Phil: reflections

If you've read my previous blog, you will be aware that less than a week ago my younger brother Phil passed away.  Though his death was not unexpected, it has still been very hard to accept, and his family and many friends have experience a whole range of very human emotions.  For most of us, those emotions are still raw.

Yesterday I felt that I wanted to sit down and write a poem as a kind of tribute to Phil and an expression of some of the emotions which have been going round in my heart and mind over the past few days.  I make no claim to be a great poet, and it may be that as I reflect further I will want to change some of the words and phrases.  However, I have shown it to some who have expressed the thought that I should put it into the public domain.  My initial intention was to read it aloud via Facebook Live, but in these early days since Phil's death I know that if I tried to do so, the likelihood is that I could find myself being overcome with emotion long before I got to the end.

So here it is, a poem I dedicate to Phil's memory, and also to his wonderful wife, Monika and children Mike and Emily - my love and admiration for you all are without bounds.

Phil: reflection

Is this real, or am I dreaming?

Surely it just can’t be true?

Something so brutal, and with no sense:

It must be a dreadful nightmare,

a ghastly horror show,

from which I long to run,

make my escape into the world of comfort,

where all is calm and as it should be.

The dream says Phil is gone, dead,

his earthly life has ended.

It cannot be!

I will not accept it!

I turn my face away,

For I can take no more

of vile oppression.

Help me to wake and see the light!

Phil, my little brother,

with whom I’ve shared so many precious times.

Two brothers, at one in love of Jesus (and Hull City!)

And now they say you’ve gone,

no breath of life within your mortal body.

No more I’ll see your smile, laugh at your humour,

or know your loving inspiration

in the walk of life.

Oh … this is no dream, no mere imagination.

My heart is broken at the loss.

No, not for you, for you are with the One you loved

and served so faithfully through life.

It is for me I mourn, and for your family,

who will no more see loving dad, or husband;

and for countless folk who called you friend.

I know that God is good, a loving, faithful Father:

‘I’ll never leave you’ is his promise.

I know he is our healer, and we’ve seen his hand in you

through these last years

as cancer sought to take you from us.

Two precious years in which

your witness spoke profoundly to so many.

Lives transformed, hope awakened

Jesus lifted high!

And yet … and yet …

I struggle with that question – why?

For your heart was filled with such great passion,

a love for Jesus which you longed to share

with all those of your new-found country;

a place you loved, its beauty and its people.

A vision drove you on to break through boundaries

and tread in places others feared to go.

A pioneer, breaking new ground, and calling others

to walk those paths along with you.

A vision unfulfilled?

For you are gone;

the flaming torch is one you cannot carry

any longer.

Is that bright flame to fall,

to die, like you … to be extinguished?

A masterpiece to stay unfinished?

A tragedy from glorious ambition?

A dreadful end to life of such great promise?

A great warrior cut down too soon?

The enemy triumphant in the last?

It may seem so …  and yet

as I have read the many, many tributes to your life

which have poured in from all around the globe,

I glimpse a bigger picture.

For everywhere you’ve been you’ve lit a flame

in people’s hearts.

That flame lives on and it will spread.

The seeds you’ve sown they will produce

a kingdom crop of fruitfulness

which none can span but God alone;

all to the glory of your Saviour.

I accept the truth now, Phil,

your race is run, you’ve fought the fight,

you’ve entered your reward -

the joy of heaven, free from all pain and sadness.

“Well done, you good and faithful servant,”

the words which surely greeted you

as you were welcomed by

your Saviour and the heavenly hosts.

The glory of Creator’s presence is now

in your sight.

We feel the sharp, strong pain of loss

and will forever do so,

but as we bear your life in view we are inspired

to carry on the work which God began in you.

You’ve passed the baton on to us, and

now you cheer us on to run the race,

and as we do, we hear your great last message,

“DO NOT GIVE UP!

But press on to the end,

looking to Jesus, for he will lead you on.”

And so, my brother, friend and inspiration,

I say farewell, with sadness, yet with joy,

and such great thankfulness that I was privileged to 

call you brother.

You leave a hole in all our lives, which never can be 

filled until we meet again.

And yet we know that Jesus, in whose presence you 

now rest, lives in our hearts,

and so do you, dear one.