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.

28/6/26 St. Peter 

The deal of a lifetime.

The usual path for the preacher on St. Peter’s Day is to point out that Peter wasn’t quite the steadfast and reliable rock that we would expect in a gold-class apostle. The apostle. The rock on which the Church is built. Sometimes St. Peter wasn’t rock-like at all. He was a bit rubbishy, a bit rubbly, a bit flaky. We think of his threefold denial on the night before Jesus died, his unthinking ear surgery on Malchus, the Roman guard in the operating suite of the garden of Gethsemane. And just where the heck was he at the crucifixion? It’s left to a handful of women, Mother Mary, a couple of vagabond crims and St. John to be at the cross when things are at their grimmest.

Then the preacher would go on to point out that this dubious humble fisherman became the rock of the Church, and if there is hope for St. Peter … then hip, hip hooray, there is hope for Fr. David, there is hope for all those who are gathered here today, and there is hope for those who are not with us.  And all this is 'right, proper and true'. God seems to enjoy calling the dodgy, the questionable, the unreliable, the shady, the shaky and the shonky.

But today’s gospel has none of those things. Today  we have a personal and poignant encounter with the Master and St. Peter. It’s just the two of them. In the conversation, there’s a bit of a Q&A, except there’s only one question and one answer repeated three times. Once would have been enough … wouldn’t it?

The question Our Lord asks St. Peter is

‘Do you love me?

Peter’s response is ‘Yes, you know that I love you’. Jesus says, ‘Feed my sheep’

Again

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes, ’ says St. Peter, ‘You know that I love you’

Jesus says, ‘Feed my sheep’

Again!

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.’

Jesus says ‘Feed my sheep’

So what is going on?

Here are a few guesses. To my mind, it’s almost as if the Master is asking … Are you really sure about this, Peter? Really,… Really sure. And sometimes when we are a bit undependable, then perhaps we might need to be asked, or maybe we should frequently ask ourselves… Do I love him?

And having secured the positive response. Then… very well, Peter, this is what it will involve. If you love Him, then that love for Him must find outward expression in your care and love for other people. You can’t say ‘Yes, Lord, you know that I love you’ and then ignore the needs of those around you. The master's lambs and sheep. The lost, the stray, the wounded and the weak. Show me you love me by tending and feeding those who are hungry and in the muck of life. Put on your gumboots, walk into the dirty, watery dam of humanity, and extract the grimy, filthy. Hug the muddy wet ones, put them on your shoulder, take them home, feed them and rejoice with them, for they, like you, were lost and now are found, and there is the party of heaven to enjoy.

This is what I think Our Lord was alluding to in the second part of the job interview with St. Peter.

“When you were younger, you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go,”  Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”

Because of your love for me, Peter, you must relinquish the leadership of yourself. You will be dressed in new clothing and led in ways that you did not expect, and that will be uncomfortable for you. You are no longer your own boss. I write up your diary, set your timetable, govern your activities and tell you what you should be doing, where, when and how. It won’t always be easy, pretty and pleasant, and it will cost you… Well, it will cost you everything.

This is the deal. The deal of a lifetime and it is offered to us not because of our flakiness and shoddiness and our past, but because the Master sees our potential and our future.

And there are times when we feel inadequate, that it’s not working and that only if I were smarter, quicker, more loving, more ‘rock-like’ then the church of God could be sorted out in no time. But it is in those honest moments of self-reflection when we see our inadequacies that we become fully reliant on Him who offers us the deal of our lifetime. The one who turns, looks us in the eye and simply says ‘Follow me’. Do we dare?

Nobody Wants This

‘Nobody Wants This’ is a Netflix series.

The plot revolves around young aspiring Rabbi Noah, who is set for promotion to his first big synagogue. However, he falls passionately in love with Joanne, a vivacious and attractive young woman who is of no faith.

The rub, of course, is that if Noah is to aspire successfully to the position of Chief Rabbi, he must break off his relationship with Joanne or she must convert. Something she just doesn’t seem to be able to do.

Give Joanne her due; she does go along to many of the Jewish celebrations, and she peppers her boyfriend with lots of curly questions, what-ifs, and how-comes. Whilst on the surface they seem to disagree about many of the tenets of the Jewish faith, another deeper chemistry is working its magic. In the debate and wrestling of theology, they are actually growing in their love for each other. They see, appreciate and admire the integrity that the other holds without hurting each other or getting petulant. Would that all our interfaith dialogue be flavoured with this understanding.

