A Hitchhiker

When I was in grad school in the mid sixties, I traveled between home in Massachusetts and school in North Carolina by car, a Rambler American. My parents had a friend, a former neighbor, who lived in Maryland just over the border from D.C., and she let me stay overnight when I was going to or fro.

In that era hitchhiking was common. People would stand at the side of the highway with handmade signs indicating their destination. It's probably as safe as it ever was, but it seems people are more afraid of picking up or being picked up by a violent person, with the result that hitchhiking is less common that it was fifty years ago.

It could have been in the fall of 1964, but I think it was 1965, as I was driving north, possibly for the last time — having completed my course work and thesis research — near the North Carolina-Virginia border. I saw a young man in the uniform of a military academy with a sign that said, "Richmond." I thought it would be good for a Yankee to show good will toward a southerner. That, the fact that his destination was on my way, and possibly further thoughts or unconscious motives were enough to strengthen my impulse to give him a ride.

I don't recall any of our conversation until we approached Richmond. He told me which exit was his and indicated he'd have no trouble getting a ride from there: his home wasn't far from the interstate. In that case, I could take him the rest of the way. I did so. He kindly invited me to come in for some refreshment, but I explained that I was expected in Bethesda and declined the invitation with gratitude. On my part there was also some degree of desire which I thought it prudent not to indulge.

In a way, I suppose I've always wished I'd accepted the invitation, and wondered what would have happened if I had. Would his parents have been grateful? Would he and I have become friends? I also wonder what happened to him. Did he go to Viet Nam? If so, did he return? I hope he had and is having a good life and even sometimes remembers the guy from Massachusetts who took him to his front door.

My Retreat — 2015: How It Went

On Monday morning, during the time between Morning Prayer and breakfast, I was at my desk, probably reading the Hopkins and Hildegard book, when an envelope was slipped under my door. As I reached down to pick it up, I figured it was from the guest master, with some information about my stay. I opened it and found, to my delight, that it was from the junior monk I have a crush on. He had written it on the day before I arrived and it was a thank you note for the icon I had given him when he took his temporary vows on July 11, 2014. The icon was of the saint whose name he took  at that time — who just happens to be one of my favorite saints. (I also gave icons of their saints to the other novice who took temporary vows and to the junior who took permanent vows. Neither of them sent me a note.) I managed to see him right after Mass, just before they left for the lake, and he said that he had wanted to thank me sooner, but didn't have an address. Needless to say, I was very pleased with the whole business.

Of course, the main purpose of my being there was the retreat, and I wrote about it in a journal. I had chosen the book I was using mainly because Hildegard of Bingen was a Benedictine nun — even though the subtitle of the book I was using was "Turning Pain Into Power," and I don't think I'm in pain, physical or mental. Still, I managed to get or reinforce some useful ideas.

• Holiness isn't so much avoiding sin as doing good.
• What Hildegard calls "the lyre of profound devotion" and "the timbrel of mortification" could be helpful to me in becoming less self-centered and more God-centered and other-centered.
• Friendships, both same-sex and opposite-sex, can be places of disinterested love and mutual encouragement in virtue.
• How would I describe myself? Bookish/scholarly, acquisitive, synthetic ( in the etymological sense of the word, as opposed to analytic) thinker, teacher, argumentative, reserved, verbal.
• I need to be accepting of my imperfections. I need to realize that if I'm not as much of a leader, not as gregarious, not as well-organized, not as good an administrator, not as self-confident as other people, it's okay. They have their positive attributes and I have mine. We aren't all supposed to have everything. My "perfection" is to be my true self.
• Take the long view. If what I do seems pretty unimportant or ineffective, there can still be a "ripple effect." Hopkins' poems were hardly noticed during his lifetime, but now they're prized and inspire people.

I'd say the fourth and fifth points are the most important. I decided that, given who I am, blogging and tweeting are appropriate forms of activity. I even decided that I should create an exoteric blog in addition to maintaining this pseudonymous one. In it I can share thoughts on current events, religion, politics, and culture under my own name. So far, it hasn't picked up a lot of readers, but, depending on the topic, at least some posts get viewed, and it takes some time I might be using looking at sexually oriented material.

I've misplaced my diary (not the same as the retreat journal) from then, so I can't give a day by day account of what else happened, but here are a few things.

