Pope Urban II, Father of the Crusades
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Our story begins around 1042 in the rolling hills of Champagne, France, where a boy named Odo is born into the noble family of Lagery. This is feudal Europe, a world of stone castles, muddy villages, and a seemingly all-powerful church in the centuries after the fall of the Western Roman Empire. The Lagery family is wealthy, but not royalty, their power rooted in land and loyalty to the French crown which at the time was held by King Henry the 1st. Odo, a younger son, isn’t destined for the battlefield or a lord’s throne. Instead, his path lies with the Church, the era’s most powerful institution, for many people a safe haven from the rigors of life in the middle ages, and a place where ambitious men can rise to something far beyond their status at birth.
Young Odo is bright, devout, and drawn to the intellectual rigor of the clergy. By his teens, he’s sent to study at Reims, a hub of learning where future bishops are forged. Here, he masters theology, canon law, and the art of rhetoric—skills that will define his legacy. The Church in the 11th century is both a spiritual beacon and a political powerhouse, controlling vast lands and shaping kings. But it’s also corrupt, riddled with simony (the buying of Church offices) and clerical marriage, practices that reformers like Odo see as stains on Gods house. Not to mention the Schism of 1054 which sees the Church carved into 2 formally distinct churches. The Roman Catholic Church in the embattled remnants of the long fallen Western Roman Empire, headed by the Bishop of Rome whom we call the Pope , and the Byzantine Catholic or Orthodox Church in the still thriving and wealthy Eastern Roman Empire headed by the patriarch of Constantinople and the council of Bishops. Latin vs Greek, and diverging views on important issues ranging from the Nicene Creed, to the Sacraments, and the path to salvation.
In his 20s, Odo joins the cathedral chapter at Reims, climbing the ranks to become archdeacon, a role that hones his administrative skills. But his ambitions soar higher. Around 1070, he makes a bold move: he leaves the comforts of Reims for the austere life of a monk at the Abbott of Cluny, the epicenter of Church reform in the era of Pope Gregory the VII. The Abbey of Cluny is no ordinary monastery. It was very closely tied in with the papacy, and its abbots wielded influence all across Europe, pushing for a purer, more disciplined, authoritative Church. And at this time, centuries before construction of St Peters Basicalla in Rome, was the largest church in the west. At Cluny, Odo absorbs the reformist zeal of the Gregorian movement, named for Pope Gregory VII, which to reassert the Churches power, influence, and independence from ever growing secular control of various lords, noblemen, and Emperors in the wake of Charlemagne.
Cathedral at Reims Abbot at Cluny
Odo’s talents and charisma don’t go unnoticed. By 1078, Gregory VII summons him to Rome, appointing him bishop of Ostia, which was one of the seven cardinal-bishops who advise the pope. Odo was now a player on the global stage, at the time navigating the Investiture Controversy. At the time, Bishops were often appointed by the secular Holy Roman Emperor or an influential King, secular rulers, in a an attempt to solidify power and influence in all the most important institutions of life in the middle ages. Often times in this era, the leading clergy in may areas were themselves members of various noble families, whose appointments and subsequent rulings were often seen as little more than rubber stamps . But of course as you might think this sort of appointment should belong to the church hierarchy, and many of them, especially Pope Gregory the VII felt the same. This bitter struggle between popes and emperors over who controls Church appointments would not be quickly resolved. Pope Gregory would Excommunicate German King Henry the IV, the Holy Roman Emperor, numerous times, and in turn Henry the IV with his group of loyal bishops would appoint Pope Clement III in his place making Clement one of the "anti-popes", not to be confused with a later Clement III who was a legitimate Pope. If that sounds intense and confusing, that's because it was! But all of this chaos may have been the beginnings of what would evolve into the crusades. Gregory had a vision of church that would reassert its authority and reaffirm its commitment to and belief in the sacraments, and ultimately make its way to Constantinople in an effort to resolve grievances with the Orthodox Catholic Church in the still standing Eastern Roman Empire as they battled the Seljuk Turks.
Pope Gregory VII Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV
When Gregory dies in 1085, exiled from Rome, Odo remains loyal to the reform movement championed by Gregory, under the next legitimate Pope Victor III. But Victors time as pope is marred by illness, he serves reluctantly and suggests to his peers that Odo would be a good choice after his death.
In 1088, at age 46, Odo’s moment arrives. The papacy is in crisis, contested by the Anti-pope Clement III and a hostile Holy Roman Emperor, Henry IV. At a conclave in Terracina, the cardinals elect Odo and he becomes Pope Urban II. Rome at the time is now occupied by the emperor’s anti-pope, Clement III. Urban spends his early papacy on the move, a wandering pontiff rallying support in southern Italy and France. So as Iron sharpens Iron, this adversity shapes him into a master strategist, blending charisma, diplomacy, and unshakable faith. By 1095, Urban is ready to launch a long simmering and evolving project that will define his name: the First Crusade.