Something else is happening to Joanne, and it is through her struggle, questioning and discussion that she discovers that the Jewish folk enjoy tossing around the finer points of the law and teasing open what is important to them. Revealing to each other, a fresh and richer understanding of what has gone before and what it might mean for the future.

Joanne, in her struggle and grapple, eventually realises that she is actually a little more Jewish than she was before she met Noah. Perhaps there is a way forward for this couple after all. The good news is I know that this dynamic also happens in my brothers and sisters in the Christian faith and of no faith as well.

Go slow - think more, talk more, see more.

Just lately I’ve had to change gears as I go round the lake. I used to tear around as fast as I possibly could, and that helped with the bathroom scales and ego.

Now, I have to go around in first gear. Whilst this is a source of great frustration and angst, there are some pluses to this.

First up and perhaps most importantly, it’s easier to have a conversation with someone whilst you are walking along. Trying to chatter about chooks, the footy and the weather whilst you’re jogging and out of breath is well nigh on impossible, and the quality of the dialogue is pretty sketchy.

You have a much better encounter if you are just walking and have the time, breath and presence of mind to have a sparkling and in-depth discussion. The opportunity for a friendship to be found or formed is much greater.

Secondly, you see more. When you are focusing on your technique, stride and breathing to obtain the maximum speed, you don’t get an opportunity to gaze upon the outstanding beauty of our Lake. I never knew that there are real live pelicans who come to visit and paddle. There is also a vast array of bird life that flit, dive, fly and float. And was that a frog I heard in the marshy bit this morning? A whole new dimension has always been on display for me to enjoy. I just must have missed it in my breathless attempts to be athletic.

Finally, I have more time to think, reflect, plot and enjoy. My top gun/gear time was around the 40-minute mark. My low-grade first-gear approach entitles me to a whole hour of refreshment therapy.

Go slow - think more, talk more, see more.

Would It Be OK if I Just Listened?

This reflection comes from a powerful memory of long ago. I wasn’t in the best place at the time, and my friend, knowing this, sought me out and just sat beside me. For about 2 hours, nothing was said. Nope, not one word. Which was peculiar because we were usually unstoppable in our conversation.

There were no magic words, no medicine, no mathematical formula to make it all better. The next morning, the same quandaries were still there to stomp on me … but … I did know that someone cared and that they would do whatever it took, for as long as it took, to roll away the boulders.

And inch by inch, together, over literally years, we chose to put our shoulder to the stone each day, until we gradually made progress and a little chink of light could shine through.

I think about that silent meeting a lot in my parish encounters. Usually, we try to fill up spaces and silence with words, sounds and images. In this ‘age of the screen’, we’ve become quite good at it.

But if you asked me when I think I might have been most fruitful, I reckon it would be the times (rare as they are) when I tried very hard not to say anything at all and just listened. The times when I did not rush in with the quick, glib, easy catchphrase but allowed the silence to massage the ache and bruises.

I wonder what would happen if we spoke less and let the ‘other’ just sit alongside us as we sit alongside them.

Would it be OK … if I didn’t say anything, but just sat with you and listened, just being with you, allowing the silence to speak for both of us?

When God Makes You Laugh.

There are parallels between the story of Sarah in our first lesson today and the story of the Blessed Virgin Mary. They are both about God doing the impossible for His people.

They are also mirror images of each other.

One is about a young girl, the other about an old woman.

One isn’t married and is a virgin; the other has been married for years but is still childless.

One receives a terrifying visit from an angel, who promises a child who will be conceived.  The other is visited by three strangers, one of whom is the Lord himself, who promises a child who will be conceived even though she is past the age of childbearing.

The first responds to this impossible promise with

“But how can this be since I am a virgin?”  The other responds to the promise by laughing to herself about how impossible it is.

We love the story of Our Lady, but the story of Sarah is more like the story of our lives.  Often the promises of God’s salvation seem so out of touch with the reality of our lives that all we can do is laugh.

With the Blessed Virgin Mary, her dreamy life is abruptly interrupted by God.  But when the child is born, she treasures and ponders, as the shepherds return to their flocks, glorifying and praising God. It’s a great story …

Unless …  you are Sarah, who is at the opposite end of life’s journey.  In many ways, her life has been a nightmare, ever since she was uprooted from her home in Ur of the Chaldees and hauled along on that long trip to an unknown land, all because her husband said God had told him to go.

But the thing that hurts most is the disappointment and shame of never having her own child.  Sure, Abraham kept assuring her that God had promised a child, a child from her own body.  But after 90 years..??

Then these three strangers suddenly show up.

