In 1941 a young man from South Carolina named Frank Harvin answered his country's call and joined the Army. Frank must have been about eighteen at the time. As it happened, he ended up serving in the Judge Advocate General's office. While he did not see much action during the war, his commanding officer asked him, in 1945, if Frank would serve as the law clerk for a very special series of trials about to get under way in a place called Neuremburg.

The Neuremberg Trials changed Frank's life forever, and in some way changed our whole family. Frank returned to the states, entered law school, and committed himself to a lifetime of service in the fight against racism and bigotry in the South. Some time shortly after his return from the war he married my father's sister, my Aunt Margie.

I remember them as an incredibly close couple, filled with great love for each other. They raised my three cousins, David, Leonie, and Andrea.

And in 1970, when Frank was a little more than 45, he died of lung cancer.

None of us ever thought that Margie would marry again. She was devestated, and had such love for Frank that we just couldn't imagine anyone replacing Frank. But time passed, and after about ten years she met someone. Not someone who would replace Frank, but someone who would offer her something new.

Bill Doty was in some ways a simple man. He worked his entire life as a clerk at the post office of Winnsboro, South Carolina, a sleepy southern town with a population of about 5000. He was also a shrewd investor and businessman, who had made himself a millionaire several times over by the time he met my Aunt Margie. Bill did not believe that money was to be saved or hoarded, especially, but instead was to be used to make people happy. His own dream had been to travel the world, seeing its great wonders, and coming to know the many facets of world culture. In my Aunt Margie he had found the companion he longed for, someone who could join him in this great adventure of life.

I lost count over the years of the many trips they took: cruise ships down the Nile, the Danube, the Odr; by train across Canada; by riverboat down the Mississippi; to London, Ireland, Paris, and Italy; to Hong Kong, Tokyo; by yacht through the Caribbean.

And then this fall, at age 71, Bill too died of cancer. This is the eulogy I wrote for him.

In Memory of Bill Doty

Scholars call it the problem of evil: if ours is truly a benevolent god, then why is there suffering in the world? The anguish of this question is never more acute than when we mourn the passing of a loved one. Some Christian scholars offer the idea of original sin as an answer to the question: because Adam and Eve partook of the Tree of Knowledge in defiance of God's wishes, they came to know suffering, and were cast out of the Garden of Eden, and all Mankind descended from them have known suffering since.

Bill Doty has made me think about the story of Eden, and in his life and his passing I have come to see it in a new way.

Families arouse our strongest protective instincts. All too often we are aloof towards new family members, as if we expect them to prove themselves in some way. With Bill it was different. Any reservations I might have had, any protective urge towards Aunt Margie I might have felt, dissipated as soon as I met Bill. It was just so obvious that he and Margie were deeply in love, that they were destined for each other.

Like all the Stones and Harvins, I came to feel tremendous fondness for Bill. We were very different people, from very different backgrounds, but he was always a joy to be around. My fondest memories, of course, are of listening to him talk about his travels around the world. Whether it was the British Museum, or the Pyramids of Egypt, or some other wonder from some far-flung corner of the world, I can still see, as if he were sitting next to me right now, Bill's eyes just dancing with excitement as he said, "I tell you Mark, it was marvelous, just marvelous."

And Bill's excitement was not the shallow thrill of a casual tourist. He emersed himself in the experience. I honestly think that he and Margie got as much pleasure from the research and study they put in before their trips as they did from the trips themselves. I'll never forget Bill's description of their visit to Ankhor Wat: his delight in seeing one of the world's great wonders, and his irritation that most of the people on their ship didn't make the trip because they didn't know anything about Ankhor Wat, and it hadn't occured to them that the jungles of Southeast Asia could hold such a marvel. But then, you don't learn about Ankhor Wat in school; you learn about it only if you have the passion for a lifetime of learning. That was Bill.

And we must remember that, even as we grieve. Bill lived a full life. He did not defer or delay his enjoyment of life for some later time that might never come. He lived fully in the moment, and relished what life had to offer.

And I must confess that I'm a bit envious. I wish I had Bill's rich sense of marvel at the world around him. Where did it come from? That's what made me think of Eden, and the Tree of Knowledge. True knowledge, the knowledge to see the world around us, even the suffering in it, can sometimes seem like a curse. But it is also a gift, God's greatest gift to us. We can be happy without knowledge, but we cannot be wise. Adam and Eve could be happy in Eden, but to travel the path to wisdom they had to leave Eden behind.

Yet Eden is our reminder that God chose to put that which is purely divine -- that which is marvelous -- here in the earthly world around us. You can read the book of Genesis to say that in Eden Adam and Eve were deceived, because they did not see sin and suffering around them. But I think the truth is really the other way around: when we despair in the face of sin and suffering we are deceived, for we have lost sight of the divine grace that is present in the world around us.

Bill's gift was that he could see a touch of Eden in the world around him. I call it a gift not just because it was a rare ability that he had, but because it was something he knew how to share: through him, we could all feel the divine joy that he felt.

True grace comes from within. Bill could explore the world around him with such zeal because of the love he had within him. Leonie is fond of saying that Margie and Bill were the great lovebirds, and she's right. Theirs was no ordinary love, but the kind of true, romantic love that sometimes seems to live only in fairy tales. Spending time with Bill and Margie reminded me that love isn't just a fairy tale, that true love, like the shadows of Eden, is there waiting to be discovered in the world around us, by those who have the wisdom and the grace to find it.

Bill and Margie were blessed to have such love for each other, but I think each of us felt blessed to have known them. Just being around them always made me feel better; their love was something I could take comfort in.

The challenge now is to let Bill's love live on in each of us. It's a gift I wish I could have thanked him for, especially in these last four months. So wherever your spirit rests now, Bill, if you're listening, I want you to know: you were marvelous, just marvelous.