Saints are not exceptions to Christianity; they are its proof. Of all those “conformed to the image of His Son” (Rom 8:29), Francis of Assisi stands out as the saint who let Christ’s pattern stamp itself onto his life—so deeply that even his flesh bore the seal of love. To help us see what that means for ordinary disciples today, I’m leaning on three vivid sermons from St. Lawrence of Brindisi, a Capuchin Doctor of the Church whose preaching overflows with scripture, symbolism, and practical wisdom. I also draw from Pope St. John Paul II’s homily in Assisi, where he called Francis a perpetual teacher of the Church’s “gentle yoke.”

Let’s walk the Franciscan way with those guides at our side.

Francis, the Image of Christ

St. Lawrence starts where Christian holiness always starts: with Christ. The Son is the “image of the invisible God,” and the Father predestines believers to be conformed to Him. Lawrence dares a bold claim: among the saints, Francis shines as the one most like Christ, “another crucified,” not in competition with the Lord but as a living photograph developed by grace. He piles up biblical types to make it clear—Jonathan clothing David, Rebecca clothing Jacob, Joseph and Mordecai clothed in royal robes—until you can almost see Jesus clothing Francis with His own virtues and mission. The stigmata becomes the divine seal on that likeness.

Pope St. John Paul II echoes this when he prays in Assisi, “Far be it from me that I should boast except in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Francis learned that boast so well he wore it. For the Pope, the Cross is the open book where we learn who God is and who we are. Francis read that book to the last page. His poverty was not spiritual theatrics; it was the logic of love that discovers God as “my chosen portion and my cup” (Ps 16).

Takeaway: Christ is the pattern; Francis is proof the pattern can print on human lives. Ask today: where is Christ trying to “clothe” me—habits, calendar, bank account, body?

How Francis Beat Goliath Today

Lawrence’s second movement is straight-up practical. He names the “giant” that terrifies most of us: the world understood as disordered desire. He reads 1 John 2:16 as three enemy formations—lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes, pride of life—and shows how Francis defeated each with the evangelical counsels.

Against the flesh, Francis embraced chastity rooted in penance and fasting. Against the eyes that covet, he chose poverty, refusing ownership so he could be radically available to Providence. Opposed to pride, he bound himself with obedience and cultivated real humility, calling his brothers “minors” to stay small. Francis didn’t hate the world; he loved it with a free heart and so had the power to serve it.

Translate that into today’s landscape. “Flesh” becomes the swipe-and-scroll cycle that numbs us. Try bodily disciplines that wake you up: a weekly fast, a walk without earbuds, custody of the eyes online. “Eyes” becomes consumer envy. Practice deliberate limits: one purchase you forgo, a giveaway box every month. “Pride” becomes the algorithm of self-branding. Choose obedience in concrete ways: show up on time, keep your commitments, accept feedback without defensiveness.

Takeaway: The counsels are not just for friars. They are Christ’s armor for ordinary people under pressure from lust, greed, and vanity.

The “Seraphic” Way

Why call Francis “Seraphic”? Lawrence plays with Isaiah’s vision of the six-winged Seraphim and reads it as a map of holiness. Two wings for God (adoration and thanksgiving), two for the self (humility in prosperity, gentleness in trial), two for neighbor (charity in deed and word). He then links the six classical virtues—faith, hope, justice, prudence, fortitude, temperance—to that winged pattern. In Francis, the six don’t float in theory; they fly in formation.

This is vintage Lawrence: image-rich and Bible-soaked, but pointed. He wants us to see that love has a shape. Francis’ love burned hot in prayer yet moved outward to preach, reconcile, build, and bless. And because love is ordered, it is strong. You can’t carry others if you are ungoverned within; you can’t praise God well if you despise the neighbor He loves.

Here John Paul II’s Assisi prayer chimes in again. He calls Francis a “little one” to whom the Father revealed what the clever miss. That’s not anti-intellectual. It’s a reminder that wisdom rides on humility’s wings. The meek inherit the earth because their hands are finally empty enough to receive it.

Practice the wings:

• God: Ten minutes of silent thanksgiving daily; name concrete graces.
  
• Self: When praised, say “thank you” and pass the glory to God in prayer; in hardship, choose a gentle reply.
  
