Sudden death... then what?

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1. Let’s start at the very beginning…

17^th May 2018 – Moving day! The start of the next chapter of my life! (I’m writing this on 19^th May 2019 – a year later!) We’d enjoyed living in Highgate. Who wouldn’t if you loved books and had a bookshop at the end of your road?

We’d planned to move on May 16^th, but at short notice a long-standing school friend of Robert’s was passing through London from Toronto. Could they meet up? We delayed the move by one day.

The sun was shining by 8 o’clock when the removal men arrived. It was one of those days when the sun’s brightness made me want to screw up my eyes. The trees seemed a brighter green, the blossom a sharper pink. There was the usual bustle in the High Street. We were going to miss the uniqueness of North London village life. It was already getting warm.

We left the house to occupy our favourite cafes while our home was dismantled. Several people spotted us and stopped to wish us well. By mid-afternoon the men were ready for off! They drove away and so did we, to our new life in Sheffield.

For the next three months the sun shone in Sheffield, without hesitation, deviation but plenty of repetition – or so it seemed.

Our new house has large windows and space. Light pours in, back and front. The ancient woodland at the back is a thick swaying wall. The lime trees at the front are less thick but stand as tall guardians of land on what was once a secondary school. The air smells fresh. The Peaks are a short bus-ride away. The family are within easy reach.

We were free to go and do whatever we liked! The future looked bright. We knew God had blessed us. We were grateful!

Early in September, we were just back from a short visit to Paris. The sun had continued to shine there every day. It had been deliciously warm. Yet there was the beginning of that musty autumnal smell, the trees beginning to fade and decay.

“What are you doing today, Ro?” Robert asked me, before we got up.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Nothing much.”

Less than four hours later, I had everything to do. The house was filled with sunlight and warmth. The bifold doors were wide open and three small grandchildren were playing on the patio. Two policemen, four paramedics, the vicar and two undertakers had come and gone… so had Robert. As a family we were together. But Robert was dead.

Had God really blessed us? What has happened to Robert? How could I, how could we, live without him?

This is a work in progress…

I know the mind of God is unfathomable, yet he invites us to wonder and to strive to know him more deeply. I know Robert is with Christ. I know my story is unique. But, in my grief, I want to know more… I want to know whether Robert is asleep, ‘disembodiedly’ conscious or whether he has already received his resurrection body. Writing the Sudden death…then what? blog over many months has channelled my thinking.

Most people haven’t thought much about this, so I’m sharing my embryonic conclusions about resurrection bodies, eternity, life – plus reflections on the specific impact of sudden death.

This is my first post. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new entries. I plan to post around once a week.

77. To kill a mocking bird

It’s Robert’s birthday today. Note the present tense. This day will always be the date of his birth. He would have been 69.

This is also the fourth birthday he has missed, since he died. My daughter and I talked about this as we ate a cooked breakfast together in honour of the birthday boy. He loved a special birthday breakfast!

For some weeks this blog has been new-post-free. I have been thinking lots and writing for other people. But this birthday I find myself quietly thoughtful – worth another post.

Just before midnight last night, I finished reading To kill a mocking bird, a literary classic I had never read. It is the only novel Harper Lee wrote. I loved it. Whenever I put the book down, I would say to myself, “This is beautiful writing!” I was reading Robert’s special edition which marked the 50^th anniversary of publication in 1960.

Atticus, described as ‘one of the great heroes of literature’, gave each of his two children a rifle for a Christmas present. Scout, his young daughter, is the narrator, writing in the 1930s. He tells his two children it is a sin to kill a mocking bird. Later, this is explained to her: “Mocking birds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us.” (page 99 in my edition!)

In other words, value simple goodness. Don’t seek to destroy it. The book explores goodness, courage and integrity in the face of prejudiced opposition, primarily as evidenced in Atticus. I have cried as I read it. Robert was a bit like that, though far from perfect. Atticus wasn’t perfect either.

As Robert’s birthday was approaching, I had been appreciating yet again his thoughtfulness, his determination to do what was right even at personal cost, and the perceptive pride he took in me and our children. In the first hour of his birthday, I missed him.

The annual Off the Shelf book festival in Sheffield has happened this month (see Post 25). This afternoon I went to listen in on a conversation with Lord David Blunkett. Born and brought up in Sheffield, he has recently donated his Blunkett Archives to the University of Sheffield.

The buses were spasmodic on a busy Saturday afternoon. I was almost late. But my arrival was perfectly timed. The RESERVED notice had just been removed from empty seats on the front row. I had an uninterrupted view of the conversation and David Blunkett’s attentive guide dog.

