Story one  - Fist shaking in the Lady chapel

Well, it has been a time and our media have had a lovely year bringing us every possible conceivable angle on the whole COVID thing. Pictures, graphs and editorials. Much ink, much screen space, much grumpiness and some not so polite difference of opinion. It’s all out there for us to see, hear and engage with.

What is not so clear is what our response should be when we come back to that quiet, still place deep within us when we encounter the Living presence of the Risen Christ?

What should we say to Him and more importantly, what is it that He might want to say to us?

It’s probably not a surprise to you that often when I have gone across to say morning and evening prayer that there have been times that I have sallied forth with a torrent of understandable angst and even shaken my fist for good measure. It’s probably not me at my finest and I’m pretty sure that it doesn’t allow the Master to say what He has to say. It certainly doesn’t ease any restrictions, but it is good, honest, raw, logical prayer. You could almost argue it from the other end and say that there might be something wrong with me if there wasn’t an element of crankiness and despondency in my prayer this year.

Part of my message then is one of encouragement. That if you find yourself in the fist shaking prayer mode then that is perfectly acceptable and God will not strike you down and smite you. Rather, He will calmly wait for you to finish and when it’s all done, then I am sure that there are some things that our loving Father will want to say to you.

Things like  mmm…

Try this itchy jumper on and see if it might fit.

What if … He wants to say to us  that it isn’t about you and me. It isn’t about what we can and can’t do this week or next week. Pastoral care 101 was this. That it must always be about the person who is in the hospital bed. It’s not about you, the visiting priest or person, your wants, your needs, your feelings. There will be time enough for that later on. When you are there in the moment, it is always about the other. The person in the bed and the person sitting beside the bed.

So I think… I think .. that when I finally settle down and my fist shaking energy is finally exhausted, I think he says to me “Have you considered your brothers and sisters in ICU today? Have you thought about how their families are feeling? And here you are cranky, because you can’t go and have a parma and pot at the local. Have you thought about those who have to bury their nearest and dearest today? And you’re crabby because you had to have 3 goes to get the QR code to work? Really, David? . . . It’s not about us .. what we can and can’t do. It must always be about the person in the bed and those who sit beside them. Get that focus right and everything else falls into its proper perspective.

• End story one

Story two -Stepfather

Most of you know that my parents divorced and each remarried. Within the space of a few years I found myself with an extended family of step brothers, step sisters, a step Mother and a step Father. It was a bewildering time and I am pretty sure that I did not make it easy for my stepfather who came to live with us. It took many years and a much wider perspective to begin to understand.

I read something the other day that helped. Paul Connolly wrote it.

“When their mum began dating Malcolm, Caitlin wouldn’t look him in the eye and Penny scoffed “Nice try!” whenever he asked about her day.

When he started sleeping over, Theo dipped his toothbrush in the toilet. Malcolm endured such slights with stoicism, grace and mouthwash.

He loved Clem and believed her insistence that they were good kids. The trio soon realised Malcolm was not going away. Indeed, he was always there.

On the sidelines at their sport, waiting in the car as their friends’ parties ended, beside them inside frightening emergency departments.

They began loving him long before they realised it.”

This makes sense of my petty tirades in the Lady chapel and God’s response to my ‘How come…’ and ‘When… pray tell..??

The line “The trio soon realised Malcolm was not going away. Indeed, he was always there”, I found particularly helpful.

One day I realised that God was not going away no matter how dissatisfied I was with his performance appraisal. He was always there. He was always going to be.

And then the line

“They began loving him long before they realised it.” This was just what I needed to read.

I began loving God more and more, long before I realised it. Perhaps you also have been loving him more and more, long before you realised it.

Have you noticed that there are a lot of numbers lately? Number of people who have been infected, number of people in ICU, number of people who have died, number of people who are on a ventilator, number of jabs, number of people  who were in the community while infectious, number of mystery cases. We are pretty well saturated, drenched and drowning in numbers.

Now all these numbers are good, dandy and helpful. They give us an idea of how things are going, or not going and I am sure that our fearless leaders use them every day to make those tricky, complex decisions which no one really likes.

In the Church we keep numbers thinking that the more bottoms we have on the pews the better we are. But Big is not always better.

