A church blesses its animals, in all their shaggy goodness
The worshipers arrived on bright red leashes Sunday, sporting floral pajamas and jaunty scarves, trotting into the sanctuary with wagging tongues and open hearts.
They barked, meowed and otherwise warbled in approval as the choir began “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” a congregation that featured Charlie the poodle, Venus the bearded dragon, Secret the corn snake and Allie the earthworm, who sat nestled in a Styrofoam cup of dirt.
And when the Rev. James Kubal-Komoto took to the lectern, the animals all gazed at him beatifically, grateful for attention long past due.
“If you are visiting for the first time this morning,” Kubal-Komoto said, smiling to the crowd because the sentence finished itself, “you picked an interesting day.”
The Unitarian-Universalist Fellowship of Raleigh held its blessing of the animals service Sunday — the first I can recall in a decade of attendance, but more notable for its daring choice to invite the beasts of the world inside.
By my count, the invitation drew roughly 30 dogs, three cats, a guinea pig, the aforementioned bearded dragon, corn snake and night crawler plus several dozen stuffed companions and a photograph of a fish.
For a congregation that prides itself on being intentionally inclusive, the move represented a promise to practice what gets preached, extending the church’s welcome to all that trot and slither.
“Our pets are so important in our lives,” Kubal-Komoto said over the whines and growls from the sanctuary. “They cuddle with us. They play with us. They go on walks with us. They go on hikes with us. They entertain us. They make us laugh. They love us unconditionally. They teach us how to love.”
Animal services such as Sunday’s at UUFR pop up across many faiths, taking their inspiration from St. Francis of Assisi, who among many other divinely inspired deeds preached to the birds, gave counsel to a wolf and arranged for the first live Nativity scene.
Blessings happen at various times and in various forms but, unlike at UUFR and other more flexible congregations, they tend to occur outside.
A bit of guidance from the United Methodists: “Make allowances for the arrival of larger animals such as horses and other livestock.”
But at UUFR, which boasts a high ceiling, the sanctuary accommodated all comers, from my boisterous beagle, Simon, who scouted the pastor’s pockets for treats, to a somewhat skittish poodle-Maltese named Bailey, who was rescued off the streets of Santa Cruz.
“He’s easily intimidated by larger animals,” said Alison Hurwitz, who then added, “Me, too.”
One by one, forming a Noah’s Ark in reverse, they took their place on the stage, received a few ceremonial head scratches as the congregation said in unison, “We bless this animal and give thanks for its presence in our lives.”
And after a remembrance for fur-covered friends passed on, and a few words of blessing for the wild animals too feral to attend, the beasts of UUFR scattered back into the world, full of camaraderie, swelling with purpose, trotting off to live more fully and strive to make a better world.
But first a nap.