To understand why Urban called for a crusade, we need to see the world through his eyes. It’s 1095, and Europe is a cauldron of faith and violence. Feudalism reigns, with knights and lords locked in endless wars over land and honor. The Church is the glue holding this fractured western society together, its sacraments guiding souls from cradle to grave. But the Church itself is divided, battered by the Investiture Controversy and the moral decay Urban’s reforms aimed to fix.
Beyond Europe, a new threat looms. The Seljuk Turks, a Muslim dynasty from Central Asia, have swept across the Middle East, capturing Jerusalem and much of the now troubled Byzantine Empire’s eastern territories. The Byzantines, fellow Christians, are reeling. In 1071, the Seljuk's crushed them at Manzikert, and by 1095, Emperor Alexios I Komnenos is desperate. He sends envoys to Urban, begging for military aid to reclaim lost lands. This plea is a spark, but Urban sees a larger fire—one that could unite Christendom amidst all the turmoil in the west, strengthen the papacy, and secure his legacy.
Alexios Kommenos - Byzantine (East Roman) Emperor
Jerusalem is the key. For Christians, it’s the holiest city, where Jesus walked, died, and rose from the grave. Since the Muslim conquest of 638, pilgrims have mostly been tolerated, but Seljuk rule brings reports of harassment and blocked access, and murder. These stories, often exaggerated, inflame European Christians, who see pilgrimage as a sacred duty. Urban, a skilled orator, knows the emotional power of Jerusalem’s plight.
The cultural context is ripe for a holy war. The 11th century has seen a surge in religious fervor, with pilgrimages and relics fueling devotion. Knights, trained for violence, are restless, their martial culture clashing with the Church’s call for peace. Urban’s reforms have already pushed for a “Peace of God” movement, urging knights to protect the weak rather than plunder them. A crusade offers a way to channel this energy outward, turning sinners into soldiers for Christ.
Urban also has political motives. The papacy’s authority is shaky, challenged by emperors and rival popes. A grand cause like a crusade could rally kings, nobles, and commoners under Urban’s banner, cementing his leadership. It could also mend the schism between the Latin (Catholic) and Greek (Orthodox) churches, split since 1054, by aiding Byzantium. Urban’s vision is bold: a holy war to save souls, unite Christians, and restore the Church’s glory.
November 1095, Clermont, France. The stage is set for Urban’s defining moment. The Council of Clermont is a gathering of bishops, nobles, and clergy, called to discuss Church reforms. Urban, now in his 50s, has spent years building alliances and preaching reform. He’s a commanding figure—tall, eloquent, with a monk’s humility and a noble’s gravitas. On November 27, in a field outside Clermont’s cathedral, he addresses a crowd of hundreds, from armored knights to barefoot peasants.
In what is truly a great tragedy, We don’t have a record of Urban’s exact words—medieval chroniclers like Fulcher of Chartres and Robert the Monk wrote accounts years later, colored by their own agendas. But we can piece together the sermon’s impact. Urban begins with a grim picture: the Holy Land desecrated, pilgrims persecuted, and Byzantine Christians begging for help. He paints the Seljuk's as barbaric infidels, a threat to Christendom itself. Then, he shifts to hope, urging the crowd to take up the cross (crux), a term that gives us “crusade.”
Urban’s offer is revolutionary: fight for Jerusalem, and your sins will be forgiven. This is the plenary indulgence, a spiritual jackpot in a world obsessed with salvation. He calls on knights to redirect their violence, promising not just eternal reward but earthly glory. “Deus vult!”—God wills it!—, becomes the crusade’s rallying cry. Urban instructs them to sew crosses onto their tunics, marking them as soldiers of Christ.
The sermon is a masterstroke of rhetoric and timing. Urban taps into the era’s religious zeal, feudal ambitions, and fear of the “other.” He’s careful, though, to frame the crusade as a defensive war, a liberation of Christian lands, not a conquest. He also sets rules: only fighting men, no monks or clergy without permission, and a departure date of August 1096. Urban knows the risks—unleashing thousands of armed men is no small thing—but he believes God will guide them.
The response is electric. Word of Urban’s call spreads like wildfire, amplified by preachers like Peter the Hermit, a charismatic and well known monk who rallies the poor. By spring 1096, tens of thousands—knights, peasants, even women and children—are preparing to march. Urban’s vision has taken on a life of its own, far beyond what he imagined.
Urban doesn’t join the crusade himself—he’s a pope, not a warrior—but he shapes its early course. He appoints Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy as his legate, a spiritual leader to keep the crusaders focused. He also negotiates with kings and lords, securing supplies and safe passage. The crusade, however, quickly spirals beyond his control.
