be on holiday for a few days over Christmas, so we can be together. I’ve also managed to get time off so that I can come to see you in your school concert. Now, come and I’ll show you what we’re having for our tea.”
On the last day of term, the day of the concert, everything went smoothly and, after it was all over, father and son left the school together. They wanted to finish buying their gifts before the last-minute rush of Christmas shoppers made things even more difficult.
David had saved some of his pocket money and he bought a nice leather wallet for his dad.
To help make things a little more cheerful at home David asked if he could bring out the box of streamers and paper chains that his mum had always used to decorate the house, and he managed, with his dad’s help, to put up some decorations in the living room. It made the house brighter, but David still felt that his mother should have been with them.
On Christmas Eve David was surprised and delighted when his dad brought home a small tree, and the two of them spent the evening decorating it, finishing off by entwining a set of fairy lights through the branches.
“David, I think we’ve made a good job of decorating our tree. Your mum would have been very pleased with our efforts.”
“I agree,” his son replied sadly, as he plugged in the lights and switched them on.
At that moment, with a rustle of leaves, a sprig of holly fell from the frame of a mirror. As David bent to pick it up, the room darkened. Looking up, David whispered fearfully, “What’s happening, Dad?”
In the dim light both stood transfixed as, across the surface of the mirror appeared the greeting, “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to You Both.”
As the script finished David felt a warm glow of peace rising inside him, and he turned to his dad, his face shining with excitement. “It’s going to be a happy Christmas after all: the message is in Mum’s handwriting!”
Looking out a Window was the theme of an exercise given to members of Angus Writers’ Circle by Mr Eddie Small of University of Dundee. Quite a challenge and, to make it more difficult, he imposed a thought-provoking restriction. As you read this story, you may try to work out that restriction.
LOOKING OUT A WINDOW
Hospital corridors alive with parents, children, outpatients, doctors and nurses. A steady stream of humanity flowing past wards where life and death walk side by side.
In one ward bright sunshine streams through large windows and falls across Harry’s bed.
As I sit with him, he asks, “Andy, you’re near a window. Tell me what you see.”
I turn. “Sunshine, blue sky, clouds, people. Be patient, Harry, it won’t be long before you are out there as well.”
Harry smiles: at least his eyes smile. With skin like parchment it is difficult. His cancer is terminal, but it cannot dim his fighting spirit.
A cough shakes his skeletal frame. “Come now, stop being cheerful and face reality. You know I don’t have much time left. Grief, mourning and funerals are necessary to allow people to cope with death. But remember what I’ve told you. No tears and long faces for me, please. Death is nothing at all. Remember also it’s not an end: rather a new beginning.
“Andy, we’ve had some fierce arguments and deep discussions about Life, Death, Heaven, Hell and Biblical teaching. But over our time together we have found more and more common ground. That’s as it should be.”
Harry lifts his head, “Is that music I hear? Where is it coming from?”
I look out. “Outside. A group of Salvation Army instrumentalists are preparing to give a concert.”
“Thank you, Andy. I hope they play my kind of music. I’ve always enjoyed listening to brass bands.”
Harry pauses and takes a sip of water. “That reminds me: I want triumphal music at my funeral. Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus, and Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto; but also quiet contemplative music. Music that will help us to part on a light-hearted celebratory note.
“What am I saying? There is no parting. Immortality means I live on in your memory. Therefore, always be cheerful when you think of me.
“Christina Rossetti puts it beautifully in her poem, Remember:
“For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.”
I say, “I’ve always enjoyed that poem, Harry. But I’ll remember you and smile. Someone at his best arguing about something as obscure as ‘What is it like in Heaven?’”
“Andy, I know Biblical teaching has given us some indications. A simple idea of good people going to Heaven, and a Hell for bad folk is OK with which to start. But I don’t fancy spending Eternity sitting on a cloud. Boring!
“Instead, my friend, I prefer to take heart from Jesus’ words to his disciples: ‘In my Father’s house there are many mansions. If it were not so I would have told you.’
“Jesus said He will prepare a place for us. Whatever else it is, Heaven will not be boring.”
After a moment, I say, “Harry, you have often used science to back up your arguments. Quantum mechanics tries to explain how a quantum particle can be in two or more places simultaneously. Could that not help us to understand Heaven and Immortality? Being dead and alive simultaneously. Wait a moment. I’ve just spotted a friend outside who is a chaplain. Shall I…?”
“Not yet, Andy. Perhaps later. Please, continue.”
“All right, Harry. I was going to say – in seeking answers there are many paths to follow. You always favoured a more ceremonial approach akin to Scottish Episcopalianism. I prefer Calvin’s philosophy, that allows me to think for myself.
“But one idea, Harry, I still cannot get you to accept is my Christian Agnostic approach. There is much I do not know, but I look for answers through a Christian belief system.
“However, I’m glad we agree that religion is important. It means there will be hymns and prayers that will offer comfort to our friends and other mourners.”
As I stand to leave I say, “Shall I ask my friend to drop in? She really is a minister and a very cheerful lady. You’ll enjoy her visit.”
Harry smiles. “Thanks. It will be interesting arguing with a chaplain. Goodbye, Andy. Thank you for coming to see me.”