My father would rejoice in his political anonymity. Some were convinced he supported one or other political hue. Some insisted that the colour of his political assoiation was red, others took it to be amber or green or navy... That made him laugh. ‘I’m like a traffic light’, he’d say, selecting from the menus offered by the various manifestos as he’d prioritise people and the planet over parties.
Like father like son. And certainly when it comes to a sense of humour. But no anonymity as far as my religion is concerned.
I don’t like funerals. It’s then that we are asked to celebrate a life. Those on the front pews are understandably often sunk in abject despair, readers wrestle with their emotions and everyone else looks down in the mouth.
But I went to a funeral recently. That of a PP colleague. As you read through the pages of this magazine you’ll put two and two together. The occasion was a true celebration: full of laughter, joy, humour and amusement tempering yet confirming the loss felt by the family, friends and the community, local and at large. You shouldn’t always have to look glum to be serious.
Like the many others, I left that church with a broad smile on my face having celebrated a life and knowing that I had actually experienced the Joy of the Gospel.