By Revd Lucy Austin
On Monday afternoon more than a hundred and fifty, maybe up to two hundred people gathered at the Church of St Peter and St Paul in Stokenchurch to celebrate and give thanks to God for Dave Crozier, his life and what he meant to each one of them.

Many too, in different places near and overseas, would join in online because Dave had touched their lives with his humour, his genuine love for humanity and his lively wit.

For those whom he had briefly met as well as those whom he knew for most of his life none remain unmoved by his leaving to go to his eternal home. The service of thanksgiving was, in itself, an overwhelming tribute to the person who leaves a legacy few could ever hope to match.

The singing was glorious! All three carefully chosen hymns of praise carrying deep meaning in their words:

O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise….
My gracious Master and my God, assist me to proclaim,
to spread thro’ all the earth abroad the honours of your name.

O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise….
My gracious Master and my God, assist me to proclaim,
to spread thro’ all the earth abroad the honours of your name.

In Christ alone, my hope is found, He is my light, my strength, my song;
This Cornerstone, this solid ground, …..
My Comforter, my All in All, Here in the love of Christ I stand.

When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation, And take me home,
what joy shall fill my heart! Then I shall bow, in humble adoration,
And there proclaim: “My God, how great Thou art!”

Dave’s elder brother Peter spoke of their childhood, particularly mentioning that in his view ‘Dave never forgot anything from age 16 going forward.’ Dave certainly did do well at school but Peter also remembers that he struggled with languages. His Latin teacher wrote: “Hardly a linguist. Tries hard.”.
Dave’s second PhD was later to be achieved in the Nigerian language of Chisingini, the first having been in Biochemistry.

Dave’s eldest son John told with feeling of his father’s gift and love for teaching – whether helping with homework or tutoring students it was always with kindness and compassion. He said that many children think that their Dad is wonderful, knows everything and can do everything. But, John said, all the Crozier children believed that to be true of their Dad. He was also fun to play with, no matter what game you wanted.

The grandchildren supported that view as well, although none of them actually knew Dave before he had become ill with emphysema. Joel, the eldest grandson, said that he had asked his siblings and cousins each to describe Grandad in a single word. The results were revealing: faithful, considerate, patient, intelligent, loving, extraordinary. Dave’s family meant a great deal to him and he loved to spend as much time as possible with them.

The final tribute – on Dave’s work with Wycliffe – came from Matthew Harley. He spoke of the life of faith Dave lived all his days. An example of as godly man who enriched the lives of those around him. Matthew went on to read his own poem, written for Dave, entitled ‘The twinkle in his eye’. A small part of it follows:

Your bronchial trees were shedding their leaves and it couldn’t be reversed.

Breathing was often a struggle.

You endured it all so gracefully with Liz ever by your side

Trusting God there was an answer to the question ‘Why?’

And knowing always He was the one …. who put that twinkle in your eye!

Heather Ford Lark, who co-ordinated the service, gave a short reflection based on the reading from St Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonian Christians. She emphasised that grieving is a necessary part of loss but that we, as Christians, do not grieve as those who have no hope. We believe and hope in Jesus who will take us all home, to be with Him forever.

So we can pray: “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you and give you peace”.

With love and many blessings

LucyA

By Revd Lucy Austin

Yesterday was July 15th, which means it was St. Swithun’s Day – and if you’re anything like most Brits, you probably spent at least a moment peering suspiciously at the sky. Was it raining? Was it sunny? And does this mean we’re in for 40 days of ….. what ……?

According to folklore that’s been passed down through generations, the weather on St. Swithun’s Day determines what we’ll endure for the next 40 days. The rhyme goes:

St Swithun’s day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St Swithun’s day if thou be fair
For forty days ’twill rain nae mare

Now, before you start planning your next six weeks based on yesterday’s weather, let’s meet the man behind the myth – The Bishop Who Wanted to Get Wet

St. Swithun was a 9th-century Anglo-Saxon bishop who died in 862 as the Bishop of Winchester. He was clearly a man who enjoyed the great British weather. So much so that he specifically requested to be buried outside Winchester Cathedral “where the rain could fall and comfort him” and where “steps of passersby might fall on his grave.”

For over a century, St. Swithun’s wishes were respected. But in 971, the cathedral was expanding, and someone decided his outdoor grave was inconveniently placed. On July 15th, they moved his remains inside the cathedral – directly against his wishes.

And that’s when things got interesting.

Legend has it that a terrible storm immediately erupted. The rain was so heavy that the priests couldn’t do their work and had to down tools. The downpour continued for 40 days straight – presumably St. Swithun’s way of saying, “I told you I wanted to stay outside!”

It’s rather like the ultimate British passive-aggressive response, isn’t it? Instead of a strongly worded letter, he sent 40 days of rain.

Before you dismiss this as medieval nonsense, there’s actually some meteorological method to the madness. Around mid-July, the jet stream typically settles into a pattern that holds fairly steady until the end of August. When it sits north of Britain, we get continental high pressure (translation: decent weather). When it sits across or south of us, we get Arctic air and Atlantic weather systems (translation: pack your brolly).

Of course, the legend isn’t foolproof. In 1924, after 13.5 hours of sunshine in London, 30 of the next 40 days were wet. But in 1913, a 15-hour rainstorm was followed by 30 dry days out of 40. Even medieval weather forecasting had its off days.

Remarkably, Jane Austen wrote about St. Swithun just two days before her death on July 15th, 1817. Her satirical poem about Winchester races tells of the saint leaping from his shrine to the roof, declaring his command over July and promising to “pursue with my rain” anyone who dared hold festivities without his permission.

It’s a delightfully dramatic image – St. Swithun as a sort of meteorological superhero, cape billowing in the wind (or should that be rain?), ready to dampen the frivolities from beyond the grave.

Jane is, actually, also buried in Winchester Cathedral.

So, what’s the takeaway from all this? Well, St. Swithun’s Day folklore is probably more legend than reliable weather prediction. But it does give us something quintessentially British: a reason to blame someone else for our weather, even if that someone has been dead for over a millennium.

Whether yesterday brought sunshine or showers, at least we know who to thank – or blame – for the next 40 days. And if you’re experiencing drought conditions, you might want to pop over to
Winchester Cathedral and have a quiet word with St. Swithun. He’s traditionally prayed to during dry spells, and given his track record, he might just be listening.

After all, this is Britain – we’ll always need someone to talk to about the weather.

Much love and many blessings
LucyA