No doubt about it, my fellow monk, Father Martin, was a bit of an absent-minded professor. He often filled in for sick priests at other parishes, and one Saturday he found himself on a train to a new destination, frantically searching his pockets for his ticket.

"Forget about it, Father," said the conductor, recognizing him as a regular.

"I'm sure you paid for a ticket."

"I can't forget about the ticket," Father Martin replied nervously.

"I need to know where I'm going."