This week I had a phone call from a ministerial friend in the Isle of Lewis. He recounted to me the unexpected death in the village we stay in when we visit, of one of the deacons in the church. He was probably in his early fifties, and I remember his conversion some ten years ago. He was, from the start, a bright Christian, a bright and a shining light and loved the means of grace. 

Apparently, he had not been seen for two days, and no lights were observed in his croft during that period. He was discovered in his house, having died suddenly, and had lain there for two days. My friend told me that in the two weeks before he died, he was brighter than ever. His minister was doing a series of four on the fruit of the Spirit. This brother was so utterly taken up with the subject that he could not wait for the fourth. A week before he died he was telling an aged elder, “If I drop dead here and now I would be happy.” He was obviously ripening for his translation. He was certainly in sympathy with the apostle who realised, “The time of my departure is at hand.”