The first wave, the so-called People’s Crusade (which we will cover in greater detail in a subsequent episode, is a disaster. Led by the aforementioned Peter the Hermit, it’s a ragtag army of peasants, low nobility, both untrained and ill-equipped. In 1096, well before the main crusader army is well formed they’re massacred by the Seljuk's in Anatolia, a grim lesson in the crusade’s dangers. Urban, hearing the news, presses on, trusting the main armies—led by nobles like Bohemond of Taranto and Raymond IV of Toulouse—will fare better.
The First Crusade, launched in 1096, is a grueling odyssey. Over 60,000 crusaders march across Europe, through Byzantine lands, and into the Seljuk-held Middle East. They face starvation, disease, and brutal battles, like the siege of Antioch in 1098, where they’re nearly wiped out in one of the most brutal sieges you can imagine. Yet, against all odds, they manage to succeed. In July 1099, the crusaders storm Jerusalem, capturing the city in a bloody siege. The victory is hailed as a miracle, proof of God’s favor, and Urban’s name is glorified.
Siege at Antioch
But Urban doesn’t live to hear of Jerusalem’s fall. He dies on July 29, 1099, in Rome, just weeks after the victory, likely unaware of the crusade’s success. His death at 57 marks the end of a remarkable life, but his legacy is only beginning.
The First Crusade is Urban’s triumph, but it’s a complicated one. On one hand, it’s a stunning success: Jerusalem is reclaimed, the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem is established, and the papacy’s prestige soars. Urban’s reforms gain traction, and the Church emerges as a unifying force throughout the western world. The crusade also forges a new identity for European knights, blending martial prowess with religious purpose.
But the cost is staggering. The crusade’s brutality—especially the massacre of Jerusalem’s Muslim and Jewish inhabitants—shocks even medieval chroniclers. It deepens the divide between Christianity and an unorganized Islamic world with then as many power struggles as the west, sowing seeds of enmity that linger for centuries, and arguably to this day. The crusaders’ path through Europe also sparks pogroms against Jewish communities, a tragic byproduct Urban didn’t condone or foresee and failed to curb.
Urban’s motives are often debated by historians. Was he a true believer, driven by faith in God’s will? His Cluniac roots and lifelong reformism suggest sincerity, but his political savvy points to pragmatism. The crusade bolstered the papacy, sidelined his rivals, and redirected feudal violence—convenient outcomes for a pope fighting for survival. Likely, Urban was both: a man of his time, blending spiritual zeal with strategic calculation.
The First Crusade launched a 200-year era of crusading, with eight major campaigns and countless smaller ones. It reshaped trade, culture, and geography, bringing Europe into closer contact with the East. But it also entrenched stereotypes, fueled religious intolerance, and left a legacy of violence that haunts both sides to this day.
Urban himself remains a polarizing figure. To some, he’s a saintly visionary, uniting Christendom for a holy cause. To others, he’s a catalyst for chaos, unleashing forces he couldn’t control. In 1881, Pope Leo XIII beatified him, a nod to his role in Church history, but he’s never been canonized, perhaps a reflection of his complex legacy. The Emperor in the East, and the patriarchs of Byzantine Church, long skeptical of the power wielded in the west by the office of the Pope was no less wary of its ability to so quickly rile up armies that seemed to be out for land as treasure as much as salvation.
Odo of Lagery was no warrior-king or mystic prophet. He was a scholar, a reformer, and maybe most importantly a survivor. His life was shaped by the Church’s ideals—purity, unity, salvation—but also by its flaws: ambition, power, and the temptation to wield faith as a weapon. His sermon at Clermont was a gamble, born of conviction and necessity, and it changed the world.
Urban's story reminds us that history’s turning points often hinge on individuals caught in their era’s currents. He wasn’t perfect—his crusade equally sparked horrors alongside heroics—but he was a product of his time, a man of action, and a man who believed he was doing God’s work. His voice, ringing out in that Clermont field, still echoes, challenging us to weigh the costs of zeal and the power of words. And what a speaker he must have been.
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As we leave Urban II and the 11th century, let’s reflect on his legacy. The First Crusade was a moment when faith, fear, and ambition collided, reshaping civilizations. Urban’s call to arms was a spark, but the fire it lit burned far beyond his lifetime. His story asks us to consider: What drives us to crusade, in any age? And what are we willing to sacrifice for what we believe is right? And you're anything like me in the time we are alive, that question seems more relevant than ever, and it almost feels like we are awaiting our generations Pope Urban II to guide us...
For the next Episode I plan to focus in on Peter the Hermit, and the Peoples Crusade that riled up the lay person but ended in disaster. And yes this means a handful of Crusade centric episodes are the way!
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That's all for this episode, Cya next time.
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