My heart broke on Friday afternoon when I received word that my musical and faith-filled friend, Farley, had died. He hadn't been feeling well of late, and missed our last two Sundays at Inner City Pastoral Ministry, where I liked to tease him about me being his favourite (well, only, perhaps) back up singer. No one expected this news, and we at ICPM are pretty heartbroken, though we know that Farley is with God, doing just fine, and still alive in our hearts.
I didn't know Farley very long, but what I knew of him, I loved. He was a gentle man with an ironic sense of humour, and a very talented guitarist. The day we met, I had brought my guitar because I was told I could help with the music at ICPM, but Farley's reception to that was a bit cool -- likely because I was an unknown quantity. I told him I'd just back him up and play what I could, and it worked out okay. By the end of the morning, he had warmed up and we had a good conversation -- I guess he realized that I had enough ability that I might make the music a little richer than it would have been otherwise.
It was five years later when I joined the ministry team at ICPM, right in the middle of Covid. It was a fall day, and Farley was sitting outside, playing his guitar to entertain the folks waiting in line for lunches, and I recognized a hymn he was playing and started to sing it. His head swiveled toward me, and he grinned, and from that Sunday on, he often played the tune to see if I'd catch it and sing along. It was like an unspoken communication between us.
But my favourite memory of Farley by far is a September day when we were waiting for an event we were both attending in St. Albert at the invitation of Pastor Quinn. We arrived a few hours before other folks were due, and I asked Farley if he'd like to go for a walk. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and we walked down the hill to the Sturgeon River and wandered its banks all the way to the St. Albert community garden, enjoying the warm sun, the scents of autumn, the lazy river, and good company. I learned a bit about Farley's life, his long time grief from losing his daughter to cancer when she was only 7, and I shared some of my own grief at that time. We became better friends that afternoon.
I will really, really miss Farley every Sunday morning. His was a talent that can't be replaced. He often started our Sunday mornings with "Here Comes the Sun," and segued into bluesy riffs on a theme sounding like Fred Penner's "The Cat Came Back" or Woodie Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant." My friend, Linda, and I would dance, and people would smile. Farley's music lent a peaceful calm to many otherwise chaotic Sunday mornings. His "smudge music" was one of my favourite sounds. I only wish I had recorded it.
And this song, written by Farley, is another favourite. The first time he played it as a meditation for the Community of Emmanuel, the tears rolled down my face. It's such a beautiful expression of what Love does, what Love is. As Linda commented today, it pretty much summarizes Farley's theology and belief. I'm so grateful that he allowed me to record it. I asked him once, if his favourite artist could record his song so it became famous, who would that be? "I'll have to think about that," he said, but he never got back to me on that question.
I know I've posted the song in these moodlings twice already, but third time is the charm, or something.
I will always miss harmonizing with you, Farley, your philosophical commentaries on life and the goodness and omnipotence of God, and the twinkle in your eye when anyone made you laugh. You liked to say, "God knows. I don't." Well, now you know God's love for you in its fullness.
Farley, my musical brother, you were one in a million. Rest in peace, beloved friend.
