I hold a torch for Daniel, my brother. I was 8 when he was born, the youngest of our parent’s five children. As part of our birthday celebrations, my father and mother recounted with awe the amazing event.

Throughout the long night of his birth, the song “Dare to be a Daniel” wafted through our mother’s mind. “Dare to have a purpose firm; / Dare to stand alone.”

My father, who had a passion for committing Scripture to memory, paced outside the birthing chamber and recited the Book of Daniel. When our parents came together, they said in unison, “His name is Daniel.” As chief babysitter, I loved this wiry, resilient little brother.

After college, Daniel settled in New York City, continuing his education as he wedded theology and psychology at Union Theological Seminary. Following his graduation from Union in 1985, he was ordained as an American Baptist minister by Judson Memorial Church in New York City.

For several years he served as a case worker and spiritual provider in a Harlem residence for people who were homeless and/or mentally ill. He was also a prison chaplain for 11 years, serving in prisons in Virginia, including Virginia State Penitentiary, as well as on Rikers Island in New York City.

At the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, Daniel continued to be an astute, compassionate advocate for the marginalized.

In 1983, he became one of the cofounders of AIDS Resource Center (now known as Baily House), which pioneered in providing housing for people with AIDS (PWAs), who, because of the ravages of the disease, were no longer able to work and were being forcibly evicted from their apartments by landlords and sometimes even roommates.

At the earliest stages of the epidemic, he became known as one who could be counted on to minister last rites as well as perform countless funeral services, even as many clergy were still avoiding contact with PWAs.

For six years he co-led a support group for PWAs their partners and caregivers. Over this time, 16 of the participants who’d been part of the group died.

During those years, Daniel did not show up at family events, especially the celebration of holidays, citing that this was the loneliest time of year for the marginalized he ministered to.

It was much later, in the early 1990s, at my urging, that Daniel spent a weekend in my home. I will always remember a night of reconnecting as the rest of the household slept.

I discovered that the beloved friend (now deceased) Daniel often referred to was actually his partner of unconditional love and support, as they empowered each other to be all that they could be.

Daniel told me that he had reasoned years before that by moving to New York City he would live and work below the radar of his godly Mennonite family of missionaries and ministers, thus avoiding an embarrassment to the rest of us.

Daniel and I wept together that night as I begged him to forgive me for my obtuseness and preoccupation with my life. He forgave me, but how nearly I lost him!

Not long ago, Daniel sent me this missive: “Way back when I was at Union Theological Seminary, I went through a very dark time in which I came to an inward conclusion that in the coming years contact with my family would become less and less and ultimately diminish altogether. I assumed that all my nieces and nephews were going to be fundamentalist evangelical Christians and that contact with the next generation would become nonexistent. Looking back on that time, I see how much I hurt you and Omar, who were both in Virginia and hearing less and less from me. I’m so sorry. I was living out that old cliché of leaving you before you could leave me. In the end, it was you, right after Edwin died, who had to ask me if I was gay.”

Again and again, Daniel has been the trusted spiritual counselor to my children and the children of my siblings. He has opened doors and windows not only to me, but also to my dearest ones.

I say this loud and clear, “Thank you, Daniel, for welcoming me to the Lord’s table.”

Anna Kathryn Shenk Eby lives in Harrisonburg, Va.