9th of August

Mary Sumner … Thank You!

Yippee! In our Anglican calendar, it is Mary Sumner Day. This year it happens to fall on a Sunday, so we’re making a bit of fuss.

Mary Sumner was the founder of Mothers Union. This parish is gorgeously blessed because it has such a healthy, vibrant and laughter-filled group of people who are members of our Mothers Union. In fact, it is probably one of the strongest Mothers Union groups in the diocese and, numbers-wise, it is certainly the strongest organisation in our parish.

Mothers Union is especially concerned with family life and therein lies the rub. Full disclosure and confession, I should quickly point out that the Diocesan Mothers Union Chaplain, who also happens to be your vicar, comes from a family where his parents were divorced and each went on to remarry. Does this disqualify me from this wonderful and undeserved role? Perhaps my qualifications and heritage are besmirched.

Perhaps I am not in good standing to be the MU chaplain or even a Mothers Union member. When my parents were going through the throes of divorce in 1977, this may well have been the thinking. There are people still alive today who can tell you with hand on heart that they were asked not to attend MU because of their marital status.

Perhaps it might help if I let you know that while the nastiness of the separation and divorce was exploding around me, there were a couple of priestly people and one Bishop who were exceptionally kind and compassionate. I came out the other side aspiring to pass on that same pastoral care. I have no idea if these clerics were members of Mothers' Union, but they did show forth inclusion, welcome and support of me and my family, even though and perhaps especially because my family was in tatters.

We have come a long way in our thinking since I was a gawky, pimply 17-year-old. All sorts of ragamuffins and recalcitrants are not only welcomed into Mothers Union, but they are rejoiced in, and they minister to us. We actively seek them out and encourage them because they are authentically human with no pretence or dressing up. Life in the raw, to be loved, redeemed and rejoiced in. They have much to teach us and we as Mothers Union and a parish are all the more colourful and accessible for what they bring to us. Mary Sumner, … Thank you.

And that, for me at least, is the beauty of Mothers Union and Mary Sumner. That the healing begins with the acceptance of everyone. Mary Sumner, being married to a vicar, would not have always found it easy. Toss in the pressures of being a mum, and there must have been days. The organisation she started would have been a challenge for her, but it would also have been a source of blessing and encouragement.

Mothers Union sets the bar high, for we all need principles to strive for, but it is also the first to be there in the grit and gravel, when love is shredded as sometimes it is.

And when this happens, we turn and have a good long hard look at our warts and realise that none of us is perfect and far from tut tutting, we open wide the arms of welcome to those who seek us out and say to them…

‘Welcome friend; I’m just like you. We’re all a bit grubby around the edges; we all have gashes that we hide away from others. Love has unravelled for me sometimes, and there are many weeks when I am just holding it together.’ 

And we can say this and live this when we have reflected on the words of the gospel.

 ‘You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last.’

It seems to be that the Master knows that those who are wild and woolly like a scarecrow are the most fun and the most fruitful.

So today we gather and give thanks for Mary Sumner who could not have foreseen the fruitful organisation that would still all be happening in Western Victoria in 2026. Today we give thanks for the Mothers' Union, in this parish, throughout our diocese and throughout the world.

And today, as a begrimed Mothers Union chaplain, I say with a big cheesy grin and a twinkle in my eye, “Mary Sumner …Thank you!”

Do I Really Need To Say This?

One of the excruciating lessons that I have to learn and relearn continuously is the need to set and keep a guard over my mouth. I am privileged to have many conversations each and every day, and frequently I find myself falling into the trap of saying more than I need to or should.

To my detriment and therefore to the pain and angst of others, I have learnt that you cannot ‘unsay’ things. Once it’s out and spoken, you can’t retrieve and pretend like it didn’t happen. You can’t ‘erase’ the conversation, what is said and the way that it is said. And don’t get me started about electronic conversations which are there for all to see, print out, read and distribute literally around the world in a matter of seconds.

