Wording a Radiance. Daniel W. Hardy

they say to me all day long,

      ‘Where is your God?’ (v. 3)

      Although at first it was difficult for us to get a sense of this in relation to my father’s life, as we sat and listened to the psalm in my father’s voice, we began to be honest about some of the difficult and darker strands of his life: particularly the Oxford years, of which he wrote:

If I had wanted some trials by which to refine my calling, they were there all right. At the time, Oxford philosophy – and such was its influence, much else besides – was largely in the grip of logical positivism, a movement that reduced Christian belief either to nonsense or simple moral guidance . . . It was not a comfortable time, not least because no one, certainly not those with whom I worked, had very helpful ideas of the way forward. It was good because intensive study day after day developed my capacity for concentrated thought, but the options open to theologians like me were very limited, and it was a deeply frustrating time.15

More recently, he referred to this experience as a ‘black hole’ (his words) and began to speak more openly of the experience of having his doctoral thesis rejected and his agony and shame in feeling completely misheard and misunderstood: ‘a misfit’. He was offered an MPhil instead and refused to accept it, and for years there was a lingering sense of bitterness in him in relation to it. The years at the Center of Theological Inquiry in Princeton had their difficulties, too:16

      Those were interesting years, gathering the best scholars and helping them work together, while also establishing regular consultations, bringing together leading specialists from around the world to meet regularly to address special topics, but the tensions with the seminary and the politics of the time inhibited the potential there and when it became evident that I had brought the place as far as I could without further assistance, and none was forthcoming, it seemed right to retire from there and get back to work.

      These things I remember as I pour out my soul:

      how I went with the procession

      and led them to the house of God,

      with joyous songs of thanksgiving:

      a festive multitude. (v. 4)

And yet we remembered how (as for the psalmist), no matter what he might be going through, regular, faithful worship was always such a priority for him.17 The deeply formative rhythms of prayer and worship established through his years at school, college and seminary, with their daily dynamic of reorientation to God, were continued through his involvement in a series of local churches. He was committed to the daily discipline and nurture of the ordinary things as well as the highbrow. Preaching, pastoring and regular participation in celebrating the Eucharist were essential to his vocation; so, at times when his jobs were in more secular settings, he was careful to develop his priestly role and presence in local worshipping communities:

      Which are the most reliable companions? Scripture, Eucharist: consistent living in and participation in the church’s life is terribly important to me, and constant exposure to that. That’s why I really do rely very heavily on the church. For me a lot of these things are like living in a house of abundance and simply drawing on that, rather than going for particular ways of thinking. The abundance is around all the time.

      He often felt quite on the margins of things but nevertheless treasured his many years as an Assistant Priest at St Mark’s, Londonderry (West Midlands), together with All Saints’ (Princeton), Christ Church Canaan (Connecticut) and Great St Mary’s (Cambridge); and he found his role as the Van Mildert Canon Professor (Durham University and Cathedral) particularly fulfilling, enabling the academic theologian and the priest in him to come together in new ways. He was also a well-known face at evensong in both St John’s and King’s College Chapels (Cambridge), which he loved to attend with Perrin whenever he could – right up to the week before he died.

      Why are you downcast O my soul?

      And why do you throw me into confusion?

      Hope in God, for I will yet praise him

      for his saving presence. (v. 5)

      Worship and praise were fundamentally for God’s sake and central to his whole vision and understanding of full human being and society, ‘shaping and aligning our desire with the Lord’s’.

      My God, my soul is downcast.

      Therefore I remember you

      from the land of Jordan and Hermon and of Mount Mizar.

      Deep calls to deep at the sound of your cataracts;

      all your breakers and your billows

      have gone over me. (vv. 6–7)

      At some level he felt (and always had felt) deeply ‘unloved’: no doubt this was one of the reasons he identified so closely with the marginalized and with the life and work of Samuel T. Coleridge. He had great integrity; he had no time for the games people play (which also had its flip side; he was surprisingly naive and idealistic, reluctant almost, when it came to being political); and he always had just as much (if not more) time for the outsider or underdog as he did for the many high-status people he engaged with. This was perhaps something personal to him, but it also had an element of prophetic dissatisfaction about it (see below, p. 22).

Throughout my childhood, I was often aware of a sense of loneliness and heaviness (sadness?) about him and wondered why he had virtually no close personal relationships or friends. He related intellectually with his colleagues and with those for whom he had pastoral care/responsibility, but it was much more difficult for him to share his own feelings and emotions. In later years he sometimes spoke himself of the difficulties he felt he had in communicating, particularly about himself, and in relating to and trusting others. In many ways he was a deeply private and solitary person, with areas that were quite encapsulated18 and defended within him: he was always responsive, but hardly ever took the initiative, however much you might long for him to (see below, pp. 20, 138 for more on this).

      By day may the Lord send forth his loving kindness,

      so that by night I am with song:

      a prayer for the God of my life. (v. 8)

      But the work of God’s Spirit in him, ‘abyss calling to abyss’, meant that the black hole (whatever shape or form it took) never had the last word, and, despite times of real darkness, he was not someone who lived in despair; he was always more attracted to the light and able to keep hoping and trusting in God’s goodness.

      He never regretted his decision to remain in the UK:

      People in Oxford encouraged me to look for a teaching position in England, a possibility we had never dreamed of. And there came a time when I was offered two posts: one in England and one in the USA. It became clear that the post in England was the better one. Most positions in US universities offered no opportunity to develop as a theologian, but the one at the University of Birmingham (England) was the first ever lectureship in England in contemporary theology. Finding myself in a good, imaginative department of theology in a major civic university in a Midlands city (the second largest after London) was a wonderful gift. And gradually, never intending to stay long, Perrin and I found ourselves and our family (by now our two daughters (Deb and Jen) and son (Dan) were joined by Chris) increasingly settled and happy. The time and opportunities stretched on, academic