I am trying to decide what to take.  I will be there for three and a half years.  My clothes will be provided, and I don’t think my laptop is allowed.  But I think books are permitted.  I have my Bible and hymnal, my Treasury of Daily Prayer, the Book of Concord, two other prayer books. . . how many is too many?  I have neglected these at times, too often really.  Too many hours at work.  There should be time enough now, and fewer distractions.

I don’t remember what I did, but it must have been bad.  I don’t remember the trial, but I’m sure it happened.  I have to report for the start of my incarceration today, so I must have been convicted.  The sinking regret is distracting.  I need to finish deciding because my ride will be here any time now.

The knocker raps on the door.  It is my pastor.  His expression seems to reflect the pain of many who walk difficult roads.  He hesitaties a moment or two, and then says, “Well, Nathan, are you ready to go?”

I don’t usually remember dreams.  I don’t think they mean anything in and of themselves.  But this one was interesting.  What did I do?

Probably manslaughter, bicycular or otherwise.

In the hours before bed, I had nearly struck a pedestrian while riding at night.  I had already biffed it on my morning commute, while turning on a patch of wet leaves in the parking lot at work.  Unable to recover, I laid the bike down.  I was going too fast, and I should have gone over the speed bump instead of around it.  This time though, it wasn’t my fault.  I had my lights on and flashing, I was in the bicycle lane, I was only going 20, and the pedestrian was jaywalking in an unlighted section of a neighborhood thoroughfare.  At the last second I saw his silhouette against a distant streetlamp.  The braking effort applied was the sort that causes the back wheel to swing around to the side, and it is a wonder that I remained in the saddle and upright.  I think there was an extra pair of hands on the handlebars.  As the pedestrian crossed a few feet in front of me, I saw that he was talking on his mobile phone, which was probably blocking his view of me.

I was furious.  What if I had hit him?  What would I be liable for?  I didn’t say anything but chugged on my way.  How badly could I have hurt him?  My concern wasn’t for him, but for myself.  My anger boiled.  And then, supposing he wasn’t injured in the collision, I imagined myself getting up, dusting myself off, and making sure he was injured.

Just a moment.  Just a flash.  I wanted to hurt him.

Then I remember Matthew 5.  Guilty.

And why is it that it was my pastor that showed up to give me a ride?  I have family that don’t live too far away, and I’m sure they would have been there.  I have no doubt of that.  And pastor is so busy.  He isn’t a taxi service, after all.  Maybe it was just because I had picked up the November issue of The Lutheran Witness from my mailbox the day before, and the issue was on the Office of the Ministry, with a smiling pastor on the cover.

But there is great comfort in the under-shepherd who cares for his flock.  I suppose mine was taking an opportunity for a visit, this time passing from the many locations of previous visits at home and work, to a different place of visitation.  I would be on his shut-in list.  The pause at the door tells me we have talked about this day.  I know I have received forgiveness from Christ, given to me by this man.  I know that my pastor is caring for this sheep who faces temporal consequences in the left-hand kingdom.  And by his careworn look, I know I’m not the only one he looks after.