Brother Oswald's Funeral

So I arrived at the monastery Saturday afternoon and everyone was fasting. I joined them, as it seemed disrespectful to do anything less.

They went about their daily chores, but all discussions and classes were replaced by silent meditation.

During the afternoon session, I walked down to the lake and sat on a log, watching the reflection of the sky in the water and wondering just how deeply woven into the fabric of creation this thing was.

At dusk, the monks processed to the graveyard, carrying the body of Brother Oswald in a simple coffin.

It grew darker.

By lamplight and silence each took turns digging his grave and finally lowered in the coffin.

Then, we stayed.

We kept vigil all night long. Some of the monks fell asleep on the ground. Others stood as much as they could. Some sat. Some prostrated themselves before the grave. No one spoke a word.

The sky grew lighter. Everyone began assembling more tightly around the open grave.

As dawn broke, Father Joseph threw in a handful of dirt, turned, and walked away back down the path to the monastery.

Each monk, taking whatever time he needed, stood over Brother Oswald then threw in a handful of dirt, turning to leave immediately thereafter.

Somewhat abashed, I threw my handful in and turned to go.

When I arrived at the monastery, everyone was about their morning chores. Father Joseph saw me, thanked me for coming, and asked if I wanted to go fishing again.

So we did.

We talked about the difficulty of asparagus bugs, my need to begin weatherproofing my cottage, and the fact that all of the monks are issued a pair of long-johns for the winter, to wear under their habits.