. This was the world that formed her, a world where the church bells marked the hours, where faith was woven into the fabric of daily life, where Heaven was not some distant concept but a living reality.

Joan's childhood friends would later testify about the girl they had known. They remembered how she would go with them into the woods to picnic, how she sang willingly but was never very fond of dancing. Often she would leave the other children at their games and go aside to talk to God, as she explained. When she was working in the fields and the church bells rang for the Angelus, she would stop her work, kneel down right there in the dirt, and pray. Her companions remarked on her frequent visits to the church, which sometimes made her bashful. One of her friends, a girl named Hauviette, said that Joan would go to church whenever she could, that she loved the Mass above all things.

This was the spiritual foundation that would carry Joan through everything that was to come. She was not raised with books and learning, for she never learned to read or write. But she was raised with something far more valuable. She was raised with an authentic Catholic faith that penetrated to her very soul, a faith that taught her that God is real, that He speaks to His children, that He calls each of us to do His will no matter the cost, and that nothing in this world, not even death itself, can separate us from the love of Christ Jesus.

The spirituality that formed Joan was deeply Christocentric and Marian. Her parents had been influenced by the preaching of the Franciscans who spread throughout Europe the devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus, taught by Saint Bernardine of Siena. The Name of Mary was always associated with the Name of Jesus in this devotion, and Joan absorbed this into the very marrow of her bones. Christ and His Mother were not abstract theological concepts to her. They were real, living presences whom she loved with a passion that would define her entire life. She saw Jesus as the King of Heaven and Earth, the ruler of all creation, and she understood that true justice and true mercy flow only from Him.

From her earliest childhood, Joan showed great love and compassion for the poorest, the sick, and all who suffered. The Hundred Years War had devastated France, leaving behind widows and orphans, wounded soldiers and displaced families. The young girl with the tender heart would do what she could to help, even as she must have wondered why God allowed such suffering, why the English and Burgundians were ravaging her beloved France, why the rightful king Charles was unable to be crowned at Reims as tradition demanded.

The Voices: Heaven Breaks Through

Joan was thirteen years old when her life changed forever. It was a summer day in 1425, and she was in her father's garden. Suddenly, she saw a great light and heard a voice. She was terrified at first, as any child would be. But the voice was kind, and it told her to be good, to go to church often, to live a godly life. After this first encounter, Joan made a private vow of virginity, dedicating herself entirely to God. This was not a decision made lightly or in a moment of passing emotion. For Joan, it was a total consecration of her entire being to the service of Christ.

The voices continued, and over time Joan came to recognize who was speaking to her. It was Saint Michael the Archangel, the great warrior of Heaven who had cast down Satan and his rebellious angels. Later, she would also hear the voices of Saint Catherine of Alexandria and Saint Margaret of Antioch, both virgin martyrs who had stood firm in their faith even unto death. Joan told her judges at her trial that she saw these saints with her bodily eyes as clearly as she saw the men interrogating her. She could touch them, embrace them. When they departed, she wept because she wanted them to take her with her.

The messages at first were personal and general, urging her to pray, to be faithful, to prepare herself. But as Joan grew older, the voices became more specific and more urgent. They told her that she had been chosen by God for a special mission. She was to go to the Dauphin Charles, the uncrowned king of France. She was to drive the English out of France. She was to lead the French army to lift the siege of Orleans. She was to see Charles crowned king at Reims. These were impossible tasks for anyone, let alone for an illiterate peasant girl in her teens. But the voices were insistent. It was God who commanded it.

Joan was reluctant. She knew her own weakness and inadequacy. She protested to her voices that she was just a poor girl who knew nothing about riding horses or fighting wars. The voices only replied that it was God who commanded it, and that He would be with her. This is crucial to understanding Joan's Catholic faith. She did not go forth in her own strength or on her own authority. Everything she did, from the moment she first heard the voices until her last breath on the stake, was done in obedience to what she believed was the direct command of God. She would tell her judges repeatedly that all she had done was by Our Lord's command, that she had done nothing in the world except by the order of God.

The theological sophistication that this teenage peasant girl displayed would astound the learned clergy who examined her. When they asked her the famous question at her trial, Are you in a state of grace, Joan gave an answer that demonstrated a profound understanding of Catholic doctrine on grace and salvation. She replied: If I am not, may God place me there. If I am, may God so keep me. I should be the saddest in all the world if I knew that I were not in the grace of God. Think about the brilliance of this answer. It was a trap question. If she answered yes with certainty, she would be guilty of the sin of presumption, assuming she could know for certain her state of grace apart from God's revelation. If she answered no, she would be admitting to being in mortal sin. Her answer acknowledged that only God truly knows the state of our souls, while expressing her complete dependence on His mercy and her horror of sin.

When theologians at Poitiers tried to test her with trick questions, Joan held her own with wisdom that could only have come from the Holy Spirit. One examiner said to her that if God wills to save France, it is not necessary to have soldiers. Joan replied: In God's name, the soldiers will fight and God will give the victory. This understanding of how divine grace works with human cooperation, how we must act and God will act, work and He will work, showed a grasp of Catholic theology that many educated people lack. Where did an illiterate farm girl learn such things? Her mother taught her the prayers. The Mass formed her. The Holy Spirit guided her. This is what authentic Catholic faith looks like.

The Road to Chinon: Faith Against Impossibility

By the time Joan was sixteen, the voices were urgent. France was in desperate straits. The English and their Burgundian allies controlled most of the north, including Paris and Normandy. They had laid siege to Orleans, the key city on the Loire River that stood as the last barrier to the complete English conquest of France. If Orleans fell, all of France would fall. The Dauphin Charles, the rightful heir to the throne, was weak and vacillating, surrounded by advisors who could not agree on what to do. He had not been crowned at Reims because Reims was in enemy hands. Many doubted he was even the legitimate son of King Charles VI. France seemed doomed.

