The Blessing of the Animals
The Blessing of the Animals
Matthew 6:25-34
In my opinion, life pretty much boils down to who what you do while you waiting to arrive. People may wait for a lot of different things but those things are almost always big. The early Christians were waiting for judgement day and the complete re-ordering of the world. (“Dream no small dreams,” as the saying goes!) That’s not what I’m waiting for. Right now, I’m waiting for the end of the pandemic which, though a different dream, seems to be a darn big reach, itself. Maybe you’re waiting for your child to be born or the college payments to be over or for that promotion to arrive. Maybe you’re waiting for the Bears to go to the Super Bowl or the Cubs to win the Series. Or maybe you’re done that math and you are ready to declare that you’ve actually been a Sox fan all your life. Whatever it is, there’s a destination on the horizon and you can’t wait for it to arrive. But, what are you going to do in the meantime?
Here’s the problem. Big dreams can suck the life right out of life. One of my favorite “teachable” moments on my Open Lands walks (at least after they’ve happened) is when I’m looking at something beautiful or rare or wonderful and I catch my toe on a root. With two fake knees and some messed up feet, it is a miracle that I don’t land on my face. Yet, I almost never do…almost! As I right myself and catch my breath, I smile. Those roots have a way of grounding a person. Just when your appreciation of nature’s beauty is at its highpoint, nature throws you a root and says, “Let’s see you appreciate that!” It’s hard to be looking at the scarlet sunrise or at that spotted fawn who is so blended into the prairie and still keep your eyes on where you are going.
Almost all the stories of spiritual masters are stories about people who are grounded, who are awake to the world around them, right here and right now. Jesus didn’t deliver theological lectures to the best and the brightest. Instead, he told stories to whoever stood in front of him. Those stories were very concrete, about someone who lost a coin or about how a teeny, tiny mustard seed grows into a big bush. Given his druthers, he seemed to prefer the company of children—who are about as grounded as a person can be, particularly when they’ve had it and just lay down on the ground and refuse to move. Jesus learned lessons from birds and storms and foreign women (whom no one listened to.) There’s not a single story of him standing in front of his disciples and tapping his toe on the ground and saying, impatiently, “Can we just go?” He was where he was and seemingly this presence—what he did while everyone else was waiting something big—was a big part of his power.
Of course, the irony is that so many of those who have followed Jesus have focused almost exclusively on an ultimate destination, and not a present moment. All that matters is getting someone to convert. All that matters next is getting them to heaven. Sure…try to follow the rules until then but mostly, just keep your eyes on the prize! Just wait until we all arrive!
This was not Jesus’ “way.” The truth is that it was not the Buddha’s way or the way of the Samurai or the way of the mystic or the native medicine man, either. In pretty much every spiritual tradition, the first job and the nearly constant battle is to wake up and then stay awake and aware. When Jesus is in the Garden of Gethsemane and his disciples all fall asleep, it seems like such a symbol, doesn’t it? “Will no one stay awake with me?” Will no one be awake and aware of the world around us, of the people in front of us, of the possibility that there might be something amazing to see or something amazingly loving to do? On almost every one of the million pathways to God, job one is to immerse ourselves in the here and now. Heaven is not something you experience after you die. Heaven is all around us, waiting to be discovered. Seriously! The problem is that if you’re not careful, you’ll miss it.
On a day that we’ve set aside for blessing our animals, we really should understand that these animals are likely some of our best spiritual directors. Like the root on the path, they can ground us, really quickly. One of my favorite Karma moments these days happens in the midst of a walk. She’s checking things out. I’m lost in my thoughts. All of a sudden she slams on her “brakes”. Literally, if a dog could purse it’s lips, her’s are pursed. She has spotted the exact point where she wants to enter the river and…it is right here and right now! At that moment, the not-so-awake-and aware person (me) meets the immovable object. With a smile on my face and a slightly sore hand, I’m awake again.
In other moments, our animals teach us not just to stop but to notice things we otherwise would have missed. Karma has carefully taught me to smell the deer long before I see them. She did this by raising her snout into the air so many times that I couldn’t help but finally ask in exasperation, “What do you smell?” Then, at almost that same moment, I realized, “I smell it, too! What is that smell?” Now, I’ll admit that other things which I will not mention (mostly dead and decaying stuff) that she delights in smelling leave me cold. However, it’s pretty cool these days when we smell the deer at the same time. It’s like walking with any other friend who sees the world, but just differently enough, that you just plain take in more of life when you’re with them.