David Blunkett was the youngest leader of Sheffield City Council from 1980-87, before being elected Labour MP for Sheffield Brightside. He was the first new MP to be called to make a speech in the new Parliament. We listened to the recording of his archived first words. As the Labour party had done badly in the General Election, he claimed to be one of the few Labour supporters able to ‘look on the Brightside!’

The odds were stacked against him – born blind, sent away to school aged 4, his father killed in an industrial accident, a limited academic education until, aged 22, he began his studies in Sheffield University. But he never gave up and refused to let his blindness restrict him. As Home Secretary, he went on to hold one of the highest offices of state.

He was determined to do what he perceived to be right, wanting to make a difference in his local community and the wider society. He admitted he’d made many mistakes. But among his many achievements he would be most proud to have helped someone with a disability or the parent of a disabled child to realise that disability need not define anyone.

He was asked if his best was yet to come. He laughed. He lives very much in the present.

On Robert’s birthday last year, the children and I had a picnic lunch in a cemetery. We couldn’t do anything like that this year. Covid has caught up with my son and his family. They are all self-isolating. Instead, there was the special breakfast, and I delivered a birthday feast to the housebound family. They dressed up in their party clothes.

It has been a day to look back, remember and celebrate – and be grateful. It was interesting for me to listen to David Blunkett’s reminiscences, and to see how his past impacted the present and will continue into his future.

We remember Robert. We wonder about his present existence. Today my elder granddaughter asked, “Will Jesus sing happy birthday to Grandad today?” What a glorious thought. Maybe, Jesus sings happy birthday every day to everyone in eternity. (Post 55 expands on this.)

My son is very soon launching Endless Joy, an album of songs written and performed collaboratively with friends, family, fellow worshippers and Resound Worship. He has written on the credits: My dad would’ve loved seeing this album happen. I wrote my first song with him. I look forward to worshipping Jesus with him in glory one day.

This birthday has seen past, present and future rolled into one. That’s life!

This is my story. I wrote this on the evening of 30^th October 2021.

76. Shakshouka that explodes

Several years ago I discovered the delicious North African dish, Shakshouka. I’ve been making it ever since.

Lunchtime yesterday I ordered it at a restaurant. The very first mouthful was deliciously explosive – not to damage me, but I was stunned by the level of garlic, sweet chillies and fresh tomatoes. I can’t remember the last time a mouthful of food surprised me so much. I was on my own so my initial “Wow!” was almost muted. I had no one to share it with.

I was on my own because Robert is dead. The next day would mark three years since he died. On the previous two anniversaries I have walked a long-distance trail – the Peak Pilgrimage and the southern part of the Macclesfield Canal. This year’s third anniversary ‘trail’ has been less ambitious.

Yesterday I caught the train to Marple, in Greater Manchester. The Peak Forest Canal is close to the station. I walked along it as far as the Marple Junction, to the start of the Macclesfield Canal (the northern end) which I then joined. I continued down the towpath, under several bridges.

I was reflectively sad, tinged with joy. How much Robert and I would have loved walking this path together, just as I would have been delighted to share my shakshouka sensation with him. It was a pleasant walk. The canals and towpaths were attractive. They were busy. Passing boatpeople and walkers were friendly. Nonetheless, I was on my own. Life goes on! I must add that I do not often feel lonely because I am surrounded by a wonderful family and friends.

This morning I listened to one of Robert’s sermons. I wanted to hear Robert’s voice. I haven’t listened to my collection of his sermons on a disc for many months. The sermon I randomly picked was about Aging, preached in St Paul’s Finchley on 1^st October 2012! He was 59 at the time.

All of life is a pilgrimage, moving forward with God. The process of aging offers challenges and opportunities. He shared with the congregation his dream of opening the batting (in cricket) for England. He was 40 before he realised this would never happen. He remained disappointed!

We can accept the inevitable with grace or resentment. He quoted from TS Eliot’s Four Quartets: East Coker

Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving…

Robert traced the wisdom and examples of aging throughout the Bible. He concluded with the apostle Paul’s thorn in the flesh, probably a chronic condition or disability. Three times he asked God to take it from him.

As far as we know, God didn’t, but God’s grace was sufficient. ‘We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.’ In other words, our eternal life has begun, though the best is yet to come. Meanwhile, God works in us and renews us through our infirmities and distresses.

On this third anniversary I have been so delighted to hear Robert’s long quotation from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, in chapter 4:

‘We do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.So, we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.’

Like Paul, Robert was fixing his eyes, not on the disappointments of the past, nor the evidence of his aging body, but on what was unseen, what is eternal glory, what God has promised for those who love him.

For Robert the best has now come. His human body finally perished three years ago today. But his resurrection body was ready for him. Currently unseen, we do not know exactly how all this works out. How can we? But I can imagine, as I fix my eyes on this eternal hope.