In May 1428, Joan went to the nearby garrison town of Vaucouleurs to see Robert de Baudricourt, the captain of the garrison. She told him that she had been sent by God to help the Dauphin, that she needed an escort to take her to Chinon where Charles held his court. Baudricourt thought she was mad and sent her home. Joan went back to Domremy, but the voices would not let her rest. She returned to Vaucouleurs in January 1429. This time she was more persistent. She stayed in the town, and gradually her sincerity and conviction began to make an impression.

On February 17, Joan announced to Baudricourt that a great defeat had befallen the French arms outside Orleans. This was the Battle of the Herrings, where a French attempt to intercept an English supply convoy had ended in disaster. Joan could not have known about this battle through natural means, it had just happened. But a few days later, official confirmation reached Vaucouleurs. This display of supernatural knowledge convinced Baudricourt. He provided Joan with an escort of six soldiers and gave her permission to make the dangerous journey to Chinon.

Joan dressed in male clothing for the journey. This was not done, as some have falsely claimed, out of any desire to deny her womanhood or to pretend to be a man. It was done for practical reasons of safety and modesty. A young woman traveling through war-torn country with a group of soldiers was in constant danger. Male clothing provided protection and allowed her to travel without constantly fending off unwanted attention. Later, this choice of clothing would be twisted by her enemies into a charge of heresy, but the truth is that Joan wore men's clothes solely because her mission required it, and she did so with perfect innocence and purity of intention.

The journey to Chinon took eleven days through enemy territory. It was February, cold and dangerous. But Joan was undaunted. She had been promised by her voices that God would protect her, and she believed it absolutely. When they finally reached Chinon on March 6, 1429, Joan faced another obstacle. Charles's chief advisor, Georges de La Trémoille, was deeply skeptical of this peasant girl claiming divine inspiration. Why should the Dauphin waste his time on what was probably a madwoman or a fraud?

But Joan was insistent, and finally Charles agreed to see her. The meeting took place on March 9, though it would be several more days before Joan had a private audience with the Dauphin. When she finally spoke with Charles alone, something extraordinary happened. Joan told him things that convinced him she was genuine. Exactly what she said has never been fully revealed, though later testimony suggests she reassured Charles that he was the legitimate son of Charles VI and the rightful king of France. Whatever passed between them in that private meeting, Charles was deeply impressed.

But Charles needed more assurance than his own impression. This was wise. The Catholic Church teaches that private revelations must be tested and discerned. So Charles sent Joan to Poitiers to be examined by a council of theologians. For three weeks, these learned doctors of theology interrogated her, testing her knowledge of the faith, questioning her about her voices, trying to determine whether she was genuinely sent by God or was perhaps deceived by demons or her own imagination. Joan bore up under this scrutiny with remarkable patience and wisdom. She answered their questions with simple honesty and profound insight. The theologians concluded that they found her to be a good person and a good Catholic, that there was no evil in her, and that while they could not definitively prove the divine origin of her inspiration, sending her to Orleans might be useful to the king and would provide a test of whether God was truly with her.

There was one more test. Joan was examined by a group of matrons led by Yolande of Aragon, Charles's mother-in-law, to verify that she was indeed a virgin as she claimed. This was important for several reasons. First, there were prophecies circulating in France about an armored virgin who would save the kingdom. Second, her virginity was a sign of the purity of her devotion to God. Third, it would prove she had not consorted with the devil, as virgins were believed to be protected from demonic influence. The examination confirmed what everyone who knew Joan already knew: she was a virgin, pure in body as in soul, dedicated entirely to God and His service.

Charles was convinced. He had armor made for Joan and gave her a horse. She designed her own banner, white with fleurs-de-lis, bearing an image of Our Lord holding the world, with the words Jesus Maria. This banner was precious to her, and she would carry it through all her battles. She was also given a sword, one that she said had been revealed to her in her visions. It was found buried behind the altar in the church of Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois, exactly where she said it would be. Everything was coming together as the voices had promised.

Orleans: The Sign From God

Joan arrived at Orleans on April 29, 1429. The city had been under English siege for seven months. The people were exhausted, their supplies running low, their hope nearly gone. But when word spread that the Maid, La Pucelle, had come as the prophecies foretold, hope sprang up like a flame in dry kindling. Joan entered the city bringing supplies and fresh troops, but more importantly, she brought an intangible gift that no amount of military supplies could provide: she brought faith. She brought the absolute conviction that God was on their side, that He would give them victory, that they need not fear because the King of Heaven was fighting for France.

Joan immediately set about transforming the army. She insisted that this was not just a military campaign but a religious crusade. Before the army marched from Blois, priests led the soldiers in procession, carrying banners and singing Veni Creator Spiritus, Come Holy Spirit. Joan made the men go to Confession. She banned swearing and profanity from the camp. With her own hands, she drove away the prostitutes who followed the army, even breaking her sword on the back of one of them when the woman would not leave. Some of the hardened soldiers grumbled at first at being told how to behave by a teenage girl, but they soon learned that Joan was not someone to be trifled with. She expected holiness, and she would accept nothing less.

The military commanders, veterans like the Bastard of Orleans and La Hire, were initially skeptical of taking orders from a girl. But Joan won them over with her confidence, her tactical insights that seemed to come from her voices, and the undeniable fact that when she said God would give them victory, victory came. On May 4, the French army captured the fortress of Saint-Loup. The next day they took Saint-Jean-le-Blanc, which they found deserted. On May 6, they seized the Augustins monastery. Throughout these actions, Joan was in the thick of the fighting, not as a commander directing from the rear, but as a warrior leading from the front.