• Neighbor: Pick one person to refresh this week—an encouraging note, a meal, a listening ear.
  

Grace’s Four Steps (Rom 8) Lived Out

In Sermon Two, Lawrence builds on Romans 8’s “golden chain”: predestined → called → justified → glorified. He shows Francis walking the whole path.

Predestined: This is not fate; it’s the Father’s loving intention that we become Christlike. Lawrence stresses that it begins in sheer gift.

Called: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden.” Vocation is a divine attraction—God reveals a treasure and stirs desire. Francis found that treasure in a leper’s embrace, in a ruined chapel, in the Gospel’s plain words.

Justified: “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.” Christ’s school teaches meekness and humility. Francis enrolled without hesitation. His obedience to the Gospel Rule formed him into a craftsman of peace.

Glorified: “You will find rest for your souls.” Not just at the end, but already now. Lawrence loves to say the Gospel’s yoke is a fiery chariot: charity makes obedience sweet, and love turns duty into delight.

John Paul II calls this the wealth-in-poverty of Francis. The Cross reveals a love that “does not draw back before anything that justice requires,” and that love remakes us as “new creatures.” Francis’ radiance wasn’t personality; it was participation in that love.

Examination: Where are you on the chain today? If “called,” ask for courage. If “justified,” ask for perseverance. And if weary, dare to believe there is real rest under Christ’s yoke.

Become Little to Be Lifted

Lawrence returns again and again to the “little ones.” God reveals Himself to the humble. He even plays with languages: “holy” as “without earth,” meaning a heart unglued from clinging to dust. He contrasts nature and grace—with a memorable picture of two mothers fighting over a child. Nature can claim Francis’ body; grace claims his true life. How do we let grace claim us? By consenting to be little: refusing spiritual grandstanding, choosing repentance over self-justification, loving correction, and hidden service.

John Paul II’s homily borrows Sirach’s praise for a high priest and applies it to Francis: “repair the temple,” “fortify the sanctuary.” That mission flows from littleness. The humble can rebuild because they are not busy protecting an ego. The little can fortify because they are not clutching status. If the Church needs renewal—and she always does—the Franciscan road stays open: begin with the plank in your own eye, confess, forgive, reconcile, live simply, and adore.

Smallness steps: Confess monthly. Perform one unseen act of charity a day. Speak one sentence less about yourself in the next conversation. Let grace mother you into maturity.

A Gentle Yoke, a Fiery Chariot

Lawrence’s final image is unforgettable: the Gospel is a chariot of fire drawn by two horses—human effort and the Holy Spirit. The yoke is “easy” not because discipleship is trivial, but because love changes weight. When you love, hard things become possible and even joyful. Francis’ death is pictured like Enoch’s translation, Moses’ ascent, Elijah’s chariot: a life so conformed to Christ that passing through death becomes a being-carried by love.

John Paul II prays in that key: “Save your people.” He asks Francis to “repair the temple” again, our hearts, our families, our Church, our culture. The prayer is not nostalgia; it’s confidence in grace. If God could make a mirror of Christ out of a cloth merchant’s son, He can do something with us.

So where do we hitch ourselves to that chariot?

• Prayer that is concrete and daily: Scripture, silence, Psalms.
  
• Penance that is honest and sane: fasting that frees, not punishes.
  
• Poverty of spirit that chooses limits: budget a line for alms; set device boundaries.
  
• Peace-making that begins close to home: apologize quickly, bless enemies, keep promises.
  
• Praise that rises from gratitude: “I bless you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth.”
  

St. Lawrence of Brindisi—diplomat, preacher, Marian doctor—hands us a Francis who is both radiant and reachable. His sermons aren’t museum pieces; they are maps. Pope St. John Paul II’s prayer in Assisi still rings: learn the Cross, boast only in it, and the rest of your life will fall into order. The Franciscan way isn’t an escape from the world; it’s the freedom to love it rightly. May the Lord make us little enough to be lifted, and brave enough to be clothed in Christ. St. Francis of Assisi, pray for us.

Related Links

St. Francis of Assisi: 7 interesting facts about the famous Italian saint

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Spiritual Surgeons—St. Lawrence of Brindisi