Some little ways forward that I have found are useful for me and therefore might be of some help to you, gentle reader.

With the issue of text or email, don’t send it unless you are absolutely sure and you have re-read it a couple of times. Maybe get an editor-in-chief to check it over before you do anything. Maybe even sleep on it for a night or two. Print it out and read it over the breakfast table whilst slurping down your porridge. Is this the sort of message you would like to receive? Can it be construed and misinterpreted in ways that you don’t intend?

As to the spoken word, that is much harder because it happens so quickly, there and then in the very moment. The only thing I have found that helps me … sometimes … is to try to listen to a small insistent voice pleading… Do I really need to say this?

What’s “angertainment?”

This new word came from Ed Coper. In his book Angertainment, he outlines the theory that with the internet, we were promised a global village.

Instead, we got a gladiatorial arena where our strongest emotions of fear and anger are manipulated for the profit and entertainment of those who should know better.

These folk are really quite good at pitting many against each other for the profit of themselves.

They do so by putting out on the screen the wackiest, ludicrous and emotive ‘grab clicks’. Our news feeds are full of carefully worded headlines which seek to draw us into a slurry of outrage and fury.

Further, the tagline of the story will always couch the topic as if the event was a simple black-and-white story and seek to draw us down a particular line of reasoning.

Short, pithy anger-inducing headlines are what we have been sucked into buying, digesting and integrating.

Here’s some from a news feed on June 25th

“Queensland teenager acquitted of planning a terror attack against Liberal Party members.”

“Man charged with murdering former partner Crystal Beale and dumping her body denied bail for second time”

A story that began with

“The argument is more nuanced and complex than what we might first believe. There are valid points on both sides and further negotiation and understanding is the way forward to a more fruitful, long-term outcome for all”

would probably not excite us, draw us in and make us investigate further. In short, it would not generate the dollars.

People have realised that in the attention economy, your anger is the only currency that matters.  Whatever happened to

‘Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God’? These words from the prophet Micah are the antidote for the sepsis of angertainment that has seeped into our world.

Our Happy Places.

It was about 1969 when we moved to the family farm at Sheep-hills just outside of Warracknabeal. Christ Church was our parish church, as the Sheep-hills Church had become defunct and had subsequently moved to Halls Gap, where it continues a faithful, welcoming ministry to tourists and locals alike.

I was baptised and confirmed at Christ Church Warracknabeal. My father and his parents were all buried from this church. I learnt to serve at the altar there, and I believe the flickering of a vocation was sparked there. The sanctuary where I floundered and flounced felt like a warm, secure and safe place, and I wanted every moment of my life to feel like this.

So when I returned there for an ordination earlier this year, I found myself once again in that same sacred space, with the same windows, the same carpet and a doona experience of nostalgia and longing. Like fluttering autumn leaves, memories came to mind. It was almost as if I had just slipped into the dimension of my former life and there I was, as if I had never left.

I should not have been surprised about the potency and possibility of this ‘telescoping of time’. Whenever I am at the altar, I am also at that very first/last supper whilst simultaneously I am at the end of time at the heavenly banquet with angels and archangels. The party that knows no hangovers or ending.

I didn’t drive up to the ordination expecting such a humbling and delicious experience. The sense of otherness always finds me.

Where I have come from and who I was is the stuff of who I am. It is not something to be shirked or recoiled from but something to be rejoiced in. It was, is and will be, my happy place. And yours is…?

26/7/26

Love Has No Transaction Fees.

Today’s first lesson about Rachel and Leah is one of my favourites. It raises several questions, has lots to teach us and is just a jolly good romping story.

Here’s the go.

Laban has two daughters. The older one is Leah, and Leah has weak eyes. Rachel, on the other hand, has a lovely figure and is beautiful.

Young, handsome Jacob is a relative of Laban, recently returned home and back to his family. So Laban gives Jacob a job looking after the livestock. After a month, two things happen. Jacob has not only noticed Rachel; he has become besotted with her. The second thing that happens is that Laban offers Jacob a job.

