64) Some of the good times still left up my sleeve
Henry died on Sunday. I’d spent several hours with him and his family in the lead up to his death. His partner said, “we’ve been together for over forty years, Olly, and there’s still so much that I need to say...” So much love still to express. About a year ago, I wrote a blog entitled, “Enough time to love” – God, give us enough time to love those we love. My time with Henry and his family during those last few weeks was filled with tales from their younger years. Stories full of love and adventure. We laughed together at memories spoken out loud – memories kept alive in their speaking.
When Henry’s partner called me with the news, I was at a Fringe show in Adelaide with Midge, my own soulmate of over forty years. For a moment, I felt a sense of the weight of his grief.
Midge flew home to Wales last night, and this evening my house has regained its usual quiet tenor. For all my love of calm and solitude, I can feel her absence. And into the gap, I’ve been reflecting on our own lifetime of adventures and remembering with gratitude this past month’s travels.
There was a perfect moment in Hobart. I’d made a large cup of tea and had a glass of Tempranillo at my side. The cottage had a view across the river to Mount Wellington, which at that moment appeared wrapped in cloud. Every now and then the weakening sun broke through to reveal diamonds on the surface of the lake, but its warmth was never strong enough to lift the cloud from the mountain. Midge was asleep in the next room having a rest before dinner. Only the night before, we were in Sydney, and it had been a long day navigating airport check-ins, hire car rental, and directions. A long and wearying day, but just at that moment with the day's labours behind me, drinking tea, looking at the mountain and river view, and feeling quite still, it was easy to feel the blessing of nature and rest. I brought Wild Remedy with me, an anthology of poems. You know, I trust in the power of words like medicine. I always have. Writes Laurie Lee, of Cider with Rosie fame, “if ever I saw blessings in the air I see it now.” Indeed Laurie – with my best friend of forty years in the next room; the lights beginning to come on in Hobart at the base of the mountain; and this moment of tranquility before dinner, if ever I saw blessings in the air…
Earlier we’d been at Hobart’s Salamanca Market in a sudden cold snap. A market stall trader recounted how the temperature had dropped and the wind had gained barely half an hour before we arrived. I bought a thick jumper, the kind you see folks wearing at festivals, with rough edges and a snowflake pattern, just to shield me from the wind’s bite. I figured it would stand me in good stead for the summit of the mountain. But that would be tomorrow’s adventure. In this moment, still in my snowflake jumper, I was content simply to rest and recuperate, and to absorb the moment. Karina Kreminski once said, at a seminar I think it was, that “nature is responsive rather than strategic.” And so, I chose to let go of plans and deadlines and route maps for the morning, and I chose to let myself respond to this quiet moment and place. Green pastures and still waters. River and mountain. Moths dancing about as the lights came on. Dogs barking at a distance somewhere. Tea, wine, poetry, and the companionship of an old friend. There’s more than a trace of God in all of it. I will breathe it all in and let it become part of me. Let it hold me in place. For moments like these, Wendell Berry writes,
“I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things…
I come into the presence of still water…
For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
The day after returning from Tasmania’s graces, I preached up at Hope Valley. I am allowed to preach in the “sacred space” but not in the church proper. Christians are so good at their exclusions and rulemaking, though I’m not sure God awards prizes for that. Still, it was the first time I’d preached for over six months and for that I was grateful. The lectionary text was Matthew 5:14-16 – you are the light of the world. My mind wanders to the profound silence from almost all the Christian folks I know about the ongoing suffering in Gaza and the West Bank. I think about the massive casualties and the huge environmental destruction. Hardly the light of the world. There used to be an old children’s chorus:
Jesus bids us shine with a clear pure light,
like a little candle burning in the night;
in this world of darkness we must shine –
you in your small corner, and I in mine.
Surely, it’s not just for children. Don’t tell me that shining a light onto the darknesses of this world is just for fairy tales and children’s choruses. This dark world needs light-bringers and truth-exposers more than it ever has. I see Paul talking of his own ‘crooked and perverse generation’ and I’ll raise him the 21st Century world I see on my screen.
