January 19th 2025

Three cheers for Felicity and Fr. Scott.

Clergy aren’t supposed to have favourite readings from the bible … are they?

So perhaps it would be a better turn of phrase if I told you that today’s gospel resonates more powerfully with me than say… the beheading of John the Baptist or Judas hanging himself. For one thing, the water into wine story reminds me of the four glorious years I spent at Seppelts Great Western.

But for today I simply offer some glints of gold that I glimpse and hope that you might find them helpful too

The gospel begins with that telling phrase “On the third day” which is a cue for the readers and listeners of this passage that something momentous is about to be told which will usher in a radical, fresh exciting chapter of new life. New life is about to burst uncontrollably forth and change our very existence.

Remember John writes later than the other gospel writers so by the time his audience hears the phrase “on the third day”, they are already familiar with the potency of these words.

The old wine runs out. The old way of existence is over, kaput and something fresh and exhilarating is about to happen.

Interestingly it is Mother Mary’s quiet insistence that helps to inaugurate this next chapter. It’s almost as if Jesus has to be nudged and cajoled into action. Mother Mary is a powerful advocate for all Christians and just as occasionally I’ll ask my own earthly Mum for help from her place on the other side of the grave, so too I have no qualms about asking Jesus' Mum to pray for me just as I ask you to pray for me and I am well aware of your prayerful support and will always be grateful for it.

Her words to us are a powerful mantra - one that I come back to time after time after time.

“Do whatever he tells you”…. “Do whatever he tells you”….

Seems obvious and straightforward forward doesn’t it? But it isn’t. The Master will ask complex and tricky things of us. Sometimes we will be led to places and people and situations ….

“Do whatever he tells you”….

Notice please that it is the underlings, the wait staff, the dishwashers, and the working class that get to do the most important work.

At the wedding, they were invisible to the guests but their role is crucial, vital and life-changing for everyone including themselves.

I mean, once you had done and witnessed something like that, you would have to be changed.

And what do you think would be the first thing they would do when they finally got home from the wedding? They’re going to tell their spouses and anyone who will stand still long enough, what happened.

There are many people whose lives were changed that day at Cana. The bride and groom, the waiters and who knows, after a couple of glasses of the really good wine and a bit of Dorky Dave Dad dancing, maybe some other relationships were kindled.. enhanced.

Our Lord’s life was changed too. He has now been outed - ousted and could not go back to being a simple itinerant wandering rabbi with a few disreputable friends.

He was outed largely by His Mum. If she hadn’t intervened and pleaded the case for the happy couple, then maybe he could have remained in blissful obscurity. Yeah, Thanks a lot, Mum.

And I wonder if being a Mum, with all the perception and foresight that Mum’s have… I wonder if she knew that her words would change the relationship she had with her son, and did she regret this shift?

Relationships are always ebbing and flowing, warping and bending, treading on new ground, sometimes gingerly and with fear, sometimes with exuberance and enthusiasm and never going back to how things were.

I’ve called this Homily ‘Three cheers for Felicity and Fr. Scott’. Bear with me as with the flimsiest of connections to today’s gospel reading I connect the dots and try to finish this interminable homily.

In just a few swiftly fleeting weeks, Fr. Scott will be consecrated as our assistant Bishop. Two Sundays a month he will be out in the parishes doing … well Assistant Bishop-type things. Behind and with Him is his wife Felicity.

They will not be able to go back to how things were last year. Their relationship with Bishop Gary, The parish of Warrnambool, the lay people and the clergy of the Diocese will irreversibly be changed. They will be outed and ousted into a completely new dimension and the old doors will shut firmly behind them.

Like the waiters in the gospel, their work will be hidden from us. Most of it unrewarding and all of it unheralded. Every child abuse case and there are lots of them, every recalcitrant priest and there are far too many of us, every tedious meeting, every tricky situation, every grumpy letter will be dealt with discreetly and pastorally, consuming stonkering amounts of brain power, spiritual and psychological energy.

We will see none of this but I am confident with Felicity and Fr. Scotts experience, verve and wisdom, the good wine will come and we will be the happier and the more joyous for their labours. We might even go back for more  good wine and do the dorky dad Dave dance. There is a sense in which the good wine has been kept until now and we will all be the more blessed in this year of 2025 and beyond.

