David Sanders - a man fascinated by people

From the current issue of The Tablet

Timothy Radcliffe gave the following sermon at the Requiem Mass for his friend, David Sanders, at Blackfriars in Oxford on March 30.The raising of Lazarus is a story about a family, about friendship and about a brother. 

So it says something about what it means for us to remember and pray for David. His family is taking part online, and we think of them. 

We have received innumerable messages from his friends, and welcome them too. And we Dominicans are of course his brothers, and also his friends. 

Friendship is fundamental to our Dominican spirituality. Dominic was a man of many friendships, especially with women. An easy friendship between men and women was from the beginning part of our preaching. 

Blackfriars was refounded almost a hundred years ago by Bede Jarrett, and it was said that he had a natural capacity for friendship. Bede wrote: “Our lives are made and marred by our friendships. In the worlds of nature and grace, love is more powerful than reason, heart than head, friendship than law.” He said that fidelity in friendship is “the most beautiful thing on Earth”. 

Friendship matters because it is a sharing in the life of God, the eternal friendship of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Every friendship teaches us something about the life of God. That is why we need many friends, many windows into God’s love.

David and I joined the order the same day, in 1965. I must confess that I didn’t at first like him much. He was always going on about “When I was in Africa”, which made me feel very inexperienced. 

The breakthrough came when we were using a terrifying machine to clean potatoes which threatened to cut off our fingers. We both burst into laughter and that was the beginning of our friendship. Friendship grows out of shared joy. 

Jesus enjoys the company of Lazarus and his family and weeps for his friend’s death, as some of us weep today. Above all David enjoyed people. 

He was endlessly fascinated by people and wanted to know all about them, and why they thought what they thought. When he came back from his chemotherapy sessions, we would meet and he would tell me about the nurses and doctors he had seen. He was interested in their particularity, their individuality.

This gives us a tiny glimpse of how God loves each of us. God does not love humanity in general. According to Aquinas, God knows the uniqueness of each of us in a way that we do not. 

When we glimpse that, we cannot but love others. Hatred is in a sense abstract. That is why Bede Jarrett taught us to delight in particular friendships. We should only beware of particular enmities. 

The raising of Lazarus shows God’s love incarnate. This is love made flesh and blood. It takes the form of Jesus going to visit a sick friend, even though it will cost him his life. The divine love is brought down to earth. 

David’s friendship was down-to-earth. He always brought one back to reality. If I was in a tizz about something, I would talk with David. He had the gift of cutting to the quick, putting everything in perspective. Often I could not quite follow his reasoning, but the conclusions rang true. Veritas, the motto of the order. 

He showed this realism supremely in how he faced his death. When he discovered he had cancer, his first reaction was to ask if I had a good book on death. He was curious as to what it would be like. 

He said to a friend, “I have been preaching on the Resurrection for all these years and I had better show that I believe in it.” And so, when death was near, he rang me on his mobile to say goodbye. The next day he asked the nurses to let him die in peace. Now his curiosity will be satisfied.

In the middle of the drama at the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus turns to his Father. “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” He bears witness to what is at the core of his being, his relationship with his Father. 

David knew that he was a man of prayer. When we joined the order, the English Province was in a state of chaos. David taught me that one could only survive and flourish if one was rooted in prayer. Not just the Liturgy of the Hours, but daily, silent prayer. Being quiet in the presence of the Lord. Listening every day for the Lord’s voice.

So let us now pray for him. He was not perfect. We ask the Father to forgive him his sins. And we give thanks for this wonderful brother, friend, brother-in-law and uncle.

David Sanders died on 30 March, aged 81. He had incurable cancer and had contracted Covid-19. 

He grew up in a north London parish run by Olivetan Benedictine monks. After studying English at King’s College London he went to Tanganyika for three years, teaching in a school run by German Benedictine missionaries, and was there during the Zanzibar revolution in 1964, which led to the formation of the united Tanzania.

Later, he took part in Roger Scruton’s enterprise of smuggling Western intellectuals into meetings with Czech dissidents in pre-Velvet Revolution Prague. 

He joined the Dominican order in 1965, and was ordained to the priesthood by Bishop Christopher Butler on 2 October 1971 at Blackfriars, Oxford. He held many different posts within the province including Prior of Blackfriars in Cambridge, senior tutor in the Hall and Studium, and Master of Students. He edited the journal Priests and People – which became The Pastoral Review – for 13 years.