• On Monday, a couple of priests showed up and stayed most of the week. On Tuesday another priest arrived and stayed a couple of days. They were apparently all alumni of the college and friends with some of the monks.
• One day after breakfast I asked Fr. Peter, the subprior, if anybody would be visiting Fr. William or Fr. Jude and said if they were I'd like to go along. William and Jude were juniors when I arrived in 1966, so I had known them fairly well. Jude gave me my first cigar. On my rare visits after I left, William would tell me I should visit more often. William had suffered a severe stroke the week before my retreat in 2014; Jude had become badly debilitated; both were in nursing homes. Peter said he'd check. After lunch Fr. Peter told me he and Fr. Iain would be visiting Fr. William that afternoon, and I could go with them. William has regained some use of his limbs. He's fully alert, but his speech is impaired. Apparently some of the monks understand him fairly well, but we hardly could at all, so we did most of the talking. It was good to see him. I had wanted, and I was happy to let him know I was visiting the monastery, as he had wanted, and thinking of him.
• I visited the college bookstore a couple of times. First I needed pocket Kleenex® packs and also bought some body wash to take home. Another time I bought the books Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee (I've never read To Kill a Mockingbird or even seen more than excerpts of the movie) and Other Selves: Philosophers on Friendship, edited by Michael Pakaluk, a textbook of one of the courses. Both should be worth reading if I ever get around to them. I especially want to read what Aelred of Rievaulx says about spiritual friendship. Lots of gay Christian writers like him.
• On Thursday evening retired Abbot Matthew (he's in his 60's) and a younger monk were going to participate in a charity road race in downtown Manchester, and Bishop Joseph (he's in his 80's) was going to attend a clergy dinner in Rye with another monk driving him. That would take several of the best singers from the already depleted contingent of monks at evening prayer. So Fr. Peter decided to move evening prayer to 4:30 — before the four monks left — and to have dinner without table reading — which meant that those of us who were still around could chat among ourselves.
• Fr. John is Director of Education for the Diocese of Manchester, and at dinner I heard one of the visiting priests, on learning of Fr. John's position, ask him what qualifications he had for the job. He began by replying that he had been in education for over 60 years. He went on, but I didn't hear the rest. I was amazed at the priest having the nerve to ask the question.
• On Friday, the retired Bishop of Manchester showed up for Vespers, dinner, and recreation. When he was a newly ordained priest he wad assigned to my grandmother and uncle's parish, and she sometimes spoke favorably of him. So at recreation I mentioned the connection, and he remembered them.

All in all, I think it was time well spent, both in gaining insights which should be helpful for my spiritual growth and in developing my friendly acquaintanceships with some of the monks. What I'd like to do is not just to have another retreat some time, but also to make occasional visits which would simply be visits.

My 50th College Reunion

Perhaps European universities don't have something similar, but in the U.S. colleges and universities hold reunions for alumni who graduated in multiples of 5 years previously.

I was glad to be back at my university and see a good number of my classmates from 50 years ago. A couple of them, Dan and John, live nearby and I've had dinner with them every couple of years over the last 15 years or so. Together with Dave and their wives we formed a group who tended to hang out together, usually as part of larger groups. For example, Thursday evening we joined Barry*, his wife, and Art — who are from Cincinnati — for dinner at a nearby restaurant; and on Saturday all of us from that dinner were about half the group at a luncheon hosted by Brendan and his wife at their home.

*Barry (left in the above picture, with his wife) is the guy I was most in love with during my college days. Of course, I've never told him that. And although it was pleasant to see him, I'm no longer in love and the feelings were not reawakened. (His hair was dark brown 50 years ago.)

In addition to those side parties, there were official functions for the Class of 1964 as well as events for alumni from all the returning classes. The class functions included a reception Thursday evening (which Dan, John, Dave, and I went to before dinner with Barry); a breakfast Friday morning; a gathering Friday evening at which we were awarded 50-year medallions, preceded by a reception and followed by a fancy dinner; another reception and dinner on Saturday evening; a brunch on Sunday; and, since it's a Catholic institution, a reunion Mass Saturday evening.

Friday evening dinner scene

Classmate wearing the medallion we were given

At all of the events (except during Mass), there was time to chat with classmates. There were some, like Barry and Brendan, Jim — a roommate — and others, whom I had been friendly with during my college days. It was nice to be able to see them again, to "catch up" and basically to reaffirm out friendship. There were others whom I hardly knew (or didn't know at all) back then but who were enjoyable to chat with and become acquainted. Then there were classmates I'd have liked to see, but who didn't attend. (So if you're ever wondering about attending a class reunion, my advice is to do it. You'll probably enjoy it, and there will be people there who'd like to see you.)

