Pray for Squirrels
This morning I was brainstorming, thinking about our Church For All fundraiser. I don’t know about you, but looking at that number we’re aiming for feels more than a little daunting.
In my head was one thought: “Who could we possibly reach out to who can make a dent in that much money?” In that moment I recalled a nearly forgotten childhood memory of my Grandmother and my six-year-old self laughing and singing a song called Mississippi Squirrel Revival by Ray Stevens.
The song played in my head: “Seven deacons and the pastor got saved, and $25,000 was raised and FIFTY volunteered for missions in the Congo on the spot.”
I started laughing again at this song, to which I still know every word, and thought, “Maybe we need to pray for squirrels.”
When I was little, that song was just about the funniest thing I’d ever heard, and I made my Grandma replay it over and over, even though I didn’t understand half of what it said. The idea of a kid putting a squirrel into a shoebox and having it escape during Sunday service seemed like a great time to me.
This possibly anointed squirrel ran around the room, causing a panic and inciting people to leap over pews shouting “Hallelujah!”, feeling that the Holy Spirit was among them. If the Spirit wasn’t with them at the beginning of that service, it was there by the end as they fervently sought the Lord. Those people were in a “fight for survival… that broke out in revival!”
Being an adult now, I went over the lyrics with a new eye. Is this an appropriate song for a follower of Christ? What is it really about?
The idea of God using “a half-crazed, Mississippi squirrel” to bring people back to Christ drove it home for me: God will go to great lengths to get our attention. How many times before has God wanted me to pay attention while I went about my busy life, not focused enough on Him to listen… until He did something to REALLY get my attention?
He didn’t send any squirrels my way, but there have been moments where God demanded I take notice, sometimes in very comical ways. There were definitely instances where it felt like He bonked me on the head and said, “Hey, over here kiddo.”
What would it take to get our attention these days and get us moving with the kind of fervor that I was drawn to as a child? What would it take for our local businesses to take notice? What would compel us to leap over pews and shout “Hallelujah!”?
A squirrel might do the trick, but we have a lot of work to do. An army of squirrels, perhaps? If my squirrel friend was a metaphor of how God moves in this world to fulfill His plans, then maybe He could use US in the same way.
What if we were all so enthusiastic about God’s plan that we spoke to every business we walked into from here to Buffalo and told them about our project? What if these businesses heard about it from so many different people that they wanted to be a part of it?
What if God is asking all of us to get out there and stir hearts into action? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating… um… squirrel song behavior… maybe we just consider ourselves messengers for a plan that God has put on our hearts.
With that kind of faith, maybe we could leap obstacles as if they were church pews and shout “Hallelujah!” as we surpassed our goal by miles.
I think if my Grandma was still with us, she would smile, knowing that I carry this memory after nearly 40 years, and she’d be proud to know that it has inspired me to think differently about what we’re trying to do. That memory, one wrapped in love, is a reflection of an even broader love that we can all access through the Holy Spirit.
Unfortunately, our new church home cannot be accessed that easily. Tonight, I pray that the Holy Spirit might move in our church and in our communities in such a powerful way that they write silly songs about us that children can laugh at someday.
They would call us crazy… until they realized we had answered our own question. Who DO we know who can make a dent in our goals?
Our Father can do it. Jesus can do it. The Holy Spirit can do it.
Hallelujah! Pray for squirrels.
