Imitating the Poor Man of Assisi, St. Francis

Entering the Special Year of St. Francis through poverty, death and joy in Christ

St. Francis of Assisi in His Tomb, 1630/34 by Francisco de Zurbarán (Spanish, 1598–1664). Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons / Public Domain)

With our coattails nearly brushing the closing Jubilee Doors, Pope Leo has proclaimed a Special Year of St. Francis of Assisi. From January 10, 2026, to January 10, 2027, the faithful who, along with the usual sacraments, undertake pilgrimages to Franciscan churches — or unite themselves spiritually from home — are granted plenary indulgences. In announcing this special year, Pope Leo pointed to the life of St. Francis, calling all people to “imitate the poor man of Assisi, to form ourselves as far as possible on the model of Christ.”  

“The poor man of Assisi.” This line from our Holy Father seemed to ring out like a clear church bell in the middle of the night. Because that is what St. Francis was. A “poor man” is what he chose to be, even though riches were at his fingertips and the luxuries of life had touched his lips. In an age where Amazon can fulfill most of our wishes with two-day shipping and credit cards can take care of the rest, how does this call to “imitate the poor man” sit with us?

To fully enter into this Year of St. Francis, I want to propose this image to aid us, Zurbarán’s St. Francis of Assisi in His Tomb. If there is any quicker route than Memento Mori to confront the reality of one’s own poverty, I am unaware of it. This image seems to be the epitome of such a meditation. St. Francis not only holds a skull but is standing inside his tomb, as the title suggests.

The darkness of this painting lends a bone-chilling seriousness to the saint's thoughts. Francis and the skull do not acknowledge the viewer but rather look straight at each other, deep in thought, deep in the intimacy of the moment. Though the skull is physically light as it rests in his holy hands, it bears a profound spiritual weight in the painting. His facial features are of no importance. How far set or near his eyes are, how wrinkly his skin is, how large or how small his ears appear do not matter. He will be in his tomb one day, as you and I will be — a skull. Your face or mine could just as easily be under that hooded robe. And that is the point. While he does not seem to notice us, nor does he appear to be going anywhere, that one foot reached out suggests that the saint is taking a step towards us. Perhaps to invite us into the same mediation? Perhaps to say, “Look, beloved viewer, coming into my tomb, from dust we came and to dust we shall return.”

If you have read anything about the life of St. Francis, you will know that after his radical conversion, he was filled with inexpressible joy. A joy that, to our modern sensibilities, defies all understanding. We say, “But aren’t we happier with our fancy trips, our delivered packages and our anti-aging solutions”? On the contrary — and this is what Pope Leo is placing before us — Francis found Christ in the lepers, the scraps thrown to him for meals and living amongst the forgotten in society. Everything that we are told to run from, St. Francis ran towards, and that is where he found profound happiness in Christ. In this painting, he may be pondering his own death — a thought that would burden most — but for a Christian ablaze with the Holy Spirit, embracing Memento Mori is a path to a life liberated by truth.

Let us reflect on the dichotomies before us. This Year of St. Francis invites us, through the eyes of this beloved saint, to examine our worldly attachments, to let go of what has kept us from Christ, and in many ways to give back to the world what we have long sought to take from it. The Prayer of Saint Francis is one we should carry on our lips throughout this year. Sit with it daily. Sit with this painting. And with God, let us watch what fruit may emerge.

The Prayer of Saint Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.