Goodbye, Brother Alban

Br. Alban Herberger, Monk of the Abbey of Gethsemani, died on September 20, 2006 at 10:04 AM. Upon learning of his passing, some of his numerous relatives made arrangements to attend his funeral on Saturday, September 23, at the monastery where Alban lived for 56 years. While many of his family were in attendance, many more were unable to make the journey to Trappist, KY on such short notice, and undoubtedly wish they had been given an opportunity to say good-bye.

This web page is intended to afford those who were unable to attend Alban's funeral services to glimpse what the immediacy of his passing was like. Please understand that it is not the intent of this page to be either disrespectful nor hurtful, nor is it the intent of these images to unnecessarily sadden or upset Alban's loved ones. Instead, after consulting with family present at Alban's funeral, it was agreed that sharing these images and comments would benefit the family as a whole, and better preserve the legacy of Brother Alban so that all could share in the celebration of his life.

Hopefully, persons viewing this page who would like to share their insights or memories of Alban will do so, and perhaps in time this will become both a viable forum for story telling and a useful archive of Alban's many adventures. Comments and suggestions are welcome, as are your stories and pictures of time spent with Alban.


The arrival at the monastery was unsurprisingly solemn, with faint smiles and pleasantries masking the deeply shared hurt. The dinner small talk, so often loud and uproarious in the past, was appropriately subdued. Following the meal, and with an indescribable electrical storm blotting out the horizon, the decision was made that much of the group would visit Alban, whose body was lying in state inside the church, that evening.

To describe this nightly viewing as anything less than spiritual would be a disservice. The journey to the abbey - all 500 or so yards of it - was harrowing, with thunderclaps roaring overhead and sensational, multi-forked lightning flashes striking every second or two. Upon entering the church, it seemed the contained fury of the sky was finally unleashed, with rain pounding upon the ceiling above, and lightning illuminating the stained glass as if strobe lights were installed beyond their panes. It was then, against the ferocious backdrop of nature outside, that we came upon Alban, lying peacefully at the back of the church.

As part of the ritual of passing, the Monks of Gethsamani took turns reading psalms over Alban's body - a vigil intended to bless his spirit and lasting throughout the full 24 hours leading up to his burial. A monk was seated facing Alban's head, and the lone bright light in the church shown upon his prayer book. Those who had traveled down to visit with Alban sat around his body and in the back of the church, awed by the contrast of solemn prayers being offered and the violent weather wailing outside. The weight of sadness was abundant, yet it was merely the beginning of a loving good-bye.

The following morning, Kentucky's news reports were awash in stories of flooding and damage as 7 inches of rain had swollen rivers, downed trees, and isolated entire communities. The storms had apparently not ended either, for afternoon forecasts predicted additional downpours. Morning at the guest house was again low key, with more family arrivals and continued idle chatter. Another visit to Alban was initiated, with loved ones trickling down to his side in seemingly an order of seniority. First his siblings, then his nephews and nieces, and finally extended loved ones, both those familiar and some acquaintances of Alban's unknown to us.

Lunch gave way to mid-afternoon downtime, all the while leading up to the inevitable funeral services at 4:30 PM. With the rain again falling, family members were shuttled down to the church in groups. The lawn of the abbey was crowded with cars, and entry to the church revealed a truth we all presumably knew: Contrary to the stereotypes of monastic life, Alban had a lot of friends. If not for the rains and their myriad of storm damage issues, one suspects the crowd may have swelled even further.

By this point Alban's body had been moved before the alter, a lone candle lit above his head. Members of the Order began to take their seats in the chancel, while retreatants filled the balcony with looks of curious respect. The funeral began with a long processional of clergy slowly walking up the aisle, eventually enveloping Alban's body in their white robes before its members dispersed to their places .

After 71 years of life, and 56 years as a monk, Alban's final mass had begun.

The highlight of the service was the Abbot's eulogy for Alban, one in which he recited from 15-year-old Thomas (Alban) Herberger's letter to the monastery seeking entry to the Order in 1950. The Abbot also spoke of Alban's deep love of sport, especially of Notre Dame football, and of his work both as farm manger and as the monastery's front desk greeter.

Perhaps most inspiring, he spoke of Alban's thirty year battle with MS, describing God's plan of weakening such a strong man so that he could be humble enough to welcome God fully into his life. The resounding message was that Alban had lived both a life of wry humor and one in devotion to God, despite the trials that life had presented him. The abbot's full homily can be read here.

The mass concluded with an invitation by the Abbott to those wishing to view the burial to reconvene in the graveyard outside the church's apse. Six members of the Order then flanked Alban's body, and following the Abbot's lead, slowly wheeled him down to his grave. The remainder of the clergy followed, joined next by Alban's family and friends. A cool drizzle fell on the assembled mourners, while Alban's body and family were sheltered beneath a tent. After more prayers and some last farewells, a sheet was placed over Alban's body, and he was lowered into his grave and laid to rest. Shovels of dirt were then poured upon him, emphasizing the finality of a devoted life now ended.

And, just like that, Alban was gone.

Following the burial, Alban's family returned to the guest house for dinner, joined by a half dozen monks and priests. The Abbot presented the family with two copies of the homily, while the other clergy recalled stories of Alban's exploits and doted on the youngest grandchildren. An air of lightness began to creep in, and a more jovial attitude permeated through Alban's kin. For the first time in four days the sense of loss was ebbing, and slowly the collected group's voices rose to the decibels more typical of a gathering of Alban's family. While Alban's physical presence was gone, his spiritual energy crackled in the room, brought to life by memories and laughter that had been wanting for days. Outside, the rain stopped for what seemed like the first time in an eternity, offering a spectacular sunset for the family to savor.

Later that night, after the monks and priests had returned to the abbey and the children had been toddled off to bed, the family continued to share stories and admire Alban in family photo albums. Upstairs, the usual suspects were crowded around a television, Sterlings in hand, as Michigan State's football team relentlessly pounded on Notre Dame while building a seemingly insurmountable lead by halftime. Prior to the contest, many of the family had agreed that, for Alban's sake, it was best to put aside our collective dislike for the Fighting Irish and to instead root them on for the love of Alban. Three quarters in, it appeared that a hard weekend was going to be made even more dreary by sport.

But wait...

Lo and behold, as the final quarter unfolded and a steady rain storm settled over Michigan States' stadium, Notre Dame too stormed back, winning a most improbable victory that left many of us suspicious of Alban's heavenly activities. With victory at hand and Alban's spirit undoubtedly pleased, the family drifted off to bed after an emotional and draining day.

Morning arrived with weary smiles and loving farewells, as the family again dispersed to their varied and distant homes. A brief visit to Alban's grave, now filled, was the final punctuation to the weekend's events. The monks had toiled, no doubt ceaselessly, in the previous day's rain to return Alban to the clay soil from which we all rise. Now the brown mud of Alban's grave contrasted against the edging green grass - his final resting place framed like a picture on a mat.

Fortunately for all, the pain of leaving Gethsemani that day was mitigated by the promise of reconvening again in just two weeks time. The family again looks forward to celebrating Alban's life, and to savoring the time spent amongst family that Alban cherished.

Hopefully, you too will be there to share the experience.