Robert’s sermon, preached nine years ago, reassures me and brings me comfort….and it was so, so good to hear his voice again!

This is my story. I wrote this on 5^th September 2021

75. Shelter under God’s almighty wing

I have just been on holiday to Cornwall. We stayed within five minutes of the sea and woke to the smell of fish and seaweed. One morning we walked up the steep side of the bay which gave us a magnificent bird’s eye view of the fishing fleet in the harbour.

Immediately below us was the dirty grey corrugated roof of a long shed. Cleverly camouflaged on this roof were three large nests along with seven equally well concealed skinny, grey, baby seagulls. Their parents seemed pretty indifferent to them.

A passing local woman showed us three seagull chicks who, a few days earlier, had fallen into the gap between the shed and the cliffside. Unable to climb out, let alone fly out, they seemed to be thriving, huddled together like a rather large ball of grey fluff. Did their mother care? Had she given up on them?

Parent birds protect their young This reminded me of the biblical image which has comforted me more than any other in my grief. It appears several times in various forms, especially in the psalms.

Have mercy on me, my God, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.*

Jesus said, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem …how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.”**

Here is the metaphor of God (the Father as well as the Son) as a mother bird providing protection for her young. Baby birds can snuggle close to the mother, confident that while there, they are safe. In the early months of grief, I returned again and again to this picture of God, imagining myself held protectively close to him, while the storm raged all around me.

Parent birds feed their young Species of birds vary in how they do this, including the cuckoo who lays her egg in the nest of another bird and then abandons it!

I recently heard on the radio about the amazing behaviour of bluetits. The female bluetit only lays her eggs once per season, as many as 14! She times the hatching of her eggs to the moment when nearby trees burst into bud, resulting in an explosion of caterpillars necessary to feed her chicks.

The bluetit chicks spend around three weeks in the nest before fledging. They more than quadruple in size, developing feathers and the wing muscles needed for survival outside the nest.

Feeding a nest full of voracious chicks is a full-time job for both parents. Each baby can demand 100 caterpillars per day…as many as 1400 caterpillars!! No wonder their search is restricted to a small area.

I have reflected on how, as I have sheltered under the shadow of the wing of Almighty God in my grief, I have been nourished in so many ways.

Parents prepare their chicks for flight Baby birds need to fly to survive. Guillemots are amongst the most extraordinary. One night, three weeks after hatching, guillemot chicks leap off the nest perched on the cliff edge. A greater supply of food is available in the sea. Although their wings have not developed, once they hit the waves, they can dive. Over the next 5-7 weeks it is mainly the father who then feeds the young.

As I sheltered under God’s wing, I knew that the time would come for me to emerge, when my courage and confidence would feel less wobbly, when I could hold up my head…and fly again. It has been gradual, thankfully nothing as dramatic as a guillemot. My preparation to ‘fly’ has been tailored to my needs and my personality. God is like:

‘an eagle that stirs up its nest and hovers over its young, that spreads its wings to catch them and carries them aloft.’***

This is a rich metaphor of comfort and compassion. It is also a source of hope for the future and the promise of something new.

PS: Later that day we walked back down the slope to the harbour. The grey ball of fluff in the gap had gone. But the number of baby seagulls had increased. Somehow, the survivors had scaled the wall of the shed!

*Psalm 57:1 **Matthew 23:37 *** Deuteronomy 32:11

This is my story and a work in progress. I wrote this on 18^th July 2021.

74. Legacy building

Legacies are being turned upside down.

Generous benefactors known to be slave-owners are seeing their statues dislodged, or at least relocated to less prominent places.
Gareth Southgate, England’s football manager is remembered for his failure to score in a penalty shoot-out two decades ago. His legacy may be reshaped by England’s performance in the Euros this summer.
The legacy of the previous health secretary was already being debated but he will probably be forever remembered for his recently uncovered indiscretions.

Intentional legacy building Preparing to die well suddenly, we should clarify our wishes, make a will, sort out our finances. But we might also think it worth thinking how our legacy presents our life achievements in the best possible light, deleting damaging ghosts from our past that are locked in a cupboard. These days it is fashionable to talk about the legacy public figures intentionally build for themselves.

I became especially aware of this phenomenon when, in 2007, Tony Blair was preparing to hand over as PM in the UK. He had previously proudly claimed to be building on Thatcher’s legacy. He achieved many social and economic transformations and provided bold crisis leadership after the death of Princess Diana and after 9/11. But for many he will be remembered for Britain’s involvement in the Iraq war in 2003 – highly controversial, unpopular and disastrous in so many ways.

Everyone is capable of wrongdoing, making mistakes, being deceived and being the deceiver. This is core to Christian faith. But the details of the lives of public figures and celebrities are widely known. Their failures cause damage to more people. Reputations usually take a long time to establish. Public opinion can be quick to condemn and destroy a positive legacy.

