Pattern for Life

Matthew 11:25-30

St. Francis Day, October 4, 2026

Holy Trinity Cathedral

“Pattern for Life”

Francis began his spiritual journey with a grand gesture.  As a rich merchant’s son in 13^th century Italy, he hung out with the “in” crowd.  Parties, music, feasts, romances: what more could a young man want in life? His father wanted him to take over his business in fabrics.  He wanted to be a dashing soldier, admired by all.  But after being held captive by an enemy army for almost a year and falling ill, he had a dream that he was to return to his hometown of Assisi and rebuild the church.  His dad wasn’t impressed when he started selling family goods to do so. He was brought before the civil authorities, and then the bishop. In very public confrontation, Francis stripped off all his rich clothes and renounced his father, saying. “Until now I have called you my father on earth. But henceforth I can truly say: Our Father who art in heaven.” And naked, he went to live as a hermit in the woods to learn how to love God.

It’s a good story about a saint.  A good beginning. It catches the attention of people then and now by its radical nature.  There are many stories told about St. Francis of Assisi that together build up a pattern of discipleship that is both attractive and scary.  Here was someone who had an unwavering commitment to the way of Christ.  Once he put his hand to the plough, he did not look back.  Like Jesus, he fascinated and upset the religious authorities of his day.  He never settled for half measures when it came to the proclamation of the gospel, as he understood it.  And Francis never pretended to be an intellectual. He didn’t set out to start a monastic tradition or write a book on theology.  What Christ revealed to him he tried to put into practice. 

But even in his own time, people thought he was going a little too far in following the commandments of Christ.  There were other orders of monks and nuns that had a communal rule of life.  They were based around principles of communal poverty, chastity, and obedience.  Over time, the existing monasteries had gathered land and wealth through bequests and trade.  Life inside those closed doors was regulated and strict, but not uncomfortable for many.  Francis, in contrast, saw himself as a “brother minor”: an itinerant preacher, wandering from village to village to share the good news without anything to call his own. Those who followed him were to rely on their hosts for food and a roof over their heads, and minister to the least and the last and the lost. Some of his company lobbied for a relaxation of the Rule of Life he proposed.  Most lived in an uncomfortable tension between material needs and spiritual directives.  If you want a comforting and uneventful discipline, don’t become a Franciscan.

Being a disciple is hard, as those who followed Christ through Francis find.  But it is a way of simplicity, humility, and joy.  Francis saw that God was pleased with simple words and actions in loving service.  He rejoiced in the beauty and variety of creation.  And so his life was patterned on seeing Christ in everyone and everything. He called every living thing brother or sister- seeking kinship rather than judgment.

When I was on a sabbatical, I stayed for a while at the Franciscan Friary in Hilfield, Dorsetshire. I had arrived late and tired after a long rail journey, and the friars were all at evening prayer.  Most of those gathered in the chapel were in brown habits, but there were a couple of other older men that I took to be visitors like myself.  After the service ended, one of the brothers escorted us over to the guesthouse.  I was in the centre of three second-floor bedrooms. There were no locks on the doors, so I was trusting in God that the two men on either side were quiet sleepers.  I saw them occasionally during my stay: in the library, in the chapel, walking in the gardens or the wooded lanes.  It was only when I was departing a couple of weeks later that one of the friars let slip that one of the men was a bishop on retreat.  The other was a homeless man that had taken shelter with them under their “wayfarers” rule: anyone without an address could stay up to a fortnight without charge.  From the way that the two were treated- with equal respect and rigor for the rhythm of prayer- I never knew which was which.  Both had come, like me, seeking rest and support for their heavy burdens, and found it with Francis’ community.

I think what draws me most to Francis is what also discomforts me: he helps keep me honest.  Not in pushing me to extravagant gestures of faith, but in spiritual formation through the pattern of small choices.  In contrast to the world’s priorities or my own desires, I am reminded that there is a yoke that links us to strength in Christ.  Whether the sacrifices are big or small, if they are made in love we are drawn closer in faith.  This is a good thing to bear in mind when I am faced with the many interactions with others which could result in irritation, friction, or grumpy tiredness by the time I think I ought to be clocking out. God doesn’t always send us someone in need when we are feeling perky and strong!  By God’s gracious will, what we could do in loving service is revealed.

Because of his respect for and affinity with creatures, St. Francis is accounted the patron saint of animals and the ecology.  Perhaps our four-legged, winged, finned, and no-legged companions can teach us about love in a unique way.  Without words, they can communicate what they need from us and they look to us to respond.  Not with the first grand gesture of rescuing a pet, but with all the little responsibilities that come after.  There is a pattern every person who shares a household with them knows of having to feed, to brush, to walk, to care for, and especially to clean up after them.  They give us affection and company.  And creatures help lead us towards a life of simplicity, humility, and joy with others as well.  When someone fuzzy curls up at our feet, somehow the clamour of the world fades and the anxiety of our needs diminishes.  The love of our heavenly Father is mirrored in their trusting eyes.  They don’t need to be wise or intelligent in order to speak to us of the goodness of God.

So today we give thanks for a saint who pushes us to deeper service. And we give thanks for all in the created order that speaks of holy wisdom.  With God’s help, we can find a pattern in life through little choices.  May they shape us for the kingdom. Amen.