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“For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry” by Christopher Smart (1722-1771)

“For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry” is an excerpted poem from Smart’s much longer (though now sadly existing in only fragments) poem cycle, Jubilate Agno. It is a wonderful poem, at first glance a naive consideration of the poet’s cat, but upon deeper inspection, a joyous reveling in his cat’s creatureliness and a meditation on how a creature lives out its vocation before God. Jeoffry is a cat, made by God to be a cat, and so he lives out his calling by being the best cat he can be, by doing all that cats do, and thus, God tells him he is a “good cat.” There are echoes of Psalm 148 in this poem, and considering that yesterday was Earth Day, it serves as a good occasion to contemplate the various creatures God has given us as neighbors upon this earth, those “other nations,” as Henry Beston called them in The Outermost House, “caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth.


For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider’d God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day’s work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he’s a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord’s poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually—Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master’s bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God’s light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.


Benjamin Britten set Jubliate Agno to music in 1943, and included “For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry” in the settings, albeit vastly truncated.

Sermon for Maundy Thursday, April 9, 2020 (Matthew 26:17-30)

“Altarpiece of the Holy Sacrament” (1458) by Dieric Bouts (1420-1475). M-Museum, Louvain. Public Domain.

Originally preached/written for Emmaus Lutheran Church, Dorsey, Illinois.


In the name of Jesus, amen.

“Why is this night different from all other nights?”  This is the question often asked by the youngest child at a Jewish Passover Seder meal.  Perhaps you’ve attended one or been to a Maundy Thursday Seder service yourself and heard this.  “Why is this night different from all other nights?” What makes this night so different from every night of the year?  What are we commemorating? What are we celebrating? What is happening on this night, this Holy Thursday?

Perhaps you learned about the Passover questions from Shari Lewis’ Passover Surprise like I did when I was a kid. Also, Robert Guillaume’s song about the ten plagues of Egypt is awesome.
“The Signs on the Door” (ca. 1896-1902), by James Jacques Joseph Tissot (1836-1902). The Jewish Museum, New York. Public Domain.

This night was a night that was different for the Jews.  It was night of the feast of the Passover, when the Jews commemorated the night on which God broke Pharaoh’s resolve to keep His people, the Israelites, from leaving slavery, by killing the firstborn of every family in Egypt.  The Israelites were spared, however, if they did what God directed them to do: they were told to slaughter a lamb and paint their doorposts with its blood, and then spend the night feasting on it while waiting up, ready to leave with staff in hand.  That night, God would pass overhead—pass over their homes—and seeing the blood on the doorposts, would leave them be. Anyone else, however, woke the following morning to find the firstborn of the household dead, both animals and people. This plague on the firstborn, God’s final judgment on Egypt broke Pharaoh, and he let the Israelites leave Egypt for Canaan.  It was at this Passover that God effected the salvation of His people from the Egyptians and began leading them out to the land He promised their forefathers. At Passover, the life of the Israelites began anew. God made a new covenant with them following His bringing them out—they would be His people, and He would be their God. And so at the Passover Seder, the Jews recalled (and recall to this day) God’s work in saving them from slavery and delivering them to their inheritance.  This night, then, is the night of the Passover and the night of remembering what God had done for Israel.

But it should be said that when God brought the Israelites out of Egypt and slew Pharaoh and his army, the Israelites still needed saving.  They did not behave like a people chosen by God when they left Egypt. They grumbled. They complained. They made idols and worshiped them rather than the God who had made a covenant promise with them.  They were sinful, and many died as a result of their sin, like Korah and his people, who God condemned to be swallowed up by the earth. Even though they were saved from slavery in a foreign land, they still needed salvation from sin, death, and hell.  Indeed, Israel’s history following the Exodus out of Egypt is nothing but a litany of sinful behavior, of infidelity and violence and murder. Their story mirrors the story of all of humanity. Giving into sin, they were unfaithful to the God who saved them, giving themselves over to the worship of strange gods, to child sacrifice, and to forgetting the laws God had given them.  They “socially distanced” themselves from their God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and, while they were sometimes coaxed back to Him over the years by the words of prophets and the deeds of kings, they invariably kept turning away, turning inward.