But like the song says,
…we'll take our chances ‘cause God's stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere along the way He must have let us all out to play
Turned His back and all God's children crept out the back door
Aye, we’ll take our chances. Raise our hands in the air and sing our Christian hymns and enjoy our church “club” and forget entirely what it means to be light in this world. We’ll hear folks crying out for justice and respond with it’s complicated, before turning our blind eyes...
Only, I cannot stay silent. God only knows what I will I do when they make it harder and harder for folks to speak out? Maybe the stones and the rocks and the earth itself will cry out in my place.
One night during Midge’s stay, in pitch darkness, we both wandered the sandy stone steps that lead from the car park down to Waitpinga beach. There was no moon, and we used our phone torches to light the way. Near the shore we switched off our torches and let our eyes gradually become accustomed to a sky packed full of stars. Above our two small selves, the vast Milky Way arced in all her glory, and beside us, the constant roar and crash of the waves. I could hear voices carried in the sea breeze. Midge said it was the voices of drowned sailors, coming like a warning. Where are the lighthouses and the beacons? Where does our help come from? Where is the light in this world?
I tell you, while there are folks digging their loved ones out from under rubble in Gaza, that light is not to be found in our churches on a Sunday morning…
Midge and I stayed for a while that night, just gazing at the vast bright heavens and listening to the ocean. I can’t believe God would ever turn His back on us, whatever the song says. I know He is always reaching out towards us, calling our name. Everything in Creation carries a trace of its maker, and those traces are signposts and reminders.
Tell me, how does the devastation of Gaza fit with a God who doesn’t turn His back?
*
Midge flew home last night, and this evening my house has regained its usual quiet tenor. I’ve been reflecting on our own lifetime of adventures, and I’ve been remembering with gratitude this past month’s travels. Henry died on Sunday. His partner said, “we’ve been together for over forty years, and there’s still so much that I feel I need to say...” So much love still to give. God, give us enough time to love those we love. And give us love for those who need it most. Open our eyes to the sorrows of this world. Compel us to right the wrongs we witness. And lead us out in the name of love. Like St Teresa of Avila said,
“Do those things which best stir us to love.”
I don’t want to wait until my own last moments to speak words of love, when the world needs to hear them now.
I don’t want to be found running out of time with my own pockets full of potential kindness and mercy and love and solidarity – but all of it undisclosed, undelivered, unwrapped and turning rusty for the want of being shared out and used.
Goodnight Henry. It was a privilege to walk your final chapter with you. Farewell Midge. We added more joy and adventure to our own memory reserves. Some of the good times still left up our sleeves… Like the best wine appearing at the wedding in Cana after the original wine ran dry.
I know I haven’t done enough to sow love and to bring light into my corner of the world. I tell you, even with my fainting heart and my weary bones, I’m going to try and do better.
Olly Ponsonby, Feb 2026
***
Scripture references include: Ps 46:10, Mk 6:31, Ps 23:2-3, Col 1:16-17, Ro 1:20, Mt 5:14-16, Phil 2:15, Lk 19:40, Ps 121:1, Gen 3:9, Jn 2:1-10.
“Some of the good times still left up my sleeve” taken from “Wreck it down” by Thea Gilmore.
“If ever I saw blessings…” taken from “April Rise’ by Laurie Lee, in “Poetry Prescription: Wild Remedy” Ed. Deborah Alma, Macmillan, 2025.
“I go and lie down…” from “The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry, in “Poetry Prescription: Wild Remedy” Ed. Deborah Alma, Macmillan, 2025.
“Jesus bids us shine” by Susan Warner. https://hymnary.org/text/jesus_bids_us_shine_with_a_pure_clear_li
“But we’ll take our chances…” from “Praying for Time” by George Michael, lyrics © Robobuild Limited