An Apology for Bringing the Squirrel into Church

Dear Members of First Self-Righteous Church,

I write this with a humbled heart, a sore back, and a memory that replays in vivid, chaotic detail. I must apologize for bringing that squirrel into your church last Sunday. Every shriek, hallelujah, and blush-worthy confession began with my decision. I take full responsibility.

It seemed harmless at the time. I’d been asked to remove the squirrel from my home. I thought a quick stop in the church would keep it safe while I planned its release. I thought it would behave. Every assumption evaporated the moment the door opened.

The squirrel moved faster than any creature I have ever seen. It darted across the aisles, over pews with a precision. I tried soft words and gentle gestures. The squirrel responded with supreme indifference, bounding higher, moving around hymnals, and evading me like it had rehearsed this moment its entire life.

Then it happened. There sat Sister Bertha Better-Than-You and she rose from her pew hands waving in the air. The squirrel had jumped straight onto her lap, crossing her garter and racing up her thigh. She jumped to her feet and shouted, “Lord have mercy, something’s got a hold on me!” Every eye turned toward her; mouths fell open; the room transformed and the congregation started to repent of their sins. I could barely breathe.

Sister Bertha’s confessions began immediately. She spoke of sins small and large, that would make even a sailor blush. She admitted cookie thefts meant for charity, improper thoughts during prayer, and other embarrassments that should have stayed a secret and she even started naming names. Every word unleashed a wave of laughter, awe, and disbelief.

The congregation reacted as if divine fire had entered. Adults stood, hands raised. Children squealed. Hymnals flew. Chairs toppled in protest. The choir sang louder, higher, and with uncontainable gusto. The squirrel, apparently pleased, danced atop the pulpit and organ bench, triggering more confessions, shouts of glory, and uncontrollable screaming.

Seven deacons and the pastor were saved that morning. The pastor overwhelmed by what he perceived as the Spirit moving with extraordinary power, flung his arms wide and declared a revival that scattered his sermon notes. People hugged strangers, wiped tears, and praised God loudly enough to rattle the windows. I crouched behind the altar, wishing for invisibility, a net, and wisdom to prevent any future squirrel-inspired awakenings.

Every attempt I made to catch the squirrel only fueled the chaos. The congregation interpreted my moves as divine signals. Someone shouted “Alleluia” when it slid across a pew; another declared “Glory to God” as it vaulted to the choir loft. I was tangled in hymnals and stared, helpless, as the room erupted in holy laughter, tears, and astonishment.

I apologize to Sister Bertha for the squirrel’s intrusion on her dignity, the force that propelled her to her feet, and the confession marathon that will live in legend. I apologize to the deacons, pastor, and congregation for the chaos, overturned hymnals, and confusion. I apologize to every child who screamed in delight, every adult who nearly fell out of a pew, and even the squirrel, whose tiny paws caused an unforgettable morning.

I promise to prevent a recurrence. I will secure doors, check windows, and treat all four-legged mischief-makers as potential revival agents from a safe distance.

In conclusion, I offer this apology with humility, sincere regret, and a smile remembering the improbable joy that unfolded. I recognize the squirrel’s role in igniting a revival of astonishing energy. I acknowledge my poor judgment, my contribution to the chaos, and my inability to predict what would happen once those paws hit the pews.

Please accept this as a declaration of responsibility, acknowledgment of humor, and a hope that the memory of the squirrel remains a story told with laughter rather than fear. I will carry this lesson forward with care, caution, and perhaps a bit of awe for the divine timing of tiny creatures in sacred spaces.

With deepest apologies and enduring respect,

Your repentant church member

Author's Note: If you have never heard the song by Ray Stevens Mississippi Squirrel Revival you have to click on the YouTube video below and listen to the words.