The Agapanthus and the Aneurysm
At Wednesday's assembly I was talking about a neighbour's agapanthus. Over several uncomplaining years, boys waiting idly for parents decapitated the agapanthus flowers on her nature strip.
'I suppose it's a boy thing' said the elderly mother of two sons.
This year however she took a gentle step toward seeing some blooms. She put a notice on each side of the tree that the flowers surrounded. It requested 'Please do not damage these flowers'.
Alas, on the Tuesday night the flowers were beheaded. As if to add a provocation, the head of one was placed in her letterbox. She found it that morning and mentioned it to me in passing. Not surprisingly, it crept into my assembly talk as we explored the text of John's first letter with its invitation to be people characterised by love.
Lunchtime that thirteenth day of November will never be forgotten. Eight boys were working ergometers in the Cardinal Pavilion gym when one of them collapsed. It wasn't known then that Philippe Gyles had had a cerebral aneurysm that haemorrhaged. The events thereafter unfolded with a momentum all of their own and carried me late into the evening. Oddly however, on the way to my car I noticed two small agapanthus flowers still to come; and that my neighbour had removed her notice.
The next day began early. On my way to school I noticed those two final agapanthus flowers were cut. As a final gesture of contempt, someone had placed one of the yet-to-open flower heads in my neighbour's letterbox. Saddened, I took it from the box to school. In my pocket it felt like a symbol of what John calls 'the spirit of the world'.
That Thursday morning we held a special assembly at the start of the day to advise the whole school of Philippe's critical condition, and to pray for him and his family. Throughout the day groups of boys who knew Philippe were identified, freed up from class so that they might spend time together and offered counselling. Through all this there were some lovely moments when boys took initiatives to express support for Philippe and his family.
Tom wanted to go to the Alfred Hospital straight away with something to brighten the bedside. He knew he wouldn't get into ICU himself but assumed he could leave something. I slowed this enthusiasm until I knew that there was always going to be a family member in the hospital waiting room. By then the good wishes of a large number of boys were written in two huge cards.
That Thursday night Philippe's dad recounted that the brightest moment of the day was when a group of Phil's mates came into the waiting room with balloons and the cards. It obviously meant so much. I was privileged to be at Philippe's bedside that night. I heard his mum read through every boys' greeting. I felt proud of them all as their names were read.
It was a late night again, and an early start on Friday morning. In preparing for assembly the passage that leapt out at me in the scheduled Bible reading was the words 'The Spirit that is in you is more powerful than the spirit that is in the world'. It seemed to me that the love, concern and care the boys demonstrated was in a 'spirit' that John identifies as 'the spirit that comes from God'. Also called the 'spirit of Jesus', and the 'Holy Spirit'. This spirit shapes the actions of those who take Jesus' teaching seriously. John contrasts it with the 'spirit of the world'.
I am an optimist. Not because I believe in luck and hope for the best, but because the scriptures say 'the spirit that is in you (who follow Jesus) is more powerful than the spirit that is in the world'.
Postscript.
Philippe died later on Friday. Much remains to be said before this issue of The Torch is in your hands, meantime, inarticulate words of the heart are the residue of a week that has changed the world of many Scotch Collegians, and impacted widely on the school community and beyond. 'The Spirit himself pleads with God for us with groans that words cannot express' (Romans 8:26).
Graham Bradbeer
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