David Gray is a remarkable man.  Well, in fact the whole family are pretty remarkable.  David and Anne saved our lives – metaphorically speaking, you understand.

A few years ago, we lived within walking distance of each other on the same housing development.  Bearing in mind the strength of David’s G&T’s, that was a blessing.  Mind you, with all that was going on in our lives at the time we welcomed an aperitif or three.

Pastoral care takes many forms.  The Puritan, Richard Baxter, is one of the great architects of good pastoral care.  Baxter was an English church leader, a poet, a prolific hymn-writer, a theologian, and – it is said – a controversialist.    David Gray is quite a few of these things too.  He’s certainly a theologian (who isn’t?) and I rather think he and Anne are both controversialists, too.   For a start, Rev’d and Mrs Gray don’t hold much truck with the the historical Methodist commitment to total abstinence.  Attitudes towards alcohol have changed dramatically among Methodist believers in recent decades, and to be fair, I don’t know of anyone who survives the rigour of church leadership without an occasional snifter.

It wasn’t the cocktails, though, or the food (which was excellent by the way) it was the love, care, kindness and support that really mattered. David and Anne have a way with them. It’s Jesus of course. You can sense his presence in their home. You can hear his joyful laughter. Listen carefully, and you can even hear him speak. And, yes, Jesus has set a few prisoners free while David poured another G&T. We know, because we are two of them.  And it all happened so imperceptibly.  Walking home late one night after enough gut-wrenching laughter to cause actual bodily pain, we realised that it had happened.  We were free.  Free of the crushing paralysis of other people’s relentless and unrealistic expectations.  Free of the pharisaical pomposity that made us want to puke.  I think we even sang.   Having spent the evening with Methodists, it had to be Wesley of course.  “My chains fell off, my heart was free…”     To this day I’m not sure what the neighbours thought.  Two inebriated Baptists singing hymns at gone midnight.  There is a scriptural precedent.  Well, for part of it anyway.

Then, years later, David, Anne and Tom faced a new challenge.   Last September the day began much like any other.  There were jobs around the house to be done, and work to do. Then, without warning, David had a strange pain.  Within minutes he slumped against the side of his parked car, and ended up on the floor unconscious.   Anne called the ambulance.  The first responder knew enough to get David in the ambulance car and straight to hospital.  And he didn’t hang about.  Anne was following, but not for long.  Blue lights blazing, the car carrying David took off.  And the paramedic was honest.  “Mr Gray, you may not make it.  It’s 50/50”.   David will tell you that he was overwhelmed with peace and knew Jesus was near.  Any why wouldn’t he be?   Like John Wesley in the year his brother wrote that great hymn,  David’s heart was “strangely warmed” many years ago, and Jesus has been his constant friend and guide ever since.

Anne eventually arrived at the hospital, but David was no-where to be found.  He was in theatre, where the surgeons were trying to repair his aorta which was as close to a full blown rupture as it’s possible to be.  The aorta is the largest and most vital of all the blood vessels.  If that one blows, then it’s over – well certainly for this life.   Hours later the repair was complete.  The professionals who’d laboured so diligently were cautiously pleased.  Then, without warning, the repair broke down and the whole procedure had to be done again.  It was decided to keep David in an induced coma for almost three weeks.  Anne and Tom visited daily, except for one night a week when they wisely gave themselves a break.   David was in God’s hands after all, and there’s no safer place to be.

Eventually this great Welsh giant of a man came to.  It hasn’t been straightforward. David has some paralysis in his right leg, and is currently in a wheel chair.  He hasn’t had the easiest time mentally either.  It’s well-documented, apparently, that those who are held in induced coma can have quite distressing dreams when they finally regain consciousness.  Thankfully that trial seems to be over now.

And so it was that Val and I came to sit with David, Anne and Tom in their lovely Wiltshire home.  We recalled God’s goodness over past years.  We ate an inordinate amount of fish and chips.  We declined the G&T, it was lunchtime after all.  That’s not to say we didn’t sniff a new botanical finding, because we did, and we promised ourselves another visit when I have no doubt that there will be a certain amount of moderate imbibing.

The future isn’t too certain for David right now.  The Methodist church have given him a full year off to relax and concentrate on recovery.  The churches of which he is the minister have been kind and compassionate.  Most churches rise to the challenge to pastor the pastor when the need arises, and the good Christian folk of Chippenham are doing a commendable job.

When the time came to say farewell, we prayed together.  We couldn’t not, could we?  As I prayed for this man who has been such a source of comfort, wisdom, strength and joy to me over past years, I was almost overwhelmed with the poignancy of it all.   But something else happened too.   I had a very strong conviction.  A “sense” of God.  A “word” from God, if you like.  And it had to be spoken out…  “David, your future ministry is going to be significant.  The end will be far greater than the beginning.  There will be treasures to discover in the darkness, precious jewels to mine for the benefit of others.  Your ministry is not over.  Far from it, in many ways it could be just beginning…”