Bless the Pets

Turtles at St. James in the City

Pictured above is a fountain pool in the courtyard of Los Angeles' St. James in the City, a church where Kara sings. We've worshiped there when visiting Kara and once joined the congregation after the service for refreshments in their fellowship hall, located across from the nave. The pool is home to 13 or so turtles, and we noticed as we crossed the courtyard that each reptile was facing, neck stretched, towards the gathering as if they were doing their best to be part of it all.  Along with the invisible seraphim whose imagined figures grace windows and architecture, the church enjoys the visible presence of the terrapin.*  

My environmental biologist friend reminds me often that God loves the world (John 3:16) and everything in it (Psalm 24:1, 2)--animal, vegetable, and mineral.  Yesterday all three were found gathered in many church communities who, in the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi, opened their doors to pets. Kara's church is one of them. She shared with us that a variety of animals came to the main service with their owners and families and barked and mewed and chirped their way through the liturgy. Wishing we had been there to witness this event, I can only guess what may have happened had we brought along the few pets we've had over the years--Gus and Agnes, the twin goldfish, Jesse, the golden retriever with whom we shared a stressed two-year relationship, Gobie who met his untimely death in our downstairs hallway, and Badger, our late yellow lab who was always in need of a blessing. For sure they all would first have been required go to confession for all the messes and frights and funding they required of us; but then we'd have to go as well for our sins of commission and omission against them. We're a mutually complicit household.

Beyond that, I'm trying to imagine the service itself and may err to suppose a reverence and respect similar to what we humans think appropriate behavior in church. I picture dogs sitting upright on the pews with their ears erect and eyes-front; cats quiet with soft "mews" punctuating the "and with your spirit" or "and also with you" responses; birds perched on the shoulder of a family member, alert and focused, singing with grace in their hearts to the Lord during the musical portion. My imagination, incedently, does not allow for snakes to be present: their blessings are received in abstention--that is, if there are blessings for snakes at all. The only biblical word addressed to snakes of which I am aware is a curse. In any case, all creatures present to service I imagine, be they human or canine, feline or avian, sit in peace and voice their responses at the appropriate times: 



   Pastor:   Bless the Lord all you God's creatures.

   People:  (amidst mews, barks and tweets) And forget not all his benefits.

   Pastor:   As you take care of us, O Lord, so also we ask your help that we might take care of those             who trust us  to look after them. 

   Pets : "Tweet!"  "Ruff!"  "Meow!! (translation: AMEN!!)

The congregation of pets and people are invited to stand and sing "All Creatures of Our God and King": humans sing the verses and pets belt out the "Alleluias" in their own tongues.

When Genesis 1:21-34 is read aloud, ending with "God saw everything he had made and indeed it was very good," animals chirp, bark and meow (translated: "Indeed!!").

When the pastor offers a prayer, acknowledging God's gifts "in the beauty and wonder of creation" and gives thanks to God for men and women, the pets bark, mew and chirp another "Amen!"--unless of course there has been some unpleasantness between pet and owner as they tried to get to church--some mess made, or shoe chewed or a chase scene after an animal escaped. When the pastor offers thanks for birdsong, the parrots, parakeets and cockatiels chirp, sing, nod and flap with joy. As the prayer that each pet present "will be treasured with care"is voiced, every animal nods vigorously and peeks to make sure their humans are listening. When the pastor prays that all "might love and honor all God's works," pets and owners alike respond, "that all may continue to grow in our grateful enjoyment of your abundant creation."

To the honor and glory of your name, now and forever, we pray to you Lord.

But of course the peaceable kingdom is still emerging, so the real scene undoubtedly looks a bit different from what I just described. Kara said that her choir mate's dog barked through the whole service yesterday and that the organ is a problem for some of the pets. None of them for sure sees any value in presenting itself other than what it is (in other words, they don't know about hypocrisy), so it's to be expected that the cats tease the dogs even in church, making them howl and whine, and birds relieve themselves in their cages right in the middle of a a prayer. No doubt some pet escapes during the service, setting off a scramble of humans and animals beneath the pews.  And they all sound off at the wrong time: when it's supposed to be silent, they speak; when it's time to speak they scratch themselves or fall asleep. And let's face it: they have no idea who St. Francis is or even what they're doing in church. Yet we** believe it will do them and us good to bring our pets for a blessing or we wouldn't go through the hassle.

For that matter, church services will do us humans the most good when we bring ourselves--the selves we really are--for a blessing.

But here's my question: Why doesn't my evangelical faith community offer a service of blessing for pets? Maybe because some of our number (most likely those who don't have pets) don't believe  our pets have souls and so what's the point? Blessings won't get our pets into heaven anyway so why risk the noise, drool, and potential disgrace to our sanctuaries that is more than likely to happen?

St. Francis recognized the various creatures as his sisters and brothers--companions in the whole blessed order of Creation. His Canticle blesses sun, moon, water, fire, and earth, embracing each as having issued from the same hand and encouraging all creatures to voice their own "Alleluias".

Maybe it has less to do with the question of whether or not pets have souls and more to do with recognizing in our pets our own helpless, speechless selves before God. Maybe the welcome they receive once a year reminds us of the grace of continually being welcomed into the lovely, holy presence of God.

Beyond the donkey that's sometimes hurried through some auditoriums on Palm Sunday and the service dog that no one but the owner is allowed to touch or speak to, animals in church might remind us humans of our responsibility to care for and protect all of God's beloved works. The blessings given these fellow (and fella) creatures will eventually come back as a blessing to us, whether or not all dogs go to heaven.


*Kara completed her graduate degree at the University of Maryland, the mascot of which is the terrapin.  

**Yes, Mark, I realize "we" does not include you! But then, you love your Westies!