The family of creation

Sermon by Pr. Sharai Jacob on the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi + Saturday, October 3, 2026

Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

Those words are beautiful. And they are probably familiar to many of us, because who among us isn't carrying something? Maybe you are weary from work, or from caring for someone you love. Maybe you are weary from illness or anxiety or grief. Maybe you are soul tired as you see and experience oppression and brokenness in the world. And perhaps you came here today hoping, for just a little while, to sit in the presence of God and breathe.

Jesus says: Come to me, I will give you rest. But then Jesus says something rather strange: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me.” Wait, what happened to rest?! Jesus just promised us rest, and then immediately handed us farm equipment. A yoke does not exactly sound restful. When I picture a yoke I picture something that joins two animals pulling a plow. Even for oxen or workhorses, plowing a field is hard work!

So, Jesus does not say, “Come to me, and you'll never have to work again.” The grief will still be heavy. Loving our neighbors, standing for justice, will still cost us. Our care for the Earth may still feel so small alongside the damage we've done. But a yoke is something that connects. It places lives alongside one another so that they can move together. Jesus says, “Come to me, and we'll share the burden. You don't have to carry this alone."

I think that matters especially today as we celebrate St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, ecology, and the environment. St. Francis understood that following Jesus would change his relationship with everything around him. Francis was born into wealth and privilege. But through encounters with people who were suffering, sick, and excluded, his life was transformed. He chose a life of simplicity and service. And he began to see all of creation differently.

The world was not simply a collection of things for human beings to possess or control. Creation is a community. The sun was his brother. The moon was his sister. The birds were fellow creatures. The earth was not merely something beneath his feet. It was part of the great family of God.

The Earth is, in a sense, one of the great elders of our family. And like all elders, it has something to teach us. It teaches us about interdependence. Nothing lives entirely by itself. The tree needs the soil. The flowers need the bees. We all need the plants. We all need the water. We all need one another. The more we understand creation, the harder it becomes to imagine ourselves as isolated individuals.

There is a temptation, especially when we become aware of how much is broken in the world, to put an enormous burden on ourselves. We see our wounded planet and think, I have to fix this. We see injustice and think I have to fix this too! And poverty, and violence, and hunger. And before long, we are exhausted. But Jesus says: Come to me. Take my yoke. You do not have to carry this alone. 

This is not an invitation to care less. It is an invitation to ask a different question. Instead of asking, “How am I going to fix everything?” we can ask, “What is mine to do today? What is the next faithful thing? Where is God already at work, and how might I join?” In the work of healing the world we work alongside Jesus, alongside one another, and with the whole of creation.

That is a much lighter burden. Not because the world is less broken, but because we finally understand that we were never meant to carry it alone.

At the beginning of today's Gospel, Jesus says, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants.” Why infants?

I don't think Jesus is saying that children are magically wiser than adults, or that education and intelligence are bad things. Jesus is challenging the assumption that wisdom always comes from knowing more, controlling more, and mastering more. Infants don't have much mastery. They don't have much control.  They depend on others. And they are constantly learning. They receive the world. Perhaps that is part of what Jesus is getting at: the kingdom of God is not something we master, it’s something we learn to receive.

And that means our animals have wisdom to share with us, too. A dog does not spend the afternoon wondering whether it has fulfilled its five-year plan. A cat does not lie awake at night worrying that it has failed to live up to its potential. A tree does not suffer from imposter syndrome.  Creation simply lives. It receives the day that has been given. It responds to what is actually in front of it. And if we're paying attention, our animals can teach us to do the same.

Many of us have experienced extraordinary comfort from an animal when we were grieving. Some of us have been greeted at the door by a creature who seems entirely unconcerned about what kind of day we've had. Some of us have known the peculiar grace of sitting beside an animal who seems to know that something is wrong before we have even admitted it to ourselves.

As we bless our animals today, perhaps we should also recognize that they have already been a blessing to us. We care for them, and they have cared for us. We teach them, and they teach us. 

And as we celebrate the family of creation this weekend, perhaps we can allow creation to bless us in return. Let it remind us to live in the present. That we belong to something larger than ourselves. That love is often simpler than we make it. That we too are creatures before we are anything else.

Let it remind us again to take up the yoke that Jesus offers. Even though the work is still hard, we are held together with Christ and the whole creation of God. We will find rest for our souls. Amen.