On May 7, the French attacked Les Tourelles, the main English stronghold guarding the bridge into Orleans. During the assault, Joan was struck by an arrow between her neck and shoulder. The wound was serious, and she was carried from the field. The soldiers thought she was finished, and their attack began to falter. But Joan refused to quit. After having her wound dressed, she prayed before a crucifix, asking God for strength. Then she returned to the battle, seized her banner, and called on the men to resume the assault. Inspired by her courage, the French surged forward and took Les Tourelles. The next day, May 8, the English withdrew from Orleans. The siege that had lasted seven months was broken in nine days after Joan's arrival.

This was the sign she had promised, the proof that God had truly sent her. Orleans went wild with joy. The people hailed Joan as their savior, a saint sent by God. Prominent clergymen who had been skeptical now wrote in support of her, including the Archbishop of Embrun and the theologian Jean Gerson. But Joan gave all the glory to God. She had not done these things by her own power but by the grace of God working through her. Without the grace of God, she said, I should not know how to do anything.

The Loire Campaign and Patay: God Gives Victory

After the liberation of Orleans, there were many proposals for what the French should do next. Some wanted to march on Normandy. Others suggested attacking Paris. But Joan was insistent: they must first clear the English from their positions along the Loire, and then they must march to Reims to crown Charles. The Dauphin and his commanders hesitated, but Joan's success at Orleans had given her enormous credibility. Duke John II of Alencon agreed to support her plan and was given command of the campaign to clear the Loire.

The French army's first target was Jargeau, ten miles southeast of Orleans. The assault came on June 12 after an artillery bombardment. Joan was in the forefront of the attack, urging the men on. During the fighting, she warned the Duke of Alencon to move aside just before a cannon on the walls fired at him. He would later credit Joan with saving his life. At one point, Joan herself was struck on the helmet by a stone while standing at the base of the town's wall, but she was not seriously hurt. Jargeau fell to the French.

Next came Meung on June 15, then Beaugency on June 17. With each victory, French confidence grew while English morale crumbled. The English were shocked. For decades they had dominated the French in battle. The great English victories at Crecy and Agincourt had established an almost mythical reputation for English invincibility. But now a teenage girl claiming to hear voices from God was leading French forces to victory after victory. The English began to believe that she must be a witch, that she had some dark power. They could not accept that God Himself might be against them.

On June 18 came the Battle of Patay, and it would prove to be one of the most decisive battles of the entire Hundred Years War. An English army under Sir John Talbot and Sir John Fastolf was retreating northward, pursued by Joan and the French commanders. The English attempted to set up their typical defensive position, with their deadly longbow archers protected by stakes driven into the ground. This formation had won them Agincourt and countless other battles. But Joan insisted on an immediate attack, not giving the English time to fully deploy. The French vanguard under La Hire launched a cavalry charge that overran the English archers before they were ready. Without their archers, the English had no chance. The battle turned into a rout. French casualties were minimal, perhaps three men. The English lost over two thousand, with their commanders captured and their army shattered.

Patay has been called Agincourt in reverse, the moment when the myth of English invincibility was finally, decisively broken. And Joan had been right. She had promised Charles this would be his greatest victory yet, and so it proved. Now the way to Reims lay open. Joan immediately began urging Charles to march north for his coronation. Charles, indecisive as always, held meetings and debated and hesitated. But Joan would not let him rest. The voices had told her what must be done, and she was determined to see it through.

To Reims: The Crowning of the King

On June 29, 1429, the French army set out from Gien on the march to Reims. This was an audacious move. Reims lay deep in enemy territory, twice as far from French-controlled lands as Paris. The English expected an attack on Paris or Normandy, not a thrust straight through Champagne to the ancient coronation city. But this was Joan's plan, guided by her voices, and Charles had finally agreed to follow it.

The march became a triumphal procession. As word spread that Charles and the Maid were coming, towns that had been held by the Burgundians and English opened their gates without resistance. Auxerre surrendered on July 3 after three days of negotiation. Saint-Florentin yielded. When they reached Troyes on July 9, the city at first refused to submit, and the Dauphin's council debated whether to besiege it or bypass it. Joan urged them to attack. The citizens of Troyes, seeing the French army prepare for an assault, quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. They surrendered on July 11. Chalons opened its gates on July 15. The momentum was unstoppable.

The army reached Reims on July 16, 1429, and the city opened its gates the next morning. That day, July 17, Charles VII was crowned King of France in the great cathedral of Reims, in the same place where kings of France had been crowned for centuries. The sacred oil kept at Reims for the anointing of kings was brought forth, and the Archbishop of Reims performed the ancient ceremony. And there, standing not far from the altar, holding her banner that bore the image of Christ holding the world, stood Joan of Arc.

After the ceremony, Joan knelt before Charles and addressed him as her king for the first time. According to one witness, she wept many tears and said: Noble king, now is accomplished the pleasure of God, who wished me to lift the siege of Orleans, and to bring you to this city of Reims to receive your holy anointing, to show that you are the true king, and the one to whom the kingdom of France should belong. All those who saw her were moved to great compassion.

For Joan, this was the fulfillment of the primary mission her voices had given her. She had done what seemed impossible. She had lifted the siege of Orleans. She had led the army through enemy territory to Reims. She had seen Charles crowned as the rightful king of France. In less than four months, she had accomplished more than the greatest military commanders of her age had achieved in years. But she had done it all as an act of obedience to God, and she gave all the glory to Him.

That same day, Joan wrote a letter to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, urging him to make peace with King Charles, to pardon each other completely and willingly as loyal Christians should do. If Philip wanted to make war, Joan suggested he should go fight the Saracens instead of fellow Christians. This was Joan's vision: a united France, at peace with itself, defending Christendom against its true enemies. She was a warrior when she needed to be, but her ultimate goal was always peace and justice under the reign of Christ the King.

