All through the year, I have a visitor that is regularly in attendance on my back deck. It is a black squirrel that I have often described as the fattest squirrel I have ever seen. My nephew doesn’t like it when I say that though, and says, “You shouldn’t fat shame that poor squirrel.” Putting that aside though, this squirrel is absolutely huge. I saw him on the deck again this morning, and in his quiet squirrelly way, he preached me a sermon.
Now, squirrels are not everyone’s favourite creatures. They chatter at us from the trees, dig up the flowerbeds, and seem to have a particular fondness for anything we’d rather keep safe — birdseed, tulip bulbs, and in my case, the occasional tomato. One could say that if there’s an Olympic medal for persistence, the squirrels have already won the gold.
I watched my little squirrel friend the other day. He was clearly determined to break into the bird feeder I had so carefully “squirrel-proofed.” (A phrase that I now realize belongs in the same category as “jumbo shrimp” or “honest politician.”) For a full ten minutes he tried every possible angle — leaping, hanging upside down, even attempting what looked suspiciously like a three-point landing on the feeder. At last, with an acrobatic twist that would make a gymnast proud, he secured a single seed, scampered away, and then promptly came back for another.
As I watched him, I began to realize: there’s definitely a sermon here.
Jesus tells us in Matthew’s Gospel to “look at the birds of the air” and see how God provides for them. I wonder if He might also have said, “pay attention to the squirrels too.” For here is a creature that embodies persistence. The squirrel doesn’t give up at the first obstacle. He doesn’t stop because the feeder is designed against him. He keeps at it, trusting (or perhaps just instinctively knowing) that there will be something to eat if he just continues the work.
There is something profoundly theological in that. Our faith journey is often filled with obstacles — closed doors, difficult seasons, unanswered prayers. It is tempting to give up, to say, “this is too hard,” or “God must not be listening.” But the squirrel, in all his whiskered determination, reminds us that perseverance matters.
And more than that, the squirrel also trusts in abundance. He gathers acorns and buries them — so many that he cannot possibly find them all again. And yet, creation does not waste what he forgets. Those lost acorns become oak trees, spreading their branches wide, providing shade, shelter, and more acorns for generations of squirrels to come. God’s provision is not only enough — it overflows.
So perhaps the next time we see a squirrel darting across the lawn, or swinging wildly from a feeder, we can hear a little sermon preached to us. A sermon of persistence, of trust in provision, and of abundance that spills into blessing.
It seems even the squirrels have something to teach us about the Kingdom of God.
Amen.
Companion Prayer
Gracious and abundant God,
you speak to us not only through prophets and preachers,
but through the small, persistent voices of your creation.
Teach us to see your lessons in unlikely teachers —
in the chatter of squirrels, the patience of birds,
and the quiet rhythms of daily life.
Give us the perseverance to keep faith when the way is hard,
the trust to believe in your provision,
and the joy of knowing your abundance overflows
beyond what we can measure or imagine.
Through Christ our Lord,
Amen.