News

“This is not a sermon in any sense that I want to preach, because Gary was taken from us far too early. But it is a sermon I am incredibly honoured to preach, and I hope and pray that in it I might just begin to do Gary justice. And it is a sermon in another way that is very easy to preach because it is so easy to say so many very good things about him – as indeed Craig already has. But I know I simply cannot say everything there is to say about Gary, not without detaining you for a very long time. All of us here will have our own stories and very fond recollections of the man. That’s why it is so important that we gather together after the service in the North Transept to share those stories with one another. And how appropriate we do so over tea and cake. How Gary would have approved. Indeed we can use the lovely photo on the front of the order of service to visualise him joining in with us.

The moment I was asked to preach this sermon I knew where it was in scripture that I wanted to go – indeed to whom I wanted to go. It’s to one of my favourite places and favourite people: it’s to Barnabas, and to the description of him that we are given in Acts 11 where we’re told, ‘He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith.’ Couldn’t those words so easily be applied to Gary? He was indeed, ‘a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith.’

If we look at Barnabas in the Book of Acts – which we will do, before we look at Gary, in the light of Barnabas, and indeed before we come to our two readings, as we also will – if we look at Barnabas, we can see that he did so much good. The first we hear of him is that he’s generous with his possessions, as he sells a field and gives the apostles the proceeds, and that generosity of heart sets the pattern for what’s to follow. He’s the one through whom St. Paul enters into his incredibly fruitful ministry as Barnabas takes him under his wing. Indeed without Barnabas all the Churches that Paul planted across the Mediterranean world, might never have been planted, and all the NT epistles Paul wrote might never have been written. So Barnabas’ impact, through Paul, was huge. And actually without Barnabas’ support of the young man called John Mark we might not have the gospels of Mark, Luke or Matthew either. Without Barnabas, indeed, our New Testaments might be very much thinner.

And Barnabas’ impact was even greater than that. Without his recognition of the work of the Spirit in the city of Antioch amongst the Gentile believers there, the Christian faith would have remained a Jewish sect – and we would not be gathered here today.

Barnabas, then, was a good man through whom so many good things happened. And doesn’t that sound so much like Gary? A good man through whom so many good things happened. And we can go further in the parallel between the two: the name ‘Barnabas’ was actually a nickname. It wasn’t Barnabas’ real name: he was really called Joseph. Barnabas was his nickname: it means simply ‘Son of Encouragement’ and that’s just what he was: an encourager of good things; an encourager of others. And that too was writ large in Gary’s life. He was a good man who encouraged so many good things; and who encouraged so many others too – so many of us here today. Gary was such a Barnabas, such a Son of Encouragement. He certainly encouraged me as I will say later.

Barnabas’ ministry was incredibly significant – and remember why it was so. He was ‘full of the Holy Spirit and of faith’. Those words are so significant: they speak of a really powerful combination of the human and of the divine, as the gentle power of the Holy Spirit is met with humble human faith, hope and expectation. And it’s as these two intersect, as human faith encounters divine power, that Barnabas becomes so fruitful in ministry and in mission.

And again, what we see in Barnabas, we saw in Gary. In his life, too, the human and the divine met, as simple, humble, human faith, hope and expectation were met with the gentle power of the Holy Spirit, so he too became so fruitful in ministry and in mission.

We saw that throughout Gary’s ministry – a ministry exercised exclusively in this Diocese – as, Barnabas-like he bore fruit in ministry; as everywhere he went, he encouraged good things to happen, in people’s lives, in the life of the church, and in the wider community too.

He read music at Southampton University, training for ministry in Edinburgh – a rare foray outside Hampshire – and after ordination in 1986 served his title in Maybush under his training incumbent, Canon Ron Diss. Ron had been chaplain to Bishop John Taylor whom Gary greatly admired. Ron, rather like Bishop John, led a simple, disciplined, ordered life, and I think that was an enduring influence on Gary too, for that was very much the life he lived. Indeed he could not have done all the bewildering array of things he did do without being in the best sense simple, disciplined and ordered.

From Maybush he went to Fawley where he was an exemplary parish priest and, not surprisingly, much loved. What is less well known is that he was very nearly late for one Ascension Day service because he’d been out windsurfing and got so far out into the Solent he had to make landfall on the Isle of Wight, where, still in his wetsuit, he had to cadge a lift back home to the service.

From Fawley he moved to Swaythling, and became Area Dean of Southampton in 2007 and a Canon of this Cathedral in 2009, before then he moved to Fordingbridge and the Avon Valley Churches.

And of course when I moved here, he was not doing one, nor two, but three jobs. It’s amazing what you can do when you live a simple, disciplined, and ordered life. He was Assistant Archdeacon of Winchester, Area Dean of Christchurch, and Chaplain of this Cathedral congregation.

Each of the places in which he served was very different; each role required something distinct. And in taking them on so well he showed great adaptability – and yet was always consistently, distinctively Gary. And in each role, typically, he was not only very effective but much loved. He was indeed a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith through whom, in his ministry, so many good things happened.

