The blessing of animals is an ancient rite practiced by various religious groups. Though many attribute its origin to St. Francis of Assisi, the practice has at least as many putative originators as a cat has lives; St. Anthony did it in the 3rd century.
It’s a seriously un-solemn ceremony enjoyed by children and non-stuffy adults, usually well tolerated by the animals even if it gets high church with incense and holy water, performed by clergy as one of those pastoral/liturgical functions about which they learned absolutely nothing in seminary, so most of them just wing it.
This year one really innovative local pastor added communion to the service, with the bread and wine (grape juice, in this case) offered to everyone present, including those not listed as human on the phylogenetic scale.
The predictable letter of outrage appeared in the community’s leading newspaper, predictably pulling a Bible verse out of context to irrelevantly support the writer’s contention that "serving such a holy ordinance to brute beasts serves only to demean … an activity that is reserved for those who are created in the image of God."
The good Rev was doing what Revs of a certain stripe too often do: putting his own spin on the interpretation and application of the Bible, as if it is the only correct one. Gracelessly dismissing religious traditions that view symbolic liturgical acts differently than he does. Autocratically declaring that none but homo sapiens can be recipients of the grace inherent in holy communion.
Symbolic acts are a way to express a truth too big to be put into words: a kiss, a flag riding out a storm, the tones of "Taps" from a distant bugle, placing flowers on the site of the World Trade Center.
A sacrament is a symbolic act that carries an extra layer of meaning; it connects the participants with a greater energy that sustains and inspires us. In holy communion we celebrate our life together, express our oneness with each other and with the creator in whom we live and move and have our being; for one brief moment we together reach out and touch the hand of God.
At least some of us do. But not feeling it that way does not make you an inferior person.
The bond between person and pet is life at its most basic. Eye to eye, heart to heart, we are creatures of love. The love we give to a pet, and receive from a pet, can draw us more deeply into the larger circle of life, into the wonder of our common relationship to our creator. Church is the place where the bond of creation is celebrated.
And just how much of the meaning of a sacrament must one understand before their participation in it is valid? I don’t really know how much our beloved tabby cat Agatha "understands" anything; there are times when her apperceptive faculties are clearly greater than mine. Requiring full understanding of the meaning of communion would eliminate a lot of folks who routinely, mindlessly, receive it at altars of most churches.
Giving consecrated bread and wine to gerbils, guppies, goats, Great Danes or gray Tabbies — or any living thing — will hardly become the norm, nor should it. But on rare, special occasions, if it is done not as entertainment or a publicity stunt, I have to think that condemning it out of hand is highly presumptuous.
Syndicated columnist Jack Wilson is an Episcopal priest. His email address is jackscolumn@jwco.us.
