Icons =  Letters and Photos

As we prepare to move, we have to decide what to keep and what to chuck. Sometimes it’s easy. Like the 30-year-old commentary on the book of Deuteronomy. Seriously, am I ever going to read this stuff again? It was important in my college days, but unless I am having trouble falling asleep, does it have any use in my dotage? So too with that postcard with the writing I can no longer decipher, and the signature is even more squiggly. I don’t even recognise the picture on the front of the postcard, so… yes, into the recycle bin with you, my former friend.

But not all decisions are so straightforward. Some of our stuff is encased and is the tangible symbol of a memory or a person. Letters from folk whom I do remember, together with the happenstance that caused them to write. I hold the piece of paper that they held and wrote on. I sense their joy or loss, and a face and voice come to mind. Maybe even a piece of music.

Some I have had to let go for purely pragmatic reasons, ouchy as this is. I console myself by saying that it was a long time ago. They are now a different person, as I am a different person. Wasn't I fortunate to be in the right place at the right time, and hopefully I was some help to them.

But the photos are the most powerful of all. A visual reminder of an event and/or a person. I choose to keep most of these, for they are like our icons in Church. A window to another place, another dimension, another person, another time.

And if you were moving… what would you keep and what would you chuck?

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

In a sense, every parish is the same, and every parish is different. Each brings its own triumphs, its own challenges, its own joys and its own love.

This last parish was the same because it had people. Living, fallible, lovable, enjoyable human beings with all their chips and flaws, all with their sparkle and glee; and all with their weeping and chortling.

This parish was different in that I learnt to divide myself at least 5 ways and muck about in five different ponds with the fish I was sent to catch. Glenthampson, Cavendish, Hamilton, Dunkeld and Penshurst. Five quite distinct puddles, each with its own quirks and fascination. When I was a school chaplain, I was a tiny minnow in a very big ocean, and there were many ferocious sharks and whales who operated in a lot of different ways.

In parish life, you are often the big fish in the little pond, particularly when you stay a while, and connections with the fish are formed and strengthened and enhanced over time. And then you discover to your glee that actually some of your best fishing happens down aisle number 7 in the chips and chocolate section of the supermarket where you learn that there is a pastoral need about Fish Great Aunt Flo who you actually thought was doing rather well.

So at one level people were and are fish. I will make you fishers of men. Some, many in fact, were already swimming with me and often they swam far in front, skilled and magnificent in their spirituality. Others were strugglers and battlers like me. Some fish flittered tantalisingly around the edges; elusive,  desirable and taunting in their nearness. It took me far too long to realise that they were probably a lot closer to the things of God than I thought and that they could teach me a thing or 6 about how to be caught and enjoy yourself in the struggle.

At a different level, there are other fish. These were the conversations, some seemingly inane but always engaging. Something unseen and unnoticed was happening while we were chattering about chooks, footy teams, lambing and the weather. Who was sick, who wasn’t and who was moving where and when and why.

Little wisps of conversations that flickered and shone in the light of the waters of parish life. There were the giggles, and there were the tears, again so plentiful, schools of them, like fish that clustered around each other and there were always more there than what you realised. Raucous, uninhibited laughter. Annoying tears that rushed unwanted and uninvited to the surface. Lovely fish, some easily distinguishable, some hidden many more completely unseen which is as it should be.

These all created the memories I call fish. I have a bountiful catch that I will always treasure and rejoice in, and my hope is that you do too.

So for the last 7 Years I have dived cheerfully into the big ponds and little ponds of the parish. I have discovered lots of fish, but far more found me than I ever realised.

I have mucked around in the waters of Glenthompson, Cavendish, Hamilton, Dunkeld and Penshurst. I have also mucked around in the washing-up water of the kitchen sink, washing dishes for you and with you. Splashing around in the chattering and the soap suds. Whacko. What fun and we were so blessed, are so blessed and will be so blessed. So many fish on so many levels.