The Decline: When Kings Fail Saints

After the coronation at Reims, Joan believed her mission was complete. She asked permission to return home to Domremy, to her parents and her simple life. But Charles insisted she remain with the army. This would prove to be a tragic decision. Joan's military genius had been proven time and again when she acted in obedience to her voices. But now, as Charles and his advisors began to pursue their own political agendas, Joan found herself increasingly sidelined and forced into situations where her voices gave her no assurance of success.

In late August and early September 1429, Joan participated in an attack on Paris. Unlike her previous campaigns, this assault was not undertaken at the command of her voices but at the insistence of Charles's advisors. The attack failed. Joan was wounded in the thigh by a crossbow bolt and had to be carried from the field. Charles ordered a retreat. For Joan, this must have been deeply frustrating. She knew from experience that when she obeyed her voices, God gave victory. When she acted without that divine guidance, even her considerable courage and tactical skill were not enough.

The next major setback came in November at the siege of La Charite-sur-Loire, which ended in failure. Joan's influence at court began to wane. Charles had achieved what he wanted: he was crowned king. The military momentum had shifted in France's favor. Some at court were jealous of Joan's popularity with the common soldiers and the people. Others mistrusted her because she was too independent, too willing to do what she believed God wanted rather than what the politicians preferred. Joan had served her purpose, and now she was becoming inconvenient.

In early 1430, Joan learned that Compiegne, a town loyal to Charles, was under siege by the Burgundians. She organized a company of volunteers to relieve the city. This expedition may not have had the explicit permission of Charles, who was still observing a truce with the Duke of Burgundy. Joan knew it was dangerous to go, but she felt compelled to help the people of Compiegne. On May 14, she entered the besieged town.

On May 23, 1430, Joan led a sortie against the Burgundian forces besieging Compiegne. It was a bold attack, and at first it succeeded in driving the enemy back. But then reinforcements arrived, and the situation reversed. Joan found herself cut off from the city as the gates were closed behind her. Some historians have debated whether the gates were closed deliberately or by necessity to prevent the enemy from entering the city. Whatever the reason, Joan was trapped. She fought on, remaining to the very last to protect her men as they retreated across the bridge over the Oise River. She was unhorsed and could not remount. Surrounded by enemies, she surrendered to Lyonnel de Wandomme, a Burgundian nobleman.

Her capture was a disaster. The Burgundians and English were overjoyed. Duke Philip of Burgundy came personally to see his prize. But what happened next reveals the cruel politics of the time and the weakness of King Charles VII. Under the laws of war, Joan could have been ransomed back to the French. The Burgundians offered to sell her to either side. But Charles, the king whom Joan had crowned, the king whose throne she had secured, did nothing. He made no attempt to ransom her. He made no effort to rescue her. He simply abandoned her.

The English and the pro-English faction of the Church saw their opportunity. They wanted Joan dead, not just because she had defeated them in battle, but because her very existence undermined their claim to rule France. If Joan was truly sent by God, then God was on the French side, and Charles was the rightful king. But if Joan could be proven to be a heretic, a witch, a tool of the devil, then Charles's coronation would be illegitimate and English claims to France would be justified. Politics and theology became fatally intertwined.

The Trial: Truth Before the Tribunal

On November 21, 1430, the Burgundians sold Joan to the English for the sum of 10,000 francs. On December 23, she was brought to Rouen, the capital of English-controlled Normandy. There she would be held prisoner in a castle tower, chained at night to a wooden block, guarded constantly by English soldiers who mocked and threatened her. And there she would face a trial that was a mockery of justice from start to finish.

The man who presided over Joan's trial was Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. He was a Frenchman, but his loyalties lay with the English and Burgundian cause. He was ambitious, ruthless, and determined to see Joan condemned. The trial was technically an ecclesiastical trial for heresy, conducted by Church authorities. But make no mistake: this was a political prosecution dressed up in religious garb. The English controlled the proceedings. They paid for everything. They determined the outcome they wanted. And they found churchmen willing to give it to them.

The trial began on January 9, 1431. Joan was brought before a court of dozens of clergymen, learned doctors of theology and canon law. She was nineteen years old, alone, exhausted from months of captivity, ill from the conditions of her imprisonment. She had no advocate to defend her, no one to counsel her on how to respond to the complex theological questions that would be thrown at her. Under Church law, as a minor, she was entitled to legal representation. But Cauchon denied her this right. Under Church law, a woman accused of wearing men's clothing in a case involving sexual purity should have been held in a Church prison and guarded by women. But Joan was kept in an English military prison, chained and guarded by hostile men who threatened her constantly. The trial was rigged from the beginning.

But if Cauchon and his allies thought they could easily break this peasant girl, they badly underestimated who they were dealing with. Joan faced her accusers with astonishing courage and intelligence. Time and again, they tried to trap her with trick questions, complex theological puzzles designed to make her say something they could twist into heresy. And time and again, she answered with a wisdom that could only have come from God.

When they asked her to recite the Our Father, she said she would gladly recite it if they would hear her confession. She turned their test into a request for the sacrament, reminding them that she was a faithful Catholic who wanted to receive God's grace. When they asked whether she would submit all her words and deeds to the judgment of the Church, she replied that she had always wished to uphold the Church as far as it lay in her power, but that she must ultimately obey God rather than men. This was not rebellion against the Church. This was the proper Catholic understanding that the Church herself is subject to Christ, and if churchmen command something contrary to God's law, we must obey God.