For returnees of all classes, there was a Memorial Mass for deceased classmates on Saturday morning and a Reunion Mass on Sunday morning. There were also numerous panel discussions on various topics, campus tours, special-interest gatherings, events for children of alumni, etc. I attended all three Masses, a lunch which featured an alumna who is big at Goldman Sachs as speaker, and a couple of panels: one about a professor who was later recognized as a genuine hero of the underground attempts to stop the Nazi Holocaust of the Jews; the other about the history of the university, with my senior year roommate as a participant — we were able to chat and catch up afterwards. I would have liked to go to a discussion about the Church in the 21st Century, but the luncheon at Brendan's conflicted with it.

Both Saturday and Sunday mornings I got to campus early enough to take a lot of pictures, mostly of buildings I lived in and of the chapel. But there has been a lot of construction on campus during the past 50 years, some of it quite attractive, and a number of new buildings were part of my pictures of the older ones. When I got home I also took pictures of my "loot."

50 year medallion and lapel pin, reunion booklet, name tag & pin with yearbook photo, lapel pin for giving to alumni fund (fundraising is a major purpose — or at least ulterior motive — of reunions). 

There was also a larger booklet with updates from classmates who chose to contribute something. Interesting reading. One classmate mentioned becoming involved in ministry to gay Catholics around 1980. I had a chance to speak briefly to him and congratulate him on it. I commented that the Church is still figuring things out with regard to homosexuality, and he agreed. (Not that I think we're about to say that gay sex is okay, but there are issues such as same-sex adoption and parenting, dealing with same-sex civil marriage, celibate partnerships, ways of welcoming non-closeted gays into active participation in the Church.) Although I'd be willing to come out to my trusted friends in the Class of '64, I still need to be officially in the closet, so I'd never put something of the sort in a booklet for all to read.

The booklet asked for our favorite memory of our college days. At Brendan's luncheon, with several Bananas present, I realized that my favorite memory actually came after graduation and wasn't at the university. It was the Bananas Reunion I attended the following September (even though Barry wasn't there). 

Most of my classmates seem to have made lots more money than I have, and it's not uncommon for them to have winter homes in the south. It's easy to feel slightly out of place among them when they get to talking about those things. But objectively, I'm pretty well off, compared to most of the world, and comfortable by American standards; and if my career isn't what I had hoped for, it still has been a pretty good 50 years since graduation.

A Play and Two Encounters with Homeless Men

A Play.  This evening I went into Boston to see a play titled "We Are Proud to Present a Presentation about the Herero of Namibia Formerly Known as South-West Africa, From the German Sudwestafrika Between the Years 1884-1915," or, for short, "We Are Proud to Present a Presentation …"  It depicts a troupe of actors trying to prepare a dramatization about the genocide which reduced the Herero tribe from 80,000 to 15,000 during the period of German colonial rule.Their main problems are that they have little primary material other than letters sent home by German soldiers and that there are differing opinions about how to go about constructing the play. There is a lot of comedy along the way, especially in the earlier parts of the play, but it does give an outline of the events of German rule as a lecture at the beginning (which works surprisingly well as a bit of theater). There were lots of laughs and some serious issues raised.

Two Encounters.  As I was walking down Washington Street from the subway station toward the theater, I noticed a young man sitting on the concrete pedestal of a light pole. As I approached he asked me if I could spare a dollar or some change for a homeless man, and he thanked me for looking at him. As I reached into my pocket, I asked how he came to be homeless, and he said he had lost his job because his employer had lost business in the poor economy. I had pulled some bills from my pocket intending to give him a dollar. As I looked at the money, I thought that it would be easier to take two of the dollar bills and hand them to him than to separate one of them. But I made the effort, and pulled a single bill from the bunch. Why am I so stingy? Nevertheless, not knowing that I had thought of giving him more, he thanked me and said, "God bless you." I hope he will.

When I got to the theater, I discovered that I was mistaken in thinking that the performance started at 7:30. It wasn't until 8:00, and the lobby wasn't even open yet. So I walked around, looking for a Dunkin' Donuts, where I bought a jelly donut and a small black coffee. (For years coffee and a jelly donut was my workday breakfast.) I ate the donut there and then headed out to have my coffee. When I got back to the theater, I hadn't finished it, so I continued down the street, and encountered a maybe 40ish man who asked for money. I stopped, and he remarked that most people pay no attention: on a recent evening nobody in the crowd leaving the theater paid him any attention. I gave him a dollar. He asked my name. I told him, "Joe," and asked his. "Chuck," he said, and extended his hand up toward me; and we shook hands.

By then I had had all I wanted of the coffee. I found a trash receptacle, poured the remaining coffee down a nearby storm drain (for which a passerby complimented me), and put the cup in the trash. As I headed back to the theater, I passed Chuck, and we exchanged brief greetings, which I hoped would encourage anybody who heard it to think of giving him something.