The last word should never go to the priest because it is never really about them. Sure, some clergy would like to think it is and are jolly good at kidding themselves, and some laity think that it is about the vicar. But it isn’t really. It never was. It never will be.

In the gospel this morning, the Risen Master has had a wonderful BBQ breakfast with the disciples he loves. So many fish. 153 of them, to be exact.  Right at the end, there is a very poignant, personal interchange between Peter and Jesus…  and then that’s it.

I’ve often wondered what happened after. Did he simply walk off and leave the others and Fr. David to do the dishes? I think not. I’ve always imagined the Master to be a man of manners, so at the very least I think he would have gone back with Peter to the others to say adieu. What words would he choose in this little, temporary goodbye to say to  those who he had served and loved.

‘I’ll see you later.

I’ll see you there?’  Mmm... better…

Yes probably

Or maybe… given the delightful and fun time they had enjoyed together over the years, He would simply look them tenderly in the eye and say.

So long and thanks for all the fish.

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.”

Meet Your Next Parish Priest.

Some time between the time of Fr. Donald announcing that he was leaving and the interview with your nominators, a discussion would have taken place. It probably finished with the Bishop saying

“Of course you can ask for God to come. I’ll try my best, but no promises”

Well, look what happened. The bishop failed you badly; you did not get God and instead … well.. you know what you got.

Today it is still bad news, and so I tell it as it is. Straightforward, no cattle droppings.

First, my successor will not be God. I’m terribly sorry about this. Some of you will even be a bit surprised, let down and disappointed. But no, God is not going to come and live in the rectory and drive the parish car.

We did in fact try to court and seduce him into accepting this role. His favourite table was set at Chez Jeanine, the best stilton cheese freshly imported and a very fine single malt whisky was purchased at vast expense.

Somewhere between the Filet mignon and the cognac-soaked berries with whipped cream and chocolate brownies, we tried to suavely persuade God that it was his will to come, but He graciously declined.

We got the same response from the Archangels Michael, Gabrielle and Raphael. All said that they were far too busy. Michael was still waging war with the dragon, Raphael tending the sick, and Gabrielle finding and announcing to unsuspecting teenage lasses in backwater towns that… well, you know how it goes.

So no dice with getting an Archangel.

I’m terribly sorry to say… and this will be harsh, but it is the truth and clergy must never lie … sigh… the truth is you are going to get another Human being. I know it’s not ideal and will irk you, but a human being is all we have. God was quite adamant that a human being is exactly what you need.

So a real live flesh-and-blood human being it is. A sinner is what you are getting. Disgraceful and distressing, I know, but there you have it.

But it gets worse.

As a Human being and a sinner, they will have flaws and foibles. They will sin in dazzling style… repeatedly. They will let you down, make mistakes and will in short disappoint you… frequently.

As a Human being, they will have unfortunate, unsociable habits far too grotesque and heinous to be named here in these holy surrounds.

But it gets even worse than that.

They will come with a history. Some of it might be a bit shiny, but most of it will be hidden from you, particularly the murky, shonky bits. For example, there was that rather unfortunate incident with a giraffe that can never be mentioned and somebody was sure that they counted not one, but two empty wine bottles in their recycle bin. It took some doing to open the lid and look all the way down with a torch at 3:00am, but the source of this fable was reported on a fashionable social media platform, so it must be true.

It is likely, but not certain, that your next priest will come with a family of some description, so you will never have your vicar's full and undivided attention and energy. There will be times when they will have to say a polite ‘No, thank you. I’m unavailable for personal reasons’

But it gets even worse! If they do come with family, you will have to spend an inappropriate amount of time and energy working out how to care for not only the Vicar, but also their family as well. Do they practice a faith? Does it matter whether they are the same gender as your priest? If they happen to have a faith, are they a faithful pew sitter, ordained, do they want to run the Mothers Union, The Guild and every second morning tea, or do they practise a completely different faith which has nothing to do with parish life at all?