The transcript of Joan's trial, preserved in meticulous detail, reveals a young woman of extraordinary faith and courage. Over and over, she affirmed her complete trust in God. When asked about her voices, she said: Take care what you are doing, for in truth I am sent by God. Asked whether she had done anything wrong, she replied: All I have done is by Our Lord's command. I have done nothing in the world but by the order of God. She could not conceive that following what God had told her to do could be wrong, even if men in positions of authority said otherwise.

One of the most poignant exchanges came when Joan was asked about the state of grace question that has become famous. Her answer, If I am not in a state of grace, may God place me there; if I am, may God so keep me, demonstrated such profound theological understanding that even her enemies were momentarily silenced. Another interrogator complained that the question was too difficult for a simple girl like Joan, to which Joan calmly replied that it was a perfectly appropriate question about the most important thing in life.

Throughout the trial, Joan maintained her innocence regarding the wearing of male clothing. She explained that she wore it for protection and modesty, that it was necessary for her mission, and that she would gladly wear women's clothing if they would let her leave prison and return home. But they would not. They wanted her to wear women's clothing while still being guarded by men in a military prison, which would have left her vulnerable to assault. Joan knew this, and she refused to put herself in that danger.

The trial dragged on for months. The interrogations were relentless. They asked her about her childhood, about the Fairy Tree near Domremy where local children played, trying to twist innocent childhood games into evidence of witchcraft. They asked about her voices, demanding that she describe them in detail, trying to get her to say something that would prove they were demons rather than saints. They asked about her military campaigns, about her banner, about why she wore armor, about everything they could think of that might be twisted into a charge of heresy.

But Joan held firm. She could not deny her voices without denying her entire life, without admitting that everything she had done was a lie. She would not do it. To do so would be to deny God Himself. When they threatened her with torture, she said that even if they tore her limb from limb, she could not say anything different from what she had already said. If they forced her to recant under torture, she said, she would later declare that they had made her say it by force.

Finally, on May 23, 1431, the court declared Joan guilty of heresy on twelve counts. The charges included wearing men's clothing, claiming to receive direct revelation from God that superseded Church authority, and refusing to submit unconditionally to the judgment of the Church. The sentence was read: she was to be turned over to secular authorities for execution. The method would be burning at the stake, the standard punishment for relapsed heretics.

Joan was terrified. She had faced armies and arrows without flinching, but the prospect of being burned alive shook her to her core. In a moment of human weakness, confronted with the immediate horror of the flames, she signed a document of abjuration. The exact contents of what she signed are disputed. The document read to her was brief, but the one entered into the record was much longer and contained admissions she had never made. It is likely that Joan, illiterate and exhausted, did not fully understand what she was agreeing to. She may have believed she was simply promising to wear women's clothing and submit to the Church, not that she was denying everything her voices had told her.

The court commuted her sentence to life imprisonment. But this was not mercy. It was a trap. Joan was returned to the same English military prison, still chained, still guarded by hostile men. And now she was forced to wear women's clothing, which left her vulnerable to assault. Within days, something happened in that prison. The sources suggest that Joan's guards attempted to rape her or that she was in danger of assault. In defense of her safety and her vow of chastity, she resumed wearing men's clothing.

When Cauchon and his assessors discovered this, they were triumphant. Joan had relapsed into heresy by resuming male dress. She had broken the terms of her abjuration. Now they could execute her as a relapsed heretic. On May 28, they came to her cell and interrogated her. Joan told them plainly that she had done wrong to sign the abjuration, that her voices had told her she had done a great evil in denying them, that everything she had confessed was done in fear of the fire. She said: My voices have told me since that I did wrong in confessing that what I did was not well done. What I said was done through fear of the fire.

Joan explained to her judges that she had never intended to deny that her voices came from God. She said: I would rather do my penance at one time, that is to die, than endure any longer the suffering of a prison. This was not a woman who had lost her faith. This was a woman who had found it again, stronger than ever, who preferred death to living a lie. If what she had done was not by God's command, then she said she would rather have died than to have done such things. But she knew she had acted rightly in obeying her voices, and she would not deny them again, not even to save her life.

The Flames: Witness to the End

The sentence was pronounced on May 30, 1431. Joan would be burned at the stake that very day in the Old Market Square of Rouen. There would be no delay, no time for any possible intervention, no chance for the people of France to try to rescue her. The English wanted her dead as quickly as possible.

That morning, Joan received Holy Communion. This is significant. If the Church truly believed she was a heretic, she would have been excommunicated and forbidden the sacraments. But the priest who heard her last confession and gave her the Body and Blood of Christ saw her as a faithful Catholic preparing for death. She asked if she could have a cross to look upon as she died. An English soldier made her a simple cross from two pieces of wood and gave it to her. She also asked for a processional cross from the nearby church to be brought to her so she could see it clearly in her final moments.

The executioners led Joan through the streets of Rouen to the market square where the stake had been erected. Thousands had gathered to watch. As Joan mounted the platform, she asked for final absolution. She prayed aloud for her enemies, asking God to forgive them. She forgave Cauchon and all who had condemned her. She asked the people gathered there to pray for her soul.

Joan was tied to the stake. The executioner was moved to tears as he prepared to light the fire. One witness later testified that he had never wept so much at any execution in his life. The English and Burgundian officials who had orchestrated this judicial murder watched from their viewing stands, determined to see it through to the end. But even some of them would later express doubts about what they had done.

As the flames rose around her, Joan kept her eyes fixed on the crucifix that a priest held up for her to see. She called out the name of Jesus again and again. Her last words, heard clearly by those standing nearby, were Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Some witnesses reported that as the flames engulfed her, they heard her cry out: My voices did not deceive me. With those words affirming her faith to the very end, Joan of Arc died. She was nineteen years old.

