Perhaps it was because I was seriously sleep deprived that the events of Sunday morning shook me to my osteopenic bones. A service of reflection, of remembering the acts and kindness of God in 2006..that concluded with a potent teaching on what I would call “the verb communion”. For to love God means nothing if it is done in a humanly arid, hermetically sealed environment. When Matthew spoke about loneliness, it smote my heart- and opened up a huge gaping gash that I had tried to neatly shroud away long ago. I realized how much I had grown to love the people that I had met through SBF, through the “book club”, through Matthew’s gracious introduction of us to his fellowship of saints. A post-modern, fiercely intelligent sprinkling of remarkable individuals who, refreshingly, were not afraid to grapple and wrestle with difficult questions, or use the occasional four-lettered expletive as part of their active vocabulary. The toasting and roasting of Matthew, the music director, by so many who loved (and still love) him profoundly, left me both comfortably warmed, and uncomfortably vulnerable. For love is truly nothing if it is not given away..and in the giving, in the emptying out, there is a dying that must of necessity preface resurrection.