The Night of the Young Men

Before I begin with the body of this post I just want to mention that I have had several posts in mind for a while. This is the one that has been waiting longest (apart from the series on St. Paul's teaching), but I also want to write more about social nudity as a follow-up to "Naked without Shame," and the visit from Zack has also stirred up some reminiscences that I hope to post about. There is also the series on Theology of the Body. Hopefully, I'll get around to some of it this week.


Speaking of this week, Mark, the "Wandering Pom," expects to be in my area this week, and I'm looking forward to meeting him.


On April 13, I went, as I often do, to Boston for a chamber music concert at the HMA, to be preceded by dinner at the Scollay Square restaurant. As I was walking into the subway station for my ride into Boston, I heard someone speaking behind me. After a few seconds, it occurred to me that he was talking to me, commenting on the appearance of the station. So I replied briefly. He appeared to be in his upper twenties. When we arrived at the turnstile, his fare card was not accepted by the machine, so he went to add money to it. When he arrived back at the turnstile, the signal was given for the train to depart. I briefly held the door open, and the operator delayed, allowing him time to board. He thanked me then started looking for a discarded newspaper to read. I offered him a section of my newspaper, which he accepted with thanks, and returned to me when he reached his stop.

After the concert, as I was on my way back to the subway, I encountered a group of about six men in their late teens or early twenties. After a perfunctory greeting from me, one of them asked if I'd like to see a picture of his girlfriend. He produced his wallet and displayed a photo showing two young women in thong underwear displaying very large backsides. I managed to express that I was impressed. Then one of the others had a question for me: could I tell him how to get to Hahvuhd, because he wanted to pahk his cah in Hahvuhd Yahd. I suggested he go to Pahk Street Station on the "Red Line" and take a train for Hahvuhd. They laughed, and we went our ways.

When I got to the subway station there was a taller man, maybe in his upper twenties, near the spot where I usually board. He was talking on a cell phone and told the other person that he'd arrive in about twenty minutes (which he verified with another nearby passenger) and also said he was "wasted." While we waited he began to talk to me, and when the train arrived he sat next to me. He had been to the Red Sox game that afternoon, which they had won, and apparently he had spent the nearly five hours since then celebrating the victory somewhere where alcoholic beverages are served. Repeatedly, he asked where I was going, told me that he was married and his wife was pregnant with their first child, a daughter they would call Olive, who was due in June (and he showed me a sonogram picture). He also told me several times that his wife, who was coming to pick him up at the station was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he wanted me to meet her. Other passengers started giving me glances of sympathetic amusement. When we got to the station, I debated with myself whether I should actually stay with him and meet his wife (and make sure he found her), but I decided that I really did not want to prolong or deepen the contact, and that even in his condition, he was functioning well enough to be left alone.

On reflection, I found it striking that all these people found me somehow approachable enough to have the interactions with me which they did. I've thought that I often come across as aloof, but maybe I'm wrong about that. But if I have seemed aloof, I'll take all this as a sign that I'm improving.

BTW there was a fairly good-looking new waiter at Scollay Square. He looks a bit like Tommy Kirk, who was a Mouseketeer and appeared in several Disney films 50ish years ago. Unfortunately, he was working in a different section.

Happy New Year! — Resolution

Happy New Year to all my readers.

I never make New Year's resolutions, but this year I'm making one, only it is not anything new. It is summed up by the words often found in scripture: "Do not be afraid." My retreat director last March pointed out that I was "always looking over [my] shoulder" for fear somebody would figure me out, and that fear inhibited my actions. Actually, I had already begun to do things I'd have been too afraid to do before I began blogging and met people I liked on the internet — I had begun meeting some of them irl. But the urging of the retreat director has persuaded me that I should overcome that fear and live as I want to. I'm not planning to do anything I believe is wrong, but I hope to continue the sort of doing things that are perfectly legitimate that I've recently been blogging about and to live without the constant fear that something I do will out me. There is a limit to it: I'm not going to come out where I live and at my church. But if I can develop close friendships with guys I like, I'm going to do it, because it's what I should do, and it's perfectly alright; and if somebody figures out that I have a homosexual orientation, oh well, I'll deal with it as best I can.

Friends, or at Least, Friendly Acquaintances

     As I mentioned in the recent post titled "BTW," I want to tell you about my time at the Race Committee Holiday Party. (It was on the last Thursday of Advent, but Hannukah had started, so I guess calling it a Holiday Party is legit.) I should also tell about my evening with the priest I mentioned briefly in the third paragraph of this post.