“And There Was a Great Cry in Egypt” (1898) by Andrew Hacker (1858-1919). Private Collection. Public Domain.

But all the while that Israel was unfaithful and ruled by sin, God was faithful to them.  He had a plan that would save them from their continual wickedness and unfaithfulness, a plan to destroy the power of sin in their lives, forever.  And that involved His becoming a man, one of us, to die for the sins of all mankind and to rise again, triumphant over them.

And so this night is different from all other nights because it was on this night, some one-thousand, nine-hundred-ninety years ago that the incarnate Son of God, observed this Passover feast, commemorating the work that His Father had accomplished for His chosen people, saving them from slavery and leading them to a place where he made a covenant with them that they would be His people and He would be their God.  But this night was very different from those other so different nights. Because on this night, God the Son would make a new covenant with his people, to save them from their sins. He “took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.”  And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

“The Last Supper” (1638) from the Orebygård Manor chapel altarpiece, by Henrik Werner. Nationalmuseet, Copenhagen. Photograph by Victor Valore, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

And it was in this covenant that He foretold the benefit of His coming death and instituted the medicine of immortality, giving His disciples and His whole church a sacrament by which their faith might be strengthened and through which they would receive the benefit of his sacrifice: eternal life, won for them through his death and resurrection.  His body and blood would be given up on the cross for the salvation of all people; His body and blood would be holy food for those who trust in Him for that salvation, medicine to feed their faith 

You and I have often, like the Israelites of old, socially distanced ourselves from God.  We’ve willingly violated God’s laws and rejected His promises toward us, instead seeking out illicit pleasures, following our own wills, and chasing after the false gods of money, possessions, sex, and power.  And if we didn’t chase those things actively, we have certainly chased after them in our hearts and in our thoughts. And when we do, we condemn ourselves; we seek our own destruction. In our sin, we seek our own death.

But thanks be to God, He did not abandon us.  He came and lived the perfect life we could not.  He took our punishment upon Himself and died in our place, and through His death and resurrection, we have received forgiveness of sins and eternal life.  And when we trust in his death and resurrection and we receive the Holy Sacrament of His body and blood, instituted for us and the whole church on this night, our faith is strengthened, our souls are fed, and we are given the assurance of eternal life with him.  We know our sins are forgiven, and we can live aright. That is why this night, for the church, is different from all other nights. On this night, Holy Thursday, Maundy Thursday, the night when Christ told his disciples to love one another, the Son of God gave us a new covenant and promised to feed us with Himself to strengthen us in body and soul.

“The Last Supper” (1886-1894), by James Tissot (1836-1902). Brooklyn Museum. Public Domain.

And of course, this particular night is different from all other nights, certainly different from all other nights we’ve experienced.  This year, during Holy Week of 2020, the SARS-CoV-19 virus has forced us to not be able to meet together to worship God and receive His gifts.  The virus and the regulations around it prevent us from coming together for a time, and we don’t know when we will be able to worship God together again.  We don’t know when we’ll be able to receive the sacrament together again. But during this time of forced isolation, we can still put our trust in Christ’s work on the cross.  We can still trust in the words of the covenant He made with us for our salvation, that by His body and blood the whole world will be redeemed. We can trust in His Word, His promises in Scripture.  We can look to our baptisms and trust in them, remembering that we are washed in the blood of the Lamb who died on the cross at Calvary, and that nothing— “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39).  During this time of separation, we can remember all these things and put our hope and trust in Christ our Lord, who has redeemed us by His blood. We can trust that He will preserve us in the faith and hold us in His hand, regardless of what happens. And we can know that we are His now and forever and rest secure in that knowledge, looking forward to the time when we can come together again to receive His gifts and worship Him.  Let us pray that that day comes soon. Christ has redeemed you. Amen.