There are of course rare individuals who really have changed the world but were only appreciated after their death. There are writers who remained unpublished, or painters unknown until after their deaths. These days many little-known women are now being applauded for their past contributions to society.

Being remembered A legacy is what is left when we are gone – particularly after our death but, like Tony Blair, maybe after we have moved on from a responsibility. But why would anyone, however famous, want to shape their legacy? After all, once dead no one can defend or build on past achievements. Listen to this:

The living at least know they will die, but the dead know nothing. They have no further reward, nor are they remembered. Whatever they did in their lifetime—loving, hating, envying—is all long gone. They no longer play a part in anything here on earth.*

Understandably, most people want to leave their footprint as evidence they once walked upon this earth. More than a monument, a tombstone or blue plaque, we want to be remembered, for our personal identity to be preserved in some way. But should we define our own legacy before we die, or let others do so after our death? The former smells of self-obsessed aggrandisement! If the prime purpose of someone’s legacy is focussed upon showering praise and glory upon its creator, it deserves to end up tarnished. But if we make a priority of living wisely, doing the ‘right’ thing, we can leave other people and history itself to identify and appraise the value of our ‘legacy’.

My attention was recently drawn to the legacy-building of Absalom, the charismatic son of King David.* He had three sons and one beautiful daughter, named after his sister, Tamar. He built a pillar near Jerusalem as a monument to himself. By the time he did that, it appears he no longer had any sons to provide continuity for his name. With no descendants, he did not want to be written out of the history books**. Absalom’s Monument was recognised and remembered for many years. But his better-known longer surviving legacy is told in the sordid account of his rebellious attempt to depose his father David from the throne – a tarnished legacy.

Remembered by our descendants Continuity provided by our children, grandchildren and future biological generations are obviously a ‘legacy’, but not just ours for they are shared with other family members. Relationships with family, friends and colleagues provide the basis to be remembered, for good or ill. But if we simply build relationships in order to create a lasting legacy, the quality of such relationships will be questionable! So often we play just one small but significant walk-on part in someone’s life.

Remembered by our actions These may be artistic, practical or professionally competent, bringing pleasure to others or making a positive difference in our society. We may offer acts of service to our community, a charity, a church or a voluntary body and have the satisfaction of seeing positive results from our involvement. But we don’t usually do this to receive a reward.

Sharing our wealth We can do this while we are alive or after our death, to make a lasting difference. But Jesus warns us to give from the heart, rather than to draw attention to our generosity.

Jesus’ legacy He intentionally came to change the world, to bring humanity back to God. He is primarily remembered for this. He left the legacy of the Passover when he gave his disciples the Last Supper, as a memorial of his death. This also contained the promise of a new covenant that would exist from then on. His body was broken, his blood was poured out – signs that all those who accept him are reconciled to God. History itself has recognised the legacy of his death and resurrection. It lasts into eternity.

Jesus has also left behind a different sort of legacy, his body, the church. The apostle Paul wrote to Christians in Philippi calling them his ‘brothers and sisters, you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown’.**** These followers of Jesus mattered most to him, above everything else. This crown (we might call a legacy) is not his, but God’s. That’s why it also lasts into eternity!

Today a few of us were exploring the story of the woman who lavishly pours perfume over Jesus’ head*****. His disciples criticise her for such a wasteful action. But Jesus jumps to her defence. She had anointed his body in preparation for his burial, and she will forever be remembered for this. Jesus had accurately established her legacy.

If Jesus were to simply say to me at the end of my life, “Well done, good and faithful servant”, I think I would be satisfied.

This is my story and a work in progress, prompted by the current reworking of an understanding of the British Empire. I wrote this on 22^nd March 2021 and 4^th July 2021.

*Ecclesiastes 9:5-6 (NLT) **Deryck Sheriffs The human need for continuity Tyndale Bulletin 55 (2004) ***2 Samuel 18:18 ****Philippians 4:11 (NIV) ***** Mark 14:3-11

73. Joy and sorrow at a wedding– two sides of one coin

Next week the daughter of a friend of mine is getting married. It has been planned for many months, affected by Covid limitations. But this wedding has been affected by something far more significant than Covid. The bride’s father, my friend’s husband, died suddenly at the end of last year.

This wedding, which was planned to be a gloriously happy and life-changing celebration, will now be shrouded in sadness, as well as joy. One of the key players in the event will be absent. It will not be her father who walks her down the aisle. Her parents will not be able to enjoy their daughter’s wedding together, not as they anticipated this time last year.

Bizarrely, joy and sorrow are rolled into one. That is what grief creates – two sides of the one coin.

I was thinking about this in church this morning as I looked at the small crucifix displayed at the front of church, with Jesus hanging on the cross. All other crosses in the church are empty ones.

