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From Our Heart

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13/9/26

From our heart

I want to begin today with the Lord’s prayer and, in particular, that line that we not only prattle off, but which we heartily pray…

Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. 

You see the three-way link between… today’s parable, the forgiveness which we ask from God and the forgiveness that we should always offer our brothers and sisters:

Together these three things make up something beautiful. Forgiveness, especially God’s forgiveness, is the symbol of his “overflowing” love for each and every one of us. If he did not love us, he would not forgive us. Simple and as hard and marvellous as that.

Jesus’ love for us is a gigantic gamble because it is the generous love that leaves us free to distance ourselves, like the prodigal son.

It is also an endlessly patient love, like the Father in the prodigal son story who waits for our return every day. The dad who sits on his rocker on the veranda, squinting down the driveway as the sun sets on another day… just waiting and choosing to do the same thing for as long as it takes. And it matters not if it is one day or one month or one decade; it will not stop Him from waiting for us. From eternity's perspective, time is irrelevant.

And his love is resourceful and ingenious. Whatever it takes, whatever quirk or wrinkle in time and fate, it is the lost ‘us’, no matter how mucky we are; we are always worth it. We are of infinite value. More precious than anything else. He is the shepherd who never gives up and rejoices when the sheep is returned and forgiven. In his tenderness, He welcomes each and every sinner who knocks at his door. The Heavenly Father —  our Father — is filled is full of love, and he wants to offer it to us, but he cannot do so if we close our hearts to love towards him and towards others, and this is the challenging bit because our fellow human beings are often painful to love.

If we close our hearts to others, we close our hearts to the possibility of love and forgiveness, and thus we close our hearts to God, and it is a certain end. The reverse is also true. Opening our hearts to others makes us vulnerable and is a risky thing. And opening our hearts to God is the beginning of everything.

And this is a conscious, deliberate, daily choice. Not a one-off moment of goodness and gooeyness, but in every encounter and every opportunity we can show forth forgiveness to others, and so we can show them what God is like. It will not be easy, but it is necessary, and the more often we choose, and the longer we choose, the easier it will be. Slowly, over decades, we need to make that decision not to condemn others in our narrow prison walls of prejudice and misconception. On those occasions, we imprison not only them but we lock up ourselves, for we are unable to see over the high wall of intolerance to the bright potential and the promise that the other has to offer to us.

Some other things to think about

  • First

Often we think that old so and so has got it so hideously wrong, and if only they would come to us and own up, then we would graciously offer forgiveness and we could all go forward together and how wonderful and gooey it would all be. Now wouldn’t that be just ticketyboo.

But perhaps it is us that needs to walk up the long dusty driveway to our friends and/or our
father's house bedraggled and grubby and make the first move. Maybe it is us who needs to pull up our socks and big-person pants and arrive on the doorstep with some flowers, a card,  a beverage and say

‘I’m listening’.

  • Secondly

To remain imprisoned in the walls of self-righteous entitlement is to be very isolating and sad for ourselves and for others. No one wins, growth is stunted, and potential goes unfulfilled. It’s time to break out and begin a new life. A fresh life of forgiveness from the heart.

  • Thirdly

What is even harder still are times when we need to forgive ourselves from our heart. The moving on part. Sinning is easy, so terrifyingly easy. Saying sorry is painful and difficult. Moving on, leaving the pooh in the past and not looking back, is the most difficult thing of all. The Master has made the first move because he has forgiven you from His heart. He asks you to look forward and to walk, maybe stumble, maybe totter towards Him. Do we dare take those first tentative steps? Do we risk doing the same for ourselves and for others from our heart, not just from our lips but in our actions?  And I wonder what that might feel like and I wonder what that would look like in our daily life.

Let us try to show each other … from our heart.

When This One Thing Finishes …

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When this one thing finishes … then everything else can begin.

Over the decades, I have had the humbling privilege of walking alongside folk as they have transitioned from one ‘place’ to another, and perhaps this is a daily process.

Some are subtle, like grey hair, a wrinkle and a common cold. Others are monstrous and uninvited. Sometimes the development is welcome, like the transit from heavily uncomfortable and pregnant to the birth of a child.

Sometimes it is a traumatic upheaval from life to death. I have not sought these companionable opportunities and the most fruitful occasions are when they have found me.

