Since my last post I have had surgery. They cut two holes in my side to go into my chest to have a look and take some samples for a biopsy. I went in on a Tuesday and came out on the following Sunday. I know it sounds silly, but I enjoy hospital stays. One thing is that you have no responsibilities. Every thing is taken out of your hands, you just do what you are told. Secondly I enjoy the relationships and people I meet. The nurses were amazing. We could have fun and yet they were professional and did their tasks on me diligently and in a friendly way. I also enjoyed relating to the other patients in the room with me. I was to have my operation then once I had recovered sufficiently, I would go home and a week later they would tell me my results. I am always amazed at the anaesthetic process. You are there one minute and the next you are woken up in the recovery room. They moved me back to the room, with me still quite groggy and struggling to stay awake. One of the patients opposite left a day earlier than I did. As he left he took my phone number and said he would check in a week to see if I had results and he would share his. Doctors visited frequently and the interesting thing was that each Doctor who came past my bed seemed to say something like, "You know if we find cancer the prognosis would not be good." I thought, "Gee they seem to be preparing me for the worst?" I was not that concerned, I had come to terms with that possibility in my thinking. A week later, March 15th, the night of the terrible terror attack in the mosque in Christchurch, I had a phone call saying I was clear of cancer. I still do not know what caused the build up of fluid, but it has not happened again yet. I am feeling quite well now. The next day I received a text from my fellow patient asking about my results. I texted back the good result and asked about his. He too was clear, and texted back that "it was bloody good to spend time in hospital with somebody with a sense of humour." That's what I enjoy about hospital, you can cut through the crap of life and help each other through what can be challenging times.
Tragedy in Christchurch
Christchurch is a city about five hour's drive north of Dunedin where I live. On Friday March 15th I had returned to visiting fire stations in the afternoon. I went into one suburban station and the guys were watching the terrible developments in Christchurch on TV. I was extremely sad... fifty people shot dead at worship in two mosques in Christchurch, it seemed unbelievable. In the following weeks I became proud of New Zealand's response to the tragedy. Our Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern did a fantastic job in showing an example to all how we ought to care. I was to lead worship on the Sunday in our wee Church here, and we began with a quiet time, prayer, and following the service everybody attending signed a letter to the local Dunedin Mosque. The perpetrator lived in my home town, Dunedin, then travelled to Christchurch to carry out his terrible deed. I am concerned that his act seems to have encouraged some white supremicists to be more vocal. I think we ought to be doing more thinking about when does free speech turn to hate speech? I am concerned that extreme right wing thinking is emerging in places throughout the world. I hope higher ideals win the day. It is certainly a weird, troubled world we live in.
Gavin died
Since retiring I have continued to visit an elderly man from my old congregation. I would call at the rest home and have a good conversation with him. He was Gavin Munro, who had been a Principal of the Churches of Christ, Glen Leith Bible College. They had a partnership with a Presbyterian College, so he lectured there also. I had known Gavin since I was a child. In 1971 when I decided to study, perhaps with the goal of Church ministry, it was Gavin I turned to for advice. He enrolled me in the college and took me for a couple of subjects while I did University study. We lived in a cottage at the college. The college closed at the end of that year, and I deeply disappointed Gavin by moving to Australia to study. But he has continued to be supportive of me throughout my career. A year or so before I retired he gave me a fright. It was at the Church Annual General meeting, where any gripes about the minister are aired. Gavin rose to his feet and addressed the meeting. I was sitting at the back of the Church. He began with his deep voice and said; "David Brown is our minister." ... big pause. I froze, what is he going to say? He continued. "He does not run this church like I would run this Church." - Oh dear, what on earth is coming? I thought Gavin would talk directly to me if he had a criticism? After another big pause as the assembled meeting all were wondering what was coming, he continued... "He runs it better than I could ever do it!" ... sheer relief, but I am sure he knew that he had my heart thumping in the process. Gavin was now 93 years old and I had visited him last year not long before Christmas and found that his well being had slipped. I had struggled to have a conversation with him. Because of my busyness and health issues I had not been for a while. I finally went to see him again, wondering how he would be. We sat and chatted. He struggled a little with memory but we had a warm conversation. He shook my hand firmly as I left and said, "Go well, that was a good visit." Five days later I got the message that he had died. He had left instructions that I was to take his funeral, so I found myself in my old Church looking out on a full church, leading his funeral. Several people took part. As I shared a final tribute, I surprised myself by becoming emotional on two occasions. We had travelled a long road and now the last of my "spiritual fathers" had gone. It was grief at Gavin's passing, but also grief that the Denomination that he and I had spent our life times working within, is now so far away from the ideals we shared. Goodbye old friend.
Peter Died
When I began visiting St John Ambulance, I met a man who helped the mechanics in the garage. In 2002 he had asked me to lead his estranged wife's funeral, so I got to know the family a little. He had been an Ambulance officer, beginning in 1976, but had retired from that, then taken on the job in the garage. He had led a varied life, living in an orphanage as a child, working on farms, and had run a country store before becoming an Ambulance officer. He had battled a few illnesses since I have known him and joked with me that I would take his funeral. I was visiting my son in Christchurch over Easter when I had a phone call from his daughter. "Dad has died, and he left instructions that you were to take his funeral." I had not seen him for a few years, he was now 84 years old, and in a way had been fortunate to last as long as he had. I met with his daughters and it was then they said that he had left instructions that at his funeral there should be "no religion." So again, though technically, retired, I was to lead a funeral. It was in a town about one and a half hours away from Dunedin, and I had to drive through terrible rain and wind to get there. As I gathered in the after-funeral-function I had positive feedback about the funeral, but also enjoyed friendship from St John people. I felt really privileged to be accepted by this group of people as "one of them" with hugs, warm handshakes and stories shared. Driving home I parked by a lake to drink some coffee, and I found myself reflecting with deep gratitude on the connections I am so privileged to have through my chaplaincy activities.
I am getting older, I have to be careful with my back, it is more difficult to do stuff I used to do easily, but I am rich in the friendships and experiences I have and life is basically good.
Fifty Years
I have a big problem. This coming Friday is the 10th of May. Fifty years ago a young couple, who had dated for about three years, stood on the platform of my old Church, and we were married. How do you celebrate a fifty year anniversary? What do you buy as a present? That is my problem.... Next post I'll let you know how we get on.
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