A crucifix emphasises Jesus’ suffering and death. Jesus was then taken down from the cross, placed in a tomb, to rise to new life. An empty cross places more emphasis upon the resurrection. Both messages are true and interlocked.

Christ the King 18 months ago, I was preaching on the Sunday in November which is called the Feast of Christ the King. Surprise, surprise, the sermon was on Christ’s kingship. I took down the crucifix as I spoke about the cross as Jesus’ kingly throne.

Jesus had announced that the Kingdom of God had come with his arrival on this earth, a kingdom unlike any other earthly model of kingship. It was, and is, a Kingdom that revolves around the king, which transforms both the lives of its citizens and the created world. We await its final completed reality.

Yet, he was mocked by Roman soldiers for claiming to be king. They rammed a crown of thorns upon his head. Pilate labelled him the ‘King of the Jews’, sitting on his coronation throne. He was simply making mockery of Jesus’ opponents – Your king is reduced to this pathetic specimen of humanity!

John wrote in his gospel: Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.”* In the Old Testament God’s people suffered from a devastating plague. Following God’s orders, Moses placed a bronze snake on a pole and lifted it up. Anyone who looked at this snake was healed.**

Jesus also said, “…and I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” He said this to show the kind of death he was going to die.’*** Jesus expected to be lifted up onto a cross to be crucified.

But the Greek word John uses for ‘lifted up’ in his gospel also means ‘exalted’ (as a king!). Here is the astonishing image of appalling agony and desolation coupled with the glorious coronation and exaltation of Jesus as king. He was taking upon himself the punishment for the sin of the whole world. All people who ‘look’ can be drawn into a relationship with God.

But the empty cross is the essential flipside. Jesus’ bodily resurrection is the bold statement that death has been triumphantly defeated. There is life beyond the grave. Jesus is truly King. Devastating sorrow and glorious joy can co-exist.

This set me wondering if the depth of my friend’s grief, which is very deep, will create a more profound joy on her daughter’s wedding day. Two sides of the one coin of human experience and emotions, in the company of Christ the King.

This is not really my story. My friend has agreed to me posting this. It remains a work in progress. I wrote this on 6^th June 2021.

*John 3: 14; ** John12:32; ***Numbers 21:4-9

72. Pentecost’s inextinguishable blaze

Yesterday I shared holy communion with an elderly couple in their home – always a particularly joyous time for us all. Because of Lockdown they have hardly been out of their house for months. Every other week they recharge the batteries of their mobility scooters parked in the shed – a symbolic act. They want to be ready to roam once it is permissible. They fear, however, that this may not be physically possible for them!

We always sing at this home communion, even though, currently, singing is not allowed in church services. Yesterday they had chosen the Charles Wesley hymn, written in 1762, ‘O thou who camest from above’. We sang it exuberantly, to the tune called Wilton.

Robert and I had chosen to sing this hymn at our wedding, to the tune Hereford. Years later Robert told me he much preferred the other tune, Wilton. He had said nothing about this as we planned our wedding. Needless to say, we sang this hymn at Robert’s funeral… to the tune Wilton!

It was an appropriate hymn to sing yesterday. We are in the waiting time between Jesus’ ascension into heaven and the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, which we celebrate this coming Sunday. Jesus could only ever be in one place at any one time, though in his resurrection body he seemed to be able to move rapidly from one place to another.

One reason why Jesus had to leave this earth was to enable the Holy Spirit to come in his place. There are no limits to where the Spirit can be. I tell children that another name for the Holy Spirit would be ‘God Everywhere.’ At Pentecost, he came with fire to inspire and empower all those who love Christ, whom he came to replace. It was reported that ‘tongues of fire’ were seen above the heads of the disciples on the Day of Pentecost.

Yesterday we chatted about the story of the Ascension and how we imagined Jesus’ ascension into the sky. Traditionally it has been pictured as a slow ascent with Christ’s feet ultimately dangling from a cloud. Could it have been more rapid? we wondered.

I was reminded of a question a 10-year-old boy asked me. “Did Jesus grow wings like angels so that he would fly?” I told him about the seraphim in Isaiah chapter 6, each with a set of six wings, two to cover their faces, two to cover their feet and two to help them fly. Wings would appear to have many functions. Essentially, heavenly beings, are not bound by the forces of gravity. In this case, Jesus did not have flapping wings or wings to cover his feet or face. His resurrection body bypassed the pull of gravity.

“OK,” the boy continued, “if Jesus didn’t grow wings, God must have reached down with a long arm and yanked him into the sky.” I like that idea. It assumes a rapid ascent. God the father is enthusiastic for his Son to be beside him. Jesus had done a good job but no need to hang around on earth.