On these fraught occasions I come back to the line

“When this one thing finishes,… then everything else can begin.” This sounds easy, exciting and something to look forward to; but it isn’t always. The ‘everything else’ isn’t always clear, is often painful, and frequently is not looked for or looked forward to.

It takes months, sometimes years, to know what the strange bumpy terrain feels like. I suspect the trick is to be exceptionally gentle with yourself. To be patient and to listen to others who have traversed this country before you. Where are the boulders and the pitfalls?

Now I find myself looking to my own transition. Sometimes straining ahead, eager and enchanted. Sometimes poignantly not really ready to relinquish the treasures I know I must surrender. If it were anyone else, I would know exactly what to say and how to listen, but when you're in the centre of the maelstrom yourself, it’s almost impossible to be objective. The eye of the cyclone is supposed to be still and calm, but when everything else is swirling frenetically around you… So I cling to my mantra “When this one thing finishes,… then everything else can begin.”

The Little Ones

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6/9/26

The Little Ones

This is one of those many homilies that is about no one in particular but a collage of people whom I have had the privilege of trying to care for over the years.

It began, I guess, with a topic in college called ‘Interpersonal aspects of ministry’. The lecture hall, or the place of learning, was Hillcrest Hospital for the mentally ill in Adelaide. Each week we had the undeserved privilege of entering the wards and engaging with those who were mentally unwell.

I never once feared for my physical well-being, but the content of the conversations ensured I always finished the day exhausted and completely wrung dry. There was nothing left, and I snored long and loud at night time.

Over the years there have always been a smattering of these little ones. At least one in every parish. Sometimes  I found them, but usually the reverse has been true. They have always found me.

The trick with this sort of ministry is that you can’t schedule it into your diary as you can a Parish Council meeting or the Coles Sausage sizzle. So always at the most unexpected and inconvenient moment. Guess what?… And always when my mind and emotions have been in a safe, predictable, secure three dimensional world and everything is ticking over as it should, the phone went and I found myself thrust into a 7.6 dimensional world where our solid rule book of surety and certainty is not put quietly away in its correct place on the living room bookshelf, rather it is ripped up into shreds, burnt irretrievably to ashes and the remains are convincingly buried and its place is known no more.

Part of these tortured souls’ world is that they often see spiritual things that are hidden from the rest of us, plebs. What they are encountering does seem delusional and impossible for us, but for them it can be a terrifying or blissful reality.

I don’t know if these are exclusively the ‘little ones’ referred to in today’s gospel, but I think they are part of the liquorice all sorts mix that the Master ministered to.

The gospel is quite clear that I should not despise one of these little ones no matter what hour of the night I’m contacted, no matter what is asked of me, no matter what I am confronted with. But irritated I have been and always,… always in these situations, I have felt so hideously and helpless out of my depth. I am so lost. This is complex medical science, and it's best handled by those who are academically trained and socially interactive. In other words, they have the finely honed interpersonal skills to assess, diagnose and treat. I reckon it’s a vocation. You don’t do this sort of work for kicks.

The other half of the quote from the Master's lips is as follows.

For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.

Mmmm… so these little ones have their own angels in heaven who not only keep watch over them but also see the face of the Father in heaven.

And we learn again that angels on this side of the grave and the other are for real. Whether they have white fluffy wings, halos above their head and play a pretty mean harp was a matter for late-night conjecture at the end of a serious theological student party. Odd that I can’t quite seem to remember what we decided the dress code of angels was or is, but the strawberry milkshakes were voluminous, and the pizzas were delicious and tasty.

What to draw out of these experiences? That perhaps in my helpless drowning in the experience of this often unseen and bizarre ministry, I am very open to the possibility that I might just happen to be one of the little ones.  And if I am, then I have guardian angels who not only see me but gaze upon the face of my father in heaven.

Something else to think about. Having arrived safely home and everything snaps back to the safe, predictable, secure, three-dimensional world and everything is ticking over as it should, I have muttered to myself

‘What was that all about?’ A rhetorical question with no answer. Perhaps in this and so much more that is mysterious and dumbfounding, maybe in those moments when I am not fully reliant on myself, and I am cast adrift on the ether of God’s dimension, perhaps it is then that the angels are closest and most real.

