A Funeral with Some Nostalgia

 Today I went back to the monastery where I spent a couple of years as a young man. (There are three other posts with the label "monastery" which say a bit more about it, in addition to the one I've linked.) The occasion was the funeral of one of the monks, Brother Edward, who had entered the monastery about three years before I got there, and graduated from the college about one year befor I arrived. So he was nearly a contemporary. He and I were never particularly friendly — I didn't even really like him very much. But he taught me and other newbies how to make a "profound bow," which was to be done  toward the altar when arriving in the chapel. He demonstrated: legs straight, palms of his hands touching his kneecaps, back straight and nearly parallel to the floor, and weight forward (center of gravity over the feet).

 Late last week, I saw on the college website that he had died, and I decided to go to his funeral. It was a cloudy wet day, with drizzle and occasional showers as I drove there, and steady rain as I drove home. I went into the Abbey church and prayed for a couple of minutes by his coffin and then at the tabernacle. After that I chatted very briefly with a couple of the monks whom I knew from my time there, then strolled around the college campus until it was time for the funeral Mass.

 It was in most respects an ordinary funeral Mass. But there were two bishops there, one a retired bishop who is one of the monks, and the other a bishop who just happened to be there on retreat. Toward the end of his homily, the Abbot gave a quote from St. John Henry Newman, which he said several of the monks had suggested as appropriate for Brother Edward. "To the monk heaven was next door; he formed no plans, he had no cares; {427} the ravens of his father Benedict were ever at his side. He 'went forth' in his youth 'to his work and to his labour' until the evening of life; if he lived a day longer, he did a day's work more; whether he lived many days or few, he laboured on to the end of them. He had no wish to see further in advance of his journey than where he was to make his next stage. He ploughed and sowed, he prayed, he meditated, he studied, he wrote, he taught, and then he died and went to heaven."

 After the Mass, the monks walked ahead of the hearse the hundred yards or so to the cemetery and the rest of us followed behind. There were a couple of college students who had been cantors (leading the singing) during the Mass. They were wearing white shirts and had no coats or umbrellas. They explained that they had not been told completely what was involved (but they had no duties at the cemetery, so they didn't really have to go with us.) I was close to them during the procession, and when we arrived at the cemetery and were standing still, I was able to cover one of them with my umbrella.

 After the committal service, we were all invited to the monastery dining room for lunch — which was the typical catered sandwiches, chicken noodle soup, macaroni salad, etc. One of the monks whom I had known during my time there pretty much insisted that I sit with him, which was okay, and I told him about my career with the IRS and about my current activities (Race Committee, concert- & playgoing, helping in my parish). I also managed to speak briefly with a half dozen or so of those whom I had known when I was there and to become slightly acquainted with a couple who have recently joined and are still in "formation" (training).

 The Abbot — who entered the monastery just after I left, but whom I had known as one of the college students who were thinking of joining — was one of the monks I saw before the Mass, and he urged me to come back and visit the monastery some time. When I saw him again briefly during lunch he repeated the urging. One of the other monks I know, Father William, also made the same suggestion. I've occasionally thought that it would be good to go back occasionally; but as I explained to both of them, I rarely deviate from my routine existence unless somebody or something provides a specific occasion for doing something special. But the abbot gave me his e-mail address, and I think I'll actually follow through and make time for a visit within the next six months or so.

 Nostalgia has arrived.

BTW, as evocative as the quote from Cardinal Newman is, it leaves out one element which is very important — the one highlighted in the earlier post which I linked above — namely love. The monk does all he does as the member of a community of brothers. Perhaps in Newman's day, as in Father Christopher's early years, that aspect of community living, fraternal charity, had been lost sight of.