We ambush ourselves when we obsess with numbers. We forget that there are real people on the other side of those digits. Those numbers are real people, shedding physical wet tears and who’s blood pressure is truly rising as they go without work / dollars. They are real people, just like you and me who are simply fraught because they cannot sit at the bedside of their loved one. They are palpable, touchable people who selflessly work vigorously and many hours to look after us, protect us and are patient with us as we are patients to them.

Each one of those numbers is a brother, a sister, a mother, a father, a child, an uncle, a lover, a friend, a colleague. They are important and cherished by a multiplicity of people. They are of immeasurable value to the one who went to the cross and suffered in His own way for each and everyone of them. Everyone of those numbers is a child of God and unforgettable to Him.

On Thursday August 26th, 2 suicide bombers in Afghanistan took their own lives and another 170 with them. There were no winners in this incomprehensible act. Those who perpetrated this atrocity must surely have believed that they were doing exactly the right thing. Their cause was  something worth dying for and in some extreme places of any religious spectrum, people have convinced themselves that this is the will of their God.

The deaths at Kabul airport got me thinking really hard as I am unable to comprehend why someone would go to such lengths.

In my pondering I also remembered some of the martyrs of the 20th century who also laid down their life for their belief.

Is there a difference?  Both died for what they believed in. Both believed their cause was right. Both thought that they were doing God a favour and probably themselves as well.

There are two important differences and I offer them up for your reflection. As always, I hope that they will be helpful and perhaps together we can understand this tortured way of thinking.

One of the differences between a Christian martyr and a suicide bomber is that for the Christian martyr death finds them, not vice versa. The Christian martyr did not get out of bed one morning, brush their teeth, scratch their head and make a conscious effort to die. Many knew that death was a possibility, but they did not consciously and  actively choose to take their own life.

Take for example Bishop Oscar Romero, nominated for Nobel peace prize in 1979, He was the Bishop of El Salvador. For some time he had publicly spoke in defence of the poor and the victims of the local government’s wide spread violence.

There were threats to his life and on March 24th 1980, not that long ago really, most of us were alive when this happened, he did what he always did and publicly went to the altar to offer eucharist for his people. That was when and where he was martyred.

He knew that it was always a possibility, but he did not actively and consciously choose to kill himself.

The other important distinction which you have probably realised by now, is that the Christian martyr does not take other peoples lives with their own.

The suicide bombers in Afghanistan killed another 170 people. The difference is very easy to spot.

We are very fortunate to live where we live, in this place and in this time, here in Western Victoria. I don’t think any one is going to shoot me at the altar today and I don’t think there has been any suicide bombers in our shire..

Now the other question that made my head hurt when the Afghanistan incident occurred was this. As people of a loving God, what should our response be to such atrocities? What is the way forward?

One religious leader astutely said this.

“The contemporary world, with its open wounds which affect so many of our brothers and sisters, demands that we confront every form of polarisation which would divide it into two camps. We know that in the attempt to be freed of the enemy without, we can be tempted to feed the enemy within; so to give way to the anger of others is the best way to take their place”.

There is the retaliatory line which I am not convinced is the right way, or the path Our Lord would have taken.

One of the world leaders argued this way.

“To those who carried out this attack, know this,” “We will not forgive. We will not forget. We will hunt you down and make you pay.”

And another leader offered these insights on behalf of the nation they lead when a similar event occurred.

“There were words spoken by a community who, in the face of hate and violence, had every right to express anger but instead opened their doors for all of us to grieve with them. And so we say to those who have lost the most, we may not have always had the words.

We may have left flowers,, sung songs or simply embraced. But even when we had no words, we still heard yours, and they have left us humbled and they have left us united.

What words adequately express the pain and suffering of men, women and children lost, and so many injured? What words capture the anguish of our community being the target of hatred and violence? What words express the grief of a city that has already known so much pain?

I thought there were none. And then I came here and was met with this simple greeting. As-salaam Alaikum. Peace be upon you.

They were simple words, repeated by community leaders who witnessed the loss of their friends and loved ones. Simple words, whispered by the injured from their hospital beds. Simple words, spoken by the bereaved and everyone I met who has been affected by this attack.” End of quote

Yes.. this I think is the way forward. Into the face of anger and hate we gently say “Peace be upon you”.

