Not everybody takes a Journey between their First Journey and their Final Journey. As an Anglo-Saxon monk, bishop, and finally, hermit, I walked and walked.

Born as a shepherd’s son, I knew the hard life of my folk. When I became a monk, I often walked to the most remote, rugged, and impoverished areas. Somebody had to help these folks. I did love wildlife. As I befriended “elder ducks,” they came to live right outside my cell. When I prayed overnight in the freezing North Sea, otters came and warmed me.

When I had to walk to Lindisfarne, the Holy Island, on the coast of the North Sea, I accepted the task of bishop. When I agreed to lead my people to adopt Roman Christianity, I, like them, had to abandon my Celtic Christianity. I thought that it was for the best.

When I died at Lindisfarne, they buried me with a couple of simple vestments, my small, portable altar, my Gospel of John, and my beautiful gold cross. The coffin was especially striking with all the beautiful gospel carvings. I hear that it is the oldest pre-Norman coffin which still survives. Such a nice coffin with all those treasured items. I surprised them when they opened my coffin years later to find that I hadn’t changed a bit!

I wasn’t done moving. After my First Journey of life, and before the Final Journey at the End of Time, I had an “in-between” Journey. The pesky Vikings had been a nuisance: however, when the Great Heathen Army arrived, they really became a problem. My “in-between” Journey began. However, this time I didn’t use my feet; the monks used their feet to carry me in my coffin!

My fellow monks carried me inland to escape. Not safe there, they carried me all the way to the coast of Scotland. Although they thought that they’d take me to Ireland, they didn’t count on the storms! They carried me back eastward. For a hundred years, I got to rest at Chester-le-street. Worried again, the monks started moving me one more time. Tired of moving, I sent them a dream, “Find “dun-home.” Durham.

So here I am now. A bit of a fuss with all this moving. A bit of fuss with this giant cathedral. A bit of a fuss with all the people coming to see my coffin. Maybe that will stop. I hear there is a new English saint, Thomas Becket. Maybe I’ll finally get some real rest before my Final Journey.