A Prayer for Blessing of Pets

Many congregations are doing some sort of Blessing of the Pets this Sunday.  We did ours last Sunday because we had already scheduled our last outdoor worship service when I had the idea of adding a Blessing of the Pets to our autumnal activities.  We didn't do it in 2023 because I had just arrived in June.  In 2024, we had Hurricane Helene, and last year, I was away doing a workshop for my mom's church's retreat in Williamsburg.

I got to last Sunday without having written any liturgy or prayer, or a blessing of any kind.  So I wrote one, by hand, because my computer mouse had stopped working, and writing by hand was faster.

I want to preserve the prayer, so I'm transcribing it here.

Creator God,

Please bless all of your creatures gathered here together, the humans, their beloved pets, and this piece of Eastern Tennessee.  Please bless those who couldn't be here with us.  And we ask your blessing on our wider world, with so many who need so much.   And let us always remember that you are more loyal than our most faithful pets, and you love us in the same generous way we love our pets.   

Celtic Spirituality and October

I met Tim Brown at the onground intensive for TEEM students back in June when he came to talk to us about stewardship.  He's well versed in that subject, but also in saints old and modern, about all things ELCA, and about Celtic Christianity/history/spirituality.

This morning, he made this post on Facebook, and I wanted to preserve it:

For the ancient Celts, October signaled the end of their Autumn and opened the door for the shadowed half of the Celtic year.

Samhain (which literally means "summer has ended") marks the final feast day of the season, and the convergence of the shadows and the weather inclined the Celts to believe that spirits were able to walk among the living causing mischief, curses, and sometimes blessings.

Practically it meant bringing in the cattle and the sheep down from the summer hillside and into the byre and the stable, now full of the harvested hay brought in throughout August and September.

It was also the time to slaughter the animals and prep them to last as far through winter as possible with salts, cold storage, cottaging, and drying.

The very last bits of barley, wheat, turnips, and apples were picked from the now naked fields, because come November the faeries would start breathing on all the fruit, frosting them and making them inedible.

While the sun still glowed it was also time to get the wood and peat stacked and ready for use. No one wanted to chop and gather in the frigid days coming.

This was a joyous month for the Celts, as the whole family was regularly gathered in the house and the barn: baking, salting, prepping, and preserving, envisioning the coming winter feasts and the cozy days ahead.

The summer sun now became the warm, dim room, and the noisy insects would be replaced with long talks and stories from family and visiting friends.

October has come.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 4, 2026:

First Reading: Isaiah 5:1-7

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20

Psalm: Psalm 80:7-14 (Psalm 80:7-15 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 19

Second Reading: Philippians 3:4b-14

Gospel: Matthew 21:33-46

Today's Gospel contains a parable that seems to tell the story of Christ, in the vineyard owner's son, who is killed by the tenants. I suspect that when modern readers, many of whom own property and/or manage people at work, read this lesson, they identify with the vineyard owner far more than they do with the tenants. But what would happen if we thought about ourselves as the tenants?

Notice how the tenants are so stuck in their self-destructive ways that they can't change. Now, as we settle into the season of autumn, as we race towards the end of the liturgical year, it might be useful to do some self-evaluation. What are our habits that get in the way of us living as the people of God? By now, you might despair to realize that these are the same patterns you've wrestled with before. But take heart. As you continue to attempt to make changes and go astray, each time you try to get back to a more wholesome way of living, it should take less time to make the necessary adjustments.

The Gospels that we've been reading give us reassurance that we can go astray, and God will still welcome us back. Now all this talk of going astray may not be the most useful image for us. Many of us have grown up in churches that berated us with talk of sin and tried to make us change by making us feel ashamed. We live in a toxic culture that tells us that we're not doing enough, not earning enough, not buying the right stuff. Many of us spend our days with voices in our head telling us those same messages. Who wants to come to church to hear the same thing? We've tried, we've failed, we know, we get it.

The danger is that we might quit trying to live the life that God envisions for us. God doesn't want us to live the way we've been living. Many of us might agree--we don't want to be living these lives.

So take a different approach. What would a healthier life look like? What would a God-centered life look like? How would it feel?

Now think of one step that you can take in this direction towards a life that God envisions for you.

Remember that God promises that no matter how far away we are from that vision, God will meet us more than half-way. If we're feeling like a rejected stone, remember that God has great plans for rocks of every shape.

Michaelmas or The Feast Day of St. Michael and All Angels

 If we lived in an earlier culture, a time more marked by the agricultural shifts of each season, we would celebrate Michaelmas today. It's one of the harvest holidays, one of the quarterly celebrations that kept people rooted to traditions of the seasonal cycles.

