41) Enough time to love
It was dark when the alarm sounded this morning. I had to turn on the kitchen light just to put away last night’s clean dishes, and to make breakfast. It was cold too. Those welcome first nights of autumn. I know that the warm days will be with us for a little while longer yet, but for me there was already a promise, and a hopefulness, in today’s cold start. A change in the air. The leaves are already turning to red and yellow in my garden. Before long, I’ll be pruning the roses. And soon there’ll be that familiar comfort in blankets, and old jumpers and scarves being pressed once more into service.
I went to a friend’s wake yesterday. Nathan wasn’t all that much older than me. I was glad to see so many folks there, and to have a chance to reconnect with some old colleagues and share our memories. Nathan once told me that I had just about the worst taste in music of anyone he’d ever met. Right until the end I was sending him YouTube links to music I thought might change his mind. Or maybe I was just letting him know that he was on my mind.
My old friend Hellen also died recently. The tyranny of geography made it impossible for me to make it to her funeral, and so instead I made time to look through old photos of us. All the while listening to an Alannah Myles CD over which we’d connected years ago. Nathan would have hated that album…
All this saying goodbye. There are holes appearing in my life that friends once occupied. The songwriter asks, “are we running out of love?” – but I think we’re running out of time to love. Time keeps on moving, and we’ve not said all we could say. We’ve not loved enough. Mellencamp is right: “life is short, even in its longest days.”
I return to ministry as an aged-care chaplain this week. It feels like a homecoming for this deacon. There’s a familiarity and a sense of belonging in the return – a bit like wearing old shoes. For sure, there’s some anxiety, too. And I feel the continuing sadness from laying down the ministry at Clayton Wesley. I see more goodbyes looming on the horizon. Like the song says, summer moved on, and the way it goes you can’t tag along.
I remember the first time I lived away from home. I had just turned 19, and went to live in St Brieuc in France – a place named after a 5th century Welshman who founded a monastery on the north coast on Brittany. I remember trying the église réformée in the town where I lived, but found no fellowship there. Folks seemed to come, speak the liturgy, and then leave, without acknowledging one another – or me. I can’t remember how many other churches I tried, but when I stumbled across the église évangélique de la Pentecôte, I knew I’d found the right place. The congregation were friendly, inviting me to lunch each week. One family lent me a guitar and took good care of me, this young English kid living away from home. I remember the first service I attended there, and how they sang Règne en moi, Roi puissant, règne en moi – a translation of a Chris Bowater hymn that I knew and loved. I had not only found a place to worship, but a place to call home for a season.
Oh, I seem to have my head firmly in the past today. Maybe it’s the cold start. Or Nathan’s wake. Maybe it’s me laying down Clayton Wesley and returning to chaplaincy. I don’t know. But I do know that there is a reassurance in those stories and memories from my past. They remind me that God has taken care of me this far. And they remind me to trust that He will continue to do so. After all, God doesn’t change, even when everything around us changes. So, I can say with Asaph, “I will remember Your ancient wonders. I will reflect on all You have done.” And I can say with Paul, “don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. I’ll remember and be thankful, and lift everything up in prayer, and know peace. Even amidst the changes and endings.
Today is Transfiguration Sunday. I keep thinking of Peter. He writes, “we were eyewitnesses of His majesty… we heard the voice from heaven while we were with Him on the holy mountain.” Peter remembering and finding strength and purpose in that remembering. He couldn’t make his home up on that mountain; he couldn’t stay there forever. He had to come down to the plains and valleys where life is lived out. But there was strength and peace in remembering what he had witnessed on that mountain.
Jesus says to His disciples, “the Holy Spirit… will remind you of everything I have told you.” And so, like Mary treasuring things up in her heart, and like Peter remembering that time on the mountain, I remind myself of the words spoken to us from Isaiah: “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand, and who says to you, ‘Do not fear, I will help you.’” In this time of change and letting go, it is God who still holds my right hand, and tells me not to fear, and promises His help. I can say with the hymnwriter:
Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or shame
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In every change He faithful will remainBe still my soul, when dearest friends depart
And all is darkened in the vale of tears
Then shall you better know His love, His heart
Who comes to soothe your sorrow, calm your fears
When dearest friends depart, then shall we better know His love and His heart, who comes to soothe our sorrows, calm our fears...
I was just remembering how my accommodation in St Brieuc was directly opposite a prison. I couldn’t have known then that one day I would serve as a prison chaplain while studying for ordained ministry. And even those precious days are behind me now. Summer moves on.
It was dark when the alarm sounded this morning. It was cold too. The leaves are already turning to red and yellow in my garden. Before long, I’ll be pruning the roses. And soon there’ll be that familiar comfort in blankets, and old jumpers and scarves being pressed once more into service. The course of our lives is held in God’s own hands. As days turn to minutes, and minutes to memories, God be with us in the changes. God hold our hand.
God give us enough time to love those we love. God give us Your peace in each goodbye.
Olly Ponsonby, March 2025
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Scripture refs. Include Heb 13:8, Ps 77:11-12, Phil 4:6-7, 2 Pet 1:16,18, Jn 14:26, Lk 2:19, Is 41:13, Ps 31:15, Ps 139:16.
“Are we running out of love” by Lennarth Daniel Norgren. https://genius.com/Daniel-norgren-are-we-running-out-of-love-lyrics
“Life is short…” quote from “Longest Days” by John Mellencamp, 2008. https://genius.com/John-mellencamp-longest-days-lyrics
“Summer moved on” by Paul Waaktaar-savoy, Morten Harket, and Magne Furuholmen, © Reservoir Reverb Music Ltd, Swinglong Ltd.
“Règne en moi” original English lyrics by Chris Bowater, © Sovereign Music UK/LTC.
“Be still my soul” by Kathrina von Schlegel 1752, trans. Jane Borthwick 1855. Public domain.
“Days turn to minutes…” from “Minutes to Memories” by John Mellencamp, 1985. https://genius.com/John-mellencamp-minutes-to-memories-lyrics