When I am at the altar, I do not remember these folk as often as I could; but I should, because the liturgy makes it quite obvious. ‘Therefore with angels and archangels’ and we could add ‘and with little ones’

 

Their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.
And one of these days…
I shall see things as they really are;
I will see Him as he truly is and see myself as I am. Forever and ever, amen

 

Be

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Be.

Daily, I read a chunk of Psalms. Sometimes they are severely grumpy.

‘Appoint someone evil to oppose my enemy;
let an accuser stand at his right hand.’

Sometimes they are gleeful

‘Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth"

Other times there is sage advice.

‘Be still my soul.’

Odd that you can read something over and over again and still not properly see it. Just the other day I saw the words ‘Be still’ and I thought…

For far too long and far too often, I am not still.

I am not still; not in my soul where I should be calm and doona like. I am not still; in my scurrying around, like a dorky dad dance. I am not still; in my thoughts which are often more like scrambled eggs than a concise 3-point dot plan.

What is it that stirs up this tempest and why can’t I seem to quiet it down? Other people can manage beautifully, so what’s wrong with me?

I suspect that the starting place for a stiller life is at the deepest place within me. My inner core, my soul, my being, call it what you like. That invisible part that I am drawn to and yet which is also elusive. That which has always been there, seems to do nothing, but every so often will leap out and bewilder me.

If I can calm this beast, stroke it and make it purr, then the rest of me becomes placid and appropriate.

If I just start with that first word, ‘Be’. I don’t have to climb mountains, solve the housing crisis or stop crazy wars. I just have to BE. It should be a simple thing, but it is always the hardest thing, and yet it will always be the most rewarding and essential thing.

Be.

Ambushed

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Ambushed

When I looked up the definition of the word ‘ambushed’ this is what I discovered.

“To confront an individual, group, or vehicle unexpectedly from a concealed or hidden position.”

Today we have the classic and well-known story of Moses and the burning bush. Moses is just quietly minding his father-in-law's sheep and his own business when he is lured in to see the bush that is in flames and yet is not consumed.

Who wouldn’t be curious?

But alas for Moses, it’s just a cunning ambush by the Almighty to offer him a terrible and daunting job. To free his Israelite brothers and sisters from the evil clutches of pesky Pharaoh and lead them to the promised land.

So when I look back to my definition of the word ‘ambushed ’, I can, without any hesitation, say that there is a very real sense in which Moses was ambushed.

“To confront an individual unexpectedly from a concealed or hidden position.”

Initially Moses does not see or know of God’s presence in the burning bush, and so God is hidden or concealed from Him. Moses was not expecting this job offer. In fact, when he was munching on his porridge over breakfast that morning, he was probably just thinking what a nice quiet, uncomplicated day he was going to have. He didn’t plan to be ambushed. No one does; at least not in that Moses sense.

But there are times when we look for a change, a fresh start, a new beginning. We long to be ambushed and for the old shackles of the dreary and drudgery to be shaken and taken from us. In those circumstances, we simply allow ourselves the potential to be ambushed. We are open to the possibilities God has in mind for us. Like Moses, we can come to understand that it is the familiar land where we are ambushed and it is the curious, unexplained event that changes our life forever.

But God is not the only thing that can ambush you. Tricky people and issues can ambush us. You think great aunt Jezebel is a sweetheart, but then one day when she is serving you a refreshing and heady brew with a tasty little morsel, she looks at you with a twinkle in her eye and a barely discernible smile plays around the corners of her mouth. She smiles winningly and asks you that pertinent and incisive question that you cannot squirm away from, and you realise that you have been ambushed.

You can also be ambushed by despair, which can come along in an unexpected tsunami wave and dump you head down in a swirling surf of bewildering sadness. An unexpected tragic death will do it. You didn’t sign up for it, you certainly didn’t want it or expect it, and yet here you are, struggling to know which way is up.

You can also be ambushed by joy.  A chance meeting, a letter, a touch, a kiss. Something that is initially concealed from you one moment and then is all-encompassing the next.  Some of you will be familiar with the show on TV called ‘Long Last Family’ where people are reunited after long searches and many years. For the person who is searched out and found, there is a sense in which they are ambushed by joy. That which is hidden and concealed now confronts them, and it changes them.

But the master of the ambush is the Master himself. Just ask Saul, now known as Paul, about the ambush on the road to Damascus. Ask the disciples who were called and followed. Ask the widow whose only son was raised from the dead, ask the 10 lepers who were cleansed, or those tortured souls who were delivered from their demons.