And will it matter what gender they are, if their gender is identifiable or if, in fact, it is anyone's business? And what if they have children? Six snotty-nosed, swearing, peeing, burping, pooing, grubby little urchins who loudly sprout schoolyard humour and whose favourite church practice is viciously carving their names into the choir stalls.

But… there are some teeny weeny bits of sugar, and after all that wild speculation, this is the serious truth. Your next priest will not be David Oulton. They will not have his many weaknesses and defects. This should be a refreshing and enlivening thing for you and the parish. A huge relief.

The next priest will come with their own God-given gifts. There are some things that they will be smashingly good at, and it will be your solemn responsibility to work out what those gifts are and to encourage them. To affirm, congratulate and rejoice in them.

The other bit of sugar is something you know well. No priest stays forever. One day they will leave.  They either die, resign, retire, go insane or go to jail. Or they can do a combo deal. Resigning and then going to jail is the most popular of the combo deals.

Upon hearing all this bad news, perhaps a little prayer might be of some help with your distress

To live in the midst of the world with no desire for its pleasures

To be a member of every family yet belonging to one.

To share all sufferings to penetrate all secrets to heal all wounds.

To go daily from you to God to offer him your homage and petitions. To return from God to you to assure you of his pardon and his hope. To have a heart of steel for chastity and a heart of fire for charity. To teach and instruct, to pardon and console, to bless and be blessed forever.

A long time ago, I used to sing in a Choral Society. It was a very eclectic group of people of varying talents who were there to make a cheerful noise. I also learnt what the dots and squiggles on the page were all about. We would practice zealously for several months and then put on a concert. Nobody got grumpy if you hit the odd bung note or even several bung notes. Each was there to support their colleagues and to work together for a common purpose. I should also point out that this Choral Society was not connected to my parish in any way. It was a purely secular group, although many of us did practice some kind of faith.

When it came time to leave that parish and move to another, there were lots of things that I walked away from, but I especially missed the Choral Society because they were ‘my tribe’.

That is, they were a collection of people, a community where I knew I belonged. I had a specific task (usually to make some bodgy tenor type noises) and everyone there supported and encouraged me in my endeavours.

This leaving of ‘the tribe’ happens all the time. It will be felt sharply by those who are finishing primary school or secondary school in the coming weeks. It will happen to those who simply move from one community to another. It is excruciating for those who are transitioning into care. It’s not easy, but it is often necessary. It is harder still for those who are shy and do not make connections easily.

The good news is that we are all called to be welcomers to those who come to our ‘tribe’. We were all new once, and everyone belongs to a tribe somewhere.

November 1st: All Souls

A short reflection that I ‘borrowed’.

Human beings have always known the mystery of death and the pain of grief. Every society has developed ways of marking the end of a life, remembering the dead, and laying the body to rest.

A funeral gives us space to acknowledge our loss, to give thanks for the life of the person who has died, to express our grief, to make our farewell, and to begin the long work of living with absence. Those who mourn need time, care, support, and consolation; our presence here today and at a funeral is part of that care.

Christians believe that every life is precious to God, the source and giver of life. We believe that Jesus Christ entered fully into human suffering and death, laid down his life for us, and was raised to new life. Because Christ has conquered death, Christians face grief with hope: not by denying sorrow, but by trusting that death does not have the final word.

A Christian funeral therefore holds together grief and thanksgiving, remembrance and farewell, mortality and hope. It proclaims Jesus Christ, whose resurrection is the promise of life beyond death.

At a funeral and here on All Souls' Day we gather in the presence of God and remember the people whom we miss the most. We listen to the word of God and proclaim the death and resurrection of Christ. We give thanks for the life that has ended on this side of the grave, pray for those who mourn, including ourselves, commend the departed to God’s mercy, and continue our own journey in faith and hope.

25/10/26

Moses Mountain Misery Moment

I want to begin by pointing out the bitter and unreasonable injustice of God in the first lesson.

