When I was somewhat younger, I really had no idea what a Christadelphian Memorial Service looked like, because I stayed home with everyone except my father on Sunday afternoons (for it was an afternoon service). Indeed, with my father being recording brother, my mother did not get to memorial, except very occasionally, for perhaps decades.

“No man is an iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee…”

All too often, our modern communications are seasoned with venom, not salt. Waging war by e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, or any other of the electronic tools spawned by the internet has become routine, even, unfortunately, sometimes within our community. And this is only one of the problems we see today.