     On several occasions, for example here, I've mentioned that I'm on the Race Committee at the yacht club I belong to. And in the same place that I mentioned the priest, I also mentioned a guy on the Race Committee. I'll call him "Tim," but don't confuse him with a blogger who doesn't use that name on the internet. He's in his late 40's, I think, and single. He started showing up three summers ago on Thursday evenings when we run some small races. For those races, we are ashore at the club, making signals to the racing boats in the harbor. So it was easy for him to join us. He seemed to be interested in talking to me, and we'd generally sit together at the meal that sailors and committee members would have after the races. After that summer he was made an official member of the Committee. He always responds promptly when I need to send an e-mail to Committee members, and last fall, when I sent one asking if anybody would be interested in sharing a table with me for dinner after a Race Committee party, he accepted almost instantaneously.

     So I've been thinking a friendship could develop. Tim was either at the party when my brother (also on the committee) and I arrived or he got there very soon afterwards. We got drinks and chatted. I was telling him about my theater- and concert-going, and he asked questions that showed real interest, I thought. I mentioned having begun my theater attendance with "The Laramie Project." He didn't know what it was so I explained. I figured that was enough of a hint to give him the idea that I was gay-friendly. But so as not to worry him if he's uncomfortable with "gaiety," I then mentioned some others, and he seemed quite interested in a couple. Just when I was ready to ask if he might like to join me sometime, a couple joined us and sat with us for dinner, and I never got the chance to ask that question. Still, I left the party convinced that he wants to be my friend. I don't think I want to officially come out to him, because he lives in this area and I need to be closeted irl, and I don't want a sexual relationship. But since he has never said anything indicating the least sexual interest in women, I think we can have an unspoken understanding. Now I've got to work up the nerve to e-mail him "out of the blue" and suggest going to the theater some time. If I don't do it reasonably soon, this season will have past, and I'll have to wait until next fall. So, strike while the iron is hot.

   Things didn't go quite so well with the priest a week earlier. There was nothing wrong. It was an enjoyable enough evening, but when he asked what I had been doing, I stupidly decided to tell him about my health scare at the end of my retreat. That got him all worried, even though I tried to assure him that it was really more a false alarm than anything else. So I never got to bring up opera and theater, as I did with Tim. Well, at least I'll probably get together with him for dinner sometime next month, and I can explore the possibility of including shows or concerts in our get-togethers.

     I guess I could sum it all up by saying that this month I made a little progress in my social life, a little progress in developing friendships, but not quite as much as I had hoped for.

Making Friends in Germany. Part 2

Although Stefan had said "If you will write to us, we will write to you," he was the one who corresponded with me. For my part I told a lot about what I was doing, and he told me about his doings in school. He graduated from high school (i.e., made his Abitur) and the had his compulsory military duty. Durin his time in the army, he had a problem with his lung. I think it was a collapsed lung. After some time in a hospital in Ulm, he was discharged from the army. He then decided to study Chemistry at the University of Erlangen, and I sent him a necktie which I had in college, a red, black, and gold diagonally striped tie with three or four round holes in it. The holes had appeared shortly after I wore it to chemistry lab one day (probably caused by a few random droplets of acid) and I had called it my "chemistry tie."

Stefan also sent me copies of the pictures that were taken each year of the Junge Schar and tapes of them singing their songs (which enabled me to learn most of the songs. Stefan had assured me that they were not professionals, but they were well trained and sang in three-part harmony. One year, I had an enlargement of the Junge Schar group photo printed on four t shirts, which I sent, and they auctioned them off for the treasury.

Finally, in 1988, I decided to return to Rothenburg for the last day of the festival (Monday). Several of the group met me at my hotel on Sunday evening and took me to dinner. I followed them on Monday morning as they marched around the city, stopping and singing and getting beer at various hotels and getting provisions for the encampment a several butcher shops. After about three hours of that activity, it was time for them to appear in the play. They provided tickets to one of the performances, which I enjoyed. After the second performance, they were part of the parade to an encampment outside the city walls. After the encampment was over, I was able to join them around their campfire.

The following year, I returned for a two-day visit, and Stefan's parents had me join them for coffee (which is always accompanied by several kinds of pastry) at 4:00 p.m. in their home the day I arrived. I was also invited to join the group for their 5 a.m. breakfast of sausage (Weisswurst, rolls, orange juice and coffee) on Monday morning, prior to their getting into their uniforms, and for their lunch between performances of the play. Either that year or the following one, I gave my old straw hat to "Schluntz" who had much admired it on my previous visit. I also joined the Junge Schar for their evening gatherings in one of the local taverns. They would stay until after 1 a.m., even when they had to get up at 5 for breakfast. "Sloggi" commented one year that the weekend was very "anstrengend," which I understood even though the word was not in my vocabulary. It seems to mean something like "strenuous."