I don’t imagine Robert with wings. He is freed from the gravitational pull of planet Earth. Jesus went ‘up’ into the sky, but I don’t think that necessarily means heaven is ‘up’ there. The two men in white who hurried the disciples back into Jerusalem, appeared from nowhere, without any falling from the sky. No mention of wings. The ‘location’ of eternity is neither up nor down – and is probably closer than we can imagine.

‘O thou who camest from above’ refers to the Holy Spirit who may not have actually ‘come from above’. But he did come to impart celestial fire which ‘kindles within us a sacred, inextinguishable* blaze (or flame) on the mean altar of our heart’ – God with us everywhere, 24/7.

The last two lines of the hymn suggest that, at death, the flame (the symbol of God’s presence) no longer burns, because for someone who has died in Christ, their work for God is completed.

For Robert there is no longer the need for the Spirit’s flame to burn within him, for he is forever in the presence of God. And maybe the Holy Spirit’s work of preparing him for his resurrection body is also complete.

I wrote this on 18^th May 2021 and it is a work in progress.

*For a long time, the words ‘with inextinguishable blaze’ were considered too difficult for a congregation to sing. Afterall ‘inextinguishable’ has six syllables! It was replaced with ‘unquenched, undimmed in darkest days’ or ‘with ever bright undying blaze’. But the word ‘inextinguishable’ refused to be snuffed out.

71. What we’ve learnt about grief

I have just listened (only two hours ago as I ate my lunch) to a radio programme entitled ‘What we’ve learnt about grief’. You can find it on BBC Sounds. It was presented by Cariad Lloyd, a comedian who hosts the Griefcast Podcast. This is described as ‘a podcast that examines the human experience of grief and death – but with comedians, so it’s cheerier than it sounds.’

It was great and affirmed many of my conclusions about grief. She recognises that the model of five stages of grief, widely promoted for decades, is not helpful. I wrote about that in September 2020 in Post 50 ‘Can we ‘get over’ grief or ‘move on?’ My own grieving is nothing like that model

Cariad Lloyd’s favourite theory of grieving is the Dual Process Theory which is that the bereaved person operates on two levels – joy and routine alongside overwhelming sorrow. I would concur with that. In fact, I wrote about that in Post 69, ‘Two parallel stories’ which on further thought I have now retitled ‘Three parallel stories’.

She introduces some of the developments in the study of death, dying, grief and loss, which incidentally is called Thanatology. (In Greek mythology Thanatos is the personification of death.) Everyone’s experience of grief is unique to them. Most bereaved people remain deeply sad, but they discover a resilience that enables them to adapt to the absence of the person whom they loved.

Social media’s contribution to grief Social media has played a very significant part in supporting those who grieve – in making it possible for people to share their own story with others with similar grief (though not the same!) and also in the finding, or offering, of support.

People who die leave a digital footprint. Blogs, podcasts, emails that are left behind by those who have died, can be revisited. The original relationship is being redefined into what is called a ‘continuing bond’.

Occasionally I read some of Robert’s email conversations. Naturally, I can ‘hear’ his voice as he writes but I also enjoy the relationships he had with those with whom he communicated in the last years of his life. I have discovered his opinion on certain subjects, which is helpful. One friend intentionally sent Robert an email after he had died – a beautiful tribute, a thank-you letter. I am sure it helped the friend in his grief. I did not read it immediately because obviously it was personal. Eventually when I did read it, it brought me joy.

Prolonged Grief Disorder It It is now thought that between 5-7% of those who grieve suffer from what has only very recently been recognised by the World Health Organisation as Complicated (or Prolonged) Grief Disorder. Symptoms differ from depression or anxiety, being specifically a result of a relationship interrupted by death.

Yearning and longing for the person who has died does not abate. It is possible that if this continues for more than twelve months the reward centre of the brain is affected. The person may become almost addicted to the desire for that relationship to continue. A correct diagnosis is important.

There is currently no medication to deal with grief. Grief is more psychologically and emotionally freighted. New thinking on grief and research has been greatly advanced by coronavirus.

This discussion was very stimulating. It resonated with my experience. I can understand the profound grief of anyone who does not think there is life after death. The person they love is lost, forever.

But my grief, unique to me, differs because I do not think Robert is lost – nor de-ceased. Quite the reverse. He is with Christ in a new level of existence, we might say ‘re-ceased’. I will meet with him again. I don’t know how or what we will look like, but we shall both have resurrection bodies.

The only reason, and I must repeat, only reason, why I believe this is because Jesus died and very soon, if not immediately, he was re-embodied with a resurrection body. This is a true historical event. He was seen by hundreds of people, who touched him, spoke with him, walked with him and enjoyed his company. He was flesh and blood – and yet, there was a mystery about him. He belonged in another dimension. Death was defeated! There is life beyond death, for all those who believe in Jesus Christ.

