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.

Interesting Encounter; Autumn

Interesting Encounter.  Last Friday evening I went to the first "social evening" — i.e., concert followed by refreshments — at the Harvard Musical Association for this season. This particular concert was preceded by a lecture dealing with the history of the building which houses the association. Just before it began, in came a 30-40 year old member who I'm confident is gay with an absolutely gorgeous young man.

After the concert, I joined the pair and got introduced to the young man. He gave the impression of being gay also, and they may be something of "an item," for example, taking trips together. Eventually they went off but later I encountered them again, and in conversation learned that the young man had graduated from college two years ago, which would mean that he's about 24. (Even so, he's practically beardless, with only a few fine hairs visible on his cheeks.)

As he and I talked, I felt his elbow touch my arm just above the elbow. (How did he do that? He's several inches shorter than me.) With another touch, I noticed that he was turning his upper body back and forth. In all, he touched me in that way four to six times. At the time, I took it as expressing some measure of affection, like a pat on the back or an arm around the shoulder. But over the weekend I began to wonder if it was some sort of come-on. Was he inviting me to the men's room for some fellatio or some such thing?

I asked over on twitter if elbowing someone as he did is a commonplace signal. Nobody responded. If anybody knows that it has a common meaning among gay people, I'd like to know. (Not that I'd accept the invitation: I don't do sex. I'm just wondering.) If it means no more than, "I'm enjoying this encounter," I might even respond in kind, but if it means, "Let's have sex," I don't want to.


Autumn.  The arrival of the concert season coincides with the onset of autumn. Leaves are turning red, orange, and yellow and dropping from the trees. It will take a month or more for them all to go, but I'm never happy to see the trees bereft of leaves. They are much more attractive with their leaves, and with their leaves they make their surroundings more beautiful. They also seem to soften the sunlight, especially toward sunrise and sunset. I'm also sorry to have the sunsets coming so early.

I also associate feelings of nostalgia with Autumn. On sunny late afternoons I think of the high school sailing club: it was under such conditions that we'd return from our meets an hour from home. When the weather is cool and damp, there is a more generalized feeling of remembrance and loss. There is also a specific memory of an evening one autumn when a bunch of us were at a classmate's house and I found myself seriously crushing on her dark-haired, dark-eyed younger brother. And in the daytime, when most of the leaves are gone and the air is somewhat moist, I think of Tom.

Nostalgia Revisited

Today, I went to a meeting in a town less than an hour's drive from my home. It's a town I basically never thought about in the first two and a half decades of my life.

When I went to the monastery, about 45 years ago, one of my fellow pre-monks mentioned one of the college students, "Gerry," (soft "g") whom he characterized as a "happy-go-lucky kid," and I became slightly acquainted with him. I specifically recall being in a pick-up basketball game in which he was a participant. There must have been occasional other interactions, but I can't remember any specifically. Suffice it to say he knew who I was, and I knew who he was — not much more than that.

But I developed a real crush on him. I learned that he came from the town I hadn't ever thought about, and instantly I was  fascinated with it. After leaving the monastery, I occasionally found it near my route from one place to another, and I'd take the slight detour to actually drive through it. I had learned Gerry's home address from the college yearbook, and I found the street on a map, and a couple of times on my detours through the town, I actually drove down his street, past his boyhood home. By then, of course, he had graduated from college and was living somewhere else, but I still wanted to see the place. It was a fairly typical modest post WWII "cape" style house in a development of similar houses.

I don't think of him often, but when I have an occasion to visit that town, I usually remember him and drive past his street, as I did today.

After I left the monastery, I don't think I had any further contact with him, but there is still a nostalgia for him, for a friendship which I would have liked to have, but which never had a chance to develop. From the little bit I saw about him in alumni publications, I know he had a career not far from here, and there was never an indication that he had married or had children. I'd like to see him again, but I'd no more tell him of the crush I had than I would have 45 years ago. I hope we'll meet in heaven, where secrets will not be necessary.

The moral(s) of the story. You don't forget people toward whom you had a strong attraction. Even if the memories fade, they can be triggered and feelings can re-emerge.

Don't be too shy about trying to give relationships a chance to develop. As you know, I don't advocate sexual activity between people of the same sex, but I definitely do advocate friendship. Of course, you can't force someone to be your friend, but if you'd like it, you shouldn't let shyness, or fear of rejection, inhibit you. Take advantage of chances to be with people you like. Even create chances if you can. It's possible to be too pushy about it, of course; but my mistake was frequently being too cautious (except with Mike).