Francis of Assisi, a failed soldier and prisoner of war, experienced conversion after his traumatic experiences in battle. Ultimately he realized his call to glory came from God, not the fighting class, and it would be fulfilled through serving Christ, not the king, emperor, or the nobility. Later on, when he established the Third Order for men and women who sought to emulate his radical new way of life in Christ without taking religious vows or joining his communities, he forbade the tertiaries from possessing arms of any kind.
Francis is not the only canonized saint to have been transformed from warrior to pacifist. Friday the Catholic Church celebrated the memory of Martin of Tours, a fourth-century bishop who renounced his military vocation for Christianity.
It is, to me, more than a blessed coincidence that the memorial of this French saint, who is revered for laying down his sword, coincides with Armistice Day. Of course, Armistice Day has long since been usurped by Veterans Day in the United States and Remembrance Day around the world. This is regrettable, although I do not mean by that to imply that is not fitting to mourn the many who died in military service or cherish the living who bear the wounds of war. Rather, it is tragic that the remembering reinscribes the narrative of redemptive violence and consecrates war into perpetuity. I cannot abide a remembering that forgets the millions of souls who have been sent to their doom in the frenzy of pandemic belligerence. It is my hope that the meaning of Armistice Day, to commemorate the end of war and honor peace, will be restored, through the prayers of Martin.
In this world, Martin and Francis became veterans for peace. From heaven, they pray for us to take up the weapons of the Spirit. God, send us prophets and saints whose words and deeds will disarm the nations. Martin and Francis, pray for us.
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Capuchin Fr. William Hugo, who has studied the early documents of the life and works of Francis of Assisi, has written that the hagiography, or "holy writing," concerning Francis was influenced by, and superseded, the stories of earlier saints, including possibly Martin.
Pressure to portray a holy person within a predefined model or role also created strings of saints whose lives seemed strikingly similar. Sometimes two saints might only have shared a particular event in common; at other times, their entire lives may have appeared as reruns. Through this phenomenon, saints tended to replace one another in the history of hagiography.
Many of these similarities can be seen in the lives of Martin of Tours (c. 316-c. 397) and Francis of Assisi. A significant event in Martin's conversion was meeting a beggar; Francis' conversion included an important meeting with a leper. Both men thought of military careers, only to choose something else. Robbers plundered the two of them. Francis sought advice from Bishop Guido of Assisi (c. 1204-1228); Martin, from Bishop Hilary of Poitiers (d. 367). When their parents fumed about their choices in life, both took refuge in churches. Martin displayed his growing conviction by splitting his cloak and giving half to the poor; Francis gave all his clothes back to his father. Each man's legend includes a story of struggle with a devil. And, of course, both saints changed other people by their example.
I do not mean to suggest that none of these events occurred in Francis' life simply because parallels can be found in Martin's life. Many of these stories are natural parts of people's lives. However, if the stories about Martin had any resemblance to those about Francis, a good hagiographer would be sure to exploit the resemblance to forward his goal of proving Francis' holiness. The story might be cast in such a way that the medieval person would be sure to make the connection. The later saint might go just a step further than the earlier saint, showing the newer subject to be holier than the older saint.
William Hugo, Studying the Life of Francis of Assisi: A Beginner's Workbook (2nd edition)
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