New Project Worth Watching: The Lutheran And Religious Art Artist Database

Click the image to access the database!

My friend, Georgie Dee, has put together an online database for Lutheran and religious artists around the world. If you are involved in making ecclesiastical art, or know someone who is, please add yourself to the database or pass it along to your artist friend. It would be great to build a comprehensive database of artists as a service to the global church!

Also, if you’re interested in learning more about this project and some great artwork, or want to talk to some great artists, check out the Lutheran and Religious Art Facebook Group (I’m a moderator, for what it’s worth).

Face of Ghent Altarpiece’s original Lamb revealed in recent restoration work

The image here is from the article linked below, but the difference here is quite striking. The Van Eyck’s original lamb had a much more anthropomorphic face, and thus perhaps pointed more to the nature of the Lamb of Revelation 5 than the more naturalistic, overpainted lamb that we assumed was the original for so long. It definitely gives us something to think about with regard to the original intent for the altarpiece’s viewing.

Sermon for the First Sunday after Epiphany, January 12, 2020 (Matthew 3:13-17) – The Baptism of Jesus

“Triptych of Jan Des Trompes” (1505) by Gerard David (ca. 1450-1523). Groeningmuseum. Public Domain.

Originally preached at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Herndon, Virginia.

Sermon Audio from Good Shepherd Lutheran Church

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

“Jesus’ Baptism” (2008) by Richard Buswell, Lynchburg Stained Glass. Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Herndon, Virginia. Personal photograph.

Today in the church year, we commemorate the baptism of Jesus.  We’re blessed here at Good Shepherd because we have a visual representation of this event that we can contemplate here in the sanctuary when we think about what we heard in the Gospel lesson this morning.  If you’d all take a look to your right, you’ll see the window depicting Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan by John—-Jesus standing in the water (presumably after coming up out of the water after being immersed), and John trickling water over Jesus.  And then the Holy Spirit, descending in the likeness of a dove, coming down to point out Jesus to the crowds gathered there.  There’s also the fun addition of a fish jumping among the cattails, no doubt disturbed by the act of baptism.  But all of the details Matthew highlights in his Gospel are here for us to view and think about and see in full color.

I’ve always thought that it’s interesting how God the Father uses the Holy Spirit to point out Jesus to us in this reading from Matthew’s Gospel.  The fourth century church father and bishop of Constantinople, John Chrysostom—-or, ”John the Golden-Mouthed,” so-called on account of his beautiful and insightful sermons as well as his sharp-but-necessary words for the ruling elite of the day—-writes in his homily on Matthew 3:13-17 that God did this to point the crowds assembled at the Jordan to the One to whom they should be paying attention.  Chrysostom says that God points out Jesus in this way because, for the crowds, John the Baptist was the center of attention.  John the Baptist is the son of a priest; he was born to a woman who was famously unable to bear children, and he looks like an Old Testament prophet—-he’s wearing camel’s hair garments, he has  wild hair and beard, and he eats locusts and wild honey.  He looks like Elijah.  Surely he’s the one that is promised; surely he looks like a messiah might look.  But instead, when Jesus is baptized, the heavens are opened and the Holy Spirit descends upon him like a dove, and the Father’s voice booms out: “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”  Elsewhere in Scripture, when God says this, he follows it up with a command: “Listen to him!”  But here, perhaps, we ought to watch him, and see just what it is he is doing.

