The Anchoress reminds us all, regardless of denomination, of what a true pastor looks like:
Many times this past week Benedict revealed himself to have an exquisite sense of proportion, of knowing what is appropriate to the moment ‚Äî and never more so than at the footprint of the North Tower. At his age, in the chill morning, the pope might have been excused for slowly motoring down to the assembly, but he instead shed a worldly trapping of convenience and made his solemn way.
Although his aides moved with him, he walked with a grave air of solitude, a small gray-haired man in a beautifully tailored light coat, his arms at his side. Benedict wore an expression of obedient resolution and moved as though he was being pulled inexorably in, and further in, to the place he would rather not go ‚Äî into our national gaping wound of horror, confusion, evil, and despair ‚Äî and he fell to his knees and prayed.
Pastors often find themselves led into places they would rather not go. This little essay explores that truth with gentleness and compassion.