Why the Franciscans Are Betting on Smaller and Truer

I keep coming back to that word, authentic. Not flashy. Not strategic in the polished church-office way. Just authentic.

Br. Michael Perry has been elected to lead the largest province of the Franciscan Order of Friars Minor in the United States, and from what he told NCR, he seems pretty clear-eyed about where things stand. The province itself is new, formed in 2023 by bringing together six earlier provinces, with friars across the United States, Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Jamaica. The reason for that consolidation isn't mysterious. The friars are aging. Vocations are down. There are about 700 men now in the province, with just under 30 in formation.

None of that sounds triumphant. Which is exactly why I paid attention.

I've sat through enough church conversations where everyone tries to put a cheerful gloss on decline, as if God is best honored by upbeat branding. It can feel exhausting. Perry doesn't seem interested in that game. He calls this a liminal stage. That's a good word for it, awkward and honest. You're not where you were, you're not yet where you're going, and some days you can't tell whether you're standing in a doorway or just lingering in the hall because you're tired.

Fewer friars, less pretending

What struck me most was not simply that Perry acknowledged smaller numbers. It's that he tied the future to authenticity instead of technique.

I think a lot of Catholics, especially younger ones, can smell performance from a mile away. They know when ministry is trying too hard to look energetic while quietly panicking underneath. They know when church language has become padded and bloodless. Perry's instinct seems better than that. If young people are looking for meaning, as he says, then the answer probably isn't shinier promotion. It's communities that pray like they mean it, serve without fuss, and live simply enough that their lives make sense from the outside.

That Franciscan witness still has bite. Maybe more now than before.

A small tangent here, because this came to me while waiting for coffee after Mass last Sunday. I watched a little boy tug on his dad's sleeve because one of the friars visiting our parish had sandals on. The boy stared at him like he'd stepped out of another century. Everyone laughed. But there was also something disarming in it. Simplicity gets noticed precisely because so much of modern life feels curated within an inch of its life.

That's part of why I don't hear "fewer men" and immediately assume "less to offer." Sometimes smaller communities lose capacity, yes. That's real. But sometimes they also lose illusions.

Pope Leo and the work of holding things together

Perry also said Pope Leo is trying to hold the church together. I don't think that's a small comment.

It's one thing to lead when everyone agrees on the basics and tempers are manageable. It is another thing entirely to lead a church where suspicion has become almost habitual, where every gesture gets sorted into camps before it's even finished happening. Some Catholics want firmness that feels unmistakable. Others want openness that feels unmistakable. Most pastors I know are just trying to keep people praying long enough to remember they're members of Christ's body before they're members of a faction.

So yes, holding the church together matters. Deeply.

And I admit I have more sympathy for that task than I used to when I was younger and thought every problem could be solved by one decisive statement from Rome or one perfect reform plan or one bishop finally saying The Thing Correctly. Age has cured me of some of that fantasy, thank God. Unity is slower than ideology wants it to be.

Perry knows leadership at several levels already, including serving as head of the global Franciscan order from 2013 to 2021, and NCR notes that he once studied alongside the future Pope Leo XIV. That doesn't guarantee wisdom all by itself, obviously. Still, I'd rather hear an assessment like this from someone who has spent years inside difficult institutions than from professional outrage merchants who treat every ecclesial tension like halftime entertainment.

Holding things together can sound weak if you prefer drama. It isn't weak at all. Families know this better than anyone.

Francis still makes sense in a bruised church

The line from Perry that stayed with me longest was simpler than all the structural talk: we are created good, and destined for good.

That sounds basic until you notice how many people no longer live as though it's true.

A lot of spiritual hunger right now has less to do with intellectual argument than with exhaustion and shame and low-grade despair people carry around without naming it. They don't need sentimental reassurance. They do need someone credible enough to tell them goodness is deeper than their failures and more stubborn than their confusion.

That's where Francis still feels fresh after eight centuries. Not because he's quaint or marketable or easy to turn into birdbath art for parish gardens, though we've certainly tried that route too often... He keeps insisting on joy without denial, poverty without bitterness, fraternity without exclusion.

Perry echoed that expansive Franciscan instinct when he spoke about being brothers and sisters with everyone, no one excluded. I like that he said it plainly. No throat-clearing first.

Of course the hard part comes after those beautiful lines are spoken. Can communities actually live them? Can friars minister with fewer men and still offer presence instead of mere maintenance? Can Catholics who love talking about St. Francis bear even a little inconvenience for peace? I'm not sure I have a good answer for all that.

Still, I'd take this kind of hope over institutional chest-thumping any day.

Not bigger for its own sake. Not louder either. Smaller maybe, poorer maybe, but truer.

That might be what survival looks like when God refuses to let us hide inside our old numbers.