“St. John Chrysostom preaching before the Empress Eudoxia,” Jean-Paul Laurens (1838-1921)

And what is he doing here?  He is being baptized.  We see it in our window well enough.  Jesus goes to John at the Jordan and requests to be baptized by him.  But unlike the others present at the Jordan, John knows who Jesus is.  Jesus is pretty nondescript; to anyone there, he’s just some random Galilean carpenter, but in reality, Jesus is the one whose sandals John is not fit to carry.  He’s the one who should be baptizing John.  He’s the Son of Man coming with his winnowing fork in his hand to separate the wheat from the chaff; he’s the one laying his axe to the root of the fruitless vines, who will be doling out God’s judgment on the wicked, and he desires to be baptized?  Jesus doesn’t need to repent of anything—-he doesn’t need to be warned to change his ways because the kingdom of heaven is at hand because he’s bringing the kingdom.  He doesn’t need to be baptized by John at all because he’s God incarnate, the perfectly sinless man.  So why does he travel all the way to the Jordan from Galilee to see John to be baptized?

“The Baptism of Jesus” (1546) by Lucas Cranach the Younger (1515-1586). Cleveland Museum of Art. Public Domain.

The short answer is this: Jesus came to the Jordan River to be baptized because, in doing so, he was taking our place.  He, the sinless man, was being baptized in the stead of a sinful people.  John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance.  It was a baptism where those who came to him did so to show that they realized the weight of their sins under God’s judgment and were repenting of them so that they would be ready for when the Messiah came.  The whole world of sinners literally came out to John to be baptized—-soldiers, tax collectors, the legalistic Pharisees, and even the Sadducees—they all came to the banks of the Jordan to be baptized and to confess their sins, to lay themselves at the mercy of God who was coming soon.  Had we been there and heard John’s preaching, we would likely have come to be baptized, too.  John’s preaching convicts us of our sins.  But John’s baptism did not impart the promise of eternal life to those who came to him; it was not “one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.”  Instead, it directed those who came to John to trust in the One who would save them, and it urged them to confess their sins to God and trust that he would forgive them when he came.  And now, the One himself had come to be baptized as well.  He would be cleansed in the waters, too, just as those he was coming for were.  It was only right to do so, in order to “fulfill all righteousness.”

And what does that mean, “to fulfill all righteousness”?  The theologian N.T. Wright writes the following in his book, Matthew for Everyone“But if he, Jesus, is to [fulfill God’s plan], this is how he must do it: by humbly identifying himself with God’s people, by taking their place, sharing their penitence, living their life and ultimately dying their death.”[1]

Jesus’ baptism is his first step toward doing this in his public ministry.  Once he has been baptized, Jesus will go do battle with Satan in the wilderness and then begin his ministry to the people, preaching the Gospel of the coming kingdom of heaven.  And when he is baptized, what he does in the Jordan prefigures what he does for his people all throughout his ministry, culminating in his sacrifice and death on the cross.  He sees his people—not just the people of his day, but us as well—condemned under the law, shown to be the sinners that they are, facing God’s judgment, and he goes down into the water in their place.  He not only models for them what they should do, but he also identifies himself with them fully.  He becomes their representative—he embodies, in himself, all of Israel, and indeed, all people condemned under the law for their sin.  Aubrey Taylor writes the following in The Lexham Geographic Commentary on the Gospels:

Therefore, when Jesus is baptized under John, it is perhaps best understood in light of his role as a “representative of Israel.” Passing through the waters of the Jordan, in harmony with his ancestors and the hopeful pilgrims of his own day, he participates in the same symbolic act that characterized John’s ministry. Jesus identifies himself with corporate Israel, its calling, its failings, and its hope—and participates in a movement that sought to usher in the kingdom of God.[2] 

“The Baptism of Christ” (1803) by William Blake (1757-1827), Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. Public Domain.

Jesus’ baptism prefigures his being made “sin that knew no sin, that we might become his righeousness” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

In his baptism, Jesus identifies himself with sinners condemned under the law, confessing their transgressions, and he identifies with them so strongly that he will again, at a later time, take the place of all sinners and feel the full force of the law in his death.  When the Holy Spirit descends upon him like a dove, it is God’s way of pointing everyone who sees Jesus to see him not just as a fellow person being baptized, but as the One who saw humanity in its sins and joined it, sharing in the whole human experience and ultimately, redeeming it.  When God says, “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased,” he wants those present at his baptism, as well as all of us, now, to see Jesus for who he is, the One who will save us from our sins, who will fight sin, death, and the Devil which all attack, entice, harm, and kill.  When Jesus was baptized, he indicated to the whole world and all people that he would bear the sins of the world upon himself and drown them under the waters of death, returning to life again, victorious.

