Praying with St. Francis
Backing down the driveway, I glanced to the right across the corner of the yard and saw a squirrel sitting squarely on top of the head of St. Francis.
The 18-inch concrete statue of St. Francis of Assisi has been standing beside the pecan tree for years. I’ve seen him visited by squirrels, birds, even a football-sized turtle that crawled up from the creek. But a squirrel perched on his noggin? That’s a first. From a distance, all that brown fur wrapped around his scalp made him look less like a 13th century holy man and more like Davy Crockett. It was a ridiculous sight, and I put my foot on the brake long enough to take a fuzzy photo with my phone.
Back home later, the picture of that squirrel had me reaching up on the shelf and pulling down a decorative book made of hinged wood. Opening it up, there’s an illustration of St. Francis feeding the birds on one side, and on the other side are the words of the prayer attributed to him. I was struck by this dual personality we’ve given him: lover of all God’s creatures, and saint who some say was most Christ-like in the way he lived. The fact that we’ve frozen him into yard art seems to indicate we focus more on the former. But stop a moment and read his words again:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.
I don’t think those words were written to remind us to be kind to the birds and the squirrels. But, it took a squirrel to remind me of our higher calling.