Today I shamelessly pinch some words from the guru Nick Cave.

"You are right to be worried about your growing feelings of cynicism and you need to take action to protect yourself and those around you, especially your child. Cynicism is not a neutral position - and although it asks almost nothing of us, it is highly infectious and unbelievably destructive. In my view, it is the most common and easy of evils. I know this because much of my early life was spent holding the world and the people in it in contempt. It was a position both seductive and indulgent. The truth is, I was young and had no idea what was coming down the line. I lacked the knowledge, the foresight, the self-awareness. I just didn't know. It took a devastation to teach me the preciousness of life and the essential goodness of people. It took a devastation to reveal the precariousness of the world, of its very soul, to understand that it was crying out for help. It took a devastation to understand the idea of mortal value, and it took a devastation to find hope. Unlike cynicism, hopefulness is hard-earned, makes demands upon us, and can often feel like the most indefensible and lonely place on Earth. Hopefulness is not a neutral position either. It is adversarial. It is the warrior emotion that can lay waste to cynicism. Each redemptive or loving act, as small as you like, Valerio, such as reading to your little boy, or showing him a thing you love, or singing him a song, or putting on his shoes, keeps the devil down in the hole. It says the world and its inhabitants have value and are worth defending. It says the world is worth believing in. In time, we come to find that it is so." ~Nick Cave

Baptism of Our Lord 12/1/25

In praise of our excitable God

In my mind’s eye I can very easily imagine the scene of today’s gospel. For one thing, those who have been to the river Jordan tell me that it would not pass our stringent O. H. & S standards. The river Jordan is not chlorinated and sparkling clean and you can’t see the bottom. So I envisage something like the muddy farm dam of my childhood, complete with Redfin, mud and yabbies. I love the image of a wild and wooly John the Baptist, complete with an embarrassingly large unkept beard, whilst waving a hefty pastoral staff passionately in the air. On the banks of the River Jordan he is proudly sporting the latest camel’s hair coat and matching leather belt. There he is, loudly hollering and encouraging the folk to get their stuff together. To repent and believe the good news, that sin can be forgiven, that they can be baptised by the Holy Spirit and that the Messiah is coming. He seems undaunted or oblivious to the fact that he is making an enemy of powerful Herod.

In this scene Luke even tells us about the sense of expectancy and wonder that was amongst the people.

“The people were waiting expectantly and were all wondering in their hearts if John might possibly be the Messiah.”

When I conjure up the vision I sense the peoples anticipation and hope. And if I had been there … would I have been caught up in their emotion? I’d like to hope so. But what about us today? Do we still have that flutter of nervous exuberance? And if not, where, when and how, did we lose that sense of anticipation.  It might help to recapture some of this sense of awe, if we remember who it is that is with us today. The seen and the visible, the unseen and the invisible. And it might help if we remember that it isn’t always supposed to be roses and champagne and twinkles in our eyes and butterflies in our tummy and unstoppable grins. We can’t always go on exclaiming ‘Yippee’ and ‘Hoorah’, at the top of our voices. Surely that sort of passionate hoopla and merriment is unsustainable.

Perhaps then, we are more like the mature couple who know and rejoice quietly in the fact that the heady days of their youth have mellowed and matured into something far more deeper and far more lovelier.

Our relationship with the living God has developed through days and nights of being in the murky waters where nothing much seemed to happen and yet everything has happened.

Perhaps in 2025, when we have a few more wrinkles and our hair might be a more silver fox look, we might celebrate the fact that our love of God is no longer a puppy dog rush to get to the altar in glee and gusto, but rather it has become a graceful, gentle striding, maybe even a hobble, towards an old friend who we have come to rely upon, rest in and appreciate more and more, knowing that we have always been his child and we always will be.

So what would happen if instead of feeling guilty about not hurtling to the altar we simply tottered quietly, and enjoyed each and every step. Wouldn't that heighten the desire and the joy of knowing that He is just as excited to be with us as we are to be with Him?

Mmm… Hang on. Now there’s an interesting thought. What if we worship a God who not only loves us, but actually gets excited about us.

