Francis of Assisi: God’s Holy Fool

by Susan R. Pitchford

I lost my heart to Francis of Assisi for the same reason I lost it to Jesus: I’m a sucker for the combination of holiness and charm. It’s been said that Francis followed in the footsteps of Christ as closely as anyone ever has. And of all the saints, Francis is one of the most universally beloved; certainly he makes it to most people’s top ten.

All of the saints have glorified God in their time and place, but few speak as powerfully as Francis to our time and place. Francis was hugely popular in his own lifetime, but nearly eight hundred years after his death people are still attracted to his way, and I think there are three main reasons for this.

First, in common with all the saints, Francis’ life was focused, not fragmented. He knew exactly what he wanted from life, and he refused to be distracted from it. All the saints have known that the idea of “having it all” is a myth, and Francis, like the others, was willing to sacrifice every good thing to get the best thing.

Second, Francis found answers to questions we’re still asking today. His time, like ours, was one of growing distance between rich and poor. Francis was born into comfort but had the gift of seeing Christ in every person he met, especially the poor and outcast. Early in his conversion, he met a leper on the road. Francis was a little neurotic about lepers—even more than most people of his day. But after tossing down a few coins and riding on, something made him go back, dismount, and embrace this leper. In that embrace, he discovered that what he once found repugnant became sweet to him. In the leper, Francis had found Christ, and he challenges me to search out and embrace the lepers of my time and place.

Francis also sought the reconciliation of enemies, often at real personal risk. He traveled to Egypt and met with a sultan, fully aware that preaching there could easily be the last thing he ever did. Actually, like many medieval saints, Francis kind of hoped to go out in blood and flames, but it turns out he was more peacemaker than martyr. In the sultan, Francis didn’t win a convert but his humility did win him a friend and admirer, and showed us how to cross wide and dangerous divides to make peace.

Francis rejected violence, not only against people but all creatures and all of creation. He loved animals and even inanimate objects—sun, moon, water, wind—and called them “brother” and “sister.” This has had the unfortunate effect of reducing Francis to the quaint old guy on the birdbath, but his connection to creation was deeper and more radical than that image suggests. He chose to die naked on the ground rather than in the comfort of the bishop’s palace, because he was of the earth (in Latin, humus): humble and human. He had stopped wanting to be protected from that truth.

Not long before, Francis had composed the beautiful Canticle of the Creatures, in which he called on Brother Sun and Sister Moon, Mother Earth and even Sister Death, to give praise to God. He actually wrote this poem as he was suffering from an eye disease that caused him unspeakable pain and left him virtually blind. That this hymn of praise sprang from his heart at the height of his agony shows that, like us, Francis grappled with the challenge of finding God in suffering. Francis’ suffering was redemptive, because he had learned the secret: God does some of his best work in the dark. It’s often in darkness that God can draw the soul closer, because in darkness we give up on our own vision and lean into God.

Finally, people are attracted to Francis because all these years later, he is still irresistible. His passionate love for God, humanity and all of creation; his complete disregard for material wealth and status; and the sheer exuberance of his spirituality still tell us that God made us for rejoicing. Who wouldn’t want to follow a guy who danced down the road playing air violin and composing love songs to God? If holiness and charm fascinate you, consider getting to know this saint better. Maybe this is your song, too.

For more on St. Francis, visit the Patheos Book Club on When Saint Francis Saved the Church here.

Susan Pitchford is a sociologist and member of the Third Order, Society of St Francis. She is the author of The Sacred Gaze, God in the Dark and Following Francis.