Every so often in the gospel  we are given a tantalising glimpse into what I call a ‘shadow person’. Someone who is necessary to the story of the gospel but we actually aren’t told a lot about them.

In today's gospel it is someone who I will call Doogal.

³⁸ John said to Jesus ‘Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.’
³⁹ But Jesus said, ‘Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterwards to speak evil of me.

So who is this someone who is casting out demons?

This is what we know about Doogal

Doogal knows of Jesus.

Doogal knows that the power of Jesus' name can cast out demons.

Doogal is not one of the 12. He is not part of that intimate group that is talked about here in the gospel. He was not part of the ‘inner circle’ that they were in.

Therefore Doogal is a bit of an outsider, at least as far as John is concerned.

Doogal is confronted by the disciples and told to stop.

What we are not quite sure about.

It reads like, but we are not sure, that Doogal has been an exorcist for some time. It doesn’t sound like the exorcism that John and the others saw was Dougal’s first go.

We're not told how it was that Doogal came to be doing what John and the others saw him doing. Could it be that Doogal had watched from afar as Jesus cast demons out of someone else; or perhaps he only heard about it from someone else’s report.

Or could it be that Our Lord had actually known him from quite a different encounter that was never recorded. Somebody that Jesus bumped into at one of the dinner parties he went to, or did Jesus haggled with and buy his fish from Doogal at the market?
There must have been lots of these people. Lots of ‘Doogals’. Keep your eye open for them and I assure you that it is not a sin to play with the possibilities of these people. What were they like? What was the backstory? What led them to this particular encounter with Jesus? What happened to them afterwards?

In any case, out of a genuine belief that Jesus had authority over demons—and perhaps being moved with deep compassion for the needy people around him—Doogal had actually been going around casting demons out of people in Jesus’ name.

Now this story is just as much about how John got it wrong as it is about how Doogal got it right.

So consider how John felt about what Doogal was doing. He believed strongly that the man should be forbidden from performing the miracle of casting out demons in the name of Jesus. The man was actually in the process of casting demons out of people in Jesus’ name; and John and some of the others came and told him to stop. And the reason John gives for stopping the man was—as he himself said—"because he does not follow us".

And please note very carefully, dear brothers and sisters, what John didn’t say. He didn’t say, "We forbade him because he does not follow You, Lord." Rather, he said, "We forbade him because he does not follow us. He may be casting demons out in Your name, Lord; but he’s not a part of our group. He’s not in our inner circle. He does not follow us.

So John’s focus is on the inner cabinet. The clique. John’s focus is not about the Master which is its own form of blindness. And sadly, John’s focus is also not on the poor tormented soul who needs to get rid of their demon.

“He was not following us” … but he may well have been following Jesus. With Our Lord there is no room for exclusivity. It is not about us and who belongs to us, it is about who belongs to Jesus and who follows HIM.

Further, our war is not against other people, it is against evil. With our lives we must write a narrative of the common good of all people.

The absolute imperative is always about Him and we will find Him in those who are vulnerable and tormented and weepy and cranky and frightened. Those who find themselves in an odd place, a different dimension, uncharted and wonky territory.

Who is in and who is out is not our call, has never been our call, and it never will be.

Something fun to think about.

After this was all over, did John have the good grace to go sheepishly back to Doogal and say.

“Umm… well  Doogal, I’m sorry you were right. We have checked it out with Jesus and he said it was OK. You are doing a great job. Have the rest of the week off on full pay”  Do you think John went back and apologised? Would we?

Once upon a time there was a film called the 10 commandments. It starred Charlton Heston and watching this film at the drive-in is one of my earliest childhood memories.

The exhilarating bit was the part where the good guys got to walk through the walls of the Red Sea and the bad guys in their chariots all drowned. The spooky bit was the plague of the first born. This was the plague that finally convinced Pharaoh, at least temporarily, that he should let the Jewish blue collar workers go out into the wilderness and worship to their God.

Now bear in mind Pharaoh had changed his mind each and every time Moses had called down a plague upon the land so there was no real guarantee that Pharaoh wouldn’t change his mind this time.