When I returned the next year, Stefan's grandmother, who had been living with them, had died, and the family invited me to stay in their home and use what had been her room. The Junge Schar invited me to put on a uniform and be in their annual group picture. The next year, I was allowed to put on a uniform first thing in the morning and march around the city with them until it was time for the play, and then to march out to the encampment afterwards. And the next year I made my debut on the German stage. They actually had me join them in their appearances during the play!

Meanwhile, over the years, I had taken part in the initiation rites, beginning with "Umdrehen der Beddes," — in which all a rookie's uniform buttons are unbuttoned, he is blindfolded and spun around several times, and then has to button everything properly while still blindfolded — and ending with "Taufe," baptism — in which the rookie stands half-naked while a large tub of cold water is poured over him. The Taufe is a money-maker for the treasury, as members bid for the right to "baptize" a rookie, and the winner can prolong the torture by pouring slowly, or get it over quickly. So I consider myself to have been made an honorary member of the Junge Schar.

My visits tended to get longer over the years, so that I could see the entire festival, beginning with the Herald's proclamation on Friday evening and ending with the "Ausklang," ringing out the festival with an open air party for the townspeople on Tuesday evening.

The festival takes place on Pentecost weekend each year, and the Festival Play depicts the story of how the city was saved from destruction when it was conquered in October, 1631. The Junge Schar appear as a brigade of young people who are last-ditch volunteers to defend the city (and who give their lives in the effort before the city finally surrenders). The conquering imperial field marshal, Count Tilly, relents from destroying the conquered city when one of the city councilors, former mayor Georg Nusch, succeeds in drinking nonstop the contents of a 3 1/4 liter beaker of white wine in response to Tilly's challenge. On one of my visits, the Junge Schar gave me a full-sized replica of the original beaker. The original was made in 1616 in anticipation of a visit by Emperor Matthias. That visit never took place, and the story is that it was first used to offer a drink to Tilly and his generals.

From the time of my first return, in 1988, Stefan had a girlfriend, Petra, and in 1993 they got married, and I was invited to the wedding. Both families are Catholic, so it took place in a Catholic church. But Rothenburg is predominantly Protestant, and as we drove to the reception in a nearby castle, one of the Protestants remarked, "The Catholics always preach better than the Protestants," which is the opposite of how it used to be in this country.

Since then, I have returned much less frequently, for various reasons relating to circumstances in my life here. But I was there about five years ago, and coincidentally "Stupfi," one of Stefan's good friends from the Junge Schar had his birthday that weekend. So I went to the party, which took place in Stupfi and his wife's yard. Their five or six year old son insisted on leading people around the house in a parade in which he beat time for Junge Schar songs with one drumstick on a miniature drum he had — and did a very good job of it. About 11:30 p.m. some neighbors showed up, and joined in the singing and marching. (In the U.S. someone would probably have called the police, rather than joining in.)

I still need to give you the links for "resource materials," and I may think of a bit more to tell of my involvement over the years. But then I'll be ready to give you the account of my visit last September.

Making Friends in Germany

This is the backstory to my visit to Germany last September, but it is much more than that. This is a story I have intended to tell ever since I started this blog. It is the story of how a gay man was able to make friends with a group of guys, and especially with one of them. In the context of my blog, I think it illustrates my position that it is possible for us to have satisfying friendships without sexual involvement (attraction, but not sexual activity).

In 1984 I was on a tour in Germany. On June 6 (or possibly 5), the day after we attended the Passion Play in Oberammergau, we went by stages to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, where we stayed overnight. After dinner, I walked around the city smoking my cigar (so as not to stink up the hotel bedroom). About 9:30, as it was beginning to get dark and my cigar was about finished, I found myself outside the Brauhaus Rothenburg; and I decided to go in and sample the local product.

I was the only person there, and when I finished my pint (0,5l) I decided to leave. I was opening the door when several guys came up the steps form the sidewalk. The first greeted me with the south German greeting, "Grüss Gott," and they went in. Pleased at the greeting, I decided to stay a bit longer to see if the place would liven up and got another beer.

The others took seats at another table, and others trickled in and joined them, until there were probably 24 people at the long table. After a while, a couple of them started beating on drums and a couple played flutes, while the rest sang a song. At the end, I made a gesture of applauding, and they waved me over to their table and made room for me in the middle of one side.

The person to my right explained that they were members of a group called the "Junge Schar," the "young troop" or "band," and that they took part in the local festival. But his English was not very extensive and my German nearly nonexistent, so conversation didn't get very far. Meanwhile they continued to sing from time to time, and I noticed that in addition to their individual mugs of beer they passed around a boot-shaped glass, from which each person drank. Diagonally across from me was a young good-looking guy who seemed to be constantly smiling.

