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One of the weekend celebrations in Joliet involved an Eagle Scout ceremony. I've been to one before, but this one was more elaborate and somewhat theatrical. It was all about this excellent young man named Tom, who has risen through the ranks from his early days as a Cub. The ritual involved scouts dressed as Indians or Indian Spirits speaking among themselves and to Tom, discusing his readiness and worthiness to become an Eagle. The room was filled with Scouts, very young ones in red neckerchiefs and very old ones in beards. All wore their Boy Scout uniforms. I was never a Scout. My older brother was a Cub once. I don't think he went much further. I remember the troop flags down in our basement. As I remember it, his uniform was blue rather than the current light tan. He had a funny little cap. "Activities of the Boy Scouts aim at mental, moral, and physical development, stressing outdoor skills and training in citizenship and lifesaving." (The Concise Columbia Encyclopedia) These are noble aims, and the language of the Eagle ceremony was full of idealistic phrases. This excellent young man Tom certainly measures up to Scouting standards. I think the world of him. And yet I felt a bit uneasy sitting in that room. Maybe it was partly due to the room itself, which was the main hall of the Masonic Lodge, cinderblock walls painted a disconcerting blue-gray upon which hung various masonic symbols. Because I am aware of the Masons' historical anti-Catholicism, I felt a little odd being there. But my uneasiness wasn't just about that. The scout uniforms have a certain paramilitary aura, and white guys dressed like Indians always bug me. Call me a damn crazy liberal guy with no sense of fun, but it bugs me. I know a little history. And then there's the BSA's bad decisions (from where I stand) regarding the exclusion of gay scouts and scoutmasters. (But I should talk, given my affiliations with the RCC.) I also know that boys will be boys. One of those boy things is a preternatural desire to be part of a group. Boys have a distinctive herd instinct. Nothing intrinsically good or bad about that...so I'm happy Baden-Powell and Dan Beard decided to organize for the good. The other celebration revolved around four of my Carmelite brothers who are marking 50 years of life as Carmelites. I've lived with Louis in Joliet for the past five or six years. Clyde was my most excellent and inspiring novice master 30 years ago. I lived with Sean for a spell down in Houston, but I've never has the good fortune to live with Fergus. The coincidental convergence of these two affairs led me to ponder the links between the Boy Scouts and the Carmelites. It's dangerous territory. Most Carmelites I know would be mildly amused with some of the similarities; some would be outraged by the real or assumed implications. We are an ancient order of the church. We do not like to think that we might be just another male conglomerate; I don't think we experience ourselves as such (but then, I suspect, neither do the Boy Scouts). We have a very rich spiritual and historical tradition and mission; we are adults. This is our life; we are not playing games. We are bound to the crucified Christ. And yet... I can't keep from thinking that some of our affiliatory desires are firmly rooted in the boy things of "the lower 98 stories", as a friend of mine likes to say. |
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Mark Twain |