R.I.P. Edward Sebring

[My Freemasonry]

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by Christopher Hodapp

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:​

"The sequel of to-day unsolders all​

The goodliest fellowship of famous knights​

Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep​

They sleep—the men I loved. I think that we​

Shall never more, at any future time,​

Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,​

Walking about the gardens and the halls​

Of Camelot, as in the days that were." *​

So very sad today. I just received word that my longtime friend and Brother Ed Sebring passed away Thursday morning, after suffering from Mantle Cell Lymphoma for many months. Many Indiana Knights Templar probably remember Ed best as the longtime editor of the Indiana supplement of the KT Magazine, but he was so much more than just a name on a masthead.

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I met Ed for the first time 22 summers and a thousand years ago, and since then, we've spoken more to each other in texts and emails than in person. But he was always upbeat, jovial, supportive, and so much more.

Ed was incredibly enthusiastic about Indiana's DeMolay kids and and our York Rite bodies. When we first started Levant Preceptory as the state's first Medieval period recreation Order of the Temple team, he was our first and most vocal cheerleader.

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As a longtime editor, he frequently sent me his take on this or that article or blog post I'd put up. He'd often send me a story idea or a news item to pursue. But we shared other common interests like railroads, history, France, and more.

Health problems dogged Ed over the last decade or so, and he was being treated for cancer for many months. So, we commiserated on that topic, as well, sharing stories of the horrors of being trapped in infusion room Barcaloungers, watching helplessly as endless morning chat shows and "Flip This House" reruns droned on the TV set, with no possible hope of wresting the remote control from the hands of fellow patients.

Years ago, Jeff Naylor said, “When you're young all you ever want to be is older. No one ever explains that the price you pay for that is in the numbers of people you lose who were important in your life.” Dear God, I wish that wasn't so, because knowing it doesn't make it less painful when it happens. But as the years pass and mortality looms larger in the rear-view mirror, it takes on definable features. Ed Sebrings don't pass our way very often, and I sorely regret not having spent more time in his company. I'll miss our phone calls and messages back and forth. The loss of his wisdom, experience and good counsel will leave a void in my life not easily filled.

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My heart goes out to dear Cindy Rider, who wrote this morning. She's hoping to have a Masonic service for Ed at Vincennes Lodge No. 1 soon. I'll post more when I know.

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:​

"Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?​

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?​

For now I see the true old times are dead,​

When every morning brought a noble chance,​

And every chance brought out a noble knight.​

Such times have been not since the light that led​

The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.​

But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved​

Which was an image of the mighty world;​

And I, the last, go forth companionless,​

And the days darken round me, and the years,​

Among new men, strange faces, other minds."​

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge:
​

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,​

And God fulfils Himself in many ways,​

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.​

Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?​

I have lived my life, and that which I have done​

May He within Himself make pure! but thou,​

If thou shouldst never see my face again,​

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer​

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice​

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.​

For what are men better than sheep or goats​

That nourish a blind life within the brain,​

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer​

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?​

For so the whole round earth is every way​

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.​

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But now farewell. I am going a long way​

With these thou seëst—if indeed I go—​

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)​

To the island-valley of Avilion;​

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,​

Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies​

Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns​

And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,​

Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."​

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So said he, and the barge with oar and sail​

Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan​

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,​

Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood​

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere​

Revolving many memories, till the hull​

Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,​

And on the mere the wailing died away.*​

His column is broken, and his Brethren mourn.

Requiescat in pace.

* From Le Morte d'Arthur by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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