Eventually, a trip to the rest room was needed, and when I got back the good-looking, smiling guy was in the seat to my left. His name was "Stefan" and he was in high school (Gymnasium). His English was quite good. He explained more about the Junge Schar, which included members from 18 to about 30 years of age. They had been at a rehearsal for the festival play. He was surprised to learn that I was 41. He urged me to stay and see the Pentecost Festival the following weekend, and I explained that it would unfortunately be impossible, as I was with a tour group, including family members, and we had to leave Rothenburg the next day. He invited me to write. "If you will write to us, we will write to you." And he gave me his address.

Meanwhile, the boot continued to make its rounds, getting refilled a couple of times, and I enjoyed being included in the sharing. At one point, it came to the guy on my right, and after he had a sip he looked carefully at it, and handed it to me very carefully, just so. I took a swig, and when I did so, a cheer went up around the table. Stefan explained that when I drank, air had bubbled into the foot of the boot, and whoever lets air into the foot has to buy the next boot. He hastened to assure me that it was not expensive, and it wasn't — it was only a liter, and it cost less than 5 marks, maybe 3,50. But anyway, I was delighted, because it was obvious that they were all in on it and to me it seemed like a way of including me in the group and their activity which went even beyond having me sit at their table and talk to them. I was buying their beer, providing for them. Okay, it's also playing a trick on the newcomer, but it was a trick I was happy to have played on me.

Eventually, after 1:00 a.m., people started to drift away, and I had to go back to the hotel, which was a couple of blocks outside the city walls. Stefan walked with me, and I began to fantasize that he might invite me home with him. But at an intersection about a block from the hotel he said here was where he had to go a different way, and we said our good nights.

I sent him a postcard when we reached Heidelberg (for people who know Germany, the tour actually stayed in a hotel in Frankenthal). After I got home I wrote and told him a bit more about myself, and he responded with information about himself and the Junge Schar. The story of ongoing contact I'll tell in a subsequent post or posts. And I'll also provide some links to photos and videos that can illustrate the Junge Schar and the festival.

Busboys and Theology of the Body

Thursday evening I was having dinner at the yacht club where I help run sailboat races, and reading the book on Theology of the Body while I was waiting for each course to be delivered. There was a good-looking busboy, who removed some items when I was finished with them.

In the book I was reading passages on celibacy, specifically what Jesus calls being celibate "for the Kingdom of God." Celibacy is supposed to free the celibate to devote himself to the work of building the Kingdom. It is also supposed to be a sign to all of the condition of all in heaven where, as Jesus says, "they neither marry nor are given in marriage." So there is a renunciation of the good of marriage for the sake of a higher good, "living a transformed life of sincere self-giving…".

And as I left I began to question how the attraction I felt toward the busboy fit in with the meaning of celibacy. Was there something hollow in my celibacy if I indulged my desire to look at him? Have I really renounced sex "for the sake of the Kingdom of God?" Have I given myself to God?

On further thought, I think this passage from a bit earlier in the book is relevant: "The celibate vocation does not entail a change in human nature. A person who takes up the path of celibacy must still battle lust. A faithful life of celibacy — like a faithful marriage — requires the redemptive power of Christ. Like everyone else, the celibate person must submit his lusts to the power flowing from the redemption of the body."

So it's not surprising that I continue to find guys attractive. And I think it's important for anyone who is trying in any way to control his sexual activity to realize that it is unrealistic to expect not to find people attractive — indeed, it would probably be unhealthy to try to suppress sexual feelings completely. So for those who have decided that they are not going to have sex with other men — as well as those who are living in a monogamous relationship — you should understand that your decision does not keep you from being attracted to different guys, and these attractions don't mean that you have failed to live up to your decision. The question is whether you let them lead you to abandon your commitment.

I might add that celibacy does not equal solitude. Those of us who see celibacy as the moral choice for us are still called to love of neighbor, and we can certainly seek good friendships and interactions with others. And I think that what I'd really like with people like the busboy is some sort of friendly interaction (however brief), in some way to become a person to them, not just "table 4."

I'm not saying that I'm perfect by any means, but I'm saying that I think I have basically kept my commitment, even as I realize that I could be better in a number of ways. And I'm encouraging you to realize that it is possible to live such a way of life, and perhaps to be happier in it than I have been. But don't have unrealistic expectations of being free of sexual desires.

While I'm talking about restaurant staff, I can add that on Friday, before the performance of "Alexander's Feast"* I went to the restaurant where Seth the waiter worked. He wasn't there. I was waited on by a very pleasant young woman — the first time I had seen her. Toward the end of the dinner, I asked if Seth and Phil had left. She said Phil had left but Seth still worked there. So I hope to see him on some of the Fridays when I go to concerts in Boston.