There is more. Jesus’ resurrection body is the prototype of a resurrection body. My resurrection body will not be exactly like his, after all he is God in human form. In my grief, I can picture him – not as a transparent ghost, or a puff of wind, but as a real person. I don’t picture him with fair hair, wearing his favourite jacket and listening to Bob Dylan. No! He is what, as CS Lewis describes in The Great Divorce, a ‘solid person’, real and flourishing, more alive than ever, in the presence of God! He will be as God originally intended him to be. No more frustrations or longing.

Four days to Easter Day, Resurrection Morning! We will celebrate the appearance of the first resurrection body – hope for my life now and after death. It gifts me joy in the present, with an absent husband!

This is my story and a work in progress. I wrote this on 31^st March 2021, the Wednesday in Holy Week.

70. Colours and cataracts

A few days ago I collected my new glasses. They look good, I think, and an improvement on the previous pair. I can see better too – which is what you would expect from a new pair of spectacles.

But I cannot see quite as well as I did when I was younger. You see, since I last changed my glasses, I have developed a cataract in both eyes, nothing that needs any immediate treatment, but sometime in the future. I am conscious that my eyesight remains impaired.

Last week one of the daily Lectionary readings was the story of the man born blind, who had never seen anything until Jesus gave him his sight. Amazingly, all at once, he saw everything. This included not only the face of Jesus, but he ‘saw’ who Jesus was, the Son of Man. I have always loved this story.*

The apostle Paul writing to Christians in Ephesus, told them he was praying that:

‘the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he (God) has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people and his incomparably great power for us who believe.’*

Unlike the blind man we cannot see Jesus with physical eyes. However, we can now ‘see’ him, with the eyes of our heart, with God-given understanding.

The vicar’s online comment on this story of the blind man was particularly thoughtful. He had a good friend who was one of the country’s foremost stained-glass artists and iconographers. He was well known for the vivid brightness of the colours he used.

He was affected by cataracts but for a long time he did not realise this. Eventually he had the cataracts removed. The first time he looked at his works of art, he said, “It was breath-taking!” He had had no idea just how bright his use of colour was.

He died two years ago. Knowing he was dying he rang up his friends to say goodbye. During his conversation with the vicar, they talked about heaven. The vicar said to him that the colours in heaven would be even brighter than his friend could ever have created. What is more, they would be so vivid that no human eye would have been able to tolerate or appreciate them. Truly breath-taking!

(That makes me wonder if that was why the apostle Paul was temporarily blinded after he’d seen the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus!)

At the funeral of a young colleague of mine, we were thrilled and comforted to hear the reading from 1 Corinthians 13, read from The Message translation:

We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us! ***

Cataracts removed. The mist cleared. Our breath taken away! Everything about heaven is beyond our imagination, although we can grasp the resurrection appearances of Jesus, for he did not dazzle his disciples, not even when he ascended to heaven.

Reflecting on the risen Jesus does give us a colour pallet, albeit a limited one, to get excited about.

This is my story and a work in progress. I wrote this on 21^st March 2021.

*John 9 **Ephesians 1:18 (NIV) ***1 Corinthians 13:12 (The Message)

69. Three parallel stories

This last week I had a most strange experience. I had a root canal treatment performed by an endodontist – a root canal specialist.

Being Covid-secure he and the nurse were gowned up. I only ever saw their eyes. I wore my winter coat because the windows were wide open to circulate fresh, chilly air. But I also wore a hair net, protective eye shades and a long bib.

The endodontist rarely looked directly into my mouth. Instead, he looked through a super-magnifying piece of equipment, courtesy of an incredibly advanced technology. Its light was sharply focussed and sometimes tinted.

I felt no pain apart from the sharp prick of two initial anaesthetising injections. I lay stretched out on a chair, quite comfortable and relaxed, but oddly detached from the two other people in the room. We were all muffled and wrapped up. I was the passive patient.

I was advised to bring music to distract me. Once I was numbed, I plugged in my earphones to listen to an audio book – James Kelman’s Dirt Road, published in 2016.

Throughout the treatment, which lasted 80 minutes, I was strangely taking part in two stories. In the real-life story I was in the dentist’s chair with my mouth wide open. Every now and again he paused while I swallowed. Occasionally he spoke to me explaining what he was going to do next.

This jerked me out of my second story, Dirt Road. As soon as the dentist’s eyes had moved out of my sightline, I was eyes closed, straight back into the audiobook, hoping I hadn’t missed anything. Both parallel stories were intense. No wonder I was tired by the end.