The executioner was ordered to rake back the flames so that everyone could see that Joan was truly dead, that there could be no doubt she had been killed. This was done to silence any rumors that she had somehow escaped or been rescued. Then he was ordered to burn her body twice more, to reduce it completely to ash so that there would be no relics left, nothing for her supporters to venerate. Her ashes were thrown into the Seine River. The English thought they had destroyed her utterly.

But they were wrong. An English soldier who had helped construct the platform later said that he was sure Joan went to Heaven, for at the moment of her death he saw a white dove fly from the flames toward France. The English secretary of King Henry VI, who witnessed the execution, walked away shaken, saying: We are lost. We have burned a saint. Even some of Joan's judges would later express regret. One of them, Nicolas de Houppeville, who had tried to speak in Joan's favor during the trial, declared that she had been unjustly condemned.

The Vindication: Justice Delayed But Not Denied

For twenty-five years after Joan's death, her memory was kept alive by the people of France. The simple folk of Orleans and Domremy, the soldiers who had fought alongside her, the countless people whose lives she had touched, they never forgot her. They knew she had been innocent. They knew she had been murdered for political reasons by corrupt churchmen serving the English cause. And they prayed that one day her name would be cleared.

In 1449, the French finally drove the English out of Rouen. By 1453, the Hundred Years War was effectively over, with English control of France reduced to just the city of Calais. Everything Joan had fought for had come to pass. France was united under a French king. The English invaders had been expelled. It was time to address the question of Joan's condemnation.

King Charles VII, the same Charles who had abandoned Joan to her fate, finally bestirred himself to take action on her behalf. In 1452, he ordered a preliminary inquiry into her trial. In 1455, Pope Calixtus III authorized a formal investigation. Joan's mother, now an elderly woman, petitioned the Church to examine the case. She was joined by two of Joan's brothers and by people from Orleans and Domremy who had known Joan personally.

The investigation that followed was thorough and exhaustive. Commissioners appointed by the Pope traveled throughout France gathering testimony. They interviewed 115 witnesses, including Joan's childhood friends and family, the soldiers who had served with her, the clergy who had known her, even some who had participated in her original trial. They examined the records of the 1431 trial in minute detail. What they discovered confirmed what Joan's supporters had always known: the original trial had been a complete fraud.

The court found that Joan had been tried by a partisan ecclesiastical court that lacked proper jurisdiction. She had been denied basic rights including legal counsel. The trial had been conducted under threats and intimidation from the English. The theological questions had been twisted to trap her. The charges against her were either false or based on misinterpretations of her words. The court that condemned her had acted out of political motives, not religious duty.

On July 7, 1456, in the very cathedral of Rouen where much of Joan's original trial had taken place, the verdict was read. The judges of the nullification trial declared that the proceedings of 1431 were entirely void and of no effect. They proclaimed Joan's innocence on all charges. They declared that she had been wrongfully condemned and that her memory should be rehabilitated. The sentence was read in five cities including Paris and Orleans. Joan's mother was present to hear her daughter's name cleared at last.

The declaration stated that Joan had endured her trial and death with perfect resignation and patience, with no sign of carnal sin or corruption, calling always on the Name of Jesus and his glorious Mother. It affirmed that Joan had acted with only the glory of God in mind, for the defense of her people and her homeland. While stopping short of declaring her a saint at that time, the nullification trial made clear that Joan was a faithful daughter of the Church who had been martyred by corrupt men for political purposes.

But the full recognition of Joan's sanctity would take longer still. In 1803, Napoleon Bonaparte, recognizing Joan as a symbol of French patriotism, declared her a national symbol of France. Throughout the nineteenth century, her cause gained momentum. Scholars studied her life. Artists painted her image. Writers told her story. The Church began the formal process of beatification.

In 1909, more than four and a half centuries after her death, Pope Pius X beatified Joan of Arc, declaring her Blessed. On May 16, 1920, Pope Benedict XV canonized her as a saint of the Roman Catholic Church. The proclamation praised her as a girl filled with fortitude, performing feats worthy of the greatest heroes of old. It declared that she remained a virgin, devoted to God and her people, who proved her sanctity by working miracles even after death.

The reading of the canonization included testimony of numerous miracles attributed to Joan's intercession. Sick people who prayed to her were healed. Those in desperate straits found help when they called on her. The Church recognized what the faithful had known for centuries: Joan of Arc was indeed a saint, a holy woman who had lived and died in service to God.

In 1922, Pope Pius XI declared Joan of Arc one of the patron saints of France, alongside Saint Denis, Saint Martin of Tours, and Saint Therese of Lisieux. Later she would also be named patron saint of soldiers and of all those who suffer persecution for their faith.

The Catholic Essence of Joan's Life and Legacy

To understand Joan of Arc is to understand authentic Catholic Christianity lived to its fullest extent. Everything about her life points to the core truths of the Catholic faith. Her story is not just one of military victory and political intrigue. It is fundamentally a story about what it means to hear God's voice and obey it no matter the cost, to trust in divine providence even when all human hope seems lost, to remain faithful to the Church while refusing to bow to corrupt churchmen, to choose death rather than deny the truth.

Joan's Catholic spirituality was characterized by several key elements that shine through in every documented moment of her life. First and foremost was her Christocentric devotion. Jesus Christ was the center of everything for Joan. Her banner bore His image. Her battle cry was Jesus Maria. Her last words as the flames consumed her were Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. She understood that Christ is the King of Heaven and Earth, that all legitimate authority flows from Him, and that to serve Him is the highest calling any human being can have.

Her devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary was equally profound. Joan understood Mary as the Mother of God and the Mother of the Church, the perfect model of obedience to God's will. Just as Mary said yes to God's plan at the Annunciation even though she did not fully understand what it would mean, so Joan said yes to her voices even though the mission they gave her seemed impossible. The connection between Joan and Mary runs deep in Catholic theology and spirituality. Both were young virgins chosen by God for missions that would change the course of salvation history. Both faced doubt and opposition. Both remained faithful unto death.

