49 years ago this summer, I worked in a large commercial bakery for the summer. It was a good job for a college student. We newer workers were assigned to the warehouse and when someone on other parts of the line was out for vacation, one of the more senior warehouse workers was tapped to fill in for that person. There was a common break room for all of the line employees and I spent my breaks and ate my lunch with the rest of the workers. I was pretty quiet. Sometimes I would read a book during my breaks, but I listened to the chatter in the room. Among the most senior employees were those who worked in maintenance, keeping the massive machinery of the bakery running. One maintenance employee talked frequently about his upcoming retirement. He and his wife had purchased a motorhome and were planning to take a grand tour of the United States with it, traveling just as far as they felt like and staying wherever they landed for each evening. “No schedule, no rules,” he would say in anticipation. “No boss to look over your shoulder and tell you to hurry up.”

On the eve of his retirement, preparing to leave on their trip, he slid under the motorhome on a creeper to change the oil. That is where he experienced a massive heart attack. It is where he died. He died just short of his retirement - just before taking his dream trip. He was a neighbor of my in laws and it was the summer that we got married. We talked about his death quite a bit with them.

It turned out that my father-in-law, who was much more quiet about his retirement plans, and who expressed no big plans for a major change in his lifestyle other than staying home from work, had a wonderful retirement. He used the freedom from work to volunteer at the church a lot more. He served on the camp committee. He mowed the lawn. He volunteered to give people rides to and from medical appointments. He helped us move twice. He made repairs at the homes of all of his daughters. He taught me a lot about retirement that has made my life rich with meaning.

The memories of that bakery worker, so intent on retirement, so close to achieving his dream came to me yesterday when I received the news that a friend and colleague had suddenly died. We had been pastors of different congregations of the same denomination in the same town for 25 years. He had come to the church he served several years before I came to the church I served. I don’t know the exact span of his service, but he was nearing 40 years of serving the same congregation. It was an exceptionally good match of pastor and congregation.

Over the years we have shared so much of the journey of being pastors. For a long time we met weekly with other colleagues to discuss books and provide support to one another. One of the frequent topics of our conversations was how to maintain ministry with retired clergy. Both of us had multiple retired clergy in our congregations. I guess Rapid City is an attractive place for a pastor to retire. Over the years I have attended a number of funerals at which my colleague officiated. Among them were plenty of funerals for retired pastors.

I was expecting to hear the news of his retirement soon. He isn’t that much younger than I. I suspect, though don’t know that he was planning to coordinate his retirement with that of his wife. They have enjoyed traveling together and probably had plans for more trips. Perhaps he was going to wait until his 40th anniversary with the congregation he served. We tend to look at anniversaries as opportunities for big life changes. I really don’t know. Of all of the conversations we had, including several about my retirement, I don’t ever remember talking with him about his retirement.

He grew up on a farm in southeastern South Dakota and he loved to go back to the farm. His brother still runs the family farm and one year my colleague spent a sabbatical break just working on the farm. He had a lot of practical skills, something that is a bit less common among clergy and something that I appreciated. In the winter of 2016-2017 when the water protectors were camped at Standing Rock, we hauled a load of firewood up to our friends from the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe. I had a new-to-me pickup truck and we were pulling a heavy trailer. When the time came to unload, he chipped right in and the work was soon finished. On the way home, I pushed the range of the truck until the low fuel light appeared on the dashboard. Reservation country is empty country with a lot of distance between fuel stations and I was a bit worried about making it to the next fuel stop. He laughed off our condition, saying, “It won’t be the first time I’ve been around a diesel run out of fuel. I thought it was the check engine light and I was prepared to tell you to keep driving.” We didn’t run out of fuel. We laughed about the experience later. Both of us had been involved in “rescuing” a conference minister who had a diesel automobile, but no experience with diesel engines and cold weather. He would get mixed up about #1 and #2 diesel, forget to use additives, and the fuel would gell. Both of us knew more about the fuel filters and tow points on that car than the conference minister who drove it. We appreciated our practical skills and enjoyed working together whether it be a work day at camp or a conference ministry project.

And now my friend has taught me a new lesson. Do the work you love. Enjoy the present. There are no guarantees on the future. I don’t know my friend’s retirement plans. I do know he loved the work he did, loved the family he had, loved the church he served. He was faithful to the end of his life. I grieve with his wife and children and grandchildren. I grieve with his friends and colleagues. But I also am grateful for the gift of God that he was and his example of living one’s faith all the way.