If you’ve not watched any video of the visit so far…do.

Benedict is so obviously happy to be there – even, it seems at times during the singing of the old hymns..moved. There is this mix of joy, hope, and melancholy surrounding this visit, as even Benedict’s brother has said outright – he knows this well may be his last time to see his home, his parents’ graves, and so on.

I wonder at times why Benedict affects me so – more, I freely admit, than John Paul did, except for those last couple of difficult years. I think his style, and perhaps even his personality resonate more with me, and, as I’ve repeated too often over the past year and a half, as a teacher and communicator, I find every homily and address an opportunity to go to school on every level – he educates me on two levels: first on the personal level of deepening my understanding of my faith and how to live it in the world, and secondly, on how to speak and teach effectively.

I have told you before that I read somewhere that when he was a professor, and his sister was keeping house for him, it was his habit to write out his lectures, and then read them to his sister over the kitchen table. When she could understand them and get his point, they were ready to be delivered. That habit shows, I think – he is so deeply committed to doing his part to helping us connect with the truth, both intellectually and affectively – to see how it all fits and how it all makes sense, and how Christ answers every question we have, if we but ask, and then listen.

But in this visit, already, there’s something else, something more besides the usual reasons for the Benedict-love. As John Paul physically declined, we all sat up and took note, for this, we all knew, was our fate, too. We too would suffer – if we’re not in the midst of suffering now. We too will decline, become deeply dependent on the care of others, struggle, be frustrated with our limitations, and we, too would die. John Paul gave us the tremendous gift of his own participation in that mystery, handed himself over to us as he handed himself over, more and more visibly, to God.

And now, with Benedict, I cannot help but watch him and learn a different lesson, beyond his words, as well. Benedict tried so many times to retire from CDF (well, twice, I think). He so wanted to return – home – to his books, his music and his brother. But he was kept in Rome, in a position which brought him both vilification as well as the most depressing, regular exposure to the worst sins of those who minister in the name of the Church. And then…he was elected Pope, and that hoped for retirement of study, writing, playing and fraternal domesticity would never materialize.

But of course he said yes, and took on the burden of being our pastor.

From his adress today, nicely translated by Gerald at Closed Cafeteria:

Maybe I can pick up a thought again that I had mentioned in my memoirs in relation to my ordination as Archbishop of München and Freising. I was supposed to become the successor of St. Korbinian and became it. The following story in the legend of Saint Korbinian has fascinated me since childhood: A bear tore apart the horse of Saint Korbinian on his journey through the Alps. He reprimanded the bear and as punished but all his belongings onto the bear’s pack and made him carry it all the way to Rome. In Rome, the bear was released by Korbinian.

When I faced the difficult decision whether to accept the nomination as Archbishop of München and Freising – a nomination that would remove me from my familiar position as a university professor and face me with new tasks and responsibilities, I pondered the matter for a while and then I remembered the bear and the interpretation of St. Augustine of the verses 22 and 23 of Psalm 72, which he’d developed in a very similar situation at his ordination as priest and bishop and later used in his homilies on the Psalms.

In this Psalm, the Psalmist asks himself why bad people are frequently doing so well, and why so many good people are faring so badly. Then he says: "I was stupid and ignorant, I was like a beast toward thee. Nevertheless I am continually with thee; thou dost hold my right hand."

St. Augustine kept returning to this psalm with great fondness. In this passage "I was like a beast toward thee" he saw the word "iumentum" in Latin – the draught animal common in the agriculture of Northern Africa. He viewed himself as God’s beast of burden which is under the weight of his mission, the "sarcina episcopalis."

He had chosen the life of a scholar for himself and then was chosen to become God’s draught animal, to be the good ox that drags the plow in the field of the Lord, does the heavy work destined for him. He realized:t through this I am very close to God, because I serve him directly in the erection of his Kingdom, in the building up of his Church.

Against the backdrop of the thoughts of the Bishop of Hippo, the bear encourages me time and again to perform my service with joy and confidence – 30 years ago as well as now in my new task, to give my Yes to God day after day: A draught animal I have become for You, but because of that I am always with You.

The bear of St. Korbinian was released in Rome. In my case, the Lord has decided differently.

And at this last sentence, both the Pope and the audience chuckled.

The bear is, of course, on Benedict’s coat of arms.

Benedict’s simple witness in Bavaria work as a gentle challenge, I think: Go where God calls. Be ready to sacrifice, to bear the burdens, to be that draught animal – concern youself with nothing else but saying "yes" to God. 

One cannot follow Christ without moving, without leaving things – places, people, parts of yourself –  behind.

Someday you might catch a glimpse of home again – and if you do, thank God for it all, and thank God for calling you away from it, thank God for where ever he leads beyond it, because that is the right place, the next stopping point before you reach home for good, forever.