Sarah plays a small part in the first scene, scurrying about with mealtime preparations and then retiring into the tent as the menfolk ate their dinner.  She is in the background, hiding behind the tent flap, curious about these strangers, listening to the conversation.  Suddenly, she is thrust into the centre of things with one question.  “Where is your wife, Sarah?” they asked.  You can imagine Sarah’s head jerking up, her pulse quickening. “How do they know my name?”  Abraham grunts his monosyllabic response, “There, in the tent.”  Then comes the bombshell. “The Lord said, ‘I will return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.’”

After all these years of childlessness, she hears God speak the promise.  In one year, Sarah will have a son.  Oh joy!  Oh ecstasy!  Oh Lord!  Oh brother!  Are you kidding me?  Are you serious? “Sarah laughed to herself….”

It’s not hard to imagine why she laughed.

She laughed because of the sheer impossibility of the promise.  If God had promised this 60 years ago, even 30 years ago, maybe…  But now? “Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, ‘After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?’”

Who does this stranger think he is?

Given her past and her present, she was not going to have a baby, no matter who says she will. Even God.  So, she laughed at the promise of God.

Not in God’s face, but to herself. She laughed not out of arrogance, but out of a broken heart, out of a lifelong disappointment that had taught her not to clutch at straws.  Hopelessness, not pride, underlay her inability to believe God’s impossible promise.  It wasn’t that she had no faith, but that her faith was small because of the nightmare of her life.  She was not a rebel, but a realist.  When she was confronted with her laughter, she cowered and lied, but she didn’t keep laughing as a rank unbeliever would.

God understands.  That’s why he responds to her unbelieving laughter not with fire and brimstone, but with truth and grace and with his own little joke.  “Yes, you did laugh.”  That’s the truth.  You can’t fool God.  He knows the truth about our secret laughter in response to the promises of his Word.  He knows how we kid ourselves about the strength of our faith.  He knows about our inability to put the past behind us and believes that he can and will do miracles in our present and future.

I wonder, …could it be that God even laughed with Sarah, that his response was a warm chuckle?  The name of this child was Isaac, meaning “laughter,”. He was God’s wonderful little joke, the punch line of a long story of suspense and confusion.  You shall call his name Isaac, because his mother laughed when God promised his birth.

Because of God’s all-powerful love, those who laugh behind God’s back, even those who laugh in his face, can find God’s blessing.  It’s an unspeakable comfort to know that salvation depends not on our unfaltering faith, but on God’s grace in Christ.  When God makes you laugh, He’s also laughing with you.

In Praise of the God who Prods us.

In today’s readings, we have God giving two people a bit of a prod. Abraham and Matthew are nudged out of their comfort zones and asked to go somewhere else, do something else and BE someone else. To take up new tasks and different work. The Almighty is really good at this nudging business. When this happens, the prodded ones are often given a new name to signify new responsibilities and a fresh start. Think of Saul becoming Paul.

Today, we have Abram, who becomes Abraham. When you read over his call carefully, you begin to understand that this nudging and prodding business often does not seem very fair. In fact, God seems more like a friendly irritant than a gooey comforting God.

There’s Abram quietly minding his own business; he’s now 75 years old, so he’s of pensionable age; he has built up his superannuation with a wise and diverse portfolio of sheep, goats, cattle, oxen and maybe a few doves for good measure. He’s been in the same country all his life, the country of Haran, and it was his dad’s country before him, so he knows how it all ticks. As well as his lovely wife Sarai and his nephew Lot, he has probably built up a goodly number of friends and relationships over the decades.

It all seems pretty tickety-boo, snug and delicious.

Then God, seemingly uninvited, says Go, leave your country, your father's country and depart to a new land that you haven’t seen, but I’ll show it to you and give you the 3-point sales pitch. It’s called Canaan; don’t worry about the stinky Canaanites; you’re going to love it, and we’ll throw in the lands of Bethel and Ai as well.

In all of this, Abraham doesn’t seem to say much. He just calls on the name of the Lord and builds a couple of altars for good measure. I think Sarai and Lot might have had something to say… but we are not told.

Matthew’s call seems equally abrupt and disconcerting. It’s just another quiet day at the office. The Master comes along and says just two words, and Matthew gets up and follows him.

It immediately gets him into trouble when he throws a late-night dinner party at his house. Jesus, some of Matthew's tax-collector work colleagues and some sinners are having a great time when some Pharisees challenge the guest list and the security arrangements. This riff-raff shouldn’t be socialising with your teacher. And if we think about it, the challenge is not against the tax collectors and sinners, the barb is against The Master Himself. What sort of Teacher can he be if this is the sort of company he keeps?

