"And so we are going to establish a school for the service of the Lord. In founding it we hope to introduce nothing harsh or burdensome. But if a certain strictness results from the dictates of equity for the amendment of vices or the preservation of charity, do not be at once dismayed and fly from the way of salvation, whose entrance cannot but be narrow (Matt. 7:14). For as we advance in the religious life and in faith, our hearts expand and we run the way of God's commandments with unspeakable sweetness of love. Thus, never departing from His school, but persevering in the monastery according to His teaching until death, we may by patience share in the sufferings of Christ (1 Peter 4:13) and deserve to have a share also in His kingdom." - the Prologue to the Rule of St. Benedict

     I miss the time when I knew everything. Most of us have those times in our lives. Usually they come during the teenage years or in our early 20's. But pastors have another chance to know everything. It happens when we graduate from seminary.

     We enter seminary in a state of excitement which soon gives way to uttter confusion. There is so much to learn and a good deal of it is hard to learn, at least for a 40 something brain.If you don’t believe me try learning Hebrew after you’ve been out of school for a long time!  We learn all about the sin of envy when we watched the seniors, aka students in their third and last year of study. They knew everything! At least it seemed that way. And when we became seniors we thought we knew everything too! Wrong!

     Our real awakening comes when we are first ordained. That seems especially true for those who are solo or senior pastors. It took me about a week, or less, to figure out I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. All that learning from seminary was good, useful, and necessary.  But I found I still knew so little that it was close to nothing.  I’ve learned a lot since then, but I still have so much to learn that I will never learn it all, not by a longshot.

     When I first traveled to my spiritual home, St. Benedict’s Abbey, I thought I was going to meet the people who did know everything. Imagine my surprise when it was emphasized that a monastery is not the home of spiritual giants but beginners in the faith. They followed a way that Benedict described as “a School of the Lord’s Service;” a place where beginners strive to grow in their relationship with God.

     There is a certain relief in realizing that monks have the same problems and temptations as everyone else.  But at the same time there is a reminder that they also have the Rule as a constant reminder of their need for constant conversion; falling and getting up again and again but persisting in walking Christ’s Way.

For me an Oblate of St. Benedict’s Abbey, there Rule is also a reminder of how little I know about the Way; how little I know about my own walk with God.     Thank you Father Benedict for your reminder of how little I know. It’s the best reminder I know to keep my mind constantly open to learn and grow, as I study in your school.

    It started about fourteen years ago. Our neighbor’s daughter and her husband brought a cat carrier into our house to give us the kittens they’d promised us. When the carrier opened, the first one out was a grey tabby cat named Tigger. We didn’t think Tigger, or his brother Velvet were kittens at all. They looked like full grown cats! But their continued growth proved they were indeed kittens when they arrived.

    We immediately saw Tigger was a talkative cat. He wasn’t five feet from the carrier when he started to tell us off. He never stopped talking from that moment on.  Tigger was also a beautiful cat. His coat was soft, sleek, and beautifully patterned. His whiskers were two toned, each one being both black and white.

    It didn’t take us long to fall in love with “the boys.” They filled the house with love, play, and kitten races. Tigger’s brother would try to throw him off in a race by going around a box or two. But Tigger cleared each obstacle with a four foot plus vertical jump, from a standing position. And at the top of each jump, there was visible hang time.

    More cats have joined us since Tigger arrived at our house. The two cats that live at the manse with me almost worshiped him. All I had to do to get them into the carrier was to tell them they were going to see Tigger. But even with five cats in the house, Tigger stayed Tiggerish. He never stopped running and he would often drag a long string around the house, howling at the top of his lungs all the while. We called the string his blankie. When the blankie vanished, Tigger simply adopted other toys to use for the same purpose.

    I could go on and on about Tigger. He was affectionate, with a purr as loud as his howl. He always recognized my daughter, and ran to the door to greet her, even if she had been away at school for months. I used to tease him by telling him he was the best Tigger in the whole house. That was really not correct. To us, he was the best Tigger in the whole world. He will always be in my heart.

    A few months ago Tigger was diagnosed with cancer. Each time I traveled away to the town where I work, I thought I would never be able to hold him and pet him again. But he was always ready to be loved when I returned home . . . until today.  Tigger died in the vet’s office this morning, while being petted by two members of his family.

