In memoriam: Phil, a story of change

To reflect on a journey like Phil’s is to take a momentary glimpse at a life of many parts, including parts lost or hidden, or not ours to tell. The parts I know include parts that are difficult, also parts where I don’t recognise much of the man I knew. Phil was a complex, layered person. It was not that he shied away from his past, he just didn’t want to bestow the weight of it onto others.

In life, we chase rainbows. In death, we want something much simpler. Our own salvation or damnation dependent on the compatibility of our relative goodness to those who mourn our passing. Making saints of those held close and casting aside the sinners, though the space between is the one most of us occupy. Society depends on us all trying to be the best versions of ourselves. Our crimes are committed in the moments where we forget to try. It’s those who touch the extremities of expected behaviour -both good and bad - who create the most ripples.

Phil served 13 years in prison for a devastating crime. He came to Trinity in 2004 on a back-to-work ex-offender placement.

Sometimes there can be no forgiveness. But, in that space between life and death is where we find community. A space for the misfits and the troubled. Beyond the warmth of our family and our friends, a sense of belonging that is unconditional.

Emma Harvey, CEO

It was just a shabby shell back then, after a period of closure that many thought would mark its end. A re-imagining, but without any of the resources needed to realise that vision.

Phil offered us a lifeline. Without him, the building could never have reopened. Nor could it have remained open during those early years, when so much manual work needed doing in order to make it a safe space.

On Phil’s release, he continued to work at Trinity for no financial or personal gain. He did so much and grafted in a way that was unimaginable. It was his dedication and determination that inspired everyone who met him in those times. Others would try to emulate it, but we’d all be in bed crashed out at a time when he was up and about, working on setting things right so we could open our doors the next day.

His atonement laid the foundation stone of Trinity today. So many times, he managed to help us pull something unrealistic out of the bag and make the magic happen. His work ethic at times seemed superhuman and pushed him to breaking on several occasions. He was so stubborn in his dissent from that ladder, when it came to his retirement in 2016.

With his cynicism, it was like he hated all that busyness and insanity that gave the place life. When the lock-down started, the team joked that this was the Trinity Phil had always wanted. A quiet space with no people and the building all to himself. But, that was his trick on us - he loved the building’s life, he just never felt that he deserved to be a part of it.

During the Phil years, to walk in and see a weathered old man followed by his faithful hound, you just knew you had found somewhere where you could just be in spite of, not because of, your past self or any future expectations.

Trinity made him feel something in a space someone more poetic might call his heart. He felt enough of a sense of being part of the wonderment though just by being in the background as He who was both church care taker and care giver, whilst never permitting himself to fully become immersed.

For those who Phil hurt most - as for any victim of crime and their families - the worst thing to have is that sense of the perpetrator’s life being allowed to continue. The fear and anger that they are somehow able to enjoy that which they have taken from their victim. That they get to feel the warmth of the sun on their face.

The reality is much more complex. Even in our most joyous of times, Phil never basked in that sunshine. There was no absolution, just resolution and resignedness to a life in the shade. To paraphrase Indigo Girls (a band he loved) even if his sweat smelt clean, the glare off the sun would hurt his eyes.

Father. Husband. Functioning alcoholic. A mask that began to slip more and more with the passing of time. But, what never changed was a deep warmth and an unwavering loyalty beyond reason. Humour in the face of adversity. Cigarettes with Steve when there was nothing else. Amongst the glimpses of joy - guitars and fish and chips and T-shirts and Poppy - there were subsequent losses and drinking alone and fear and loneliness. Life meant life.

Love. There was so much love and hurt over past wrongs so damaging that they can never be set right, no matter how virtuous any subsequent action. Nevertheless, he was deeply loved by his Trinity family. We reflect on the life of a person who touched and changed lives dramatically and catastrophically. We respectfully mourn and pay tribute to a one of a kind man who inspired us to work hard and do better, knowing he could never be forgiven.

Sometimes there can be no forgiveness. But, in that space between life and death is where we find community. A space for the misfits and the troubled. Beyond the warmth of our family and our friends, a sense of belonging that is unconditional.

That he has passed during such particularly challenging times gives us greater cause for reflection. If a criminal can become such an outstanding citizen then we can hold onto hope that good grows out of even the most darkest of moments. That one might work toward a better future they might not be part of, but which still very much exists because of the part they played.

Restoration if not of a soul, at least of a building that is still very much here. A space for love, life, death and reincarnation. A place of radical inclusiveness, helping us to see that grace extended - even if it is felt to be undeserved - can take us all to somewhere better.

Phil. A reminder that who we are at any one moment does not define us. After all, we can always choose to change ourselves.

Big love always

Emma x