A couple of final thoughts about this ambushing business.

First, we will all be ambushed by someone and something at some point in our life. It's not a matter of IF, it’s a matter of when.

Secondly, It’s how we respond to our new reality that is important. Am I perhaps like Moses who tries to squirm out of the job with every flimsy excuse I can think of? Do I perceive the hand of God who has shoved me through into this new dimension; and when I am there with everything swirling around me, do I understand that He is in the tempest with me? Do I understand that this is exactly where I am supposed to be and this is absolutely what I am supposed to be doing?

Thirdly, sometimes a jolly good ‘God ambush’ is exactly what we need. A jolly good shake. Ambushed so that all the cards we hold dear, selfishly and close to ourselves, are wrenched from our hands and are mercilessly and irretrievably tossed to the four winds. Then we are left with only the cross to cling to.

Spare a thought and a prayer for those who are ambushed by war, by poverty, by accident, by natural disaster and by sin.

Those who have their self-righteous perspective shattered and asked to embrace a cross instead.  Those like St. Peter who in today’s gospel thought he had it right but he was ambushed by our Lord’s rebuke.

On all who are ambushed by despair … have mercy

On all who are ambushed by sin … have mercy

When we have ambushed others through neglect or indifference  … have mercy

 

On ourselves …. When we are ambushed ... have mercy.

 

Badges of Honour

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Badges of Honour

You know how you look in the mirror and notice a change or two. That somehow you weren’t quite as suave and smooth-skinned as you were 20 years ago. This especially applies to those of us who are in our dotage. The folk who have noticed some grey hairs.

For me it was the jowls that I noticed. There are lines on my cheeks and around my neck that I’m sure weren’t there when I was 22. I jokingly mentioned to someone who knows me better than I know myself that perhaps I could get some work done. Maybe tighten things up a bit.  Make the ugly, flappy bits disappear and help me look a bit younger and more gorgeous than I really am.

Apart from the cost, they kindly and appropriately reminded me that my jowls and lines are actually badges of honour.

These ‘interesting bits’ have been hard won over decades now. They display to all who can stand to look long enough that I have actually been around the block a few times, and while I have stumbled and tripped each time, experience does count for something. It must count for a lot, actually.

Perhaps then I ought not to shy and shirk away from the wounds of The Master. Sure, it was ugly, messy and bloody, but come the time to see his buddies again, these unsightly bits are proof of his ID. Yes, it really is me, chaps and here’s the picture to go with the story.

More than that, the mushed bits and ugly bits on his hands and feet are proof of love and marks of honour. They are the visual outward display of the love that burns on the inside.

Perhaps I’ll save my pennies and wear my jowls with pride after all.

Who You Are

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23/8/26

Who You Are

The usual path for the preacher today is as follows.

In this Q&A session, Peter is open to the Holy Spirit, who reveals who Jesus really is—the Messiah.

It is not flesh and blood that has revealed this to Peter.

For Peter’s insight and faithfulness, he is given not only a new name, but also the responsibility of being the rock of the Church.

The preacher usually goes on to say how fabulous this all is. That a grubby, humble fisherman could be chosen as the rock of the Church and if there is hope for this guy who smells like the mullet gone off in the sun two days ago, well heck, there is hope for each and every one of us here and those who didn’t quite make it today.

Further, here is a clear indication of the Master leaving behind a physical, tangible church for the generations to come. Such is his care for us, for he knows that we are going to need something to keep on reminding us and pointing beyond ourselves and to the divine.

All jolly good.

But peel back those layers, and I detect something else going on here.

Peter sees who Jesus truly is and gives him his rightful title and a job to do.

‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’

Now in return, Jesus gives Peter a new name and a job to do.

You are Peter, the rock of the Church.

One is a response to the other. One mirrors the other. A three-step tango.

  1. The recognition of who the other is.
  2. The imposition of a new name.
  3. Then a vocation to be lived.

The scary but good news is that this divine interchange is just not for St. Peter. It is for you and for me.

When we see the Master for who he is

When we can call him friend, brother, Lord, then we will have nestled into a closer relationship, stepped through into another dimension with him, and we will see what he can do. And not just nifty party tricks like water into wine, or the multiplying of the loaves and fishes, but we will also see what he can do with a cross and a grave.

