VALETE
H en’s teeth, it is said, are rare; good chaplains are rarer, cynics opine: as with many roles in the public eye these days, the man (or woman) of God crying John- the-Baptist-like in the secular wilderness of the early 21st century is performing on many fronts, trying to please some of the congregation (and ultimately The Boss Above) some of the time, as pastor, preacher and pedagogue. Justin’s CV immediately marked him out as A Catch, starting with an impressive academic pedigree which straddled the traditional arts/science divide, having qualified in engineering as well as theology, even finding time to gain a pilot’s licence (shades of ‘Nearer my God to Thee’?) with chaplaincy at Winchester to follow. God Bods need all the cred they can get, so if you’re going to be devout in this age, being a canon of San Francisco Cathedral before you start at Dulwich confers a certain éclat of Kool. Clients and colleagues weigh up staff early on for the quality of their teaching, and Justin quickly established himself as an intellectual heavyweight, chosen to start the Philosophy A level course within the RT empire, and taking Critical Thinking courses in his stride, earning himself the rare accolade from a distinguished resident lapsed logical positivist as a ‘cleric not averse to logic’. Less familiar territory in the Lower School was bravely tackled: his inculcation of the correct spelling of ‘Boodizm’ was one small step for mankind in Year 7, while a diploma in gentle riot control was probably merited for his churching of the masses in Year 8. His graphic style will remain long in the memory of Year 11 graduates of his Wellbeing course as they romped through ‘sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll’. Being a scientific cleric had its issues - one inspector followed him into a Physics lab expecting Religion, and assumed when Justin wielded a three-point plug that it was some reference to the Trinity. Justin’s sermons in Chapel and at end-of-term assemblies were widely appreciated as forthright, pitched as they were with aplomb, weight, arresting imagery and exposition (the Ethiopian eunuch of Acts this term was something of a gift). He was aware of the wide variety of creeds within his audience, guiding the listener through his own development of belief. His dignified conduct of major public ceremonies and services won our respect, and conferred gravitas on occasions the College is noted for, while his iceberg ministry of quiet communions and meetings in the Quiet Room, assisted by Jonathan Morley, have been a steady witness to the spiritual dimension of the College. On first meeting, Justin comes across as a cleric of serious manner, but beneath that surface lies a delightfully puckish
Justin White
Robert Weaver
and dry wit, able to rejoice in the ridiculous, and finding in school life and characters a fertile ground to till. He is a stalwart of RT trips, his mislaying a troop of Alleynians in Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar recalling Christian children kidnapped for service as janissaries in the Ottoman empire, while his hosting of the Department curry night within the august precincts of his Westminster Abbey home will long linger in collective memory (as did the waft of curry). A man of gadgetry, given to donating the equivalent to charity of his latest iPhone, he lives in the fast lane, thinking nothing of effecting a 48-hour round trip to San Francisco for a soirée, as you do. A quiet mention now and then of his jostling a Royal at the Abbey has helped keep us provincials in our social place as he juggled metropolitical duties with taking the No. 3 to West Dulwich. We thank Justin for his all too short ministry among us, and wish him well as the Children of Wykeham reclaim him for themselves.
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