An Unusual Perspective
The Rev. Dr Giles Fraser gave this talk on the BBC’s Thought for Today on February 8th. and I felt it would be of interest to some of the readers of this posting.
“The fondest memory I have of my grandmother is from over twenty five years ago. I'd run away from school to go to a pop concert and ended up freezing cold trying to catch some sleep in her greenhouse. She discovered me early as she bought in the milk from the doorstep and proceeded to knock up the best full English breakfast I'd ever tasted. Without judgment or condemnation, she made me warm and gave me love. Thank God for grandparents.
Last Saturday, in a nursing home in Leicester, she passed away, surrounded by the family. And yesterday I started to pull together her funeral service. What photograph of her, I wondered, should I put on the front cover of the service sheet? What about the one of that small 40 year old woman on the Norfolk Broads? Or what about the one of her at my parents wedding in the village church where, next week, I'll lay her to rest. Or what about the frail lady sitting up in bed with a far away smile, her mind clearly clouded by dementia. We'll sing a hymn at her funeral that has the words: 'Re-clothe us is our rightful mind".
Yes, but what is our "rightful mind"? I twice met the great novelist and philosopher Iris Murdoch. Once, when she'd given a magnificent lecture on Plato, and then again, some years later, when I found her lost and confused in the University Church in Oxford. Surely Iris Murdoch's rightful mind was that of the erudite don? It was different for my Grandmother. Most of her life she suffered from a crushing sense of social inferiority. With Alzheimer's disease came an unforeseen sense of release. She stared dressing up in the most unlikely clothes and developed a wonderfully outrageous command of Anglo-Saxon. She even managed to persuade fellow residents of her care-home that she'd once been a nun.
During this time her characteristic frown slipped into a grin. And so it seems to me that right at the end of her difficult life, as she pottered about helping fellow residents and experimenting with her wardrobe, she gave some indication of the person she might have been had she found earlier release from her demons. We often are persuaded that old people's homes are places of despair, God's waiting rooms that reek of incontinence and neglect. It wasn't like that for my Gran. She found an Indian summer of happiness as all her worries fell away. Perhaps that's what a rightful mind looks like. When all our plans and plotting, all our resentments and knotted histories have become foggy and indistinct, perhaps then we're released to become something like the sort of person that God has always wanted us to be. "
(B.R.)
“The fondest memory I have of my grandmother is from over twenty five years ago. I'd run away from school to go to a pop concert and ended up freezing cold trying to catch some sleep in her greenhouse. She discovered me early as she bought in the milk from the doorstep and proceeded to knock up the best full English breakfast I'd ever tasted. Without judgment or condemnation, she made me warm and gave me love. Thank God for grandparents.
Last Saturday, in a nursing home in Leicester, she passed away, surrounded by the family. And yesterday I started to pull together her funeral service. What photograph of her, I wondered, should I put on the front cover of the service sheet? What about the one of that small 40 year old woman on the Norfolk Broads? Or what about the one of her at my parents wedding in the village church where, next week, I'll lay her to rest. Or what about the frail lady sitting up in bed with a far away smile, her mind clearly clouded by dementia. We'll sing a hymn at her funeral that has the words: 'Re-clothe us is our rightful mind".
Yes, but what is our "rightful mind"? I twice met the great novelist and philosopher Iris Murdoch. Once, when she'd given a magnificent lecture on Plato, and then again, some years later, when I found her lost and confused in the University Church in Oxford. Surely Iris Murdoch's rightful mind was that of the erudite don? It was different for my Grandmother. Most of her life she suffered from a crushing sense of social inferiority. With Alzheimer's disease came an unforeseen sense of release. She stared dressing up in the most unlikely clothes and developed a wonderfully outrageous command of Anglo-Saxon. She even managed to persuade fellow residents of her care-home that she'd once been a nun.
During this time her characteristic frown slipped into a grin. And so it seems to me that right at the end of her difficult life, as she pottered about helping fellow residents and experimenting with her wardrobe, she gave some indication of the person she might have been had she found earlier release from her demons. We often are persuaded that old people's homes are places of despair, God's waiting rooms that reek of incontinence and neglect. It wasn't like that for my Gran. She found an Indian summer of happiness as all her worries fell away. Perhaps that's what a rightful mind looks like. When all our plans and plotting, all our resentments and knotted histories have become foggy and indistinct, perhaps then we're released to become something like the sort of person that God has always wanted us to be. "
(B.R.)
posted by Euroresidentes at 10:58 AM
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