But here’s the confronting bit.

In return, the Rabbi tells us who we are. He gives us a new name and gives us a vocation to live out, to thrive, to stumble and ultimately to triumph.

This is not always easy, and there will be some days when we will have much preferred to stay in bed, pulled the covers over our heads and waited for the whole cataclysm to go away. It would be simpler and less complicated.

Knowing who we truly are, God’s adored child, is not just a glorious and wonderful thing, but also calls us to do all the things that are mentioned in the first lesson. It’s quite a job description.

“Let your love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good;  love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.  Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.  Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Do not claim to be wiser than you are.”

It’s quite a daunting list, not just in the quantity of things but the quality of selflessness. The bar is set dizzyingly and intimidatingly high. We will accomplish these things only if we understand who we truly are, and perhaps it might help if I tell you about another little boy who began to understand who he was. It happened like this.

The little boy is playing in front of his parents' bedroom mirror when he stops and looks at the image that has stopped and is now looking at him. He ponders who the boy in the mirror is and therefore wonders who he himself is. Who am I? The thought is terrifying, so he goes rushing to his mum who is peeling the spuds at the kitchen sink.

“Mum, mum, who am I?” Without missing a beat, she calmly continues peeling the spuds and replies, ‘You know who you are, darling. She repeats his name and address.

‘No, no,’ he tugs at her apron, insisting that his mother has not understood the question and the urgency of his feeling.

Mother now puts down the potato and the peeler and wipes her hands on her apron. Sits down at the table and hoists him onto her knee.

She looks him straight in the eye and gives him the answer that he is really looking for.

‘You are a child of God, and you are infinitely precious in his sight.

You are a child of God, and you are infinitely precious in his sight.’

 

And next time you look in the mirror… you might remember….

Of Sin

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Of Sin

Sin is something I am eminently qualified to speak about. I went to every lecture in college about sin, and I diligently did my homework.

But the sinning did not magically stop once I put on a clerical collar. Relentlessly over the years, I have become the master sinner. Once I thought I had actually invented new ways to fall from grace. However, it transpires that my ego was overinflated (again) and that all the really clever ways of sinning had already been thought of and honed to an art form.

So here’s some of the things I have learnt about sin.

First, we are tempted to sin not with the mundane, routine, dull and boring things. No, we are tempted by sparkly and attractive-looking things. Things that are luscious to the eye and the senses.

Secondly, you sin before you even realise it’s what you are doing. Rarely do you hear the still small voice whispering ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to have that second chocolate brownie?’ In my vast and wide-reaching experience, I’ve already scoffed it down before I have thought of what numbers might appear on the scales in the morning.

Finally, sin promises you everything but can only deliver disappointment. To push the parable of the second chocolate brownie beyond its logical parameters, the second chocolate brownie promises you a marvellous mouthfeel and taste sensation, even better than the first brownie. You might even believe that it has all the 5 basic food groups: sugar, butter, chocolate, fat and flour. You might be seduced into thinking that such a little chocolate brownie could never do much harm.

Ultimately, sin, no matter which form it presents itself, can only deliver disappointment. It just takes a lifetime to relearn this.

Of Homecoming

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16/8/26

Of Homecoming

At this time of year, there is a curious day in our lectionary called Mary Mother of the Lord.

Our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters call this ‘the Assumption of Our Lady ’, and our Greek Orthodox brothers and sisters call it "The falling asleep of the Blessed Virgin Mary."

It's a day that we know must have happened. The day when the Mother of Our Lord died a physical death. There are at least two possible points of view.

One says that when she drew her last breath, Mother Mary was assumed body and soul into heaven. Much like our Elijah catching a ride on the chariot or Our Lord ascending into heaven.

The other says that she went to heaven after she died, much like you and I plan to one day.

I don’t think that it really matters which theory you subscribe to, but what does matter is that Our Lord and his mother are in heaven, united together in the love that they shared while they were here on earth. Today reinforces our understanding and enhances the teaching that love and life really do continue beyond the grave with those who we miss and cannot see temporarily.

For those who might be squeamish about such popery, a couple of simple little sayings might help.

One from a friend of mine who once quipped but quite seriously said

‘You can’t say I love you Jesus, but your mum's a dead roman catholic’

or

‘No Mary… no Jesus. It’s as simple and as mysterious as that.’