“Because you are a relative of mine, you shouldn’t work for me for nothing. Tell me what your wages should be.”

Well,… Jacob knows exactly what he would like, and we hope Rachel had similar feelings. He asks for Rachel to be his wages.

“I’ll work for you for seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel.”

Laban is only too obliging. It’s better that you, a kinsman of mine, should marry her than some other man.

Jolly good. The deal is sealed. Jacob works faithfully for seven years for Rachel, and we have a rather exquisite line

‘But the seven years  seemed like only a few days to Jacob because of his love for Rachel’

At the end of seven years Jacob calls in the favour.

“Give me my wife. My time is completed, and I want to express my love for her.” My sanitised version.

So Laban brings together all the people of the place, gives a feast and then does something rather mischievous. In fact ‘mischievous’ is me dressing it up a bit.

Instead of sending the lovely, younger, comely Rachel into the honeymoon suite, he sends the older, squinty-eyed Leah.

It’s not until the next morning that Jacob realises what his devious father-in-law has done. He has woken up beside Leah… not his lovely Rachel. ‘Oh no!’  Or words to that effect.

Now there is a serious and obvious question.

How come Jacob didn’t realise who it was that was in the honeymoon suite with him? Was it that dark, were the sisters so alike, had he had a few too many wedding pan galactic gargle blasters or …

Whatever the answer, we will never know, and I’m pretty sure that in such a personal space and moment, it’s none of our jolly business much, and all as we are tempted to muse and speculate.

When Jacob confronts his father-in-law Laban about the trickery, we get a very glib, inadequate reply.

 Laban just trots out the standard traditional family line: ‘Oh well, it’s not our custom here to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one, but  tell you what I’m going to do.  Finish this daughter’s bridal celebration week; then I will give you the younger Rachel also,…… in return for another seven years of work.”

And there’s another question here about the whole employer/employee, workplace agreement, minimum wage, enterprise bargaining, fair work commission thing.

Jacob is so entranced with Rachel that he jumps at Laban’s offer and works for another seven years.

Presumably this second lot of seven years was just like the first, and he could say again

‘the seven years seemed like only a few days because of his love for Rachel.

You see,…for Jacob it is not a transaction but a process. Authentic love at its finest has no transaction fees.

Wedding couples sign blank cheques to each other with their lives. Here, write whatever cost you like.

We also see this principle in the gospel parables.

Both gentlemen sell everything so that they might have the treasure or the precious pearl. The cost is irrelevant and matters not whether it is a pomegranate or a fig.

The only difference in the parables is that the first gentleman finds the treasure by accident whilst the second gentleman is on a specific quest, knows exactly what he is looking for and finally finds it.

And that is true of many of us here today. Sometimes we know the yearning, that craving, that aching God space in our lives and we go searching until we find him, usually in the most obvious places after all.

Others of us almost bump accidentally into God, or we realise that God has been gently nudging and bumping into us all along. Eventually we think. OH. It’s you! And we discover our new friend, our persistent annoying and loving God.

The same one who will give up everything, empty himself on the cross, not as a transaction fee, but to live out the process of love in betrayal through denial, upon the cross, into a sealed tomb and into magnificent resurrection. Similarly, we cannot buy grace, or His love, or friendship. They are freely given, as we must always give to him out of the finest love we can offer, with no transaction fees.

19/7/26

The sin of certainty … The holiness of doubt …

Today I would like to explore the possibility that Certainty is a sin and that doubt is actually a holy thing. This concept should be quite liberating for us, for we all struggle with doubts and we can all fall into the sin of certainty.

My inspiration for this homily is from our second lesson today, where St. Paul is writing to the congregation at Rome. In his letter, he is speaking about Present Suffering and Future Glory.

The present suffering is easy to see and understand. It is the here and now stuff. Visible and tangible. We all get that and can identify with it.

