From the Priest to You
Today's reflection is about no specific person but rather a collective collage of faithful people whom I have had the privilege of serving in the parish of Hamilton.
Sunday by Sunday, day by day, you come and sit on hard wooden pews and in blithering, biting cold and stinking unforgiving heat, mutter your prayers and sing the hymns to the unseen God.
Each one of you is richly endowed with enviable talents. From the chorister, the handyman, the flower arranger, the statesman, and the gardener. From those who quietly visit and listen, to those who light and extinguish candles, set up and pack up.
Your work is largely imperceptible, but your laughter and conversation are often audible, and your countenance is always welcoming. Your giggling is contagious, and your prayers are like an all-encompassing doona that is comforting and consoling.
There are those who challenge me, to think and pray. They stretch me in all sorts of ways and help me to aspire to giddy new heights of wisdom and discernment. I owe them a particular debt, for they taught me the invaluable lesson that ‘You can’t unsay things.’
And there are those who have suffered piercing, ferocious heartbreak and rather than bow down to the insatiable Gods of anger and bitterness, have risen from the ashes, understanding that their tears and their bruises are actually the marks of their magnificence.
To be immersed in such wildness and wit in the western districts is a privilege I did not seek and one I certainly do not deserve.
Month by flitting month, in all my encounters, you selflessly show forth a faith that is courageous and rapturous. In smashingly good times and in the despair of drought, your faith is the one thing that I have come to rely on and enjoy.
And if you can do it… ???