Moses well understood the fickle heart of Pharaoh. He had also checked the Macdonald's app on his phone to discover that there are no drive through MacDonald stores in the wilderness on the way to the promised land.

So he asks his people to bake some bread but they have to do it in a hurry. There won’t be time to do all the proving and knocking back and waiting for the bread to rise. So they skip those bits of the recipe and make something akin to our pitta bread today. Unleavened bread. Bread without the yeast.

Meanwhile the angel of death is passing over the land and striking down the first born. This same angel is also skipping those houses that have the blood of the lamb daubed on the doors of the house.

For our Jewish brothers and sisters this is one of the most solemn feasts on their religious calendar. Understandably its called The feast of the Passover.

Growing up as a faithful practising Jew this celebration would have been a wonderful occasion for Our Lord. This was what he was up to with his little band of blokes the night before he died.

In the upper room there would have been lamb, olives and of course the things that we are familiar with, bread and wine. More little things.

I tell you all this because it helps to explain why we still use flat bread, unleavened bread, bread without yeast at our eucharist today and not the big fully stuff that we buy from the supermarket.

There are a couple of little things in the Eucharist that came back to me the other day that I hope might be helpful for you.

First, after the bread is blessed, I usually keep my forefinger and thumb together just in case there are any tiny parts of the blessed bread that are still on my finger tips. The chances are remote, but it helps to remind me of what it is and WHO it is that is here at the altar with us.

Secondly Our unleavened bread at the eucharist starts off completely covered. It is hidden under the veil or under the corporal. The bread of the life, the Master is often hidden from us and reveals himself ever so fleetingly and tantalisingly. This is perhaps the most powerful part of the story of the disciples going to Emmaus. It’s not until they sit down at table and the stranger breaks the bread that they realise who it is that has been walking alongside them. The Risen Christ sharing their story, their grief, their life, their journey.

Another little thing. At the Eucharist in Hamilton we deliberately bless more hosts than we need and the excess is reverently placed in the tabernacle behind the high altar; not just for safekeeping but also for two other reasons.

One, because under normal circumstances, the Church would be open and people can come in and say their prayers in the nearer presence of the blessed sacrament which is… well it is Him. This is why we approach communion with joy and respect, reverence and hope, confidence and humility.

Secondly there are times when Mrs Tiggywinkle might not be feeling too well and would like someone to bring her communion at home. Then the blessed sacrament can easily be accessed and taken to Mrs. Tiggywinkle or a nursing home or a hospital or wherever the need is.

In the very early days of Christianity, when it was a crime punishable by death, Christians used to meet in furtive secrecy on a Sunday and bless enough bread for each person to make their communion at home once a day. Then they would scurry home, make their communion each day and return the next week. They returned faithfully, fearfully knowing that it was the little things that mattered.

In today's gospel the disciples have had a bit of argy bargy about who is the greatest and The Master knowing their angst uses the parable of a little child to teach them what is really important. It is the little things, like a child, like the busted bread. Like Him.

I thought of Axel the other day. He was a young man of 20 something years and I met him at the funeral of his great aunt. There were several things that struck me about Axel. His manners, charm and his rich guttural accent which was both tricky and endearing. But what was even more memorable was the profound sense of grief he honestly expressed at the funeral. It is not something you tend to see in young men and not something you would expect from that particular family connection. But there it all was, tears and tissues to boot.

We chatted for a while at the cuppa after the funeral. He told me how he was an engineer and working for a prestigious firm. They paid him accordingly for his hard work and expertise. There was an attractive partner on his arm who was obviously a great support to him. Then the real story spilled out. How great aunt had been so good to him, taught him things and secretively spoilt him. And then great aunt simply didn’t wake up one morning. So in effect he was just setting off on his ‘grief journey’.

Axel asked me lots of hard questions like “If great aunt wasn’t in the coffin … then where was she? What was life like on the other side of the grave and… how do you know?”

But the phrase I will never forget, the one  I had no reply for was this candid admission. “I just don’t want it to hurt anymore”.

