Sunday Read: October 4 - Francis and the Freedom of Poverty
October 4 is the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, one of Christianity's most recognized figures. Born around 1181 to a wealthy cloth merchant, Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone renamed his son "Francesco" (Francis) after doing business in France. Francis grew up privileged, fashionable, and ambitious. He planned to become a knight and dreamed of military glory.
In 1202, Francis joined Assisi's army in a war against neighboring Perugia. He was captured, imprisoned for a year, and returned home seriously ill. During recovery, he began questioning everything he'd valued. Wealth seemed empty. Status felt meaningless. Military glory appeared hollow. He started spending time in churches, praying for direction.
One day while praying in the ruined church of San Damiano, Francis heard Jesus speak from a crucifix: "Francis, repair my church, which is falling into ruin." Taking this literally, Francis sold cloth from his father's warehouse to fund repairs. His father was furious. A public confrontation followed. Francis's father demanded repayment. Francis stripped naked in the town square, returned every possession, and declared: "Until now I have called Pietro di Bernardone my father. But now I desire to serve only God. So I return the money and all the clothing I have had from him, for I want to say only 'Our Father who art in heaven.'"
That radical renunciation defined Francis's life. He embraced absolute poverty, owning nothing, begging for food, sleeping in caves or abandoned buildings. This wasn't ascetic punishment but joyful freedom. Francis called poverty "Lady Poverty" and sang about her as a bride. To him, possessions were burdens preventing him from depending fully on God.
Jesus told a rich young man: "Sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me" (Matthew 19:21). The man walked away sad because he had great wealth. Francis heard the same command and obeyed. The result? While the rich young ruler's name is forgotten, Francis became one of history's most influential Christians.
Francis preached to birds when people wouldn't listen. He negotiated with a wolf terrorizing a village. He stripped naked multiple times to emphasize his rejection of materialism. He developed the stigmata - wounds matching Christ's crucifixion - in 1224, two years before his death. He founded the Franciscan order, which grew to thousands of members before he died October 3, 1226, at age forty-four.
What made Francis so compelling? His absolute sincerity about Jesus' teachings. He didn't rationalize away the hard commands. When Jesus said "give to the poor," Francis gave everything. When Jesus said "don't worry about tomorrow," Francis stopped planning. When Jesus said "love your enemies," Francis went to Egypt during the Crusades and met with Sultan al-Kamil, treating him with respect when other Christians were slaughtering Muslims.
His approach challenges comfortable Christianity. We've become experts at explaining why Jesus didn't really mean what he said. "Sell your possessions" becomes "be generous with what you have." "Give to everyone who asks" becomes "give wisely, not enabling dependency." "Don't store up treasures on earth" becomes "be a good steward of resources." These interpretations aren't necessarily wrong - but Francis reminds us that literal obedience remains an option.
Most Christians aren't called to Francis's extreme poverty. Paul wrote that some are called to give everything away, but not everyone (1 Corinthians 13:3). Healthy churches need people with stable homes where believers can gather. Missions require people with resources to fund them. Generosity requires possessions to be generous with.
But Francis still confronts our comfortable accommodations with wealth. How much do you really need? What could you give away and not even miss? What possessions do you cling to that are hindering your trust in God? What would change if you took Jesus' teachings about money as seriously as Francis did?
You probably won't sell everything. But you could examine what you're hoarding. You probably won't beg for food. But you could simplify your lifestyle. You probably won't live in a cave. But you could stop treating security as the highest good. Francis shows what total surrender looks like. That extreme illuminates how far most of us are from serious obedience.
As October begins, consider: What is Lady Poverty teaching you? Where is Jesus calling you to trust him more by grasping less? What would it look like to take his teachings about money seriously instead of explaining them away? You don't need to become Francis. But you could move in his direction.
