As a child, the most important people in my life were my pet

Hear, O seekers of innocence and faith, the words of Sean Scully, who declared with simplicity and reverence: “As a child, the most important people in my life were my pet rabbit and Mary, mother of Jesus.” Though these words appear curious, even strange, they hold within them a mirror of the soul of childhood, where the boundaries between the earthly and the divine, between the tender and the eternal, blur into a single truth: that love and devotion come not only from grand figures, but also from humble companions.

The child is a being of purity, yet unshaped by cynicism. To such a soul, the pet rabbit is not a mere animal, but a friend, a confidant, a gentle creature who listens in silence, comforts in presence, and teaches care through fragility. The bond between child and pet is sacred, for it is the first encounter with loyalty, with compassion, with the responsibility of nurturing another life. Scully reveals that this bond was not trivial—it was foundational, shaping his earliest sense of love and connection.

But alongside the rabbit, there was Mary, mother of Jesus—a figure of holiness, comfort, and protection. To the young, Mary is not a distant theological idea, but a maternal presence, a symbol of gentleness and mercy that offers shelter to the heart. In her, the child found reassurance that he was watched over, that life was not only fragile but also sacred. Thus, his world was framed by two presences: the rabbit of earth and the mother of heaven, one teaching tenderness through fur and fragility, the other teaching grace through prayer and spirit.

Consider, O listener, the story of Saint Francis of Assisi, who as a man found God not only in the chapel but also in the creatures of the forest. Birds, wolves, and lambs became his companions, and he called them his brothers and sisters. His love for the divine was intertwined with his love for animals. So too with Scully’s childhood: the pet rabbit and the Mother of Jesus were not opposites, but harmonies, together revealing that love and holiness dwell both in heaven and in the smallest corners of the earth.

The meaning of these words is therefore profound: that what shapes us most in our earliest years is not always what the world deems great. A small creature and a sacred figure may guide the heart more than the noise of society or the ambitions of men. They remind us that intimacy and faith, simplicity and sanctity, can exist side by side, shaping a child into a soul attuned to both compassion and reverence.

The lesson, O child of tomorrow, is this: do not scorn the small beginnings of love. Honor the creatures entrusted to you, for in their simplicity lies the first training of the heart. And honor the spiritual symbols that speak to you, for in them lies the strength to endure beyond childhood. Whether your Mary is found in faith, in a story, or in a guiding figure, hold fast to the sources of comfort that nourish your spirit.

Practical action follows: cultivate tenderness for the small and defenseless in your life—whether they are pets, children, or the forgotten souls of society. And alongside this, nourish your spirit with faith, reflection, or devotion, so that your compassion is rooted not only in the body but also in the soul. In doing this, you unite the earthly and the divine, just as Scully did in his childhood.

Therefore, remember his wisdom: “As a child, the most important people in my life were my pet rabbit and Mary, mother of Jesus.” It is a reminder that the guides of our hearts are not always kings, heroes, or scholars, but may be found in the softness of fur and in the embrace of the divine mother. Learn from this: that love is holy, whether it comes from earth or from heaven, and that the soul is shaped most deeply by those who comfort, protect, and teach us how to love.