The Rev. Dr. Pamela Dolan
October 15, 2023
Live Simply: A Sermon for St. Francis Day
“Live simply, so that others may simply live.”
I first heard this adage more than 20 years ago, when I was a brand-new Episcopalian and helped organize a women’s retreat that was centered around a book called The Circle of Simplicity: Return to the Good Life[i]. We talked about ways that making do with less might help reduce our stress levels and increase our happiness. I’m afraid it was a lesson that didn’t quite take. Every single time we have moved from one house to another, I have been overwhelmed by how much stuff we have accumulated and every single time I vow to do better in our new home. But the allure of more is exceedingly hard to resist, especially when virtually every conceivable consumer product is now one simple click away from magically appearing on my doorstep.
Francis of Assisi, the saint whose feast day we are belatedly celebrating today, is most well known in the popular imagination for preaching to birds and befriending wild animals, like the wolf of Gubbio. But simplicity was at the heart of his vocation. He embraced voluntary poverty, giving up the life of wealth and privilege that was his birthright. And, in many ways, it is his poverty, his simplicity, that makes him the ideal patron saint for environmentalists, even more than his love of animals and all God’s creation.
Of course, the two attributes go hand in hand. Francis refused to submit to the allure of more; he gave up privilege and possessions, comfort and clout, in order to live as simply as he possibly could. And what he found was that a life of simplicity, of voluntary poverty, was a life that illuminated one of the most profound facts of human existence: we are not independent beings. No man is an island, and no person is self-made. We need each other, we need God, and we need creation, in order to thrive or even just survive. Having a lot of stuff obscures this fact, buffering us from reality and allowing us to dwell in illusion and increasing isolation. When Francis renounced ownership and embraced poverty, there was nothing standing between him and total dependence on others for the bare necessities of life. And somehow, in that state of dependence, he found a life of spiritual freedom, union with creation, and absolute unadulterated joy.
Today’s passage from the book of Job comes from the part of the story when God finally responds directly to Job’s complaints and laments, after chapter upon chapter of theological waffling. This section is known as the voice from the whirlwind, and it has left generations of commentators puzzled. How does God think that bragging about the enormity and complexity of the universe he created is going to be of any comfort to Job in his suffering? Bill McKibben has written a whole book[ii] teasing out an answer to this question, and it boils down to two ideas: humility and joy.
The voice from the whirlwind, God’s voice, makes it very clear that human beings are a part of creation, an important and beloved part, but not separate from or above it. God quite simply puts us in our place, providing the important antidote to the human tendency to think that we are the center of the universe. Being slapped in the face with the reality of how tiny we are compared to the vastness of creation—that’s the humility piece.
Equally important is the call to joy. God delights in creation and invites us to delight in it, too. God made leviathan for the sport of it—because it was fun! How many things do we do or make for no reason other than that they give us joy? McKibben argues that one of the most subversive things we can do in our consumerist society is take stock of any commodity or possession and say, “Have you noticed that it doesn’t really make you happy?” Because things rarely do make us happy, or not for very long, and yet it is the promise of happiness, fulfillment, and comfort that companies depend on to keep us buying their products.
Conversely, nearly everyone feels happier after walking through a redwood forest, or staring up at a night sky full of stars, or spending a day in their garden or on the beach. And getting out and doing something for someone else nearly guarantees an increase in positive brain chemistry. Scientists who study happiness are finally catching on to these facts, although St. Francis could have told us all about it back in the 12th century. And animals! Well, most of us can attest to the power of animals to increase happiness. An article in the newsletter of the National Institutes of Health stated it this way: “The unconditional love of a pet can do more than keep you company. Pets may also decrease stress, improve heart health, and even help children with their emotional and social skills.”
This may all sound rather trite and foolish in the face of the harsh realities of the world we live in. The news this past week has been almost too much to bear. And yet it cannot be a coincidence that St. Francis, sometimes called a Holy Fool, is also known as a person of peace. His example of living simply truly did allow many more around him to simply live. He showed us through his life that when we give up those things that keep us separate from other people and creation, we help to create a world where war and violence make no sense. What is there to fight over? Land? It belongs to God. Wealth and possessions? They are illusions at best and traps at worst; it is far better to give them away than to cling to them, let alone fight over them.
In the end, what Jesus and St. Francis are both telling us, more even through their lives than in their words, is that the simple life is the good life, and that what looks like foolishness to the world is often the deepest wisdom. Live simply, so that others may simply live. Not only that, but live simply so that your life may be filled with more joy and delight, more peace and gratitude, and more awe for the myriad wonders of creation and the gift of simply being alive.
[i] Cecile Andrews, 1998.
[ii] The Comforting Whirlwind: God, Job, and the Scale of Creation, 2005.
