Lessons from Francis and Casey

I found her on the side of South Fork Rd., about two miles from my home in the mountains of Virginia the day after Christmas, 2007.  This little black dog was shivering when I got out of the car, looking up at me with those big brown eyes that longed for someone to pet her head or give her a bite to eat.  I had no food to give her.  But as I started to kneel down toward her, she jumped on my knee.  Before I knew it, the door of my car was opened and she was in the passenger's seat, sitting straight up and looking at me as though to say, "We're going on a journey, aren't we?"  Yes, little girl, we're going on a journey.  

The little girl in 2015

I named her Casey, because my family has a penchant for giving our dogs baseball-related names, and though my father took care of her for about a year and a half, I vowed to her that day on the side of the road, that she would be my companion when I moved to the New York City for seminary and this journey of discovery and call together.  Now we're inseparable: as she did in seminary and my first church in Kentucky, Casey accompanies me most everywhere we go.  And everyone she sees she greets with the same big brown eyes, sweet demeanor, and a belly ready to be rubbed.  She shows absolutely no partiality, as most of you can attest. 

What is it about our four-legged friends that brings us so much joy? Perhaps it is because they remind us, probably better than we remind each other, of the never-failing and, unconditional love of God, which knows no bounds, asks no questions, does not judge, and is always readily available.  After I seriously bombed a midterm during my first year of seminary, a classmate saw me walking Casey with a visibly distraught look on my face.  Her words still echo with me:  "you know, she doesn't care that you failed; she loves you no matter what."  Is that not the same love that God has for us?  The kind of love that does not care about anything superficial, but only wants to be in relationship with us. That's what our animal friends do, I think:  they embody the love of God and share it with us.

I suspect that one reason why our animals friends show us this love is the fact that they are still in the Garden.  I don't think of the Garden as a physically place that we were kicked out of, but rather a psychological, spiritual, and emotional state of being, and somewhere during the evolution of humankind we chose to no longer exist in a perpetual state of being that knew the ever-present love of God and the connectedness of all creation.  Our animal friends always live in that presence, knowing God's love on a level that we cannot imagine and reflected it back to us.

One individual that seemed to live his life as if he was still in the Garden was Francis of Assisi, the saint that many of our churches celebrated recently with our Blessings of the Animals.  He preached to birds, made peace with wolves, and supposedly on his deathbed thanked his faithful donkey for his years of service. These and other remarkable stories of Francis’ life are found in the food Fioretti, or The Little Flowers.  This simple friar, who had at one time sought great wealth and military glory in the late 12^th century, saw something in creation that we don't always see:  he saw the ever-present love of God in all created beings, and he had to be in the midst of it, to be known to it, and to make it known.  That’s why, unlike previous monastic orders, he and his brothers in the Order of Friars Minor, traveled the countryside and cities, taking the Gospel message with them wherever they went.  And that message was this:  all things come from a good and loving God, and all are linked together in relationship.  Thus, humans, dogs, cats, sun, moon, trees, and rain are all siblings of one, loving Creator.  

Francis of Assisi

What would our church, our world look like if we lived our lives like Francis?  Not necessarily giving up all of our possessions and arguing with Popes the way he did, although you’re welcome to do both of those things if you want, but knowing that all things really are connected because they all belong to God?  I suspect we would be more gracious and grateful, more accommodating to each person we meet, more understanding of the struggles our brothers and sisters face and more eager to offer God’s abundant welcome to them.  

In other words, we may start seeing the world the way that Casey and our other animal friends see the world.  Casey does not fret over what she does not have; she does not make distinctions between stranger and friend; she lives for each moment of each day; and she is always excited to share her love and her own form of welcome with those around her.  

I suspect this is why Francis referred to the animals as his brothers and sisters, because he saw the world through their eyes, saw the world for what it is, one great big gift from a great big loving God.  

Some of you have heard me call Casey my little sister.  What Francis invites us to do, and indeed what Christ invites us to do, is to see the connectedness of all things.  When we do this the barriers between us begin to dissolve, our own self-projections fade, and all that remains is the love of God, present in all creation, all people, all animals, all things bright and beautiful.   And knowing this love is what surrounds us and binds the universe together, can inspire us to care for our brothers and sisters in our human family, our animal family, and our creation family.  We will no longer have need of the “vanities of this world” as the Collect for Francis says, for we will only know God’s love made manifest in this world that God loves so much.  

So may we see the connectedness of all things.  May we take care of those people, the animals, the environment, and all the things that God has given us to steward.  May we show that same hospitality and love to others that Casey and all of our friends shows to us.  And may blessed Francis pray for us.