I reason thus. That if Jesus walked the dusty streets of Palestine, was dunked in the mawkish waters of the river Jordan, bled real blood on the cross, wept real salty tears at Lazarus’ grave, drank real wine, ate real fish and bread… is it not highly probable that He also got excited and gets excited still. If we are made in the image of God then there must be times when he is not only sad and grumpy, but also delighted and excited and thrilled. If he shares every aspect of our humanity except sin, that must mean that God gets excited. Our God is in fact, not aloof, distant and cool, but a passionate and excitable God. You all probably had this worked out a long time ago, but I’ve only just woken up to this thrilling thought.

And what would walking towards an excitable God mean for us personally when we come to the altar today?

And what would this excitable, exciting, and excited God say to us? Probably the same thing that he said to Jesus his son when he was in the skanky waters of the river Jordan. If you listen carefully you might just hear him say “You are my child whom I love. With you I am well pleased.”

The difference between doing and being.

Someone once asked me if I had ever done anything else apart from being a priest. The answer is ‘Yes’. I had a very wise bishop who strongly encouraged me to go and get a regular 9 to 5 job so that I might have some sense as to how the secular world ticks and turns.

At 17 years of age, I successfully applied for a job as a tour guide in a winery. It was a marvellous opportunity to learn about the wine industry and it taught me a lot about people. I stayed for 4 years and remember my time fondly.

Then off I toddled to college and now here we are several decades later. My inquirer made an incisive observation, perhaps without realising it, and the observation is this.

That there is a big difference between doing and being. I did the job at the winery but that is not the same as being a priest. A priest is something you are and is not necessarily defined by how a cleric fills their days. There are actually a tiny minimum of things that I am licensed to do that unlicensed folk are not permitted to do. In fact, if you add up the amount of time that I spend doing exclusively 'priesty things’ it’s less than a day a week. Everything else could easily and competently be done with much more alacrity than someone other than me.

And this difference between doing and being, this sense of vocation is not limited to clerical collar-wearing folk. I strongly believe that farmers, medical people and those who work in the funeral industry, (to name but a few) all know the difference between ‘doing’ and ‘being’.  It’s a subtle but important difference and one that I rejoice in everyday.

Esse Quam Videri -is a much used Latin atin motto meaning to be rather than to seem

Making an Investment.

Have you noticed that some media burbles at this time of year are where to invest your cash? Shares, property, term deposits and superannuation. They usually ask some guru to fill our space with what will be an astute and profitable exercise. One year I will note what they say and 365 days later I’ll see if they were right.

Now while I know that it is prudent and right to be sensible with our limited resources, to get the balance right between enjoying and saving, a gentle look back over 2024 should teach us that there were other things that we invested in, that, while they are not measurable like stocks and bonds they are just as important.

For example, where did I invest my limited resources in time and mental energy? Did I allocate enough to the portfolio of rest and recreation?

Would it be a punishable crime to just slow down, step back and listen to what is going on inside of us? You know the place, where there are no screens to distract and commentators to confuse.

Maybe I invested far too heavily with the currency of fear, anxiety and worry and gave scant attention to rest, snoring and being still. Sound familiar?

As we totter and stumble into 2025 maybe our resolution should not be to do A, B, X and 3.5. In these next 52 weeks, we might actually do less of these or even none. Instead, we might aim for a Big Fat Luscious 0.

This would be a fantastic investment and reap magnificent dividends. Deep down we know that we are not made to go above the speed limit all the time. It’s a rule for your well-being. Not a challenge to exceed.

The first thing to reach for is … the  bowl and towel.

Today’s story begins at a dinner party. The Master is there with some of the more snooty, well-to-do, entitled folk. It’s all going swimmingly well with the swilling of expensive wine and canapés that are more designed to be a work of art than a source of nutrition.

Somehow a ‘working girl’ slips the security net and is at The Master’s feet, weeping. To inflame the sense of indignation and inappropriateness, she kisses his feet and wipes them with her hair.  If Jesus only knew what she did for a living…

Fast forward a couple of years and The Master is keeping the Passover with bread and wine and herbs and lamb. Nonchalantly he picks up the bowl and towel and washes his disciple's feet. This is a grungy job, always done by one of the underlings.