Joan's understanding of the communion of saints was likewise deeply Catholic. She did not see Saint Michael, Saint Catherine, and Saint Margaret as distant historical figures but as living presences who could speak to her, guide her, comfort her. This is authentic Catholic belief: that the saints in Heaven are alive in Christ, that they intercede for us, that the Church on Earth and the Church in Heaven are united in the Mystical Body of Christ. Joan's relationship with her saints was personal and real. She spoke with them as friends, embraced them, wept when they left her.

Her love for the sacraments was constant throughout her life. Joan went to Mass whenever she could, sometimes daily when circumstances allowed. She received Holy Communion frequently, which was unusual for a laywoman in that era when many Catholics received only once or twice a year. She went to Confession regularly, understanding that to remain in a state of grace was essential for the Christian life. On the morning of her execution, her last earthly act before going to the stake was to receive the Body and Blood of Christ in Holy Communion. She went to her death strengthened by the Eucharist, the source and summit of Catholic faith.

Joan's understanding of obedience was profoundly Catholic. She obeyed her earthly parents until God called her to a higher obedience. She obeyed the legitimate authorities of Church and state unless they commanded her to do something contrary to God's law. When Cauchon and his court demanded that she deny her voices, she could not obey because to do so would be to deny God Himself. This is the proper Catholic understanding of obedience: we must obey legitimate authority, but if that authority commands us to sin or to deny the truth, we must obey God rather than men. The Church herself teaches this in the Catechism. Joan lived it.

Her moral purity was legendary. She remained a virgin throughout her life, faithful to the vow she had made at age thirteen when she first heard the voices. She would not tolerate sin in the camps of the armies she led. She drove away prostitutes, banned profanity and blasphemy, insisted that the soldiers go to Confession before battle. Some modern commentators, viewing her through the lens of contemporary moral relativism, have been puzzled by Joan's strictness about sexual morality and her insistence on holy conduct. But Joan understood what the Church has always taught: that sin separates us from God, that moral purity is essential for spiritual strength, that an army fighting for God must be an army that lives according to God's laws.

Joan's sense of justice was likewise rooted in Catholic social teaching. She fought not for personal glory or worldly power but to restore the rightful king to his throne, to end the English occupation of France, to bring peace to her suffering people. She had great compassion for the poor and the suffering. She wept over the casualties of battle, even enemy casualties. When she wrote to the Duke of Burgundy urging him to make peace, she appealed to Christian charity and the duty of Christians to live in harmony. Her vision was of a France united under Christ the King, a France at peace with itself, a France that could turn its energies toward the defense of Christendom rather than tearing itself apart in civil war.

Her courage in the face of death gives witness to the Catholic belief in eternal life. Joan was not afraid to die because she knew that death is not the end. She knew that her soul would live forever, that she would be judged by Christ, and that if she remained faithful to Him, she would share in His eternal glory. This is why she could face the flames with such serenity, why she could forgive her executioners, why her last words were the Name of Jesus. She was going home to the God she had served all her life.

The miracles associated with Joan's intercession after her death confirm the Catholic teaching that the saints in Heaven can intercede for us on Earth. Countless people have prayed to Saint Joan of Arc in times of trouble and received help. Soldiers have invoked her protection in battle. Those facing persecution for their faith have called on her for courage. Young women struggling to live chastely in a corrupt world have sought her example and her prayers. The sick have been healed through her intercession. These are not superstitions but the working out of the communion of saints, the reality that we who are still on Earth can ask those who are with God in Heaven to pray for us.

Why Joan Matters for Catholics Today

The story of Joan of Arc speaks with particular power to Catholics living in the twenty-first century. We live in an age that is hostile to the faith in many ways. The culture tells us that religious belief is a private matter that should not influence public life, that moral absolutes do not exist, that the Church's teachings on sexuality and human dignity are outdated, that claims of divine revelation are either delusions or lies. We are told to be tolerant of everything except Christian truth, to accommodate ourselves to the spirit of the age, to compromise our beliefs in order to get along.

Joan of Arc stands as a rebuke to all of this. She shows us what it looks like to be uncompromisingly Catholic in a hostile world. She faced far worse opposition than most of us will ever encounter. She was mocked, threatened, imprisoned, and ultimately killed for her faith. But she never wavered. She never compromised. She never denied the truth that God had revealed to her. And in the end, God vindicated her. The corrupt churchmen who condemned her are remembered as villains. The king who abandoned her is remembered as a weakling. But Joan is remembered as a saint.

For young women especially, Joan offers a powerful model of feminine strength and holiness. She was not trying to be a man. She was fully a woman, but a woman who understood that femininity is not weakness. She combined traditional feminine virtues like compassion, purity, and devotion to family with courage, leadership, and a willingness to fight for justice. She shows that there is no contradiction between being truly feminine and being truly strong. The modern world offers young women two false choices: either embrace a caricature of femininity that reduces women to mere objects, or reject femininity entirely and try to become like men. Joan offers a third way: authentic Christian femininity that is both gentle and fierce, both nurturing and courageous, both humble and heroic.

For all Catholics, Joan demonstrates the importance of hearing God's voice and obeying it even when others, including Church leaders, tell us we are wrong. This does not mean we should trust every private revelation or claim to divine inspiration. The Church is right to test such claims, as the theologians at Poitiers tested Joan's. But once we are convinced that God is truly calling us to something, we must obey Him rather than men. Joan faced a corrupt ecclesiastical court that claimed to speak for the Church while actually betraying the Church's mission. She remained faithful to the true Church while refusing to submit to corrupt churchmen. This is a crucial distinction. We must always be obedient to the teaching authority of the Church when it teaches authentically. But when individual clergy betray the faith or demand something contrary to God's law, we must have the courage to say no.

