6: The Young Brothers



I went through a lot of needless crap in my years as Brother Sean, but none of my worst moments there were ever the fault of my fellow young brothers.

We were caught up in that crazy life together, after all, and just trying to do our best under some very difficult circumstances. Though our individual friendships sometimes strained, the bonds that united us were so much stronger than any differences in opinion, and I'm forever grateful for the many good times we shared back then.

Before I joined the Marianist community in Mineola (pronounced Mini-oh-luh), the brothers' recent track record for new recruits wasn't very strong. There were a bunch of brothers who'd graduated high school in the 70s and 80s, and one two years ahead of us who graduated in 1991. Four of us joined my year, 1993, another joined two years later, and one joined three years after us.

Of the seven who joined between 1991 and 1996, only one is still there. I may be mistaken, but I don't believe anyone who joined between 1987 to 1991, or between 1996 and 2001, is still there either. Only one new brother in over 15 years is not exactly a good sign. I say that with no sense of joy or judgment either, by the way. Only sadness. And incidentally, because I feel very strongly about this, I need to make it clear right now:
I'm forever open to chatting with any current or former brothers and priests connected to the Society of Mary. I've had so many doors go unanswered whenever I've tried knocking on them in the past that I no longer bother knocking anymore. I'm still willing to answer my door anytime anyone wants to chat though, and I have a special place in my heart for those who, like me, lived in but later left the communities of Chaminade and Kellenberg.


We were the YBs, the Young Brothers, the recent high school graduates who got strange looks from students whenever we walked the halls of Chaminade High School, simply because the students of the all-boys Catholic high school were amazed to see guys their age wearing "the suit".

We surely looked like imposters to them, true anomalies if not actual freaks of nature, and most students who saw us froze in place by their lockers, staring at us open-mouthed with confusion as we walked by.

To each other though, we were the closest of friends, or at least we tried to be so in the beginning. Surrounded by men much older than us, all the way up to old Brother Joe in his late 80s, we were 18-year-old boys thrown into the fire, tasked with becoming adults under the spotlight of 40 men who'd been doing this monk thing longer than we'd been alive.

As a man in his mid-40s, I can't even imagine treating an 18 to 22-year-old the same way some of them treated me, but I know in my heart that they all truly believed they were helping me somehow, and I also believe the new heads of the Novitiate there now are significantly kinder, more loving, and more patient than their predecessors ever were.

With my sister Esther in September 1993

But yes, it's important to remember: we were still just teenagers. Teenagers dressed as monks working our asses off trying to fit in and later shine brightly as the future of the Roman Catholic Church, but we were also just teen boys for the first two years we lived there.

The four of us who joined the order in 1993 spent a lot of time our first summer exchanging whispers with one another. What's so-and-so's deal, we might ask about an older monk's strange personality. When are we doing that thing? we might ask, hoping one of the others had heard something we hadn't. Or even, Why the hell do they do it that way?, asking each other why the community does something they'd always done and probably still do.

We were all new, but because of that, we were all going through the exact same thing.

We were wet behind the ears about a great many circumstances, schedule requirements, and social mores, but because of this, we'd often exchange funny looks with one another at community gatherings, looks that always promised a fun followup conversation once we were in private.

Giving our lives over to God and joining a monastery didn't take away one ounce of our humanity, nor did it negate one drop of our youth. We were teenage boys choosing to be men of the cloth, and we relied on each other to navigate the dark waters of the strange new ocean we'd set sail on together.

I look forward to telling you much more about my individual friendships with my fellow young brothers as the weeks and months go by. For now though, I'll simply bookend my opinion shared at the start of this week's blog entry...

Despite all our ups and downs, silly run-ins, and arguments, every single one of my fellow young brothers was a treasured part of my life there. They made my often lonely monastery existence worth living, and worth appreciating for as long as I lived it. They were my brothers, and whether or not they'd say the same about me, they still are my brothers.


Coming Next Week: The Electrician's Apprentice

My grandmother, my mother, and me at my brother
Rob's wedding reception in September 1993

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