When the last foot has been washed and the silence of be-puzzlement has descended upon Jesus’ buddies he will ask them a piercing question. “Do you understand what I have done? This is how you are to behave towards one another.” Whenever you want to know how to treat another, instinctively reach for the bowl and towel. Pick them up and do not put them down. Remember the lass who wiped the feet of the elite? This is to be your modus operandi. Your way of being, your way of living.

While this attitude is true for all people, it is something the ordained clergy should lead with… if that makes sense. Never put down the bowl and towel. They are the foundation of all ministry.

These are the tools of trade that are indispensable and that we must come to love and use more than anything else. The first thing we reach for. It is who we are.

There in the earth of my hands
I saw life itself,
life like silent breath
emerging from the sands of death,
life like a stark red flower
crying amid the white limestone fields,
life like a single blue wren
skating across black granite boulders,
life so precious
the pain of holding it was unbearable.

In that child I saw
the flesh of every child,
warm flesh that bleeds, enfolds,
and quivers at the hope
of being man or woman,
yet true to that same flesh
as sun and wind and Outback dust
toughen skin and soul alike.

This child was my flesh,
my flower, my son,
mine.
I was ready to defy God
and make that child mine
forever mine
against all thieves
who sought to possess him.

Later, in the house of God,
I gave my child back to God
and with my flesh I gave
two birds to celebrate the day,
two birds to fly,
two birds to die
and redeem my child for life.

By Norman Habel

Mary’s Gift

For long months I pondered
my child within me,
the line of its nose,
the turn of its face.

I pondered in pain
how the lurking shadow of God
had shaped form
or deformity within my womb.

Then we were two,
Jesus and I,
facing each other
with shocks of wonder,
touching each other’s eyes
with lingering questions.

He lay in my open palms, so small,
oh so small,
as if the pressure of my fingers
would count as cruelty.

A Reflection: The Wise Women

Written by +Deon K. Johnson, bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Missouri.

They came. As they always had. At every birth. The midwives. They came with the ancient wisdom. No fuss. No fanfare. They came as women always have with the insight of attending the most sacred act of birth.

Their presence didn’t even make it into the Good News because this is just what they do. They came with swaddling bands and birthing stools. They did what the ancient mothers have always done. They calmed the frightened mother with the compassion of wisdom. Told her what to do.

They came, those gentle wise women. Not at the summoning of a star but by the cries of labour. With ancient strength and quiet gentleness, they went about their business.

These unsung wise women have always been there. Unseen. Doing the thing that God has called them to be. They follow in the path of Shiphrah and Puah who went before them.

Today, perhaps we need to recapture a bit of the spirit of the wise women, who in their quiet confidence points us to a faith beyond the spotlight, that welcomed the Christ-Child into a world in need.

They came, these wise women, as they always have and as they always will, to bring Divine hope into the world. No greater gift can we give.

So here’s to the wise women. The faithful and fierce women, the practical and passionate women, the compassionate and caring women. We may not always remember that you too came, bearing gifts of precious worth, to attend the Messiah’s birth

Christmass 2024

The muck of our mistakes.

It is easy when we know God is born into our good stuff, in our joy and giggling and triumphs. This is where we see Him, feel Him, and delight in the sense of closeness with Him. In these moments we do so easily with clarity and glee. And in these times, in the easy and luscious times, it is right that we celebrate with God and in God.

But what if,… like the squealing urchin in the wonky rough-hewn feed-box, God is also right in smack bang, firmly ensconced, in our awkward embarrassments? Is it not also possible, most highly probable, in fact, a certainty that God also chooses to live in those dark places within us? Those murky areas where we actually don’t want His light to be shone, because we know what is there and we are ashamed. God born in Our humiliating times, our most appalling, abysmal and woeful places. God is born in our most ghastly mistakes.

Surely if he is the incarnate God, a God who comes in human flesh, he is God for every last bit of us, leaving out absolutely nothing. So we offer God the crude, rough, manky and dank places and we ask him to be born there as well. It will take a lot of courage to let Him lie there amongst our denials, our misgivings and our frailties. God is made flesh and is right there with us and in us, in those times when we chose wrong, knowing it was wrong,  but we chose it anyway because it felt right, it seemed like a good idea at the time and who will ever know nudge-nudge? The Christ child was and is with us when the wrong action presented itself and we winked, we flirted, we succumbed. We went over to the dark side. Those times when we allowed the wrong harsh words to escape and found to our appalling horror we could not put them back in our mouths. The arrow thoughts about … well … you know who.

