I (Chris) met Godfrey at a poetry reading around the launch of the first Proost poetry collection at Greenbelt festival. I instantly liked him for his warmth and generous spirit. I recently heard from his friend, our own Steve Page, that he had died.
We have lost a beautiful poet, musician, songwriter and community maker, but we carry him with us as we go forward.
He recorded one of his albums whilst living with incurable cancer. You can listen to this and others – and buy some – on his bandcamp site.
Here is what Steve had to say about him;
One of the joys of being included in the Proost poetry anthology: ‘Learning to Love’ was connecting with other writers who had contributed a poem or two to the collection. One such writer was Godfrey Rust, who happened to live just down the road to me; we met for a coffee and he’s been a constant in my poetry-verse ever since.
So, whilst it wasn’t unexpected, it grieved me to hear from his wife, Tessa, that after 20 months of living with cancer and squeezing every ounce of joy from the time he had left with us here, he went to join his loving God to continue the joy there. His was a resilient heart, and one who embraced a wide circle of friends and admirers, so he will be much missed. He left with us a wonderful collection of poetry and song – go to wordsout.co.uk for a taster. One of his great loves was the ‘Cafe Church’ at St. John’s Church in West Ealing, which he orchestrated for many years. This Palm Sunday we’ll be sharing some of his poems as part of the worship there – thanking our generous God for Godfrey’s generous soul.
Here’s one of my favourites of his, all the more poignant in his passing: https://wordsout.co.uk/peace.htm
Peace
We say It is peaceful,
but this is not peace.
This is just the absence of noise.
Somewhere noise goes on—
in the ambulance sirens,
in the sweat-shops in Asia,
in the veins of the addict,
in the minds of the wrongly-imprisoned
and the mother of the cot-death baby
the noise goes on but we don't hear it.
Our ears are plugged
with the wax of self-importance
so we say It is peaceful,
but it is not God's peace.
This is the peace the world gives
and its real name is pride.
We say We live at peace,
but this is not peace.
This is just the absence of war.
Somewhere war goes on—
in parts of America,
across much of Africa,
in the streets of Baghdad
and the dark estates of London
the war goes on but we don't see it.
We have turned our eyes away
because it won't happen here,
so we say We live at peace,
but it is not God's peace.
This is the peace the world gives
and its real name is indifference.
We say He is at peace,
but this is not peace.
This is just the absence of life.
Somewhere life goes on—
in the house he never owned,
in the job he almost finished,
in the children he meant to talk to,
in the wife he failed to love,
in the father he couldn't remember
and the mother he wouldn't forgive
life goes on but he doesn't live it,
so we say He is at peace,
but it is not God's peace.
This is the peace the world gives
and its real name is death.
The peace of God
is nothing like this.
It is more like noise.
It is more like war.
It is more like life.
The peace of God
is like the peace of the tightrope walker
balancing a hundred feet above Niagara Falls.
It is in the peace of the cancer patient
for whom treatment is no longer prescribed.
It is in the peace
in the quiet moment
after the fatal road accident.
It is in the peace
of a ruined, liberated city.
It is in the peace
at the centre of the whirlwind
that tears the island to pieces.
It is in the peace
at the opening of the gates
of Auschwitz.
It is the peace of the man
who has lost everything
so has nothing else to lose.
It is the peace of Stephen
as the first stones bruise his body
It is the peace of Gethsemane,
saying Nevertheless your will be done.
It is the peace of the carpenter
as he steadies his hammer
for the last blow on the nail.
It is the peace of the women
on their necessary business
in the desolate dawn.
A meditation for a service at St John's, West Ealing during Lent in March 1991.
© Godfrey Rust 1991,
