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.

Advent 3

What child is this? …What child indeed?

We are reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns this Advent. We sing them lustily and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.  The best hymns make us think a lot.

Today I want to unpack some of the words of that classic carol “What child is this?” I’ve put the words in the pew sheet so you can see the clever way the hymn is constructed. It comes to us in a question-and-answer format.

So who wrote this masterpiece?

A gentleman by the name of William Chatterton Dix in 1865 when he was just 29 years old. It was during this time that he suffered a near-fatal bout of sickness with depression. If you like, he very nearly died.

It was in this very dark time that he actually experienced a spiritual awakening that inspired him to start crafting hymns. A better-known hymn that He also wrote is ‘As with gladness men of old.’

The hymn itself speaks to us about the visit of the Shepherds during the birth of Jesus. The lyrics are structured around a series of questions and answers, with the questions reflecting what the shepherds might have been asking when they encountered The Master in the Manger. The hymn's melody is often described as "soulful" and “haunting" and it is that ever popular tune “Greensleeves”

This hymn gives us the feeling that God himself has through this baby, transformed into humanity and that the Almighty has arrived to rescue us. For the shepherds, it's a certain and clear sign, which they went on to declare with courage and fervour.

The skanky shepherds go from the marvellousness of the angels, expecting to see a glorious king and instead, they are shown the back of the local and into a dark cave. Is it any wonder then that William Dix places on their hearts and lips the first question?

What Child is this, who laid to rest,
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,

But more than that, do you see the clever way William has already drawn us into the drama so that we too, as we sing the words, are asking ourselves and therefore each other the same question.

What child is this?

And there is an undercurrent, a hidden but almost palpable sense of…

‘This is not what we were expecting. This is not the sort of king we had envisioned. This is not what we had hoped for and could we please have our money back. Having left our precious herds on the hill we were kinda hoping for something a little more… weren’t we?

The answer
The answer to the shepherd’s question and therefore our question is given to us in the chorus  “This, this is Christ the King”.

And in verse two the concept of a God for all people is comfortingly reinforced.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and lamb are feeding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.

We are taught that what the shepherds see before them is a child for all levels of humanity.

When we read the hymn through and look thoughtfully at the words, we discover that it tells both a story and a mystery, which is of course everyone’s life. A story and a mystery.

And that is one of the reasons Christmas is such a poignant holy day for all, young and old alike. Christmas is both a story and a mystery.

What does it mean when we say that each human life is a mystery? It means there is a truth about each life that is deeper than anything any person can see. It is true that something of it can be seen from the outside, as an individual’s life story unfolds. Over the course of a year, ten years, or a whole lifetime, more and more of that deep truth breaks through. The story of a person’s life tells us a lot about who they are, why they are here, and where they are headed. This is their story.

The mystery part always remains hidden. The part that we can never quite understand. Sometimes we tantalisingly glimpse it, but such occasions are always fleeting. We can never analyse it, interpret it. At best these glimpses are fragmentary. Like the Master at table at Emmaus with the two disciples. Little snatches of the divine. Glinting, Mysterious. We sort of get it and yet we can never grasp it fully and tidy it away.

This mystery is what I believe our hymn writer William draws us into. By inviting us to sing with our lips and our lives ‘What child is this?’ he has already immersed us into the muck and the mystery of the manger. We are there with the angels, the shepherds, the animals, with St. Joseph, with Our Lady.

So again, in 2024 we ask ourselves ‘What child is this?’.  What child indeed?

Advent 2 December 8th.

Hark:  Sit up, Take notice. Listen!

During this Advent, we’ll be reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns. We sing them lustily and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.  The best hymns make us think a little.. or a lot.

Today I want to unpack some of the words of that classic carol ‘Hark the herald angels sing’.

The very first word tells us what we should be doing this Advent.

Hark.

This little word means Sit up, Take notice. Listen!

And as angels are God’s messengers, this hymn is in fact a type of angel. It is bringing us good news.

The hymn or perhaps the author, has something to teach us. There is some important knowledge to impart. Something that is really newsworthy, in fact something that has not been off the news cycle for the last 2000 years. It is The good news of the birth of our saviour.

Hark. Sit up, take notice. Listen!

The hymn will teach us and encourage us to become apeople of reconciliation. Reconciliation with each other and reconciliation with God. So we get …

“Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.”

One of our greatest needs for 2025 and beyond is reconciliation. As I write, wars rage across this planet; tribe against tribe and nation against nation. But more subtle than that, I am very much aware of those who espouse an ‘Us versus them’ policy. ‘Those over there’ are not ‘us’ and therefore they are somehow less than us. They are not worthy or entitled to the privileges that we take for granted; they are not welcome. In God’s eyes however, all are equal. The prodigal son, the taxi collector and the prostitute get into the kingdom of heaven to feast and dance ahead of the clergy Fr. David!

