A
friend died a year ago today.
And
something of me died with him.
 |
| Ross Olivier |
Ross
had invited me to work with him. He asked me to apply for this job – and such
was his passion for this seminary, and his inspired articulation of the
possibilities of what this could be, that I was persuaded to apply for the
position.
Ross
was a visionary. He could see opportunities and adventure where other people
saw problems. Not only could he sketch the future – he made it come true.
·
I
saw this happen when he was asked to become an agent of change for the
Methodist Church of SA, as we struggled to know how to respond to the political
and social change of South Africa. I was inspired by his “Journey to a New Land”
programme and enthusiastically participated in effecting organizational change
in my District.
·
I
saw this happen when he was elected as General Secretary of the Methodist Church
of Southern Africa. He helped shape the way our church was run and brought a vision
for excellence.
·
And
when he stepped down, he set off on a journey to Mississippi where he enabled
his church to respond to Hurricane Katrina; and to offer theological
conversation to Southern racial prejudice. He pastored people from all walks of
life – ranging from beggars to U.S. senators.
When
he asked me to join him at the Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary I gladly signed
on. And I spent a wonderful, exhausting, hard-working, and exhilarating year
alongside of him as he led us in the training of Methodist Ministers.
Then
he died.
Ross
died for a number of reasons.
He
died because he was absolutely and utterly exhausted. He had driven himself
relentlessly without a break for many years. In fact he had possibly never
stopped pushing himself... ever. He took the Wesleyan concept of Christian Perfection
into the core of his being, and therefore constantly worked at everything in
his life. He had a book on the theology of Elvis bubbling on the side, while he
worked on an article on Christian ministerial education, as he wrote resolutions
for the various church committees he sat on. He would think of ways to improve
his class lectures, while he prepared for a Sunday sermon, while he was
thinking through the shape of the seminary’s registration with the Department
of Education. He was in conversation with various church Bishops, while he
offered encouragement to members of staff, and counselled seminarians. He
literally wore himself out – and refused to heed to concern of family and friends
as we asked him to slow down. His standard answer was “I have always been like
this”. But this was not good for him.
Ross
also died because of medical complications. He lived with pain from neural
damage to his jaw as a result of dental surgery gone wrong. This saw him taking
ever stronger pain medication, which became a process of addictive chemicals, very
difficult medical treatment, and often inappropriate responses. Ross seldom went
out without packets of headache powder in his pocket, which he would consume
like sweets. His medical advisors saw that this potent combination of chemicals
was affecting his mood, and diagnosed depression. Ross found this very
difficult, and was at first tempted to “tough it out”. Eventually he was forced
to take sick leave – from which he never returned.
Ross
died because he was human. We wanted him to be our great leader. And we looked
to him to get us out of trouble, to come up with the next plan, to get us to
the next level. Because of this, we – I - did not fight him to take his leave;
I did not insist on him doing less; I did not have the stand up confrontation
that would have seen him focus on what he alone could do, and relinquish that
which others could also do. He was so good at everything, that I would step
back and let him get on with it. And he did – until the day he could not keep
going any more.
When
he could no longer fulfil our expectations...
When
he could no longer live with the pain...
And
especially when he could no longer live up to his own exacting expectations of
himself...
Ross
died.
And
I lost a friend.
I
miss him.