Mary and Joseph’s long, dark, painful journey is a symbol of our soul searching where we stumble, and tumble along the rocky path of conscience and self-examination. Like Mary and Joseph, the trek is uncomfortable and disquieting and we might well think… how did it ever come to this? What am I doing here?

But at the end of the trek, when we arrive at our own Bethlehem and are candid about our raw, naked, slime, sludge and mire, we will discover that the Christ-child is already there on the straw sleeping comfortably knowing that this is where He wants to be. We worship a God who wants to be right there in the slush of our murkiness. And He actually wants to be there, longs be there can be in no other place than right there because of His unrelenting, unremitting, unquenchable, uncontrollable, uncontainable love.

So my prayer for us this Christmass is that not only will we discover God in the champagne and the tinsel and the family and the sweetmeats and the presents. But that you and I will also have the courage to discover with amazement, delight and surprise, that He is also right there in the muck of our mistakes. Squealing and gurgling with delight. And there with our own beasts of guilt, hand wringing and regret, we will discover that we are not as alone as we first thought. That Our Lady and St. Joseph and shepherds and angels are right here with us. They are welcoming us and cheering us on and are our very best friends. Ever.

It took us a little while, maybe a whole lifetime perhaps to understand this simple but profound fact. That there is no stable, no error of judgment, no place of denial, no act of betrayal, no oversight or blunder where God cannot be.

It has taken us far too long to know this, and now that we do, it is something we should celebrate for a long time indeed for the rest of our lives. This saving fact should send corks flying to the ceiling and fill our mouths with laughter.

Until that day when we no longer need the tinsel and the piped music and the bonbons and the bread and wine.

God came from heaven to earth; so that we on earth might … forever and ever amen.

Advent 4

Who will make him welcome…??

This homily completes our advent series where we have been reflecting on some of our most popular christmass carols.

A good Christmass carol, or any hymn for that matter, should not only be a joy to sing, should not just teach us something, but it will also challenge us to think and act differently.

Today’s hymn is the classic ‘Long ago prophets knew’. By the marvels of modern technology and because it’s the 21st century and we can do anything and everything here, except cure the common cold, achieve world peace… Oh and stop nasty potholes from appearing in the roads … The words to this splendid hymn appear in the pew sheet for you. If you are reading this online then this might work . https://hymnary.org/hymn/NEH1985/10

The carol tells the Christmass story leading up to the time Mary and Joseph arrive at Bethlehem.

Verse one is all about the prophets of long ago who foretold the birth of the Saviour. These people knew that the

“Christ would come, born a Jew,
That he would come to make all things new;
That he would bear his people’s burden,
and that he would freely love and pardon”.

Verse two tries to explain the mystery of God made flesh, well, as much as anyone can.

God enters into our time, on a specific day and in a specific place. The Christ child who is God, becomes touchable, measurable, and holdable. He is born of a woman. God is divinely human.

Verse three tells us more about this woman who is pivotal and essential to God’s plan. The hymn gives us her name, guesses at how she might have felt, and that she believed and obeyed.

Mary, hail! Though afraid, she believed, she obeyed

And then there is a mind warping line that should both challenge and excite us.

In her womb, God is laid.

Just sit with that and think about it. …

In her womb God is laid.

Mother Mary had God in her womb. What does it say about her, for God could have chosen anyone?

And what does it say about the crazy, outrageous risk God took?

Verse 4 tells us that Mary and Joseph finally make it to Bethlehem and the stable door is open waiting for them.

Journey ends! Where afar
Bethlem shines, like a star,
stable door stands ajar.

So we have the prelude of the Christmass story told to us in the verses.

But there is also something very important going on with the Chorus of this hymn.

The first three times the chorus is sung it asks  a very pertinent question

When he comes,
who will make him welcome?

But on the last verse, the chorus changes and it’s really easy to spot the difference.

Jesus comes!
We will make him welcome.

So the hymn is about the two comings of Christ. The first was at Bethlehem in a stable where Mary, Joseph, some aromatic animals and shepherds welcomed him.