I am more interested in the idea of a hinge holiday, the way we shift from one direction to another. In Holidays and Holy Nights, Christopher Hill explains, "In summer we celebrate our at-homeness in the world. Michaelmas balances that feeling (for) in autumn we feel our not-at-homeness, the sense of wanting something else, something we can't name. We feel like wayfaring strangers... Summer is static - in Latin, solstice means 'the stationary sun'" Summer is the sacrament of natural harmony with God... while autumn we fall away from the dreaming paradise of summer back into the conflict of light and dark" (pp. 36-37).

Today, the Church celebrates the role of angels in the divine plan, my prayer book tells me (The Divine Hours, written by Phyllis Tickle). Our Orthodox brothers and sisters handle the question of angels better than most Protestants. Most of the Lutheran churches that I've been a member of don't talk about angels much, and based on the ideas of some of my students, many Protestant churches do talk about angels, but with a very shaky theology.

I'll never forget one time teaching Paradise Lost to South Carolina students in my Brit Lit survey class at a community college. One woman seemed particularly confused about all the angels in the story. "How could there be angels," she asked, "when nobody has died?"

It took me a few attempts to understand her question. She knew about angels from church, but only in the sense that we become angels when we die--which is a very recent idea about angels. I explained the more ancient idea about angels, which is that they are a species completely separate from humans. We got into a bit of a theology lesson, but I could see that she wasn't happy with these ideas about angels. She was much more comfortable with the idea of the angels being Grandma and Grandpa who died when she was a child. The idea of angels as a separate kind of entity with no free will? No thanks.

In a way, I understand. Angels are scary. Death is scary. It's rather brilliant to come up with the idea that we become angels when we die--and yet, this shaky theology defangs several concepts which should, in fact, be scary. We will die--and before that, everything we love will die. How do we cope with that idea?

Some of us cope by clinging to the idea that there is a Divine God with a plan and a vision that's vaster than anything we could develop on our own. This God has more power than we can conceive of--including legions of angels, angels that are there for us too.

Some of us cope with the scariness of death by marking the seasons--we're entering the autumnal season marked by many holidays that remind us that death is unavoidable and perhaps nearer than we'd like:  Halloween, All Saints, All Souls, and Día de los Muertos.  In some ways, today's constellation of holiday and feast day is a start to that season, that shift towards a much darker time of the year in terms of less daylight, at least in the northern hemisphere.  

Let us take a moment and notice as the light lingers.  Let us mark the shift.

Recording of September 27, 2026 Sermon

We had a great Sunday yesterday.  We had planned to have worship in the outdoor picnic pavilion on church grounds, and I suggested we include a pet blessing.  I'm glad we did it, but I'm not sure we'll do it again.  I had a brief youth sermon about authority and then sent them out to be the hands that blessed the pets, instead of bringing all the pets together in the front.

My adult sermon talked about pet blessings and how we make decisions as Christians, both individually and as Church.  I felt good about it.  It's not my most brilliant sermon, but it's solid.  If you'd like to see the recording, I posted it here on my YouTube channel, and if you'd like to read it, I created this post yesterday.

Sermon for Sunday, September 27, 2026

September 27, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Matthew 21:23-32




In the church of my youth, both childhood and teenage youth, we would not have had a pet blessing service. We didn’t have pets in church ever—it was before the days of emotional support animals, and the wider use of service dogs. I remember asking if our family dog would be in Heaven with us, and the adults hesitated—except for my 5th grade Sunday School teacher, a crusty old guy, who probably wasn’t as old as he is in my memory, who had no doubts when he told me that no, our pets did not have souls, and therefore could not go to Heaven.


These days, theologians might strike a more nuanced tone—Sunday School teachers too. Pastors declare that God loves all of creation, making it much harder to declare that humans have been put in place to have God’s favor exclusively. Some activists would remind us that as creatures with the power to reason, we have special responsibilities to take care of all of creation. Of course, that distinction raises other concerns about non-human animals with great reasoning and problem solving skills.


Our ancestors might be baffled at the idea of a pet blessing part of worship. Some of today’s worshippers might be wishing we had a pet blessing more than once a year—much the same we might should bless backpacks more than once a year—not so much because backpacks need more blessings, but because it’s such a tangible reminder to pray for our students and all who work with them in schools and after school.


We are not the first generation to wrestle with the question of what Christians should be doing—both in worship and in the world. In today’s Gospel, we see that these questions are there from the beginning. Even Jesus gets asked: “By whose authority are you doing what you are doing?” In other words, where did you get your training?