Our animals also bring us comfort. They lay on their backs and wiggle in the sun. They stand six inches away from us while we nap and quietly grunt a small reminder that the clock now says, “Three” and three is when they eat. (Who knew thy could tell time?) Then, they dance when we get up and head for the food. They plant themselves next to us and nuzzle our hand and keep adjusting their position until that hand lands on the exact spot that needs to be scratched. And if we don’t feel all that much like moving that hand, they wiggle a bit more so that the scratch happens anyway. They are also finely tuned in their own way to our well-being and have a way, without ever saying a word, of being there in just the way we need them to be. Oh…also worth mentioning…Karma has listened to me talk for 10 1/2 years non-stop, without ever saying a word.
So, the case that I want to make is that if you’re struggling to wake up and stay awake and aware, you could do worse than to have an animal for your teacher. As I say this, you may dismiss me as overly sentimental or as, perhaps, just having lost my mind. But know this…I have the saints on my side. Or rather, I have one saint, St. Francis, who at this moment is nodding in agreement.
There’s a story that I love about Francis. This is how that story is told by Thomas of Celano, one of Francis’s followers who actually knew Francis. "One time as [Francis] was passing through the Spoleto valley, he came upon a place near Bevagna, in which a great multitude of birds of various kinds had assembled. When the holy one of God saw them, because of the outstanding love of the Creator with which he loved all creatures, he ran swiftly to the place. He greeted them in his usual way, as if they shared in reason. As the birds did not take flight, he went to them, going to and fro among them, touching their heads and bodies with his tunic. Meanwhile his joy and wonder increased as he carefully admonished them to listen to the Word of God: 'My brother birds, you should greatly praise your Creator and love Him always. He clothed you with feathers and gave you wings for flying. Among all His creatures He made you free and gave you the purity of the air. You neither sow nor reap, He nevertheless governs you without your least care.' At these words, the birds gestured a great deal, in their own way. They stretched their necks, spread their wings, opened their beaks and looked at him. They did not leave the place until, having made the sign of the cross, he blessed them and gave them permission. On returning to the brothers he began to accuse himself of negligence because he had not preached to the birds before. From that day on, he carefully exhorted birds and beasts and even insensible creatures to praise and love the Creator.”
That’s right, Francis preached to the birds, which sounds crazy unless you’ve really paid attention to our worship services in the courtyard. So many people have commented on the birds’ accompaniment of our worship. It’s true that we have amazing trees around us which certainly provide a good habitat. It’s also true that Tracy and I, over the course of the pandemic, have grown very fond of feeding the birds and have chuckled on an almost daily basis at the robin who comes to bathe in our birdbath who’s goal seems to be to knock every drop of water out of the bath onto the ground. Still, though, find a recorded service, ignore everything that Tracy and I have to say, overlook Natasha’s music, and just listen to the birds. Tell me that they’re not praising the creator!
That’s the thing. Anyone with a heartbeat should be able to love a black Lab or a golden retriever or a cute little cat. Those animals have been bred across centuries to make us utter sounds like, “Ohhhh!” when we see them. However, Francis takes things to the saint level when he forms relationships with the wild animals, too. There are stories about his connections to fish and fowl, to pheasants and bees and rabbits. My favorite St. Francis story involves the connection that he made with one particular cricket.
Maybe you’re heard that the mark of a psychopath, of a truly broken person, is their history of abusing animals. Francis is the polar opposite example of a broader truth. If you look at the people who have learned to form relationships with the creatures around them, who look at them not just as “resources” or nuisances but as brothers and sisters, you will likely find someone who treats their fellow human beings as brothers and sisters, too. Folks who are grounded in their connection to the natural world generally do not act as if they are the masters of the universe. No…they are fellow participants in a universe filled with living things. As a general rule, “We’re in this together” can lead to some amazing moments.
In his lifetime, Francis went from being the very spoiled and fairly obnoxious son of a rich businessman to a spiritual man who aligned himself with the poorest of the poor and with the creatures of the earth. Huts and caves and small little hovels were his “castles.” He went from dazzling everyone with how much he had to wowing the world with how little he actually needed. When it came to sharing the good news, he invented the use of living nativities and creches to tell the Christmas story to those who were illiterate—which, in his day, was almost everyone. (We tell that story every year in our pageant.) And when it wasn’t Christmas season, he was likely to point everyone’s attention to this bee or that cricket or this beautiful bird that felt so connected that it landed in Francis’ hand and ask, “How amazing is God, the creator?”
So, every day that we walk in the company of our pets and they slow us down and make us sniff things and invite us to look again, we are blessed. If we are having a good day and the noise inside of us is turned down to a dull roar, perhaps we will even hear the hawk cry out, and think to ourselves: “There it is…blessed again!” And when we are that awake, we might finally notice the person in need whom we overlooked for so long. When we do, keep an eye out for our friend and saint, Francis.