The future glory stuff is a little trickier. It belongs in the time to come, a place we cannot see and experience, but St. Paul assures us that the future glory will be infinitely and indescribably more thrilling and enjoyable than anything we can imagine. So he writes …

 “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” 

Further, he points out that the sufferings of the present time lead naturally to the glory that is revealed to us. It's as if the two are dependent on the other.

So we get…

We share in his sufferings so that we may also share in his glory.

But this shift from suffering to glory does not happen instantaneously. It’s not a quick fix, a silver bullet. There is some waiting to be done in between times, and waiting, as we all know, can be downright excruciating.

But we ourselves groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as children, the redemption of our bodies

And while we wait, we are in the dimension of hope and doubt. Every so often, an arrow with a message will pierce our conscious mind, and the message on this arrow is a simple two-word question.

What If?

And our minds and hearts are left to run amok with possibilities and conundrums.

What if this life is all there is? What if … I am not forgiven? What if my muttered feeble prayers and my countless tears amount to nothing, go unheeded and are just the gesticulations of a dotty old priest. What if … all this is folly?

So we wrestle, we doubt, we struggle, and we hope. Some of the finest folk who walk very closely in the presence of the living risen Christ are those for whom this arduous grappling is a part of their very being. They are all the more exquisite and admirable, for they get up day after day and consciously choose to walk this boulder-strewn track.

We are clothed then not just in sparkle and joy and feasting and laughter, but also in dowdy rags of doubt and hope. All of this, the desirable and the hard slog, are who we are. All are essential ingredients in the bread of life where you have to knead it … prove it and then just jolly well wait.

We hope and doubt because we cannot quite see what we are and what we shall be, but in this same cloudy hope St. Paul tells us we shall be saved.

For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

Take out the hope and doubt ingredients, and you are left with the sin of certainty, and we must always consider the possibility that we will frequently get it wrong.

I conclude with something I wrote last year.

Once I went to see the film ’Conclave’. It was the fictitious story about the election of a Pope. Towards the beginning of the film, the Dean who helps to co-ordinate the trickiness delivers a stunning homily to the assembled cardinals, and I believe it is particularly pertinent for our diocese as she seeks a new bishop at this time.

“St Paul said, ‘Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ.’ To work together, and to grow together, we must be tolerant. No one person or faction seeking to dominate another. And speaking to the Ephesians, who were of course a mixture of Jews and Gentiles, Paul reminds us that God’s gift to the church…is its variety. It is this variety, this diversity of people and views which gives our church its strength. And over the course of many years in the service of our Mother the Church, let me tell you, there is one sin, which I have come to fear above all others. Certainty. Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end. “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” He cried out in his agony at the ninth hour on the cross.

Our faith is a living thing, precisely because it walks hand-in-hand with doubt. If there was only certainty…and no doubt…there would be no mystery … and therefore no need … for faith. Let us pray that God will grant us a leader who doubts.

And let him grant us a leader who sins,  asks for forgiveness, and who carries on.”

Allow Yourself to Learn

It was an incisive phrase I snatched from a sparkling conversation. The other person was of more mature years, but time had not dulled their mind or blunted their wit. The glitter of the conversation was nurturing and enjoyable.

‘Allow yourself to learn.’ In a rare moment of lucidity, I caught this phrase and clutched it tightly to myself. A lot is going on with this phrase, and here are just some of the bombs that go off once you light the fuse.

First, you have to own up to the fact that you get it wrong. To admit to the fallout and the bruises that are yours and those that you implanted (hopefully unwittingly) on others. Allow yourself the fact that you don’t know it all; you never will, but you are determined to go gently learning, always being patient with yourself.

Secondly, allow yourself to grasp the stinging nettle that it is OK to fail. It’s what happens after you plummet face down in the mud that matters. Do you lie there feeling sorry for yourself, or do you courageously pick yourself up, seek solace with a beverage and friend, and plot ways to avoid such a mishap?