    I cannot believe God would make such creatures, ones who show forth God’s love with their whole being, only to let them end. I believe I will see, hold, and pet, Tigger again. The Irish say those who go before us live in the “many colored land,” a place where occasionally they stray to the edge of the meadow to watch us here. Those of us who love pets, also speak of the rainbow bridge.

"When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown. "

    This is getting hard to write Tigger. The screen keeps blurring and the reason is not found anywhere but in my eyes. God be with you Tigger. Wait at the bridge for us. And Tigger, you’re the best Tigger in all of God’s creation!

     "Idleness is the enemy of the soul; and therefore the brethren ought to be employed in manual labor at certain times, at others, in devout reading." - Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 48

    It has been a long time since I've written here. There is a good reason, and a bad reason for that.  Both reasons involve the Benedictine watchwords, "Ora et labora," prayer and work.

    In early March, I began a full time interim of two  yoked congregations. Things have been really busy. That wasn't really a surprise as I knew that being part time pastor for two churches would turn out to be at least one and a half of the work of a full time pastor. What was the surprise was the way it changed my prayer life. Being this busy has made me more intentional about the hours of prayer. And the combination of work and prayer have begun to merge.  I think I am beginning to understand, and taking a small step toward the rhythm Benedict intended.

    But Benedict also preached moderation in all things. And when I saw how long it had been since I posted on this blog, I knew my balance was still a bit off. So Father Benedict, I confess I have let one part of work push out others. I intend to mend that in the future.

   "Let the brethren who are to be sent on a journey recommend themselves to the prayers of all the brotherhood and of the Abbot. And after the last prayer at the Work of God, let a commemoration always be made for the absent brethren."

   "On the day that the brethren return from the journey, let them lie prostrate on the floor of the oratory at all the Canonical Hours, when the Work of God is finished, and ask the prayers of all on account of failings, for fear that the sight of evil or the sound of frivolous speech should have surprised them on the way."- Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 67

    Thoughts of journeys have been present in my mind for several months. My current inteim pastorale is almost complete. On December 27th, it will be time to pack up my suitcase and to take up my pilgrim's staff, and be on my way. Interim's are pilgrims. While leaving those we have grown to love is always painful, the pain is balanced by the wonder of where the Spirit might next lead. My suitcase and pilgrim's staff always sit beside the pulpit. They tell the world, I am always ready to begin my journey. That journey will be accompanied by the prayers of the congregation I am leaving, the one where I am ariving, and my sister and brother Benedictines who constantly hold me in their hearts and prayers.

    Recently, another type of journey has penetrated my life. Two weeks ago, my mother entered her last pilgrimage, the one into what some term the "undiscovered country." For at 6:45 pm CST, on November 10th, she closed her eyes for the last time. Two days later my wife's cousin, Rev. John Bachman, left to accompany her on that journey.

    Unlike the journey I am always ready to begin as an interim pastor,   I was ony somewhat  ready for John's journey. it was expected, but it still was painful. My mother's departure was not at all expected. I would be untruthful if I told you that her departure has not deeply effected me. In fact it has occasioned grief such I have not known for years. But in the midst of my grief, there is hope. It is a hope spoken of by Mary Pickford as she described the voyage of a tall ship.

    "I am standing  upon the seashore.  A ship at my side  spreads her white sails  in the morning  breeze  and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object  of beauty and strength,  and I stand and watch her  until at length she is only a ribbon or white cloud, just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.” Then someone at my side  says,  "There,  she's gone!" 

    “Gone where?  Gone from my sight; that is all.  She is just as large  in mast and hull and spar  as she was  when she left my side  and just as able to bear her load of living freight, to the place of destination. Her diminished size  is in me, not in her;  just at the moment  when someone at my side says,  "There!  She's gone!"  there are other voices  ready to take up the glad shout,  "There she comes!"  And that,  friends,  is dying.”

    Grief never goes away. After awhile it penetrates one's life less and less, but it never truly disappears. Until the day when I myself board that ship, I will grieve for the death of my mother Marie, and for Pastor John. But I know their departure from this shore has been accompanied by the prayers of many of Christ's people. And on their arrival on the other side of the curtain through which we cannot see, other prayers will great their resurrections.       
    I was not ready for the beginnings of their journeys. But through the grace of our l:ord Jesus Christ I know they are safe in the landfall of resurrection. For that, through my tears, I offer my thanks and praise.