Two years ago I did a piece as an obituary to an old friend, Peter Loose, who though incredibly self-effacing made a great behind-the-scenes difference to many Christian enterprises both here and in the US. I described how I first got to know him in my home Bible Study Group based on the ordinary, if large, Baptist Church where we were both members.
Today I hear news of the death of another member of that small (and unremarkable) group, whom I’ll call “K,” and although (or perhaps because) she had nothing like the kind of influence on the world that Peter did, I feel a eulogy is called for, because without the Ks of this world, the Peters of this world would not be possible.
Our friendship goes back to the late 1970s, when following the birth of our son, soon after our arrival in Essex, my wife joined the Young Mums group at the Baptist Church. There she met another young mum, who was a very new Christian, having joined the church not long before. It seems she’d been doorstepped by the JWs, started a Bible Study with them, and one day suddenly thought, “I don’t need all this.” She dismissed the Witnesses, started going to church, and made a commitment to Christ soon afterwards.
K was an uncomplicated soul, not an intellectual, though not stupid as she had accountancy skills that were put to good use in church subsequently. I got to know her around 1983 when I joined the geographically-based house group, and found that she was not only deeply committed to Christ, but eager to do serious study of the Bible. At that stage my daily problems were about practising ethical medicine in an age of abortion, and so on – hers, like my wife’s, were how to grab any devotional time with a couple of small kids constantly requiring attention. House groups are great for addressing both kinds of issue.
Yet despite the maternal treadmill she prioritised the group, and quickly proved to have a real gift of discernment, by which I mean not that she sniffed out demons, but that she always knew pretty quickly when a bishop on the TV, or a preacher at church, was not in line with the Bible. Since, as a good Essex girl, she was happy to confront anyone talking nonsense and tell them it was nonsense, I had a deal of admiration for her. In that vein, she proved a faithful source of support for me when, a couple of years later, I felt I had to challenge our church leadership on some important theological matters, right up to the time when my wife and I decided we had to change churches.
Fast-forward another two or three years, and K herself found it impossible to remain in that church, for the same reasons, and she migrated to the one where I was now an elder. The result was that, together with another pair of refugees from that troubled former fellowship, she ended up in our Home Group again, right up to the time I retired and we moved to the West Country. We therefore shared our lives in that small group for forty-five years, with some interruptions; which I’m sure is not a record, but is unusual. She was always faithful, always ready to learn, always ready to serve. In other words, she was like millions of other Christians across the world who make no waves and who, I suspect in many cases, doubt that they have any spiritual gifts of note. Amusingly (to me), the one “proper” 1 Corinthians gift she had a hankering after was the gift of healing, and she didn’t have that, though I have no reason to doubt that she contributed to the blessing of some who were healed when groups of us prayed for them. Her real ministry-set was more subtle than that, but as I have said, certainly included spiritual discernment and a godly refusal to compromise for anyone, however respected. And she had the ability to encourage friends under pressure.
Subsequently K and her husband, having fledged their brood, retired in broadly the same direction as us, meaning we got to visit them a few times, as well as keeping in telephone and Christmas letter contact. Sadly, K developed increasing dementia over the last few years, and ended up needing institutional care. At the end she barely knew where she was, let alone who her nearest and dearest were. But here’s the testimony. On the day she died, it seems, she was (as sometimes, mysteriously, happens in Alzheimers) suddenly lucid, happy and chatting coherently for several hours. The carers went out of the room to fetch her normal medication, only to find on their return that she had passed away – apparently kneeling by the side of her bed in prayer.
Of course, we have no way of knowing for sure that she had been praying, but her chronically agnostic, though always supportive and loving, husband was certainly mightily impressed enough to make it a feature of his phone-call to us telling us of her death. I see it as a supremely fitting end, too.