This is how another great hymn writer put it.

Lord in your good creation
All people, every nation
Bear a dignity and grace
Images of you

So help us treat all others
As sisters and as brothers
Valuing all you have made
As good and as true.

The peace of which these words speak goes far deeper than simply a cessation of conflict between warring factions. It reveals the peace in which you and I can enjoy our Creator. This peace is enduring, everlasting even, and life-changing.

It is when we see that God is in the messiness of retribution and retaliation, when we understand that He always wants to be with us in our muck, then we can be at peace with Him, within ourselves and with each other.

Next, The Carol speaks to us about Revelation. Hark. Sit up, take notice. Listen! God has revealed himself to us.

“Veiled in flesh the Godhead see!
Hail the incarnate deity!

The baby born in the ick of the cave gives us a glimpse of the Divine. When we reflect on the reality of that first nativity scene, we realise that the God on the mouldy straw is not what we would expect or hope for. God in a cold, dark place. Snuffling smelly animals, a virgin giving birth and vagabond shepherds who haven’t quite managed to shower for a couple of days. Maybe a little merry from a night warmer or two. The weeing, defecating brat in the manger is actually ….God. God in the flesh, the incarnate deity.

God came down to us in the Person of the Lord Jesus Christ. He fully shared our humanity and knows all about the kinds of trials and tribulations we experience today. How amazing that He entered our world of pain in order to make an entirely different quality of life available to those who receive Him.

Hark. Sit up, take notice. Listen!

The Carol tells us about Righteousness and Resurrection

“Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings

‘Sun of Righteousness’ is a title given to the Messiah (Christ) by the prophet Malachi. Four hundred or so years before the birth of Christ, Malachi predicted that God’s sent One would: “arise with healing in His wings” (Malachi 4:2). Wesley, the author of the hymn, applies this to Christ’s resurrection (“Risen with healing in His wings”).

So we get

Mild he (God) lays his glory by
Born that we no more may die
Born to raise us from the earth (or ‘our grave’ if you like)
Born to give us (a) second birth.

So we have our first birth in the labour ward and our second birth is when we enter heaven.

This Christmas, enjoy singing the carol. In fact, enjoy singing every carol. But when you are singing the words try to remember Revelation, Righteousness, Resurrection & Reconciliation.

Isaiah had it right.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.

Hark! Sit up, take notice. Listen!

Gatlin: The Parable of the Broken Match Stick.

This is one of those many conversations that happened a long time ago in a place far, far away.  Not quite in another galaxy, but pretty close.

It was towards the end of a rather long lunch and it was just the two of us sitting there with nothing much to say and yet there was everything to say.

“Well Gatlin, how are you?” There was a silence so I postured again “How are you really?” There was a longer silence and then, because the pub was pretty well empty, the ugly truth came reeling, stumbling out.

There was a heavy catalogue of troubles which in and of themselves were not significant or insurmountable, but having accumulated over time were now completely overwhelming. All the little things had piled on top of each other and now, in his own words, Gatlin was like a broken matchstick.

There was a time when Gatlin was fiery, passionate and effervescent with his enthusiasm. Gatlin’s entrance into a room lit up the atmosphere with warmth and joy. People were attracted to my colleague.

Now, however, Gatlin’s description was entirely accurate. You can’t light a fire with a broken matchstick. It’s good for … well it’s good for nothing and should be flicked away along with the dead batteries and shaggy toothbrushes.

I often wondered what became of Gatlin. I steered my friend towards their GP and last I heard Gatlin was OK. But that last report was a couple of decades ago.

I think of Gatlin every R U OK day. I think what might have happened if I had not asked ‘How are you really?’ I am hopeful that Gatlin is OK and grateful that Gatlin’s example warns me not to finish up as a broken matchstick.

Silent Night… really…???

During this Advent, we’ll be reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns. We sing them lustily and with great gusto and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.     The best hymns make us think a little.

Today I want to reflect on the words of that classic silent night.

Silent Night is one of the world’s most famous Christmass melodies. The story goes that the carol was first performed on the evening of Christmas Eve in 1818.

Joseph Mohr, a young catholic priest at St. Nicholas church in Salzburg in Austria was in despair. The organ at his church had been incapacitated by mice, and the chances of fixing the instrument before the evening service were looking slim. But our enterprising young hero had an idea. A few years before, he had written a rather beautiful poem called ‘Stille Nacht’. So he asked Franz Xavez Gruber, a schoolmaster and organist in a nearby town, to set his six-stanza poem to music.

