I think it was William Saroyan, writing in his epic work about California, The Human Comedy , who has one of his characters, employed as a delivery boy for Western Union, deliver the notice of his own brother's death to his parents. In those days, someone said, a telegram usually meant bad news of some sort.

And it did. I remember a few coming to our house, sealed up in their little pallid yellow envelopes with the glassine windows which revealed the equally pallid yellow paper within, on which had been pasted the print out from the telegraph machine, running like little parallel lines across the odd-sized telegraph paper. It all added up to a statement that this was a message of more than routine import and it demanded attention.

Now, bad news comes on the Internet. I have a friend downtown who sends me jokes and it was one of his peculiar examples of humor that I was sure was awaiting me when I tore into my email this morning. Prepared for a laugh, or in his case, more often a groan, I was stunned to read that Joel Novey was dead.

Joel and I were not close friends, but I think we both admired each other. As is often the case, what I mourned was more the loss of any opportunities to become a better friend than we actually were. There would not be any more chances. Joel was pretty much the only person I knew who actually lived in Staten Island. So, call me a Manhattan chauvinist, but it was true. On the other hand, I am one of the few people I know who actually go out to Staten Island for one thing or another. Sometimes I would call Joel if I were looking for something to buy, because he knew where to find good deals—in Staten Island, of course.

But I mainly knew Joel through meetings. I have this theory. We often admire others who find it easy to do the things we find difficult. And admiring Joel for enjoying meetings came from just that personal misgiving, since I absolutely abhor them. I don't know what heaven is like, but I have this fairly firm conviction that when I die, if someone tells me to take a seat in a hard metal chair, hands me a word-processed agenda and a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup, I will be in hell. For Joel, however, such a development would be the consummation of all hope, the fulfillment of every desire, and heaven in all its fullness.

Joel and I served on a number of convention planning committees back in the mid nineties, when he was rector of All Saints' Church in Staten Island, and I, as chair of the liturgical commission, was often pressed into service to organize convention liturgies. Joel was a great chair, he loved meetings and he loved to lead them. And he was good at them. Oh, yes, sometimes they went on a little long (for me, fifteen minutes was about right, after all) but this was Joel's glory and I gladly gave it to him.

Joel also knew hospitality. If you were on a committee with Joel, and a meeting was scheduled within two hours of any conceivable mealtime, he would arrange for food. And we would meet over dinner, or after dinner, or before dinner, but we would always dine together and that made a palpable difference in the quality of the meeting.

Joel and I also served for a while on Cathedral Trustees, which, decades ago used to be something of a social achievement in New York. Because its membership included the likes of me, it is a safe bet to conclude that the social cachet is gone. But Joel, and his good friend Joan Cupo were always there and usually had something to say about the peculiar life of our cathedral church as it was back in the nineties.

Today is a Monday, and I am fearful that Joel's actual funeral will be held at the end of the week, when I have to be upstate visiting a parishioner and friend who is in prison. So, I asked Father Cross to say a requiem mass for Joel here at St. John's in the Village where I serve. I kept crying during the liturgy, crying for Joel and his family, for Joan and his other friends, and mostly for a friend I would never see again.

In the church's hymn, Nicaea, often sung on Trinity Sunday, we sing about all the saints who adore the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea. Let's see now: A three-fold God, a huge number of saints gathered in the name of God. Doggone if that does not sound like a meeting. If heaven is really like that, Joel Novey is one happy fellow right now. For he has just been welcomed to the meeting to end all meetings.

Hope the coffee is good.

I miss you, Joel.

The Rev’d Lloyd Prator, Rector
Saint John’s in the Village Episcopal Church

New York City