The death of a loved one is one of the most difficult pains that we endure as humans. When that death is unexpected, as in the case of Todd Van Beck, the pain is even greater.

On Tuesday evening May 23, I sat with 13 others in the library at Cincinnati Friends Meeting, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Todd, who was facilitating a program on the life and ministry of Albert Schweitzer. After about a half hour of waiting, it became apparent that Todd was not coming. I felt in my heart that something was terribly wrong. It was not like Todd to not inform me if he could not do something. On the preceding Saturday evening, he had texted me that he would not be able to be at worship on Sunday morning because he was going to St. Louis. He was one of the most conscientious persons I have ever known. And so, when he did not show on Tuesday evening, I knew in my heart to expect some bad news. That news came on Wednesday morning, when I learned of Todd's passing.

Todd came to Cincinnati Friends Meeting last fall as a seeker. A tall, distinguished-looking man with a full head of gray hair and a gray moustache, he sat alone on the outside of a bench, situated about midway on the right side of the meeting room. His choice of seat, I learned later, was so he could make a quick getaway following worship. It took him about three visits before he felt comfortable enough to converse with anyone. He introduced himself to me through an email, sharing with me that he was an introvert. He asked if we could find a time to have lunch together, where he could explore in more depth his interest in the Quaker faith. I learned at our first luncheon that this was no ordinary seeker. Todd was a very well-read man who had already studied the likes of George Fox and Robert Barclay, as well as more contemporary Quakers like Rufus Jones, Elton Trueblood, and even Phil Gulley. Our conversations, beginning with our first luncheon, were challenging, insightful, and very enjoyable. I always looked forward to our times together, recognizing in Todd a man filled with passion for the Quaker faith. During our first meeting he was already asking me how he could become a member of Cincinnati Friends.

In March, on three consecutive Saturday mornings, I arranged for a class on Quakerism, a pre-requisite for membership, where Todd was the only student. We met together in the library, one-on-one, talking about the history of Friends, our testimonies, and the Quaker understanding of worship and business. Shortly thereafter, he wrote a letter to Ministry & Counsel requesting that he become a member. Just a few days before his passing, a clearness committee was formed to meet with Todd, which was the final step before he would have been accepted into membership.

Quakers at Cincinnati Friends Meeting will remember Todd for the stories he shared during meeting for worship. His heritage was a rich one. He was proud of his Iowa upbringing, and the anecdotes about his family were humorous and spiritually enriching. Oh, how I would have loved to have met his grandfather!

 The Quaker poet John Greenleaf Whittier has written, "I know not where His islands lift their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift beyond His love and care...And Thou, O Lord, by whom are seen thy creatures as they be, forgive me if too close I lean my human heart on Thee." 

Whittier also writes, "Alas for him who never sees the stars shine through the cypress trees! Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, nor looks to see the breaking day across the mournful marbles play. Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, the truth to flesh and sense unknown, that life is ever Lord of death, and love can never lose its own."

 "Forgive me if too close I lean my human heart on Thee." Those of us who loved Todd know something about our need to lean our hearts on the God of comfort. The poet also understood the truth that "love can never lose its own." The love that Todd expressed, and the love that Todd experienced, can never be lost. Such love comes alive for us in our memories—the memories of a man who dearly loved his family, his son, his work, his friends, and his colleagues. He loved the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, the Cincinnati Opera, the works of Albert Schweitzer, and he loved his Quaker faith.

Todd departed this earthly life too soon, and we miss him. In the words of Friend Jeff Arnold, borrowed from an Irish folk song, "Todd, we hardly knew ye!"

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