The ministry of presence

Sermon by Pr. Michelle Sevig on Francis of Assisi Sunday + Sunday, October 4, 2026

A very warm welcome to all the pets who are worshipping with us today. We are glad you’re here. Whether this is your first time or you’ve been to the HTLC pet blessing several times, you belong here. Felines and canines, birds and rodents, tortoises and snakes—all pets are welcome in this place, and we give thanks to God for the many ways you bless our homes and our lives by your presence.

Many years ago, in the early 2000s, we held our pet blessings on Saturday mornings in the garden. People from the congregation and neighborhood would bring their pets for a quick blessing and a few prayers. Then in 2008, Pastor Mueller had the bright idea to invite the animals to join us for worship, in the sanctuary, on a Sunday. We were nervous. Would they make too much noise? Would they have an “accident”? But we were also excited to try something new and adventurous, welcoming our dear family members into this sacred place and time.

Through the years we’ve blessed hundreds of pets—mostly dogs, a few cats, guinea pigs, a snake, a tortoise, and even a pet spider. And of course a few beloved stuffed animals too. And honestly, it’s always been great. Very little extra noise, lots of fun and no accidents…so far.

We bless animals today because of the witness of St. Francis of Assisi. Francis is one of those saints whose image is familiar even to people who don’t know much about saints. We see statues of him in gardens, or the icon here, often surrounded by birds and animals. We hear the stories of Francis preaching to birds or befriending a wolf that had frightened an entire village.

Francis seemed to understand something that is easy for us to forget: animals are not simply things that belong to us. They are part of the community of creation. Francis called them his brothers and sisters. He understood that we are connected to all of creation—the animals we love, the beasts we never encounter, the earth beneath our feet, the water that nourishes and sustains, and the people sitting beside us. We are even connected to the people and creatures we might not particularly like.

Jesus gives us a great image for this kind of connection in our gospel today. He talks about a yoke. “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Then Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you.”

Now, when most of us hear the word yoke, we probably don’t immediately think, “Ah, comfort and rest!” A yoke was a wooden harness that joined two animals together so they could work as a team. The yoke allowed them to share the work. If one became tired, the other could help carry the load. If one struggled, the other could provide strength. Yoked together, they learned the rhythm of working together. They were connected. 

And I think our pets understand something about this better than we do. Think about the ways our animals stay with us when life is difficult. When we are sick, they curl up next to us. When anxiety keeps us awake, somehow they know that having a warm body nearby helps. When the house is too quiet because a child has gone off to college, or a spouse is away, or someone we love has died, there is a dog who still needs to be walked and nurtured. A cat who still expects breakfast at the crack of dawn. A bird who still sings in the morning.

Our pets don’t necessarily solve our problems. They don’t have the right words. They don’t offer profound advice. They simply stay. And sometimes that is exactly what we need. The ministry of presence. They remind us that we don't have to carry everything alone.

That is the gift of the yoke. But I think Jesus is talking about something much bigger than our relationship with our pets. Because being yoked means being connected. And once we begin to recognize that connection, we start to see that it doesn't stop with the creature beside us. It keeps expanding.

Francis understood this. Francis is remembered for loving animals, but he was also deeply committed to people who were poor, sick, forgotten, and pushed to the edges of society. For Francis, caring for creation and caring for people were not two separate projects. They were the same work. Because once you begin to see the sacredness of one creature, it becomes harder to ignore the sacredness of another.

If we open our hearts to one, our hearts begin to open to all. And sometimes that can be uncomfortable. Because it means recognizing that we are yoked not only to the people we love. We are yoked to people who see the world differently than we do. People with different politics. Different values. Different experiences. Different skin color. Different sexual orientation. Different beliefs. People we understand; and people we don't. People we think are deserving of God's grace; and people we are not so sure about. Jesus does not say, “Take my yoke, but only with people you agree with.” He says, “Come to me.” Come with your weariness. Come with your burdens. Come with all the ways you have gotten it wrong. And learn from me. Be connected to me. 

Maybe that’s why the Prayer of St. Francis continues to speak so powerfully to us today. It is a prayer asking God to make us people who bring peace where there is conflict, love where there is hatred, forgiveness where there has been injury, hope where there is despair, light where there is darkness. It asks God to help us listen before demanding to be heard, to understand before insisting that we be understood, and to love generously rather than keeping score.

That is the life of someone who is yoked with Jesus. Francis yoked himself to Christ, and that connection changed the way he saw everything—the poor, the outcast, the animals, the earth–all of creation. May we, too, recognize that we are yoked together—pets and all animals, people we love and the people who challenge us, the whole beautiful creation. We belong to one another, because we belong to God.

And the love of Jesus—the love to which we are yoked—is bigger than anything we can measure or explain. It is a mystery and a promise: that God gathers up all of creation—human beings and animals, land and sea, everything that lives and breathes—into God's eternal and loving embrace.

And until that day when life meets death and death meets life again, we gather here. Here, where water reminds us of God's promise of life. Here, at the table spread with bread and wine where we give thanks for the fruits of this earth. Here, where we confess the many ways we have failed to care for and protect God's creation. And here, where we make promises—to God and to one another—to become better stewards of the gifts we have been given.

So let us join with St. Francis and all creation in praising the God who made us and yokes us together, as we sing during the pet blessing,  “All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.” Amen.