Dirt Road Murdo’s mother and sister had both died recently. He was 17. School did not work for him. He just wanted to make music. Here was a young man and his rather uncommunicative father making a musical journey to the American deep South. The first time they had crossed the Atlantic. They were visiting Scottish relatives in the early stages of their grief. It is a beautiful story – a journey of discovery, opportunity and grief. Murdo often comments on just how much his mother would have enjoyed the trip.

Once home, I lay down to rest and allow my numbness to wear off. I listened to the final episodes of Dirt Road. I was gripped by it.

Two overlapping stories It was bizarre to be so consciously present in two parallel but overlapping stories – the invasive dental experience alongside the tale in the audiobook. The grief in the latter story made me think, not for the first time, how my grief has operated as two parallel stories. I could identify with Murdo’s experience, totally caught up within himself, yet also very aware of both his father’s emotional state and the novelty of being in the States.

Immediately after Robert’s death, I felt numb. Robert’s permanent absence hadn’t fully hit me. I withdrew, isolated within myself. I was with people, I had to make decisions but was this real? Was I starring in a dream? But life went on.

My new life without Robert has required considerable readjustment and change. It’s been a story of discovery and surprises. The accompanying story of grief and sorrow has run in the background with a regular chug, chug, chug.

These days the grief is no longer numbing but it’s still regular, though less insistent. No wonder bereavement is a tiring business!

The endodontist was pleased with how the treatment had gone. I was pleased it was over. I was also glad to have ‘read’ Dirt Road. These two experiences have shed light on my grieving process, two parallel stories that overlap with and enrich one another. I’m still travelling, not a dirt road but a long and winding one.

This is my story (maybe more than one) and a work in progress. I wrote this on 7^th March 2021.

PS: I was puzzling about this post as I walked home from the city centre today, 9th March, 2021. It came to me suddenly, “Only two stories, Ro? What about the third story, the ever-present one?” Originally the title of this post that ‘Two parallel stories’. I have now revised the title to ‘Three parallel stories’!

ooops…as Christ walked with his disciples on the road to Emmaus, the resurrected Jesus walks with me. He listens to my questions. He explains things. He gives me fresh insights as I make sense of Robert’s death. He comforts me. He keeps me company. So, there’s the story of the new shape of my life, the story of grief and don’t forget the story of my friendship with Christ.

68. Remembering acts of kindness

The local Christian Schools Trust ran a communion service at the start of each academic year for Christian staff and parents at the schools our children attended. One year Robert was asked to be the speaker. The service was set to be held a few days after 9/11.

“What shall I speak on?” Robert asked. “What can I possibly speak on?”

…He spoke on kindness.

Kindness is a quality that is found in bucketloads in schools but can be disastrously absent. It is a quality seen many times among parents at the school gate but can be discriminatingly absent. It was so very appropriate after such an appalling act of cruelty and violence, with a world in shocked meltdown.

Robert was thoughtful and kind. He went out of his way to support others. But kindness can be perceived as being nice, soft, weak, evidence of someone who doesn’t want to get on in the world. It is of course one of the aspects of the fruit of God’s Spirit. It may be costly. It may call for courage and self-sacrifice. It may come with few obvious rewards. But that was how Jesus lived.

Birth fest This has been the weekend of my birth fest. I have received kindnesses by the bucketload including a walk with my son and family, who had just made me a ginger and orange iced birthday cake (still warm) with nine candles.

“Who would have ever thought before the pandemic,” my daughter-in-law laughed, “that we would be having hot chocolate and birthday cake in the rain, perched on a park bench, in a Covid-secure way?”

More kindness – on zoom, a feast and a snakes-and-ladders game with my wider family. No one can move forward unless they correctly answer a question about me – such as ‘Find a word that describes Ro in the letters of her full name’ (AWESOME, BRILL, or …). Getting it wrong means going backwards.

Even more kindness – an afternoon tea at lunchtime, friends phoning me, cards, flowers and other surprises. I feel truly loved.

Interestingly, the ginger and orange birthday cake stirred up memories of my 60^th birth festival. Robert and I had gone by train to York for the weekend – using our senior rail cards for the first time. On the Saturday morning, totally unexpected, my children turned up in our hotel! The day was filled with happiness – including England beating France at rugby in the Six Nations! Enthusiastically, we watched the match over lunch.

I had a permanent smile inside. All day my son carried a bag, which turned out, at the evening meal, to be a surprise birthday cake. He had done the same for me this year.

Memories of my 60^th birthday have brought me fresh joy this weekend. Robert is absent. But he is so present in these memories of the generous and genuine kindness of my family.

One way to prepare to die well suddenly is to embrace a life of kindness towards others! The Spirit of God makes this possible. Unknowingly, this was what Robert, as well as the family were being for me. That makes bereavement less sorrowful.

This is my story and a work in progress. I wrote this on 21st February 2021.