Reverend Carl Boston sat at the funeral of his best friend and colleague, the Right Reverend Dr. Morgan L. Kendal. Morgan was forty-five years old. He left to cherish his memory, his wife Lorraine and their son Lester, who was sitting on the front pew with other relatives, numb and bewildered, staring straight ahead and focused on Morgan’s bronze casket. Morgan was donned in full regalia, a bishop’s cross around his neck and a bishop’s ring on his right hand, although it had been a posthumous elevation. Carl ached inside, wondering what was so terrible that the only way out for his best friend was to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger… None of those that gave remarks at the funeral, including Carl, addressed the why. Instead, they attempted to console themselves with platitudes such as: He’s resting in Jesus’s arms. Even if he could, he wouldn’t return to this evil and perverse world, and We’ll surely see him again someday. …