“The Baptism of Jesus” (1485/1486) by Jean Colombe (1430-1493), from Très Riches Heures du Jean Duc de Berry, folio 109v. Condé Museum. Public Domain.

And this is why our baptism differs from the one Jesus receives.  When Jesus died and rose again, what Chrysostom calls the “Jewish baptism,” the baptism John practiced, ceased to be a washing of repentance and became a washing of the forgiveness of sins given to us by Christ.  In Christ, this baptism ceased to be symbolic: it became a sacrament, where God’s word bonded to water brings the Holy Spirit, forgiveness of sins, and eternal life, that life which Jesus won for us in his death and resurrection.  When we are baptized, as Chrysostom puts it, “also this, [the opening of the heavens] is done, God calling you to your country on high, and persuading you to have nothing to do with earth.  And even if you see not, yet never doubt it.”  When you and I were baptized into Christ, not only did we renounce sin and the devil, we were forgiven in Christ, once and for all, and the heavens opened for us, also.  We were made children of God, citizens of the kingdom of Heaven because Christ identified himself with us, took our place, and died and rose to save us from our sins.

If you look back at our baptism window, you’ll notice a detail that doesn’t match Matthew’s text:  John is pouring water on Jesus’ head with his hand when Matthew says, Jesus is submerged and then reemerges from the water—John had apparently dunked him.  Perhaps John also poured water over Jesus’ head, too, but the text does not specify.  But I think this artistic liberty is important for us, that Jesus is receiving a baptism like ours in this image, that like every adult and baby baptized in this sanctuary, he, too, is having water poured over him.  This image of Jesus reminds us that our Lord, when he came among us those many years ago, loved us so much that he took our place and went through literal hell for us that we might be saved from our sins and the judgment of God, and live to be his own redeemed children.  Jesus Christ was baptized out of his love for us and was proclaimed the Son of God at his baptism; we, baptized in his love, have been made God’s own children, sons and daughters of the King. 

Sometimes, we forget just how great of a gift this baptism in Christ is.  Just the other day, one of my friends from seminary (he’s a pastor now) had the privilege to conduct his grandfather’s funeral.  In the car ride home from the grave site, he was speaking to his father, who had never been baptized.  He and his father spoke about life, death, and the work of Christ.  My friend asked his father if he desired to be baptized, and his father said yes, he did, and that afternoon, my friend baptized his father in the kitchen sink, speaking the promises of God in Christ to him, and bringing him into Christ’s fold.  My friend’s sorrow at the death of his grandfather that day turned into joy, because now, his father’s now has the assurance that his sins are forgiven.  His father is now a recipient of the promise of the kingdom of Heaven which is now here, brought to us when Christ died and rose again for us.

Martin Luther once said, “when you wash your face, remember your baptism.”  Your baptism is an everlasting promise of God’s love for you.  But also remember, as John Chrysostom said, that, when we see Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan, we see God pointing “out to us our Deliverer from all evils,” through whom the Spirit is given to convey “the adoption to all the world’s offspring in common” as children of God.  In baptism in Christ, we have been made God’s children, and we bear the indelible mark of him who made us so.  Amen!


[1] Wright, N.T.. Matthew for Everyone, Part 1: Chapters 1-15 (The New Testament for Everyone) (pp. 21-22). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.

[2] Aubrey L. Taylor, “Wilderness Events: The Baptism and Temptation of Jesus,” in Lexham Geographic Commentary on the Gospels, ed. Barry J. Beitzel and Kristopher A. Lyle, Lexham Geographic Commentary (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2016), 57–58.