That night, the two men sang ‘Stille nacht’ (Silent night) for the first time at Church’s Christmass mass, while Mohr played the guitar and the choir repeated the last two lines of each verse. Maybe it’s just as well they couldn’t get an engineer on Christmass eve.

Listen as I say the words slowly

Silent night, holy night!

All is calm, all is bright.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.

Holy infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace

The image that these words convey is one of Mary and Joseph gazing adoringly and placidly at their darling child who is sleeping peacefully without so much as a murmur. The labour was swift and painless and Joseph remained unflappable. The animals of course did not make any animal noises or smells or do any of the other things animals usually do so all really is calming and silent.

And in a cave at night is all really bright and wonderful?

I have had the undeserved privilege of going to the labour ward 4 times in my life. It’s a noisy bloody place and silent and calm is not how I could or would describe it.

I had the joy of growing up on a dairy farm and then a wheat sheep farm and I know animals make noises and they smell funny and they can also taste pretty jolly good.

And no one could call the Holy Land silent today. In fact, with its bombs and tears and funerals, it is noisier than ever.

So what are we to make of this carol and why do we keep it when it is so very clearly and wildly inaccurate as to how things really were and are?

Two things

• First thing. I suspect that one of the reasons we love this carol so much is because the cutesy image of the Christmass card is how we wish it was, it is certainly how we wish things were and how we ache for them to be in the future.
• Secondly, at a deeper level,l I believe that the carol reminds us that when we glimpse God, when we come into his nearer presence when we are close to the virgin and child Silence is the only thing that really cuts it. No words come close to being an adequate or appropriate response. The quieter we are, the more silent we are, the closer we come; because the less noise, the less distraction, the fewer obstacles, the nearer we are to Him. The filters and blinkers are peeled away.

We are called to be completely silent both outwardly and inwardly and it is far harder to be quieter on the inside than the outside.

But sometimes we are stilled. Sometimes we can and do pause and in those rare and beautiful moments when we find ourselves being silent then

Glories will stream from heaven afar

Heavenly hosts will sing Alleluia,

And Christ the Saviour is born in us.

Retreat - the great misnomer

Every year the Anglican clergy of our diocese gather for retreat. There is no truth in the ugly rumour that we actually nick off to the Melbourne Cup and bet on slow horses.

So what do we do?

We gather for a rather noisy meal on Monday night. We catch up with each other, share our triumphs and our disappointments, chatter about our families and share a delicious meal.

On Tuesday morning the Great Silence begins. We say nothing unless we are gathering for worship which happens 4 times a day. There is a retreat conductor who offers two addresses a day and is available for consultation about everything and anything. Sometimes it’s good to have a fresh perspective from a complete outsider.

This pattern goes on all day Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. The evening meal on Thursday is again a very chatty event because the next morning, straight after church, we scatter off back to our parishes and families. From Warracknabeal to Portland, to Coleraine to Ballan and every God box in between.

While some of my colleagues find the silence hard going I have always relished the deliciousness of the quiet. However, there is a sense in which ‘Retreat’ is misnamed.

It is true that we geographically retreat, but with all that quiet, other things, nasty little bombs of truth, come exploding to the surface and we are left with no place to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but confront them. Some of them are easy because well they’re history, or it’s way above our pay grade and there is nothing we can do. But there are others…. There is nowhere to retreat from these ugly little blighters. This is the most difficult and valuable thing about the experience we misname retreat.

The Privilege of Grey Hair

The inspiration for this reflection came from my attendance at the Remembrance Day service.

As I toddled along I found myself thinking that my hair is quite a different color than it was 40 years ago. I have photos to prove it!

When my hair first became more ‘Silver Foxish’ I used to bemoan this change in style. Not so much these days. For one thing the cost to change it would be a dubious call on my limited finances and for another, I consider myself fortunate to have lived this long. Long enough for my hair to become ‘distinguished’. I’ve been to far too many funerals now of gentlemen who did not have the opportunity to ponder this transition.

So the service began and a mighty fine turnout it was. There was music and medals in abundance. The last post always sends goosebumps up and down my spine to say nothing of a slightly ‘clogging feeling’ in my throat.

Beautiful wreaths of flowers were laid down and the classic poem Flanders Field was recited.

The students who laid the wreaths were smartly turned out in their uniforms and I could not help thinking that the people we were honouring were not that much older than these fresh-faced adolescents. A very sobering thought.

There was one excellent reflection about the unknown soldier and it was rightly pointed out that while we can never know his name perhaps it is better that way for he symbolises everyone and is a reminder of our own mortality that we must all face one day.

If you are like me and you are sporting a silver fox hairdo, remember these things. On Remembrance Day we pray for those who never had the opportunity to have the years of peace we have enjoyed.