All too often we don’t allow ourselves the space and massage of allowing ourselves to learn. There are lessons aplenty, and we should have learnt them the first time, but being mortal means that we have to repeatedly go back to some good old one-on-one tutoring.

Listen to that little voice that is too easily silenced ... It’s OK, in fact it is necessary, to allow yourself to learn. The stomping bullies of self-congratulation and self-righteous priggishness are our worst enemies and do us a lot of harm. They can, however, be easily vanquished by allowing ourselves the space to learn.

12/7/26

Hairy and Grabber

Usually in the homily we go straight to the gospel reading and have a bit of think and play there.

Today’s first reading, however, is a cracking story about a family with all its sparkle, joy, failings and contentions. As such, it is a good story for us, for we all belong to this parish family, to say nothing of our own families. So let us begin.

Rebekah, the matron of the story, is barren, but after a prayer from Isaac, she conceives a child. But instead of one child, she discovers that without the aid of an ultrasound, she is to give birth to twins. How clever! She finds this out because, literally, “The boys were crushing one another within her” Rebekah’s response to this crushing agony inside her is to confront God, who reveals to her that “two nations are in your womb” (Gen.25:23). Well, no wonder she feels crushed! Two nations!

Finally, the big day arrives, and “the first one comes out red covered with hair like a cloak, so they named him Esau,” a name which sounds like the word for “hair.” In families we often give each other nicknames, so I’m going to call him “Hairy.” Then out came his brother, with “his hand grabbing Hairy’s heel, so they named him Jacob,” a name based directly on the word for “heel.” I’ll call him Grabber since that is what Jacob will do subsequently in his life; he will grab for everything he can get, as today’s first lesson demonstrates!

Hairy and Grabber quickly grow up; Hairy is “a hunter, an outdoorsy guy,” think of the Leyland brothers. Grabber, on the other hand, is “a simple man, a tent dweller”.

Interesting, isn’t it, that two siblings from the same gene pool, with the same upbringing, with the same parents, born on the same day could turn out to be so different. Perhaps you know of siblings like that.

Sadly, it seems that the parents Issac and Rebekah have favourites. Another family quirk you might have noticed in families. Daddy Isaac favours ‘Hairy ’, the outdoorsy hunter, whilst Mother Rebekah favours ‘Grabber ’, who stays at home and helps with the washing up, the cooking and the laundry.

The author is keen to contrast the two boys wildly: one is a vigorous outdoor hunter while the other is a mummy’s boy, living inside much of the time. Grabber will also reveal his true nature as a master of deception and trickery. One day, Grabber is putting the finishing touches on a stew. It smells fantastic, and Hairy rushes into the tent famished. It has apparently been a poor hunting day, and he simply must eat. “Quick, let me have some of that stew,” he shouts, “for I am starving”.

Adroit and astute, quick-thinking Grabber sees an opportunity and says “Sure; but first, sell me your birth-rite”. The birth-rite is, of course, Hairy’s rights as the firstborn, the right to property, goods, and all the future promise of leadership of the tribe. It is, in short, his complete future existence.

His reply to this outrageous request is about as stupid and absurd as it can be! “Oh well, look! I suppose one day I’m going to die anyway, so what the heck. What in the world is a birthright to me? Besides that, I’m really hungry, and the stew smells delicious.

“But, not so fast!” Grabber says, “Swear to me now”, demanding from his gullible brother the ancient equivalent of a stat dec.

With no hesitation, the doltish Hairy swears to him and thus gives him the birthright. The text then markedly speeds up. “Grabber gave Hairy bread and lentil stew; he ate, drank, got up, and left” One can imagine a burp of satisfaction as he rushes from the tent. Thus Hairy “poured contempt on his birthright.” This sad tale is marked by both deception and naivety; Grabber gets what he wants, the right of the firstborn, and Hairy is deceived and left alone in the field.

No one comes out of this story smelling of daphne and perfume.