Or

‘If Mother Mary is not in heaven with her son, where exactly is she?’

This day should be a day of great hope and reassurance, for if a lowly teenage peasant lass can make it to heaven, then goodness gracious there is hope for everyone here today and those who are not.

But my feeble attempts to explain something of this beautiful and exquisite day were completely gazumped by somebody who had been saying their prayers a lot longer than I. They saw the reunification of Jesus and his Mother as a kind of ‘homecoming.’ Now how come I didn’t have the insight to see it that way? Perhaps it might be helpful to think of the next funeral we attended as a kind of homecoming.

Sister Carol Wildt in France wrote:

‘I picture the Assumption of Mary as her homecoming! Having completed the mission of her earthly life and longing to be with Jesus and Joseph, Mary is now reunited with her son and her husband. What a homecoming that reunion must have been like!
I also find myself wondering how Mary’s Assumption affected John and the other disciples. Mary was no longer physically present with them; they could not see or hear her, they could not confide in her and seek counsel from her. What a challenge to their faith in Jesus and His promises. With Mary’s body literally gone and no burial site to visit, there was no physical reminder of Mary, only memories and, at times, an unexplainable presence.

In our own day, many of us have met or know of persons who have experienced the loss of a loved one as a result of war, accident, violence, unknown circumstances, etc. and the body is never located. The feast of Mary’s Assumption gives hope and consolation to them as they grieve and mourn the loss of their loved one, believing that the person is not lost or annihilated, but enjoys eternal life with their God who loves unconditionally.

The Assumption symbolises for me the fulfilment of Jesus’ promise, “I go to prepare a place for you.” This scriptural quote speaks to me of transition. In these days of transition, Mary’s Assumption brings hope and a deepening realisation that present life, with its challenges, joys, struggles and dreams, is not the definitive heaven we seek. As the funeral liturgy states: Life is changed, not taken away. If I, like Mary, continue to walk the path of my baptismal and vowed commitment wherever God leads me, I, too, will be raised and reach the place that Jesus has prepared for me.

In several weeks, the global community will observe the 80th anniversary of the beginning of World War II. This period of history saw millions of people die as a result of genocide, concentration camps, slave labour, and the numerous evils of the war. The war showed the world what happens when the human person and human body are not valued and are perceived as unworthy of life. Mother Mary is a powerful statement that the human person and the human body are sacred and will be glorified for all eternity. God’s creation of each person (including you and me) is very good.

While the Assumption signifies God’s crowning of the creation of Mary as she ends her earthly life, it also signifies for me that I hope to follow her when my earthly life has ended. You and I can celebrate the hope of reaching heaven and living with the Trinity just as Mary has. My deepest hope is that following in Mary’s footsteps on the path that God has laid out for me will bring me to my true home and that I, too, will celebrate a homecoming with God, family, friends and all who I hold dear.’

You have looked at it, but you haven’t seen it

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‘You have looked at it, but you haven’t seen it.’

It was just a sentence out of one of my favourite books, ’The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.’ A far-reaching compendium which includes how to make a pan-galactic gargle blaster. A refreshing beverage that theological students claim is a vocation.

My more serious quote comes from a discussion where one of the protagonists is excitedly chatting to another about the beauty of a fjord.

‘You have looked at it, but you haven’t seen it’. And it struck me that this is true of me as well. How many times have I ‘looked’ at a thing of great beauty and not ‘seen’ it? I did not really appreciate it. I did not really enjoy it, engage with it and be moved by it.

Every inch of our local Grampians opens up the possibility of such an experience. So does the ocean, which is only an hour away. You can ‘look’ at these things for sure, but to really ‘see’ them you first have to stop. Completely stop. Breathe, then breathe several times more. With your gentle gaze, caress every detail slowly.  Allow the vision to enrapture you, delight you, enthral you. Do not move away, do not stop seeing it, until it lets you go. Those starry-eyed couples who gaze at each other longingly over candlelit tables are experts at this process.

But you don’t have to go to the Grampians or the ocean. It can be with the roses in the back garden or the face of someone you see frequently.  It happens with me at the altar as the Master looks at me and I look at him. In this exchange, in this living moment, I am not just looking, but I am seeing, as if for the first time.

Mary Sumner

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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?

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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?