* I posted about this on my music blog.

For Ryan and for You

Ryan at http://aguyinlove.blogspot.com/ posted this on his blog and asked his readers to copy it to their blogs.

Like him, I don't want to lose any of you, dear readers, so here it is.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-IpQdKxCAwNdBbf7ABTuEAU0M1fyxOPkuV3ekgLh1R9BiDw1jVAF1cY9ySv8lDuKztcTu7kodQYIvIiHA5V74F3g_ZbbyxKv4un79YRxAsTr8yJyY0ETjgI6l-DQ3qapyINoCSFYStWf/s1600-h/pic13458.jpg

There comes a point in your life when you realize:
Who matters,
Who never did,
Who won't anymore...
And who always will.
So, don't worry about people from your past,
there's a reason why they didn't make it to your future.

Give these flowers to everyone you don't want to lose in 2009

Unfortunately, the picture of the flowers which he included did not copy, and, I'm still too inexperienced to be able to make it show up here, but I did get the url of the picture, and I invite you to click on it. I'm not sure there is always a good reason why some people from my past didn't make it to my future; but certainly relationships change, and it is impossible to stay as close to everybody as we are for a time. If you're reading this, you're someone I don't want to lose.

The Warm Sacred Night, Part 2: "Seth" the Waiter

My first time in the Scollay Square my waiter introduced himself as "Seth," and he may have been the best waiter I ever had — certainly in the top level. On subsequent visits the waitresses were very good, but not quite up to "Seth's" level. Eventually I started asking if Seth had an open table.

On one of my early visits, Seth asked what I was reading, and I showed him: "Truth and Tolerance" by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger. I told him a bit about the subject. After that our interactions took on a slightly friendly tone. There was a period of a couple of months when he was not there. When he showed up, I mentioned his long absence, and he explained that he had been in Israel. On another occasion, I learned that he is a college student majoring in Political Science. He is now a senior. I think he's Jewish, not only from the time in Israel (which was enough), but also because last night I noticed that he is wearing a "chai" — a Hebrew letter meaning "life" and also a version of the name of Abraham — just below his throat.

It was kind of heavy going, but eventually I finished the Ratzinger book last spring and I began "a third testament," by Malcolm Muggeridge, a revised version of the scripts from a 7-part TV series he had done, with segments on St. Augustine, Pascal, Blake, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Bonhoeffer. Yesterday I was reading the chapter on Kierkegaard.

Seth asked what I was reading and I handed him the book. He remarked that it looked interesting. I asked him if he knew who Muggeridge was. No. So I said an atheist (agnostic would have been more accurate) British journalist who eventually came to believe in God. Then I remembered and mentioned when Seth came back with the appetizer or something that it was Muggeridge who introduced Mother Teresa to the West with his book "Something Beautiful for God." Seth said he'd look for it.

Toward the end of the meal, I was at the end of the chapter, which Mugg closes with a quote from the last thing Kierkegaard wrote. I showed it to Seth and invited him — when he had a free minute — to read most of it, beginning after the reference to Christianity, which was hidden behind the card I use as a bookmark. He took the book immediately and read
"every man, every individual, is equally close to God...How close and equally close? Because Loved by Him. Consequently there is equality, the equality of infinity, between man and man. If there is any distinction, it is that one person bears in mind that he is loved, perhaps day after day, perhaps day after day for seventy years, perhaps with only one longing, a longing for eternity so that he can really grasp this thought and go through life with it, concerning himself with the blessed occupation of meditating on how he is loved — and not, alas, because of his virtue. Another person perhaps does not remember that he is loved, perhaps goes on year after year, day after day, and does not think of his being loved; or perhaps he is glad and grateful to be loved by his wife, by his children, by his friends, by his contemporaries, but he does not think of his being loved by God. Or perhaps he laments not being loved by anyone and does not think of being loved by God. Infinite, divine love: it makes no distinction! But what of human ingratitude? If there is an equality among us men in which we completely resemble each other, it is that not one of us truly thinks about being loved!"
He handed back the book, and I suggested that maybe one had to be my age to really appreciate that passage. He disagreed. I wonder what the other customers must have thought if they noticed this action.

I paid my tab with a credit card, tipping over 25% of the pre-tax amount. I figure that I should always tip on the heavy side when I'm alone at a table, preventing the waiter or waitress from being tipped on multiple meals. But this was even a couple of bucks more because of the personal interaction. And as I put on my coat and started to leave, he said "Good night, Mr. [Naturgesetz]." (At that point he would not have seen the tip I added.)