The parents both have their own favourite son.

Hairy is ruled by his tummy and doesn’t understand what he is giving away. Grabber is deceptive and self-serving. Yet it is out of this family and its descendants that the Almighty makes a great nation from which our Lord was descended, and therefore you and I as well.

We get another reference to this in the first line in Matthew’s gospel. In his genealogy, Matthew has…

“Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob.”

And if you are very brave and open up that genealogy wardrobe a little more, you’ll discover a few more shadowy goings on and skeletons.

‘David was the father of Solomon, whose mother had been Uriah’s wife’. Mmm

It’s almost as if our loving Father makes a conscious choice to use the most appalling families to bring about his greatest triumphs.  But then, human beings are all he has to work with. People like you and I, who, if we are honest, can see a little bit of ourselves in Isaac, Rebekah, Hairy and Grabber. Human nature has not changed that much over the years, but then neither has God’s love and willingness to transform the wreckage of family relationships into angels and archangels, seraphim and saints. And that, my friends, is very good news indeed.

PS: I’ve Got Warts.

Apparently there are things called dating apps.

You can post a picture of yourself and a few notes.

Eg. “I’m bright, witty, intelligent and fun to be with. When I’m not winning marathons, I’m completing my PHD in metaphysics. I’m impossibly good-looking and part owner of that famous winery/restaurant that people flock to. I enjoy listening to and playing heavy metal music in my garage and at that seedy pub with the sticky carpet.”

Such a profile would create a lot of interest, and this lucky fellow/lady would soon be awash with prospective suitors.

Now all of those things might be true, but they don’t tell the whole story. We all have a murky side. The bits of us that are damaged and defective. There are always some things that we are not proud of and wish that we could expunge. In short…we all have some ugly, stinky, fetid warts.

This becomes obvious when true love meets real life and the chemistry of passion gurgles in the mundane laboratory of daily life.

We discover that we are not quite the dashing shiny saint we would like to be. The socks, the laundry and the way the dishwasher is stacked are issues of vital national importance. The church of God and the state of the nation rely heavily on these precarious fundamentals, and they are not negotiable. Ever!

So a more honest profile might read.

“I’m grumpy first thing in the morning. I once inexcusably broke someone’s heart for absolutely no reason at all. I am painfully anal about time, and on Friday night, after a bad week, I’ve been known to drink more than I should. I have a dysfunctional relationship with the people who love me most. Are you the person who can love me?

Yes, says the Master. I have already been loving you.

P.S. I have warts.”

An Attitude of Gratitude

I went to school a long time ago, like several decades ago, but some of the teachers are still memorable for very good reasons.

I guess we all had a Mr Grumpy who would come in, stomp around the classroom and toss the occasional well-aimed duster (remember those) at a student or the classroom fish bowl.

There was little Miss Timid, who was quite the opposite, and you had to strain to hear her. She blushed frequently, but she was interesting and taught us well.

Then there was bouncy Mr Kafoops. This guy was in a league of his own. He was bright, chirpy, and engaging. He was also patient and helpful. He willingly answered all of my dumb questions without making me feel like I was completely incompetent. One day, someone asked him where he got all his enthusiasm from.

“Simple" was his reply. “I come with an attitude of gratitude. Every morning when I come onto the premises, I am just very grateful to be here.”

To our immature minds, it seemed such a harebrained thing to say. Of course, we never thought of it quite like that. Whenever I went to school, the aim was to survive and not get detention.

Years later, in 2026, I understand what he meant and why his classes were always fruitful and anticipated.  Going into any encounter with an attitude of gratitude makes an enormous amount of difference. It doesn’t matter whether your encounter is with The Divine, your significant other, a stranger or a tedious meeting. If we meet others and ourselves with a healthy attitude of gratitude for just being there and being open to what might happen, everyone learns, and everyone enjoys.  Mr Kafoop’s attitude of gratitude was one of his finest lessons.