double identity indemnity

Hey, aren't you . . . ?
No, yeah, no. Wait. Aren't you . . . ?
Who? I don't think so. I'm . . . 
Aren't you what's-his-name . . . ?
Heh, heh, anybody can be what's-his-name.
Huh huh, got you.
Like I said, I'm . . . 
Yeah, right. You look just like him. You know, he . . . 
I guess you're right. I do look like him.
Totally.
It's been a while, hasn't it.
It has. Truly.
You're good?
I'm good. You?
Been better.
What's wrong?
Nothing's wrong. The regular stuff.
The regular stuff.
Yeah, you know.
Yeah. But you can tell me. After all we've been through.
After all we've been through.
It's nothing.
Come on.
Naw, it's nothing.
I can tell it's something.
A minute ago you were acting like you hardly knew me.
Me? No way.
Yes. Remember?
Yeah, no. I don't know. Maybe. Whatever.
It'll pass.
What will?
It's nothing. Like I said.
I get it.
Yeah.
Hey, I gotta get uptown. I'll hit you up later.
Yeah. Me too. Yeah. Hit me up later.
Yeah.
Sounds good.
Shrill screech of subway brakes as train pulls in to station.

camaraderie

Four men, all over 60. (For an inning, 5 men, one under 60.) Syracuse Chiefs game. Section 204. Common bonds, shared stories. What do older men share? Family, work, loss, youth, survival, names. And talk. Of the game. And what once was. Stories. Jabs. Laughter, lots of it. Camaraderie. Comrades. Comrade: "One who shares the same room." Even when it is a ballpark. We skipped the fireworks. We've seen enough of those for ten lifetimes. Life is grand. In the grandstands.

whither goest men?

I strolled into church late, which is not unusual. I came in during the reading of the Gospel, about the Transfiguration. It is a story that resonates with me, because it corresponds in my reflection to a personal transformation, in 1979.

I stood in back, not yet sitting, during the reading, in deference to the presiding priest and in respect of the Word. After the reading, I walked down the left side (why do we all tend to sit in the same places, anyway?) of the church and sat down in back of a member I know. (Had dinner with the family last Sunday evening, after a very Christian, post-worship invitation.) Once I removed my coat and placed it on the pew, I looked around and was almost instantly struck by this observation: the congregation is almost all women, at least at this service. I counted five men, including myself and the master of ceremonies assisting at the altar, in the pews. There were 20 to 25 women. Up in the choir loft were nine men and four women. I counted them when they came to the Communion rail. (I will set aside for now the more troubling age-related demographics. Quite simply, 60 years old tended to be the younger outlier of those attending.) (As an aside, I just discovered that a Rolling Stone review of James Brown's 1966 song "It's a Man's Man's Man's World" offered that he made its "biblically chauvinistic" lyrics "sound genuinely humane.")

This invited questions as my mind wandered during worship, as it sometimes does. I like to gaze out into the Memorial Garden, in this season sporting serene, snow-draped branches of crabapple. This is likely my final "resting place," if ashes rest. My mind entertained questions like these, none of them precisely formulated and none snarky or sour, though they might erroneously seem that way here, lost in translation:

• Is American Christianity culturally feminized, not offering men a masculine alternative? (I am reminded of the provocative essay I read in The Atlantic magazine, in July/August 2010: "The End of Men" by Hanna Rosin.)
• Have rank-and-file men themselves abdicated their place in the worship community (even though men prevail in the leadership ranks)?
• What if the situation were reversed: would women mount a campaign to rectify this? (see bullet immediately above about abdication)
• Does this female-to-male ratio prevail in the same proportion in the following circumstances: urban churches (as opposed to this suburban one), other Christian denominations, other religious traditions in America, poorer vs. richer congregations? What about Europe? The rest of the world?
• Does any of this matter, even to men?
• Should it matter (to men or women)?
• If it does matter, what are we to conclude, if anything?
• And finally, if it matters, what is to be done, if anything?