Still In Training
Still In Training
by Michael P. Evans, MDiv, PhD
IOne of the first things you notice at Open Cathedral is the dogs. Sunday service at UN Plaza, near the dog park, draws a lively share of canine companions, some in strollers, adding chaos and grace to the gathering. Worship here comes with the sights, sounds, and smells of the city’s dogs—and, for the lucky, the tactile joy of a friendly muzzle.
I write this on October 4, the Feast of St. Francis, our city’s namesake and patron saint of animals. Across the Christian world, churches hold annual blessings of the animals, welcoming pets into sacred spaces. But at Open Cathedral, the animals are here every week, belonging without ceremony or exception.
That feels fitting for a ministry born in San Francisco, a city known to celebrate its dogs. Yet there’s more to it than civic charm. There’s spiritual wisdom in the companionship of animals. At Stanford Hospital’s inpatient psychiatry units, where I serve as chaplain, a golden retriever named Watson works as a therapy dog. Watson has an uncanny ability to calm even the most agitated patient. I often joke—only half-jokingly—that he’s the best spiritual-care provider on the unit.
Science supports what many of us feel intuitively. HeartMath research shows that human and animal hearts can synchronize—a measurable rhythm of shared calm. The bond between species is, quite literally, an exchange of energy.
That same energy is alive at Open Cathedral. The dogs that gather each Sunday are not decorations; they are emotional lifelines. For many Night Ministry serves—those experiencing homelessness—they offer constancy, protection, and affection amid trauma and instability. They embody metta, loving-kindness in motion.
Of course, not every dog radiates serenity. On a recent Sunday, one young pup had a very different sort of spiritual experience. His name is RC, short for Rice Crispie. RC, less than a year old, is likely part Pit Bull or Boxer—all muscle, enthusiasm, and noise. Throughout the service he barked, lunged toward other dogs, and tugged furiously at his leash despite a vest identifying him as an “emotional support animal.”
His human, JD, a longtime member and usher, was mortified. A thin white man in his fifties with buzzed gray hair, blue eyes, and work boots, he wore a black San Francisco Night Ministry T-shirt. He spoke openly about living with anxiety and depression. That day, as RC pulled in every direction, JD looked exasperated. “He’s still in training,” he kept saying. “I swear this dog ramps up my anxiety.”
It was a scene any dog owner—or any human—could recognize: love and frustration, loyalty and embarrassment, all tangled together in a leash of grace. JD apologized again and again, but I assured him that I didn’t mind RC. The puppy finally paused long enough for me to snap a photo—JD wary, RC proud, both a little wild and wonderfully alive.
RC wasn’t the calm, compliant support animal his vest promised. But that’s okay. At Open Cathedral, belonging isn’t conditional on perfect behavior. Whether it’s a restless dog or an anxious heart, there’s room here for what’s still in training.
The Feast of St. Francis demonstrates that holiness is found in relationship, in the shared life of creation, even when it’s messy. Francis saw animals as fellow creatures praising God each in their own way. I like to think he would love Open Cathedral, with its barking, its chaos, its tender collisions of dog and human and prayer.
Like JD and RC, we’re all still in training—learning to trust, to listen, to love. And grace meets us there: in motion, in noise, in imperfection.
Stories like JD and RC’s remind us what belonging looks like
at San Francisco Night Ministry.
In the midst of chaos and compassion, we see grace in motion—between a restless dog and his human. This is what your support makes possible: worship in the plaza, chaplains walking the streets, voices answering the Care Line, and spaces where love welcomes what’s still in training.
Your gift keeps this circle of care alive for those searching for connection, calm, or simply a moment of being seen. Whether it’s a neighbor with a leash in hand or a heart in need of rest, each encounter matters—and each gift matters, too.
Please consider giving today. Together, we can keep showing up for a city always learning how to love.