The 2nd coming of Christ is at the end of time when he comes to wrap up everything and make all things tidy. And we will welcome him.

But there is something going on between these two comings of Christ, here in 2024.

Every day we have an opportunity to welcome him.

The stable door of our hearts and lives must be ajar to all who come knocking, looking for hope, acceptance, love and reconciliation.

When I was writing this I thought of some of the characters that made Jesus welcome when He walked the dusty plains of Palestine.

The thankful leper, the prodigal son, the waiters at the wedding at Cana, the tax collectors and the prostitutes, the blind man yelling out on the roadside for mercy, the woman caught in adultery and the centurion, to name but a few.

The poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers. These are the people who welcome Christ because they welcome all.

I also think of those who did not make him welcome, like the clergy of the day and there is a Christmass warning for every cleric.

Who will make him welcome? We will, but before we can welcome him we first have to be able to see him. Where to look?

The trick I think is to begin by seeing him within our own selves first. To rejoice and whoop with delight that just as God chose a very grungy place to be born the first time around, we understand that there is no place where God cannot be. Even in our own hearts and lives. And when he is born in us; when we see that and understand that, it’s not so hard to see God in those around us.

His first arrival was largely hidden from the world. He came at night, to a one-hick village, where there was no printing press, internet or social media, yet the word was made flesh and the message spread.

We will see him in the shabby, and the broken, and those who think differently to us. He appears in the most unlikely of people and in the most grubby and fragile of places.

Like bread and wine, like you and I.

When He comes, He has come, He will come and we will make him welcome.

It was a heck of a risk

It began by sending out the invitation to a single teenage lass who lived in a quiet little Hamlet where the services were being withdrawn and the community forgotten.

She could have said a polite ‘No thanks; this seems like a scam’. Actually, she was kind of right. While the deal was authentic, it cost her everything. Once she had said yes, there was no going back to the simple, quiet, life of anonymity.

But the risk was even more daring, more scandalous, more outrageous than she could ever have imagined. To send the Son, the heir, to the place where the slur was ‘can anything good come from Bethlehem’ was not the most astute business move. But it was because it was bold, brash, daring, audacious and unthinkable that made it all the more appealing to those who were looked down from the lofty heights of entitlement.

Whenever a gift is handed over to someone else there is always a risk. What will the recipient do with it? Re-gift it in 12 months time? Treasure it, rejoice in it, use it, put it at the back of the wardrobe or in the recycle bin? Stomp on it, crush it, discard it the moment it becomes a nuisance and does not follow the prescribed instruction manual.

A gift is a vulnerable thing, a priceless, risky thing especially when it is given with more love than we can ever comprehend. When the giver has invested everything. When the Giver gives their very self. It’s a heck of a risk.

What happens if… the world spins merrily, giddily on its way, oblivious to the offer? Was the giver reluctant, to have second thoughts? Will it be worth it? Will it all pay off? Only you, dear reader know.

The Challenge of a Silent Night.

Here we are on the cusp of another Christmass. At this time of year it’s easy to be diagnosed  with the disease ‘sensory overload.’

This is a highly infectious disease and passes quickly from one to another, especially in congested areas like supermarkets and dining establishments. There is no immunisation against this debilitating malaise and only enforced isolation, space and the turning off of all screens, can temporarily relieve the symptoms.

The carol ‘Silent night’ would be a script for the medicine we so desperately need at this time.  The call to silence and peace is easy to write about, hard to hear and well nigh on impossible to put into practice.

To stop. Just stop! And focus on the maiden, manger and child. To think about nothing else … nothing at all, is an exercise for the wise and the courageous.

This is my 64th Christmass and I would have hoped for the bombs to have stopped falling, political rhetoric to be quietened  and the calming vocabulary of silence to blanket us. To speak of peace on earth and good will to everyone. Why can’t we achieve this? But then a quick look at my own frenzied activity, the rubber tyres and barbed wire of doubt and edginess in my heart, the speed with which I think that if only old so and so would…

Silent night must start deep within me. The wise old carol calls me back to a higher ideal and the imperative to persistently keep on trying.

May you make the time, space to have a silent night. Instead of the discarded wrapping paper and the credit card debt, may you see what the shepherds saw. Angels and the fresh hope for all people, asleep on the hay.