For which of course there is no right answer or reply. Hopefully an empathetic silence and a willingness to sit gently with someone seemed like the right thing to do. It still does. I haven’t found or been told about a more appropriate or healing response. Have you?

Jeremy Fisher lived many years ago in a place that is many kilometres from here. But he came one night and poured out his heart to me. The contents were not pretty and there was quite a bit that Jeremy was not very proud of. But there it was, hanging in the air of my study like a tangible dark cloud between us. It was such a heartfelt and authentic admission that I whipped out a nearby stole, did what the Church does and pronounced absolution. It wasn’t in the formal dark confession box with 3 Hail Marys  and an Our Father for good measure. But what passed between us and more importantly, between God and us, was an exhilarating experience of the power of forgiveness. Then with the last words “Go Jeremy and of your charity pray for me also a sinner who needs your prayers”, the aura between us popped and was replaced with a dancing light joy. The next time I saw him was when he came to the altar rail at the Sunday mass and then at the Church door. It was as though the encounter had never happened which is as it should be; because that is how God sees it or rather He doesn’t, as he has already forgotten what is past and is always encouraging us onto and into His future which is our future.

I’ll lay odds that each and everyone here has had a moment like that with a Jeremy Fisher. Someone we care about. Someone who generously has taken us into their confidence and we have been given a rare and precious insight into the innermost being of another soul. It is always an undeserved and unlooked for privilege and both listener and speaker are the wealthier for the encounter.

However, it does come with a cost and the cost is not only keeping the confidence, but the ongoing loving of another soul who puts their trust in you. This is your cross and it is theirs; maybe you have been the Jeremy Fisher who has made an informal or even formal confession. I tell you about Jeremy and his story because it has overtones of today's gospel. Jesus invites, teases out the disciples' confession. Watch closely as he cleverly  and brutally extracts the information. Jesus asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?’  And they answered him, ‘John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.’  He asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.’ This is our friend and brother who also draws out of us the truth about ourselves and about Him. There is a price tag which is pinned to this confession of faith.Then in today's gospel Jesus does something which to our eyes and ears seems rather harsh and odd.“

And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.”

And I can’t help but think of Jeremy as he left my study that evening. Nothing more was ever said and nothing more ever needed to be said, because it was all dealt with. We don’t need to say anything more and the hardest thing I find is not revisiting someone else's woes, but not to revisit my own past tumblings. Why is that? The backdrop to today's Gospel is a journey. Jesus will be brought from Caesarea Philippi in the far north, via the mount of transfiguration, back to Galilee, then to Jericho, to the gates of Jerusalem and then to the cross. A confession of faith, a demonstration of belief, inevitably sets the disciples and Jesus on a path to Calvary and from there to resurrection. And just as surely as Jeremy began a new path and a new life, so it is with us when we listen, when we confess, when we walk with the disciples and the Master. And Jesus will make it very clear what is going to happen to him.

“Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again”.

And Peter bless him, as only Peter can, wants a different sort of Messiah and to understandably protect this guru whom he has grown to love.

“And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him”.

My hope would be that you have been Jeremy and that you have also been a minister that has shouldered the privileged cross with dignity and joy. That you have been given the courage to lose your life for His sake, and for the sake of the gospel, to save it. For the crosses of confidence that we carry and for the crosses of confidence that others shoulder with us, may the Lord’s name be praised.

"Dear David,
Thank you very much for this essay, the logic of which escapes me. However if you like, I would be happy to buy you a beer so you could explain it to me.
In bepuzzlement  your New Testament theology lecturer."

I want to come back to this little note at the end of the homily.

There are three things that I find difficult about today's gospel.

First there is the apparent put down of the woman by Jesus. When this poor, distraught Mum comes begging for an exorcism for her daughter, Jesus seems to be rude and insulting. ‘Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’

Imagine what our Safe Church officer would say about that. Bullying, discrimination  and harassment for sure.

Secondly, Jesus wants to hide himself away and not to be talked about. “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there”. “Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one;” Surely if you were the Son of God and had come offering salvation to all, you would spread the news as widely as and publicly as possible.

The third thing is Jesus' unsuccessful attempts for privacy and public silence. “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there…. Yet he could not escape notice.”

So much for having a quiet afternoon kip.

“Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it.”

So if Jesus is all powerful, then how come the people don’t abide by his orders?

A motley collection of thoughts that might be helpful.

With the issue of the peoples disobedience to keep mum. The relationship that Our Lord offered to these people is the same one that He offers to you and to me. It is a relationship of trust and love. Like all relationships of trust and love this infinitely precious thing can be abused, misread or ignored all together. This love business and especially this God business, is a risky risky thing. When the Messiah stretches out his hands to reconcile and to heal, his palms will frequently be pierced and punctured. And this is true of us as well. When we reach out our hands in the name of friendship, or with the intention of  hope and reconciliation there is always a risk of rejection and failure. Otherwise it is not truly love. If we reach out with a self seeking motive,  where we hope to achieve or gain something for ourselves, then not only have we missed the point, we have missed out on a relationship that could be quite special and lovely and divine.

On the issue of the Christ who consciously chooses to conceal himself. My best starting point and that is all it is, is silence and hiddenness are often how love is expressed. The couple's silence over the candlelit dinner is not a sign of the absence of love, but rather the intensity of their relationship. What is harder to understand is the apparent absence of God’s presence. When we seem to be calling in the dark and all we hear is the echo of our own unanswered prayers shouted out in frustration and anguish. Perhaps it is then time to listen. To listen hard and carefully. This is the bit in the prayer conversation when He wants to speak to us and wants us to discover that the Kingdom is already within us. We cannot do that unless we are very still and very quiet, sometimes for a very long time.

And what of  our Lord's grumpy conversation with the Mother who in a sense, is just as tormented as her daughter. It is almost as if our Lord wants to engage her in conversation; that he is teasing her  and encouraging her into a deeper dialogue. The Master knows the depth and passion of a Mothers love and He wants to use her angst to begin a relationship with her. What if the Master knew what He was going to do all along? That he always had every intention of healing the daughter, but saw an opportunity to make a new friend with a stranger from another land.

All of these things are just tiny starting dot points. The hidden, ineffectual and arrogant Christ are all the same one. They are the teacher who longs to speak to us and to engage with us and draw us onwards and upwards into His very self. This is the very best Christ that we could have. One who is constantly using every means He can to transform us into the very best that we can be. The most effective teachers were not the ones who gave me the answers on a silver platter and sent me away. The very best teachers were like my New Testament lecturer. The teachers who gave me just enough to keep on learning, to keep on asking, to keep on discovering, to keep on wanting to know more. The ones who stretched me and made me think … really hard.

Praise then to the elusive Christ who reveals just enough of Himself so that we want to keep on learning, keep on asking, keep on discovering, keep on listening, keep on thinking… really hard. The elusive Christ who always wants me to get to know Him more and more. The one who wants to buy me a beer and chat with me. Silly me. It wasn’t  a put down from my lecturer. It wasn’t about the beer and the essay at all. It was about a relationship.

Have you never noticed how doing the dishes can be quite cathartic? It’s a therapy where you don’t actually have to think too much about anything. A space to reflect and sort out our wonky world. Things are in a much better place once the last shiny dish has been triumphantly put away.

But sometimes there is a stinker of a pot which needs a bit of elbow grease and a stubborn will to make it gleaming again. Something stayed on the heat just a little longer than it should have and a simple wipe and a fleeting promise is not going to sort it out. A little something extra is required. Maybe a special product of a brand that cannot be named here. And if that doesn’t quite do the trick, then the last desperate measure is this. You leave it soaking overnight. This is pretty hard core and means that the pot/pan/utensil is on its last warning.

I thought about all this as I slushed around the night. My hands gradually thawing in the satisfying swish of the water. There are quirks and problems in our lives that are very much like grubby dishes. Some are mundane and easily dealt with. You’ve seen it all before, done it all before and it’s as easy as an afternoon doze on a sunny afternoon with a refreshing beverage to hand.

Other problems are a little more gruesome. They are trickier and require more brain power and more energy. You get there, but the oomph required is substantially more.

Then there are the problems that need to be soaked while you sleep. These require a little more thought; a bit more cogitation and a coming back to them with fresh eyes in the morning. The trick is knowing which problem requires which treatment.