Remember that Moses has reluctantly but obediently done everything God has asked of Him. He didn’t want the job of freeing the Israelites from the bully boy Pharaoh. Moses calmly offered every excuse he could think of not to accept the job.

But accept it he does and it’s not an easy gig for him. From the get-go, Pharaoh plays very rough. And at every passing plague, Pharaoh says one thing, then changes his mind and does the opposite.

Until we get to the plague of the firstborn; only then, when Pharaoh is left to mourn the death of his firstborn child, does he let the people go.

And you would have thought that would be the end of it. But No. Moses’ Misery is just beginning. In the wilderness, the people have a long litany of complaints. There’s no water, there’s no meat, and Moses is AWOL, talking to God on Mt. Horeb. A gross dereliction of duty. There’s no food and the serpents are ferocious and lethal.

‘If only we had stayed where we were’ is the hewn cry. ‘Why did you bring us out into the wilderness to die?’ They moan?

Finally, finally…after 40 long, grizzly years, they get to within spitting distance of the promised land, and you would have thought that the Almighty would let Moses have the luscious moment of satisfaction and lead his people triumphant into the promised land.

But no, almost as a tease, God takes Moses up a high mountain and shows Him all the land that he had promised. Then he says to Moses

“This is the land I promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob when I said, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it.”

And Moses the servant of the Lord died there in Moab, as the Lord had said.

How unreasonable, how unjustified, how undeserved, how brutal, how harsh, how callous and how severe.

What sort of God is it that asks such excruciatingly difficult things of Moses, only to snatch away the final trophy right at the end of his life?

There is a sense in which I relate to this Moses Mountain Misery Moment, and perhaps you do to. At every funeral we send our loved ones across to the other side with a loving shove, our prayer and gratitude, off to the promised land that we sort of glimpse, but mostly don’t, and we are left on this side bereft and still waiting and missing them with that all-encompassing and unbearable ache. They are there on home base and we… ??

But there is another side to this Moses Mountain misery moment. We’re not actually told what Moses thinks about this sneak preview, this little trailer as shown by God on the divine YouTube channel.

What if… Moses was actually deeply grateful for this little peek. Maybe at 120 years old this was a marvellous and undeserved glimpse into a place that he had never anticipated or dreamed of.

And there is a humbling lesson here that we don’t actually have to achieve absolutely everything on this side of the grave. We don’t have to put the world to rights and find a cure for cancer and stop the war in the Middle East or even solve the housing crisis or sort out the church finances, or find a new priest for Christchurch Hamilton or a new bishop for our Diocese.

In our little lifetime, we are just called to be faithful and to give it our best shot for as long as we can, the best way we can.

We are not the Messiah, we are not the saviour of the universe, we are not Superman or Wonder Woman; we simply leave things for the next generation in the best possible shape. This is our vocation and responsibility. Anything more is self-aggrandisement and misplaced entitlement. All this should come as both a challenge for us, but also, I hope, as a blessed relief.

Two little bits of sugar to finish.

First lump of sugar

The text reads almost as if God himself buries Moses. Listen carefully

“Moses the servant of the Lord died there in Moab, as the Lord had said. He buried him in Moab.”

There’s no break in the text, and it’s flavoured with tenderness.

Second lump of sugar.

Remember when the Master takes Peter, James and John up another mountain,  he is transfigured in their presence, and there appears…. Moses… and Elijah.

Ah, so Moses’ life does not end on top of Mount Nebo after all: Here he is popping up in the story of the transfiguration.

So whatever things we may feel we have left undone, whatever dreams we have had to relinquish, no matter what is left unaccomplished, or future glimpses of cities just beyond our reach, all this we place into his pierced, loving hands and look forward to our mountain misery moment, becoming our triumphant mountain of transfiguration moment.

Some time ago, I discovered that our church has a time capsule.

It occurred to me that this device would be an ideal way to offer some thoughts, reflections and maybe even some wisdom to those who come after us. But what do you say to a people yet to be born?

