Of Frank and Fr. Oulton
Most of you will know that I once had a go at being a school chaplain. I was a spectacular disaster and after 4 long tortuous years, by very mutual consent, I wrote a pleading letter to the then Bishop of Ballarat asking if it might be possible to return to parish life. Fortuitously a parish had just become vacant and with great glee I rushed back into a rectory.
Years passed and our daughter Jacky happened to meet a former student of mine.
‘Oh…’ said Jacky’s friend. ‘You’re Fr. Oulton’s daughter.’ Poor Jacky wasn’t really quite sure how to answer this, but it would be a sin for a vicar’s daughter to lie now wouldn’t it?
‘Oh… I remember the day he came into our classroom and asked... ‘If Fr. Oulton stood on the table right now and started shooting up the furniture, would that make him a bad man?’
I, of course, cannot remember any of this, but the educational value of this question to bright, young, inquiring minds is highly questionable; so yes, it probably was something I said.
I think the moral of the story is that even good people can sometimes lose it, and do the wrong thing. An error in judgment or the spilling over of anger does not necessarily mean that a person is intrinsically evil and it certainly does not mean they are ever beyond the loving clasp of the Master.
Fast forward an even greater number of years to 2023 where I am reflecting with our confirmation candidates about the second station of the cross in Christchurch Hamilton. The 2nd station is the one where we reflect on Jesus receiving his cross. All the while Jesus knows what this piece of timber is for and he knows what it will do to him.
In the carving, there is a gentleman giving Jesus His cross and when I thought about it I came to understand that there would have been someone, probably a man, who physically gave Jesus his cross.
The astute and insightful question from our budding confirmation student was
‘Was the man who gave Jesus his cross a bad man?’
You see the understandable logic which says that of course, he was. This guy played a pivotal role in Jesus’ crucifixion. He was instrumental in causing The Master's suffering and death. Of course he was wicked.
But upon more mature reflection I would also reason this way.
That for this guy… let’s call him Frank, for Frank, it was just another day at the office. Handing out crosses willy nilly to every passing criminal was just what he got paid to do. He probably wasn’t aware of exactly who it was that he was giving a cross to. It was yet another poor schmuck on his way to a painful death. Frank was just another little guy in a really large story. Probably the most enduring and enormous story ever.
You see, I hope, the parallel between Fr. David going ballistic in the classroom on a hot Friday afternoon and Frank on another Friday afternoon. Neither are beyond hope or redemption.
But there is something else going on in the carving. Often with religious art, the artist has the people in the scene looking straight out at us. The viewer. This is an excellent reminder that Holy people are watching out for us and they are watching over us. Not in a menacing, checking up on us way, but in a way of care, protection and love.
But not so in our carving. The artist has Frank and the Master looking directly at each other. Almost gazing adoringly at each other. The moment is almost tender and intimate.
Further, when you look closely, The Master is clutching his cross tightly and holding it himself. It’s almost as if he is saying Thank you to Frank. Thank you, you are playing a pivotal role in your own salvation and that of the world. You may not know it now. You will never know it on this side of your grave Frank, but what you are doing is important today, even when you think it is ghastly and reprehensible.
Frank was one the little ones in the gospel story. We know what he did, but we don’t know if he said anything, if he had family, if he had a second job. Hec! We don’t even know if his name really was Frank, or Fred, or Felix.
It would be easy to despise him for what he did, but there is a cautionary line in today’s gospel about the little ones like Frank.
Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.
Which is of course a lovely echo of the look that is being exchanged between Frank and The Master.
We all might do some crazy Fr. Oulton things from time to time. We all might do some unwitting Frank things from time to time, not knowing that our repetitive drudgery is really part of God’s greater plan. There is hope for the Fr. Oultons of the world. There is hope for the Franks of this world. There is hope for everyone sitting here and there is hope for those who are not with us today.
For our ultimate vocation is to be one of God’s little ones and with the angels to gaze upon Him. To gaze upon Him who longs to gaze upon us, who is in fact, already gazing upon us and who will do so forever and ever amen.