Sunday afternoons

When I returned from the US eight years ago I began a Sunday afternoon ritual.  After Songs of Praise on BBC TV I would call my younger brother, Steve, for a weekly conversation.  During those years his wife's health deteriorated leading to her placement in a care home and he himself struggled with mobility. On his own in the family home, with his beloved cat for company, our phone call generally began with comments on the Songs of Praise programme.  Always shrewd and to-the-point Steve was never short of an opinion.

But after this usual starting point (though viewpoints were anything but predictable)  the conversation took off in any one of several highly unpredictable directions. An avid reader of unusual books (bought from his local charity shop) he could plunge into Britain's social history in the nineteenth century, or the story of the Romany people, or a particular period of Russian history. Well, almost anything though he was especially interested in social history. His politics were left of centre and stridently expressed. Conversation sparkled with wit and clarity.

Yet, at other times he was reflective especially about our family life growing up and his own life as a Baptist minister. Yes, we were both born in a Baptist minister's family and I for one was absolutely determined not to follow in my father's footsteps.  Steve was also reluctant. How we both ended up in ministry is one of those God surprises!  He served several churches with faithfulness and love and was chaplain to a drug rehabilitation centre.  It seemed to me that his pastoral care for people with his deep commitment to intercessory prayer proved central strengths of his ministry.  

Always there was concern for my own family which showed in his careful attention to detail - always following up the next time we spoke.  He assured me that his daily prayers always included my family's needs and I knew he meant it.

Very sadly, these conversations have now ceased. Steve died on 3rd January, four days after his 76th birthday.  He had declined in health these last weeks after an extended stay in hospital with sepsis, pneumonia and covid all complicating underlying health conditions.  At first I could converse with him in hospital - still in conversation full of sparkle and personality.  His faith was undiminished in spite of pain and confusion. His son told me how at the end he was longing to go to heaven.

I miss him and feel a strange loss. Strange because it became clear many weeks ago that he was at the last stage of his life, yet the cold fact that he died 7:08 pm Friday night shocked with its harsh reality. Yet, I know the greater reality is a spiritual one. His conviction, and mine, are grounded in the gift of eternal life promised by Jesus and blazingly vindicated by his resurrection.  My prayers are for his widow Brenda and his son Tim for whom the loss is close and personal. Thank you for reading this. Many will know exactly how I am feeling and its helped to express a little in this post.