It’s always a good question to keep in mind as we try new approaches—or as we cling to old traditions. Some people who declare themselves to be church growth experts might advise us to try all sorts of activities to “see what sticks” and to keep doing whatever gets us the most enthusiastic response is what we should be doing. By that metric, we might ditch everything and only offer a fish fry dinner every Friday. And our bishop might have similar questions to those of the chief priests and elders in today’s Gospel—by whose authority are you making these decisions?


In meaningful ways, the chief priests and elders in the Gospel are doing due diligence. Let’s situate today’s Gospel in the timeline of the life of Jesus. Jesus has been attracting attention and followers, and he’s traveled to Jerusalem with the triumphal entry that we celebrate on Palm Sunday. We’re at the point after he’s thrown money changers out of the Temple, but before he’s hauled into court proceedings.


The chief priests and elders need to decide who Jesus is: some scruffy vagabond preacher who will go away or implode on his own? A rebel stirring up problems with both the Romans in charge and Jewish leadership? Is he a serious threat? Or – could he really be the Messiah?


Bible scholar N. T. Wright reminds us that the only one who would have more authority over the Temple than the chief priests and elders would be the Messiah. Jesus was certainly acting like he had more authority than the chief priests and elders, but many others had done that too, and it had not ended well. Then, as now, there are plenty of people who see themselves as the ones having the answers that no one else has received. But could Jesus really be the Messiah? Is he acting this way because God gave him authority?


In fact, this question is a central one that threads through the Gospel of Matthew, this question of how we know the Messiah and how we know that Jesus is the Messiah. I raise that question not to challenge anyone’s faith, but I ask it because it is a Gospel question.


Those of us gathered here have probably settled the Messiah question for ourselves or at least come to a comfortable unsettledness—that’s why we’re here, after all. But like first century Christians, we may be wrestling with how we live our faith as followers of the Messiah.


Jesus answers the question in today’s Gospel by reminding the listeners that God has sent messengers before, most recently in the form of John the Baptist. Some hear and change their lives. Some hear and agree, yet do not have the moral courage to change. What is the faithful response?


We hear the parable of the sons, and we understand the implications. It’s fine to proclaim Jesus as savior. But if our lives are the same as the guy down the street who lives his life in service to profits and money, what good is that proclamation? If a belief does not influence the way we live our lives, it is not a true belief.


Of course, ideally, we would be like neither of these sons. Our actions would match our words. I’ve said it before and it’s worth repeating: the most effective testimony that we can give is living faithful lives, where our actions match our faithful words.


We do that by considering who and what has come before us. We don’t throw out traditions just because they are old. We don’t adopt every new trend that comes our way, just because we hope to attract new members. When people ask, “By whose authority do you do these things,” we’ve done the discernment work, and we can answer. God looked at this creation before and after humans and pronounced it good. We ask God’s blessing on backpacks to remind us to pray for our students and their challenges. We ask God’s blessing on pets to remind us that God has provided us a supportive and loving creation that is good and good for us.


Jesus gives authority to those first believers, and it has been handed down through the ages to us. Let us use our gifts of wisdom and discernment as we decide what traditions to keep and what new ideas to develop. It is our responsibility for what we loose on earth will be loosed in Heaven and what we cling to on earth will be with us in Heaven.

More Thoughts on Housing

ELCA pastor Clint Schnekloth has been doing some interesting thinking and writing about housing and the Church's responsibility in this time of housing lack; this piece about the vacant (not abandoned so much as underused and underutilized) church space is his latest, and this piece has some specific examples of responses by individual churches.

My church is much smaller, both in terms of space and members, than Schnekloth's church in Arkansas.  We have had members who needed temporary housing, which has led me to ponder our own use of space.  We don't have an educational wing/building with unused space.  It would take some radical rethinking to transform any of the rooms below the sanctuary.  It's a country church, with the sanctuary and restrooms on the first floor, and in the basement, a kitchen, a small fellowship hall, two bathrooms (one with a walk-in shower), three classrooms, one storage area, and a pastor's office.

As a very part-time minister who is only at the church on Sunday, I would be happy to give up my office to be a one room sleeping area for someone in crisis, even if the crisis lasts weeks.  But would the person who comes after me be happy with that decision?

And let me also remember that the Church Council has more say in this than I do.  My church in Bristol is amazing in terms of the members being responsible for the vision and the mission.  They've had very temporary pastors for over a decade now.  I don't want to undercut them.