I’m writing this in 2026 in my 67th year, and I wanted to offer these words to you. You may find them interesting and maybe even helpful.

I had hoped in my lifetime to see the quietening of the guns of war, but my dreams were naive and idealistic. With the immediacy with which we can receive images and words from anywhere in the world, I am more acutely aware than ever of our disharmony and animosity.

We were seduced by the internet in this age of the screen. We were promised connectivity with one another. We were told that it would save us time and make our lives simpler. Instead, we used the cold, hard screen to spread our more spurious thoughts to millions in a matter of seconds.

We work harder now with less leisure time because we are connected to our work, not each other. We expected more of ourselves just as our overseers expected more of us. Work smarter / not harder was a common catchphrase. We lost our identity behind the anonymity of the screen.

But there were silent little ones who believed that all was not lost. There were saints who chose to put others first in visible, tangible, touchable ways, and their efforts were all the brighter and more powerful because of the plastic environment in which we lived.

Go gently, then, friend. Make every unretrievable moment count for where we have failed and gone wrong, awry; you have the opportunity to get it right in ways that we never could.

Of St. Luke

This year St. Luke’s Day falls on a Sunday, so it’s an ideal opportunity to have a bit of refresher about St. Luke and about his gospel.

Here’s what we know about the man. He was a young doctor, very likely in Antioch. St. Paul calls him a “beloved physician” (Col 4:14). At some point, however, it appears to have occurred at Troas, he began to accompany St. Paul. So he gave up his medical career in order to become a “co-worker” of St. Paul. He loyally stays with St. Paul until the bitter end, being the sole coworker in prison with the apostle at the end of his life. There’s no indication at all that he was a leading light during St. Paul’s missionary journeys. He was simply a companion and a helper. But after St. Paul died, he wrote down for a friend — Theophilus, which might have been one person, or many — what he remembered. He had no way of knowing that here in Western Victoria  we would be reading his gospel. He just wanted to share the faith and God did the rest. Then he continued the story with a second book, a sequel, about how the Holy Spirit came down on the apostles and the early Church to continue Jesus’ mission.

Here’s what we know about his writing

St. Luke wanted to write things down so that we would be certain about the things of the faith. Through the lens of St. Luke’s gospel we see very clearly that the Master is above all mercy full. We see this by remembering some of the things that are unique to Luke Gospel. Some of the details about John the Baptist’s conception and birth. The scenes of the Annunciation, Visitation, Presentation of Jesus in the Temple and the Finding of Jesus in the Temple. The beautiful scene of the raising of the only son of the widow of Nain. And without St. Luke we wouldn’t have entered Bethany with Jesus to hear Jesus’ words to Martha and Mary about choosing the better part and the one thing necessary. We wouldn’t have the scene of the healing of the ten lepers, the encounter with Zacchaeus, Jesus’ interrogation by Herod, or two of Jesus’ seven last words. We wouldn’t have the scene of Emmaus, which in some sense, summarises all that Jesus continues to want us to do. To walk with Him, to converse with Him, to break bread with him and then to go and tell others.

St. Luke’s gospel is all about how Christ has come as the Divine Physician to share his healing mercy with us and this is very good news. In Zechariah’s Benedictus the point is how the “Lord … has visited and brought redemption to his people,” he has come “to show mercy to our fathers” and John would “go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give his people knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God by which the daybreak from on high will visit us to shine on those who sit in darkness and death’s shadow, to guide our feet into the path of peace.” And in Mary’s Magnificat, Mary exclaims that God’s “mercy is from age to age to those who fear him” and that he has “helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy, according to his promise to our fathers.” We see his mercy in the Parables of the Good Samaritan, the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin and the Lost Son, all unique to Luke. We see the importance of mercy in the blithe omissions of the Rich Man with Lazarus at his gates. We see Jesus’ will to forgive seen in the scenes with the grateful leper, with Zacchaeus, and with the Good Thief. We hear it in his crying out from Calvary, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

