a good and faithful servant

My dear friend of many years, Jay Wood, has died. I want to pay some tribute to this extraordinary man but it is difficult, for me anyway, to know what to say. He was so distinctive — I’ve never met anyone like Jay; he didn’t fit the usual categories. He had a sharp and dialectical mind, and spoke forcefully, which intimidated many people. But he was also exceptionally kind, always quick to notice those in need and to give of his resources. 

One summer day in Wheaton Jay and some other friends had come over to my house for a time of fellowship and prayer, and I had to apologize because my air conditioning system had gone out and I had yet to find the money to get it repaired. Later that day there was a knock on my door: it was Jay, lugging a big window air conditioner which he then installed for me. (It had been sitting in the basement of a friend — Jay asked if he could have it.) Probably everyone who knew him at all well has a story like this. 

When Jay was a young faculty member and had little money, he managed to buy a house that needed repairs that he simply couldn’t afford to have done. So he taught himself how to do everything needful — from hanging drywall to wiring a room to plumbing to building a deck — and then for the rest of his life would gladly share his knowledge with other people. 

He was a person of exceptional discipline, in almost all the ways one could be disciplined. He was always in great shape: he ran marathons, and also would put the Wheaton football players to shame with the number of pull-ups he could do. He also considered it his absolute duty to go to church, so one Good Friday he sat through a service in agony, because he had a kidney stone … which he passed before the service was over. I’m not sure Jay fully understood why other people weren’t as disciplined as he was, but if he judged us he did so silently. 

Jay and his friend and colleague (also my friend and colleague) Bob Roberts wrote a wonderful book on the intellectual virtues, and no one could have striven more consistently to practice those virtues. We had some great talks about the subject when that book was being written.

These are all miscellaneous reflections; they probably don’t add up to anything. As I say, Jay is very hard to describe. But maybe one more story will help.

Jay and I shared the experience of growing up in highly dysfunctional homes, with fathers who were damaged themselves and did much damage to others. That Jay ever became a Christian is so remarkable a thing that it almost by itself proves the existence of a merciful God; and I think the primary reason for his self-discipline was to emancipate himself from the consequences of that upbringing. He wasn’t perfect; he always had rough edges; but nobody knew that better than Jay. 

All that is the context for one of my strongest memories of Jay, and one of the most influential ones in my own life. This was early in our friendship, probably some time in the early 90s. We were at Jay and Janice’s house, talking in their living room, and Jay was sitting in a chair by a doorway. One of his daughters, Diana or Gillian, ran across the room and was headed through the door when Jay shot out an arm and roped her in. She squealed Daaaadd! — but he gave her a big hug and a kiss before he let her go. 

I said “She’s gonna hate that before too much longer.” Jay smiled. “I don’t care. I’ll still do it. My kids will always know how much I love them.” 

And they do. Adam and Diana and Gillian and Sam — and now the grandchildren, and always, of course, Janice, his wife of nearly fifty years. They all know how much Jay loves them.