Matthews’ new job, working alongside Jesus, will not be as easy as collecting taxes and getting rich on the profits. Living out mercy as a compassionate way of life is much harder than ticking the boxes on your spiritual wellness list. Mercy is an inner attitude that finds expression in every action and word. It requires the constant perception of what the other needs. It is not necessarily something you do; it is something you are. To be merciful (mercy full).

The good news. It is sinners that the Master calls, and we rejoice that even when we are a bit grubby, you and I are the ones he wants on his team. The soiled and squalid perfectly fit the key selection criteria to be a disciple.

The teacher looks to our future and potential, not back at our troubled and murky history. Like Matthew, we have to get up from our past, stand tall, leave our comfort zone and walk with Him to a new land and a new way of living.

When we are gallant and gutsy enough, two things happen.

First, we are blessed out of our socks. In ways that we sometimes know and often we are unaware of, and frequently we don’t realise until much later. Both Abraham and Matthew were blessed in their own space, in their own time, and we still read about them and are inspired by them today.

But something else really important and exciting happens. When God shoves us into a different place, he says

I will make your name great,
    and you will be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you,
and all peoples on earth
    will be blessed through you.

So we are not only called to be blessed, but to be a source of blessing to others.

Sounds terrifying and unachievable, but it is true.

Part of our vocation when we are nudged from our happy place is to be a source of blessing for others, and I can speak from personal experience that you are just that. You have been and continue to be a bubbly fountain of blessing for me.

And for that undeserved and thrilling blessing, I kneel with you before the throne of grace today and give you and our prodding God magnificent thanks.

In praise of the God who prods us.

The Parable of the Archer’s Target.

Far too often, I have found myself distracted by ‘other’ things that I thought were absolutely vital and essential to the church of God. The sad reality is that they were not. They were petty distractions, and to my shame, I wasted far too much time and energy flirting, dancing and wrestling with them.

I had forgotten about the main thing. And the main thing to remember is that The Main Thing is The Main Thing and THE Main Thing is always… ‘Him’.

I console myself a little because Mother Church has sometimes been distracted, and some of my most admired colleagues have also fallen for this trap.

One of them once came to my aid by telling me a mini parable about an archer’s target. You always aim straight for the centre, the bull's eye. Don’t be distracted by the outer rings, which, while they are necessary, are not the most important thing. The outer circles are not what you are aiming for. What you are aiming for is the bull’s eye. Plump and centre.

Archery, like relationships, takes time, practice and an unceasing willingness to persevere. Focus only on the bull's eye, and the outer rings fall into their proper perspective. They enhance and complete the target. They are not THE target.  Only the bull's eye is.

The finest archers, the most athletic runners, and the most convivial people are those who actually enjoy what they are doing. Whether it’s high jumping, leapfrogging, cooking lamb roasts or engaging in witty conversation, they are admirable because they are simply enjoying themselves. We will have consistently hit the bull's eye when we can breathe, allow the distractions to dissolve, and let the arrow fly. It will find its home when we know we have always been at home.

What’s a LIG?

Last time I went to confession, it was just before Christmass. To my great comfort and joy, I discovered not a squeaky clean plaster saint, but a shabby sinner just like myself. Fancy that! Someone who had faced the same delectable tempting scenarios and made the same mistakes as I had. Who’d a thought?

“Lovely looking things tempt us", he said. And he was right, of course. We are so easily seduced by that which looks glamorous and glitzy. The mundane and challenging things are not nearly as appealing, but they are essential, like discipline and forgiveness.

The other takeaway he offered was a simple three-word phrase. ‘Let it go.’ I’ve often shortened it to LIG so that I can remember it more easily. As you get older, your memory becomes a little more unreliable.

At one level, the wise old priest was telling me to let my sin go. The Almighty has already done away with it. Why was I still hanging onto this muck? Because they are entertaining and addictive, but sadly, like last year’s Christmas tinsel, they have lost their glitz and must always disappoint.

But there is another LIG. There are things in our lives that we should let go of. The things that weigh us down and hold us back. The time when old so and so… and the person on the TV who gave/gives us the screaming heebbies. The energy we waste in looking back to when I could have, I should have.

I suspect LIG explains why some use doves and helium balloons at funerals and weddings. The past is set free and let go. And while we might yearn and squint to see them in the sky, ultimately we must LIG. Only then, with verve and joy, are we free to begin afresh.

Let It Go. Now!?