I've been here at St. Andrew's Abbey, for a couple of days now. The monks have managed to green up the grounds near the monastery, but we're a stone's throw from thirsty desert hills. It's not too hot here, with the elevation a little higher. The nights are cool, and it only gets hot in the afternoon. We prayed Psalm 63 this morning, and the setting gave a whole new meaning to the words, "O God, you are my God, I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water."

Once again, though, I'm the only non-Catholic person here. Studying the Rule of St. Benedict and hanging around monasteries puts me in the company of Catholic sisters and brothers. I tell people I learn more when I'm around folks who are a little different than me, and that's true here. I had several, the first night here, tell me how brave it was I was here, etc. I tell them--and mean it--that it's no big deal, and I do just fine. Everyone is always welcoming. Many are curious about my church and what life as a Protestant pastor is like. Some even tell me--somewhat quietly--that they wish the Catholic church could do some things how we do them. I had one priest, when I was in Iowa, try to convert me, telling me about an organization that helps Protestant pastors go Catholic. I listened nicely, but I have no desire to switch teams. I like learning from these good Catholic folks, but I know I could never make that kind of change.

I may be a curiosity this way, but I do enjoy going to Catholic mass. I appreciate the thought and tradition that goes into how they worship, and even though I can't take communion, I'm happy to be there. Some of the instructional information given to us when we arrived mentioned that Roman Catholic policy is for closed communion, meaning someone like me can't share. It also mentioned they eagerly desire a day when it might be different. I do too, but I don't take offense sitting in the back while everyone else shares. The first morning I was here, one of the monks asked me if I would help present the gifts before communion (help bring the bread and the wine up front). I told him I wasn't Catholic, and he immediately said it didn't matter. So, I said yes. When it came time, I carried the wine while my monk friend carried the bread. We presented them to the priest, reverenced the altar, and then went back to our seats. I took a little pride in knowing, even though I couldn't eat at the table, that I helped prepare the meal that day.