On this day, we give thanks to God for St. Luke who reminds us that we love a merciful God. It’s also a bit of a nudge for us to become St. Luke’s in our own place and time. No matter who we are, God wants us to accompany him and his apostles. He wants us first to become their coworkers. He wants us to use whatever skills we have to pass on the faith. If we’re truly friends of God, then we can’t help but speak of him to the Theophiluses of our own day. As one Christian leader put it. “What kind of love would not feel the need to speak of the beloved, to point him out, to make him known? We know well that with Jesus, life becomes richer and that with him it is easier to find meaning in everything. This is why we evangelise.”

On this feast of St. Luke, it’s important for us, as friends of Jesus, to seek to make him known and loved, to speak of his splendour, of his love, of his grace, and the difference it makes in our life

There’s Something Else Here.

I reckon everyone can remember where they were when they heard the news that Queen Elizabeth the 2nd had died. Jeanine and I had just touched down at Tullamarine Airport after flying back from Singapore. There was a collective gasp and a solemn silence. It was unrehearsed, quite spontaneous and utterly authentic.

It was not only an acknowledgement of the person Elizabeth who had died, but also a respect for the position she held, to say nothing of the affection with which she was held.

It reminded me of that famous scene in the series ‘The Crown’ when, after King George has died, Queen Mary visits the new young queen. She performs a slow, creaking bow to signify that Elizabeth is no longer just ‘Lilibet’ or a family member; she is now the Queen of England. There is something else going on here.

And if you watch folk lined up to honour an important person, they will acknowledge in some form or another that they are in the presence of something more than just a human being. There is something else going on here.

Just as a bride and groom become something else and someone else after being married, so too the altar, the bread and wine cannot be the same, just as ‘Lilibet’ could never be the same.

You may have noticed that we do this a bit in Church as well. We bow, we sit, we stand. We show our respect, our love, our reverence outwardly and physically, for things that we know are invisible and are all the more potent because we cannot grasp them.

Some of us are a little more ‘creaky’ nowadays, but you’ll still find us outwardly showing, as best we can, that we believe that there is something/someone else going on here.

With Apologies to Lady Whistledown

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Cana is abuzz with gossip after the wedding of Lady Susannah Nelson to Lord Daniel Hivite.

Lady Susannah wore a captivating wedding dress that turned heads and brought a mischievous grin to the face of her soon-to-be husband.

It is rumoured that an entourage of latecomers to the reception saved the family from a grave social embarrassment, for it is said that the wine for the guests had run out. This most appalling embarrassment was overcome by the fervent but discreet interjection of Lady Mary and the obedience of her dutiful son.

Further, we were intrigued to hear whispers that her son ordered the washing-up water to be enhanced by some of Lord Hivite’s show wine. One can only gasp at the impropriety of such an action, to say little of what the Hivite family must have thought.

If that were not disgraceful enough, several of the guests were seen galavanting across the dance floor in a suggestive manner that was most unbecoming of such a society event.

As more of this fine quality wine was consumed by the guests, it would have no doubt added to the gaiety which was said to continue into the small wee hours. There, new relationships were formed and blossomed. On the dance floor, Lady Ruth seemed to attract the attention of Lord Boaz the handsome, who was caught casting more than one flirtatious glance in her direction. I, for one, however, applaud the prankster Son and his mother for their initiative and hope to find out exactly who they are and how they managed to access the family wine cellar.

Cana awaits with bated breath for the next chapter in what this little crowd of ragamuffins might do and how society might, or might not, embrace them. Until then, stay humble, stay safe, stay curious and above all, stay tuned.

Today's little reflection came to me from the internet thingy they have nowadays.Two churches in an unnamed town got to arguing. And it was a very public argument, played out on the large signs in front of their buildings— the kind of sign with movable letters that can be arranged to spell out a sermon title or a thought for the week.

