What Integrity Looks Like

 

I recently attended the funeral of my 97 year old friend John.  There are pleasures to be found in the funeral of somebody who lived as long and well as he did - most especially hearing the life story of the departed person.

John’s story, told by his children, was remarkable in being entirely consistent.  His strong Christian faith led him to uphold the rights of others and to defend the underdog.

World War Two found him a pacifist.

Worthwhile work as a missionary led him to Uganda.

Marriage showed him a feminist, supporting his wife in continuing with her work as a doctor.

Fatherhood was a role he shouldered fully.

 

It is this consistency in John’s values and behaviour which adds up to the precious quality of integrity.

 

When, eleven years ago, John became confined to a wheelchair, I questioned how such an active man could bear it. Problems with eyesight meant he lacked even the consolation of reading. 

But his mental furniture came to the rescue. He knew many works of literature almost by heart and even on his death bed introduced me to a Robert Frost poem I had not read. 

He would say that he was re-reading a certain book but in fact he was going over it in his mind.

Others might grumble at being wheelchair bound, but not John.  To a man of such integrity, the long stretch of stillness each day was an opportunity.  He prayed – for his family and friends and for our church, but also for the many parts of the country and of the world afflicted by troubles.

Much missed, John is now a torch for me, lighting the way into old age.