| Real Life - Jack the Lad |
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By Dave Winfield Jack died suddenly a couple of weeks ago. He was buried a hundred miles away. So Lola – his ex partner – arranged a local memorial service for him. Half the Harbour Inn was there. After all, it’s a good pub like that. If a regular dies we like to give him a decent send-off. The service started with typical Harbour Inn banter. When the Reverend spoke, someone heckled him – only to get it back as good as he gave. Then Kev got up. He said that Jack had run a business called Junk and Disorderly. His company car was an old hearse. Kev fixed a job interview for him once, for the post of Steward at the Golf Club, and he arrived for it in the hearse. So the interview was over before he reached the clubhouse. Golf people are like that sometimes. It’s a shame, because he’d have been a good Steward. Weight-lifting was one of their sports; lifting one pint, two pints, more… So their only hassles, when they went to watch London Irish, were getting Jack onto the train on time and out of the pub at the end. Kev spoke for us all when he said he’d miss him. So the Reverend gave us a few moments to chat about him and for a while the place buzzed like the Harbour Inn on Saturday night. Then there was a reading followed by a bluesy version of Amazing Grace, before the Reverend spoke. You always wonder what you’re going to get from a Reverend at this kind of do. Sometimes they whitewash the mate you knew until he looks like a saint you don’t recognise. He said Jack was unconventional, sometimes sensational, full of humour and intelligence; sometimes infuriating and occasionally tragic. He thought none of us could help but love him. And then he said Jack had talked God stuff to him. About his feelings of guilt; how he wished he could be different. Sometimes he was all for God, sometimes fiercely against him. But he always wanted to discuss him. ‘You all loved him,’ said the Reverend. ‘But Jack always struggled to imagine God could love him.’ He showed us some booklets. Lola found them in Jack’s flat after he died. Surprisingly, they were notes about the Bible, with a different section to be read each day. For several months Jack had been reading them, ticking the sections off day by day. ‘These are the kind of thoughts he was thinking,’ said the Reverend. He waved the books so we could see Jack’s scribbled comments. ‘These are prayers,’ he said. ‘Jack marked them for himself.’ He read one. It was a bit jargony so we didn’t understand it all: ‘It’s good enough that Jesus shed his precious blood to cover my unworthiness… that he’s mending the broken areas in my life…’ 1 Then there was a prayer for help. We tried piecing it together when we got back to the Harbour Inn. ‘Lord, everything’s falling apart. My head is clogged with junk; my heart’s breaking. Lord, where are you? I feel like the disciples in the storm; the waves are too big for me. 2 Someone go and get Jesus – I’m about to drown here. Jesus, I need you. Heavenly Father, take charge…’ 3 After that we were all given a chance to pray quietly but we finished off by celebrating Jack with loud applause, whistles and a few whoops. He was a good bloke. Later, some of us checked with Lola; the booklet stuff was for real. We decided if Jack-the-lad had thoughts like that… it wouldn’t be so mad for us to have them, too. 1. The Word for Today, winter 2009, entry for Thursday January 14th, published by United Christian Broadcasters (UCB) 2. A reference to Matthew’s Gospel, chapter 8 3. The Word for Today, winter 2009, entry for Friday January 15th, published by United Christian Broadcasters (UCB) By Dave Winfield |
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