But Gary was no workaholic. He had a great zest for life. Before I met Gary, I’d never come across the concept of a ‘Mulberry Vodka Cream Tea’. But I have now! This summer he was so faithful in attending the marquee events at Wolvesey, working tirelessly in clearing up afterwards. But it was never a chore. When Ruth thanked him for all he was doing, he’d say, ‘Oh it’s fine. I like meeting people’. And he did.

And they liked meeting him. Just a couple of days ago a colleague told me how he once met a young boy wearing a striking pair of braces. And when he asked him why he was wearing them, the answer came back that that was a what his Vicar wore, and he thought he was great, and he wanted to be like him. You can guess who the Vicar was. Gary, you fashion icon!

And of course we can’t forget his love of music, and of music in worship especially: indeed we’re singing his music in this service. During his PGCE year at King Alfred’s he was organist at Otterbourne and, through that, the wonderful phenomenon that is the Keble Choir developed and grew into the great thing that it is today, and we’re delighted to have them sing with us in this service: thank you so much – and the Keble choir, and Gary’s music, will be a significant part of his enduring legacy

To tell the tale of Gary’s life, however briefly, is to be reminded that he, like Barnabas is an example for each of us personally, of just what happens when the holy and the human meet: of what can happen when simple human faith encounters gentle divine power. And the best way we can honour Gary’s memory is to follow him in that.

As you came in today you may well have received a sticker that just encourages us to ‘Be more Gary’ – because that’s become a little watchword in our Diocese. ‘Be more Gary’: that’s not just about wearing braces and sandals of course – but maybe we could institute a braces and sandals day in his honour. Just as long as we wore them with a beaming smile too.

But let us indeed be people in whom simple human faith encounters gentle divine power, by being humbly and simply open to that power being at work in our lives and in our world. We could not honour Gary better than by being such people, just as he himself was.

But lest we get carried away, we should sound a note of caution. Someone else in Acts is described in almost exactly the same way as Barnabas. In Acts 6 Luke tells us that Stephen too was ‘full of faith and of the Holy Spirit.’ Stephen’s ministry in the end was perhaps no less fruitful than that of Barnabas. But it was far too short.

And let’s be honest today and acknowledge that Gary died far, far too young. We all feel a sense of loss; cheated of years we might have expected to share with him. Indeed the sense of corporate loss across this Diocese and beyond has been palpable. But our loss is as nothing to those closest to him. It is those who will miss him most – Debs and Tony; Craig and Bethany, and Florence, Henry and Rose – it’s them who must be foremost in our prayers and in our care today. I know his life was immensely enriched by being Craig’s dad and by Bethany and his much-loved grandchildren in time too. And I know your lives were immensely enriched by him in return, and our hearts go out to you all today.

But, you know, in the end, it’s not just Stephen and it’s not just Barnabas and it’s not just even Gary who could be described as someone in whom the human and holy meet. Of course that’s exactly what we see in Jesus too. Indeed we only see that in Stephen and Barnabas and Gary and because first we see it in Jesus. It was in Jesus above all that the human and the holy met in such fruitful union.

And in the end it is Jesus, even more than Stephen or Barnabas, or even Gary – as Gary would be the first to say – who must be a blueprint for us; who must be the one we follow, and the pattern for our lives, as indeed he was for Gary.

And Jesus is not only the one who is a blueprint for us, but he is the one who promises us a future and a hope, as both our epistle and gospel today assure us.

St. Paul tells a small fledgling church in the mighty city of Rome that that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And to frightened disciples facing the loss of their Lord and Master Jesus says, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.’ And to Thomas’ bewildered question, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus says, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’

In Jesus’ our future, for ever, is safe and secure. In Jesus, Gary’s future, for ever, is safe and secure.

As part of the convoluted process for being appointed as a Bishop these days you are invited to meet with a number of people across the diocese, before the formal interview, so you can get a feel for the place. And Gary was one of the people I met. I asked each one what their one piece of advice for a new Bishop of Winchester would be, and I very clearly remember Gary saying to me, ‘Oh, come and enjoy!’ To me that was so encouraging; so Barnabas-like, and so very Gary-like too.

And, indeed, it strikes me that that was a keynote of all Gary’s ministry. That was his standing invitation to people – to all of us. That’s why we loved him so much. Because with such a smile on his face he would say, ‘Oh, come and enjoy!’ Come and enjoy music; come and enjoy faith; come and enjoy life; come and enjoy the love of God, as he himself so evidently did. He said it to so many of us, so often, over so many years: ‘Come and enjoy!’

But more than that I do believe that is what Jesus has now said to Gary. ‘Come and enjoy! That is his invitation to him, as it is to us all: an invitation to his Father’s house, where there is room a-plenty and the way into which is secure, in Jesus. Jesus says to Gary, ‘Oh, come and enjoy!’ And I have no doubt at all that even now he does. Gary rejoices in Jesus in his Father’s house.

