This Sunday is the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. St. Francis is best known for his voluntary poverty, radical charity, and deep love of animals and nature. We’ll be celebrating his feast day at Thursday’s service of Candlelight Communion with the blessing of the animals. Come one, come all, and bring your pets.
In addition to blessing pets at this service, we’ll also pray for departed pets by name. My cocker spaniel, Megan, will be included among them. Megan was recently diagnosed with cancer, and Jess and I had to put her down last weekend when it became clear the cancer had reached her brain. For nearly a decade, Megan was beloved by staff and parishioners at Incarnation. I’d even say she played a part in the pastoral ministry of this place. If you’ve ever petted a dog or cat to calm your nerves or comfort yourself through tears, you’ll understand.
I won’t be having a memorial service for Megan, but I routinely do this for other pet owners. At once such service, a parishioner offered a beautiful reflection about her dog. She recounted how, in recent months, the veterinarian had utilized a common neurological examination called the blink-threat test. The test involves the vet moving their hand rapidly toward an animal’s eye to see if they blink. The same test is administered to humans, by the way. An animal or a human will usually blink in response to this test because their nervous system is hardwired to assume the fast-moving hand is an impending strike.
In this case however, the veterinarian encountered a beautiful theological mystery wrapped in fur. The dog didn’t blink or flinch but instead began to wag his tail. He thought the fast-moving hand was an invitation to play. The vet expressed how lovely it was to see an elderly dog who had never known a threat in his life. What a testament to his owners and the goodness of their hands around him.
St. Francis would have wept with joy at such a dog. I dare say he would have identified with that dog, for Francis’ worldly reflex for self-preservation was completely swallowed up by his joy and delight in the Lord. Can we say the same?
We live in a world that constantly subjects us to the blink-threat test. The headlines move fast. Financial anxieties loom large. People let us down. The natural, human reflex is to flinch. We squint our eyes in suspicion. We build heavy armor around our hearts. We become hyper-vigilant, constantly waiting for the next blow to fall, letting our fears dictate our posture toward life, toward our neighbors, and sometimes toward God.
St. Francis shows us a radical alternative. He stripped himself of his family’s wealth, laid down his military armor, and walked into the world completely defenseless. Why? Because he was so profoundly consumed by the love of the Heavenly Father that he lost his reflex for fear. Like that trusting dog on the exam table, Francis looked at a world full of potential threats and chose to see “Brother Sun,” “Sister Moon,” and a Creator whose hands hold nothing but mercy.
It’s true that we must “guard our hearts” (Prov. 4:23) and “be wise as serpents” (Matt. 10:6) to stay safe with God’s help in this fallen world. At the same time, we can look to the example of St. Francis and the quiet wisdom of our animal companions for a lesson in relaxing our spiritual nervous systems. May God give us all a little more trust and a lot more grace to lay down our defenses and heal from the instinct to flinch. And may we look at our lives with a faith so simple and absolute that even when the shadows move fast, our hearts respond with the unshakeable joy of the Gospel.
Adrian+