Joan also teaches us about the relationship between faith and action. She did not just pray and hope that God would somehow fix the problems of France. She prayed, and then she acted. She trusted in divine providence, but she also put on armor and led armies into battle. She believed that God would give victory, but she also understood that God works through human cooperation with His grace. This is authentic Catholic spirituality: we pray, and then we work. We trust God, and then we do our part. We believe in miracles, and we also believe in taking up our crosses and following Christ into the battle against evil.

The injustice that Joan suffered and her response to it speaks powerfully to anyone who has ever been falsely accused, unfairly treated, or persecuted for doing what is right. She shows us that suffering unjustly in union with Christ has redemptive value. She could have saved her life by lying, by denying her voices, by saying what her judges wanted to hear. But she chose truth over life itself. This is the witness of the martyrs throughout Church history. They show us that some things are more important than physical survival, that the integrity of the soul matters more than the preservation of the body, that it is better to die in a state of grace than to live in mortal sin.

Joan's complete forgiveness of her enemies as she went to the stake demonstrates the heart of Christian charity. She had every human right to be bitter, angry, vengeful. These men had treated her with grotesque injustice. They had denied her the most basic rights. They had twisted her words, threatened her, imprisoned her in horrible conditions, and condemned her to a brutal death. Yet she forgave them. She prayed for them. She asked God to have mercy on them. This is what Christ commanded and what Christ himself did from the Cross. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. Joan followed her Lord's example to the very end.

The Sword and the Spirit: Joan's Military Genius in Service of God

Much has been written about Joan's military accomplishments, and rightly so. In purely tactical terms, what she achieved was extraordinary. She had no military training, yet she grasped instinctively the principles of warfare that take others years to learn. She understood the importance of morale and how faith could transform an army's fighting spirit. She knew when to attack boldly and when to wait. She had an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time. Her capture of Orleans, her victory at Patay, her march to Reims through enemy territory, all of these were masterful campaigns.

But what made Joan different from other military commanders was that she never saw warfare as an end in itself. She fought to achieve peace and justice, not for glory or conquest. She mourned over the dead, even enemy dead. She always offered her opponents the chance to surrender before attacking. She never wanted bloodshed for its own sake. This is the Catholic just war tradition lived out in practice. War is always a tragedy, always a last resort, always something to be ended as quickly as possible. Joan understood this. She fought because she believed God had commanded her to drive out the invaders and restore peace to France. Once that mission was accomplished, she wanted to go home.

The spirituality she brought to warfare transformed it from mere killing into something close to a crusade. She insisted that her soldiers live virtuously, that they prepare themselves spiritually before battle by Confession and prayer, that they trust in God rather than just in weapons and numbers. The result was that her soldiers fought with a courage and a unity that overwhelmed their enemies. They were not just fighting for France. They were fighting for God and for justice, and that made all the difference.

The Final Word: A Saint for Our Time

Saint Joan of Arc lived over six hundred years ago, but her witness speaks to us today with undiminished power. She shows us what it means to be radically faithful to God in a world that rejects Him. She shows us that holiness is not weakness but the greatest strength. She shows us that one person, armed with faith and willing to obey God no matter the cost, can change the course of history.

Joan was not a theologian or a scholar. She could not read the Scriptures or the writings of the Church Fathers. She never studied in a university or wrote learned treatises. But she knew Jesus Christ, and she loved Him with her whole heart, and she obeyed Him perfectly. That was enough. In fact, it was everything. All the learning in the world, all the theological sophistication, all the ecclesiastical rank mean nothing if we do not have what Joan had: a living, personal relationship with Jesus Christ that transforms every aspect of our lives.

The Church in her wisdom has given us Joan as a saint and a model not because she was perfect in every way, but because she was perfectly faithful in the one thing that matters most. She heard God's call and she answered it. She received a mission and she accomplished it. She faced suffering and death and she remained faithful. She was tested in ways that would break most people, and she passed the test. She was murdered by corrupt men claiming to act for the Church, but the true Church vindicated her and declared her a saint.

We honor Joan not by simply admiring her from a distance but by imitating her in our own lives. We may not hear voices from Heaven as she did. We may not be called to lead armies or crown kings. But each of us has a mission from God, a calling that is unique to us. Each of us must choose whether we will be obedient to that call or whether we will compromise with the world. Each of us must decide whether we will serve God or serve ourselves.

Joan of Arc chose God. She chose obedience. She chose truth. She chose holiness. And in choosing these things, she became one of the greatest saints in the history of the Catholic Church. Her example shines across the centuries, a beacon of light in the darkness, calling us to have courage, to have faith, to trust in God's providence, to remain faithful no matter the cost.

Saint Joan of Arc, virgin, warrior, martyr, pray for us. Give us a portion of your courage. Help us to hear God's voice in our lives as clearly as you heard it in yours. Teach us to be uncompromising in our faith, unwavering in our commitment to Christ and His Church. Show us how to fight the good fight, to finish the race, to keep the faith. And when our time comes to face our own trials, our own persecutions, our own martyrdoms great or small, may we have the grace to say with you: Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

The girl from Domremy who heard voices in her father's garden became the Maid of Orleans who saved France. She became Saint Joan of Arc, one of the greatest witnesses to Catholic faith in all of Christian history. Her story is our story too, if we will have the courage to live it. She shows us the way. Now we must walk it, trusting as she did that God will be with us every step of the way, from this world into the next, from this life into eternal life.

May her example inspire us. May her prayers strengthen us. May her witness call us to greater holiness. And may we, like her, remain faithful to Jesus Christ and His Church until our last breath, until we hear those blessed words: Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.

~ by Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet

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