April 4, 1946 ~ August,19 2024

The Holy One called you early to the work of justice-making. That was you at age 13, earnestly proclaiming to the rest of the family – right after Grandpa Matthews said grace and rose to carve the turkey – that a more meaningful celebration of Thanksgiving would be to pack up the feast spread before everyone and offer it to hungry people who couldn’t afford a meal. All your life, you served and advocated for the vulnerable and disadvantaged. Fresh out of seminary, you took a job with the Alameda County Welfare Department, eventually becoming an addiction counselor with the Department of Alcohol and Drug Programs, then rising through the ranks to become Deputy Director. But there had been a deeper calling stirring inside you for years, the calling to become an ordained minister, a calling that eventually led to hospital chaplaincy, where your heart and spirit found their true vocational home. You always described yours as a “ministry of presence,” of showing up to listen and pray and hold a hand and bear witness to the birthing and dying and healing and suffering and rejoicing of patients and families and hospital staff. That ministry of presence led you to show up in other places too, at local vigils and national protests, at the border where you delivered donations of toys and clothing for families seeking asylum, at the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in North Dakota, where you joined thousands of protesters opposed to the Dakota Access Pipeline, at the first gay prom in Castro Valley, where you joined the human shield of parents and community members celebrating and protecting LGBTQ youth. There was so much that you loved. You were “Bob the Builder” and “Bob the Gardener.” You loved anything labeled “some assembly required,” any project (even Ikea furniture!) that involved some power tools, a bit of mechanical genius, a heap of patience, and a few curse words. You loved green and growing things. Wherever you lived, a garden grew – ferns and succulents and flowering plants tended with the gentle joy of someone who lived and loved this bit of poetry: “The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth; one is nearer God’s heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth.” You loved the outdoors, loved camping, loved hiking at Pt. Reyes, sunsets at Pismo Beach, long walks in the redwoods, camera in hand. You loved photography and had a gift for capturing the perfect shot, the perfect moment, like that stunning photo you took from your hospice bed (of all places) on Epiphany (of all days) with morning sun bursting through the tree outside the living room window. You loved sports, all sports – football, baseball, basketball, soccer, lacrosse. March Madness was a holy season in our household, with things rising to a fever pitch whenever your alma mater Syracuse made the Final Four. “Never Underestimate an Old Man Who Graduated from Syracuse” your favorite sweatshirt says. You loved the high desert of New Mexico and the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. Every pilgrimage to that holy place, every drive down the 13-mile road leading to the monastery’s entrance, every service in that light-filled chapel, every moment on the shore of the Río Chama filled your soul to over-flowing. You loved it there. And you loved us, your family and your friends – your wife Marjorie, your daughter Sarah, your son Will and daughter-in-love Lacy, your grandchildren Magdalena and Isaiah, your sister Mary Ann, your niece Stephanie and nephews Taylor, Jonathan and Brandon, along with their dear spouses and children, your cousins and in-laws and dear friends too numerous to name, including friends dating back to your childhood in Wantagh on the south shore of Long Island, NY. You loved and cherished as well your adored older brother Bill, with whom you shared an extraordinary bond, your dear parents Mary and John, and so many others who departed this life before you. And now, our beloved Bob, you are free – free of suffering, free of COPD. No more struggles to breathe because you are breath now, spirit now, ruach now, riding the air. And while we will miss forever and ever your embodied presence – your voice and hugs and laughter and delightful antics – we will carry you in our hearts, telling your stories, tending your garden, celebrating your presence in the people, places and pastimes you so loved. You are not gone. You live in us. With love forever, Your Family and Friends