Maybe the Feast of St. Francis was coming up. Maybe it was their way of promoting the annual Blessing of Animals. I don’t know. But right there, plain as day, on the large sign in front of the Holy Rollers, it said:

All dogs go to heaven

Well, before you knew it, the Callithumpian Church used its sign to reply:

Read the Bible. Only humans go to heaven

And . . . they were off and arguing. Next, the Holy Rollers Church’s sign said:

God loves all creation, Dogs included

The Calathumpians, having none of it, replied:

DOGS DON’T HAVE SOULS. THIS IS NOT OPEN FOR DEBATE

Well, maybe the Holy Rollers were just having a good time at the Calathumpians ’ expense. The next week their sign said:

Callithumpian DOGS GO TO HEAVEN. Holy Roller DOGS CAN TALK TO THEIR PASTOR

But the Calathumpians were not amused. Their next sign read:  CONVERTING TO the Holy Roller Faith DOES NOT MAGICALLY GRANT YOUR DOG A SOUL

At which point the Holy Roller Church sign advertised:

FREE DOG SOULS WITH CONVERSION

Well, this of course gave the Calathumpians fits. The next week, their sign all but huffed:

DOGS ARE ANIMALS. THERE AREN’T ANY ROCKS IN HEAVEN EITHER

And that, apparently, is when the Holy Rollers and the Calathumpians stopped talking to each other.
Now I don’t know where in the Bible these (probably fictional) Holy Rollers thought it says that only humans go to heaven. And it is true, the Bible doesn’t say much about dogs – or about any animal going to heaven. In fact, scripture doesn’t say anything at all! But the Bible does say a lot about love. And so, given what we know about the unconditional love our animal companions freely offer to us, then perhaps the Bible does talk about dogs a lot more than we realise.

Remember the bit where it says God created the “waters teeming with living creatures, and birds to fly across the vault of the sky”. Creation stories are full of creatures: cattle and creeping things; every living creature that moves or flies or swims, God created them. And Scripture tells us: God saw that they were good, and blessed them.

Scriptures also give us some sense of where these creatures fit into God’s scheme of things and therefore call us to be good stewards of it all. God makes the covenant with Noah and his family saying, “I now establish my covenant with you and with your descendants after you and with every living creature that was with you—the birds, the livestock and all the wild animals, all those that came out of the ark with you—every living creature on earth.” (Genesis 9:9-10)

All too often, however, we fail to see the divine in other creatures and living things. Living our specialised, sophisticated, materialistic, technological and hyper-functional lives, we forget that our lives are made richer by the creatures that surround us.

Who can spot the tiny hummingbird flitting around the garden and not wonder about the miracle of flight? Who can see a flock of geese tearing a v across the pale winter sky and not feel a shiver of alone-ness? Indeed, our very survival is dependent on the lowly and ordinary creatures beneath our feet.

A study concluded that in dry climates, ants and termites increased wheat crop yields by a whopping 36 per cent.
Ants have also been essential to the production of coffee and chocolate. Okay, so we certainly don’t need coffee or chocolate to survive, but there are people who believe they do…
Dogs never lie about love. They are the model of pure joy, pure disappointment and pure devotion. Who do we rely upon to lead our blind, herd out flocks and guard our house?

We often laugh at the exuberant greeting our dogs give us after a brief absence. We tend to explain it by assuming a kind of dumbness on the part of our pet: The dog thought I was gone forever. Dogs, we say, have no sense of time. Yet a lover is entranced to see the beloved again after even a brief absence–and dogs are all about love. And who, other than God, loves us unconditionally?

So let us open our hearts to all God’s creatures, that we might all be more faithful to our real work, that of loving God and letting God love us.

Let me close with a thought-provoking reflection from a  vet’s office:

If you can start your day without caffeine,
If you can be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can understand when loved ones are too busy to give you time,
If you can overlook it when people take things out on you
If you can face the world without lies and deceit,
If you can eat the same food, day after day, and be grateful for it,
If you can do ALL these things, then you are probably the FAMILY DOG.