And it is to that hope – and indeed it is to that joy – and to nothing less than that – that this day, with love, we entrust our dear brother Gary, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Craig Philbrick pays tribute to his father, Gary, whose funeral was held on Thursday in Winchester Cathedral.

LAST night, as I was putting our three-year-old daughter, Rose, to bed, the exhaustion hit me hard. The past 72 hours had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights and raw emotion since Dad died suddenly, after being found collapsed at home on Sunday evening. I was scared, angry, and utterly confused. As I struggled to get Rose into her pyjamas, she asked, “Are you sad because of Grampa?”

“Yes, are you?” I replied.

She nodded and said, “Yes, but he’s in heaven, and Jesus is looking after him and singing songs to him, which makes Grampa feel happy.”

Children feel pain, too, but they have a remarkable way of speaking the truth simply and profoundly. In that moment, Rose was ministering to me — her dad, the minister. It is often in this way that the precious legacy of faith is carried on: through families, from parent to child, and then the child ministering back to the parents, just as I had to minister to Dad as I said goodbye to him last week in hospital.

The legacy of faith and love is even more remarkable in my case, because it had to leap over the walls of biology. I was Dad’s foster-son, having left a home filled with violence, chaos, and brokenness (in every sense) at the age of just 15. When I was on the verge of taking my chances on the streets of Southampton, Dad gave me a room for a few nights. It turned out to be a lot longer. Together, we built a home filled with laughter, light, and love.

MY JOURNEY to meeting my dad, Gary, and becoming his foster-son began with a plate of biscuits: never underestimate the evangelistic reach of a good custard cream. As kids, my sisters and I would wander around our council estate early on a Sunday morning, looking for something to do, and St Alban’s was the only place open. We soon discovered that, if we mostly sat quietly for 40 minutes and watched a strange act of worship take place (just a middle-of-the-road service of holy communion, it turned out), we would get free squash and biscuits in the kids’ corner at the end.

Over the next couple of years, I was invited to serve as an altar boy, and was paid 50p to sing in the choir, and very quickly the church became one of the few safe places in my life — a life in which I was bringing up two baby half-siblings, barely going to school, running a house, shoplifting, and committing fraud regularly. Even when we moved to a new council estate, on Sundays I would creep out of the house in the early hours and walk the three miles back to this church.

One morning, at the age of 15, I was sent out to collect the family benefits (a week before we were allowed to) and decided never to go home, preferring to spend my nights on a friend’s floor. A week later, Social Services tried to find a place for me to stay, and at the very bottom of the list of potential guardians was the church.

A phone call was made, the church did what it is called to do, and the consequence was that I spent my last year of secondary school living with Gary (the Vicar), and with the curate’s family, alternating one week at a time between them, eating all their food, having lots of chats, going off on summer clubs, putting on weight, and realising that life could be much bigger and more exciting than I had ever imagined: I began to dream again.

Two years later, a close and natural bond having formed between Gary and myself, I changed my surname to Philbrick. My identity was now firmly as a son of Gary, part of the Philbrick family. Gary became Dad.

DAD radiated the light of Christ: he was gentle, humble, and generous to all. Everyone who met him would say he was genuinely one of life’s loveliest people. He gave of himself to others, and, regardless of what he was in the middle of doing, he always made you feel as if in that moment you were the only one who mattered, whether you were a pilgrim requesting a blessing at the end of your journey to Winchester Cathedral, or someone living on the street.

Whoever it was, he would chat with them, make them feel seen, see the best in them, and show them God’s interest in them. He built community wherever he went, welcoming relationships gently, just as God does with us.

In the same way, although he never forced his faith on me, in his vocation I saw what the gift of the priesthood could be when it comes from a place of humility, gentleness, and kindness.

ORDAINED deacon in 1986, Gary served all his ministry in the diocese of Winchester, first at Maybush, Fawley, and Swaythling, before becoming Area Dean of Southampton in 2007, and an Hon. Canon of Winchester Cathedral, in 2009. In 2013, he was made Rector of the seven Avon Valley Churches, and, in 2022, he was appointed Assistant Archdeacon in Winchester diocese and Chaplain of Winchester Cathedral — two posts that brought him much joy.

Eventually, following in my father’s footsteps, in 2019, I was ordained, and am now Vicar of St Paul’s, Weston-super-Mare. This was the culmination of a long journey: a legacy passed from father to son which showed me something of how our heavenly Father loves us. Now, my ultimate hope is in something bigger than Dad: in the Lord Jesus Christ. Dad’s legacy to me, and to all of us who knew him — and now mourn him — is the inspiration to carry that light of Christ on into the world. That’s what he would have wanted, because the gospel goes everywhere.

These are tough days, but God is still good. Now, I am to take courage because of my faith. I am not to fear, but to trust, just as Dad — and, now, my daughter — have shown me.

Rest in peace, Dad, and rise in glory.

Excerpt taken from Church Times online

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoQ5ONR29N0&list=PPSV

The Order of Service can be viewed, below.