Bewildering the bullies with a twisted bit of ribbon

Many of you will know that this squiggly thing is the symbol of infinity. At school, it was a mathematical number and I could never get my head around it. Perhaps I wasn’t supposed to. What it was trying to teach us, thick-headed students is that there is no end to our numerical system because you can always just keep on counting. There is always one more number, another number after that and so on. I get that now but at the time it made my brain squelchy. Surely when you went to your maths lesson you were taught everything fits neatly and tidily within margins and perimeters. Maths was something you ruled off on neatly with a set and right solution every time and it was always the same answer for the same equation. The whole infinity thing stomped all over that, tossed it out the window and said in a loud voice “Hooey. There is no limit to numbers. It’s not that squeaky tidy.” So which was right? Infinity or the hard-won answer at the bottom of your working out. I’ll let you know at the end of the homily.

But it is this type of paradox, between comprehension and incomprehension, knowing and not knowing, that is woven through the argy-bargy with The Master and the Sadducees in today’s gospel.

The Sadducees believed that you ruled off life at the point of death. Once your heart stopped beating and the doctor signed the dotted line on the death certificate, there was no more. That was it… kaput, finito and good riddance.

To prove their point the Sadducees concoct a ludicrous story about a poor woman (I’ll call her Esmeralda) who had married seven times because each of the brothers had a genetic defect and kept falling off the perch. You know it goes. In Jesus' day if a woman found herself a widow she had to marry her husband's brother if he was available.

“So Rabbi Jesus, if there really is life after death then whose wife will Esmeralda be in the next life?”

Jesus sweeps aside their question by pointing out that in the next life you don’t, or can’t be married. The next life is beyond and better than the loveliest of marriages and the sweetest of lovings.

The Master also points them back to an Old Testament text that the Sadducees would have been very familiar with.

“So chaps …in the account of the burning bush, even Moses showed that the dead rise, for he calls the Lord ‘the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.’ He is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive.”

What happens after we die is not just an extension of the good times of this life. It is infinitely more than we could ever hope for, think of or conceive. It is beyond our wildest imagining. It is in a different realm, a different dimension altogether. So what’s it like?

Some things that we can be sure of and then some wild speculation. First, the things that we can be sure of.

God is the God of living. The shiny box at the front of the church is not the end. It is the launching vehicle into that other dimension.

Joined in Christ’s watery death at our watery baptism, we also share in his mysterious, and glorious resurrection. Our Lord's empty tomb is our empty tomb.

And … it will be alright. We have The Masters promise for it and his promises are unshakable and unconquerable.

So now to the fun speculation.

One of my learned colleagues suggested that the first words we utter when we get to the other side will not actually be ‘Holy Holy Holy’ at all. but rather 'Ohhh… so this is what all the fuss was about.'

In my maths lessons, the tension between reliable surety and slippery infinity was and is resolvable. Surely both were right. There is a place where things are ruled off in nice tidy answers; always correct and sitting tidily on the line, but there is also a place for infinity which teases us on. She lures us to always go further and deeper. The two can coexist quite happily together. In fact, they need each other and complement each other.

There are hard unanswerable questions that we have on this side of the grave. The ‘why’s’, the ‘how comes’ and the ‘what's all that about.’ On the other side of the grave, through the veil, these will not be answered in a lovely easy to understand thesis with a pretty pink ribbon around it. In fact, they will not be answered with any words at all. They will be answered in that single nano-second when for the first time, we simply look into His eyes. Then we will understand and know that we are infinitely loved. Then we will be fully and truly alive forever and ever amen.

There is no recipe for grieving.

In the rectory there is a comprehensive collection of cookbooks, bursting with possibilities, waiting to be transformed into a meal. The words have the potential to make visible something that is just words on a page. To make physical, tasty fare from mere print.

With a recipe, there is a list of ingredients and there is a bit that tells you what to do with them. A nifty procedure to follow and always there is some waiting time. Frequently there is a guesstimate as to how long it will all take. In the end... Voila! There is devouring.

But over the years I have discovered that grieving does not have a recipe. Sure, you know some of the ingredients like tissues and tears and cards and flowers and questions. Sometimes there is writing. Flushing out onto a screen those things that are so difficult to put into words. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t articulate or persuasive; it is in the telling, writing and reworking that resolution slowly begins to work its healing. And with grieving, there is no magic end time. You can’t say that at this certain hour, in 6 months, I will have completed all my grieving and there will never be any more. It simply doesn’t work that way.

Now on the surface, all of this may not be very reassuring for you. But I reason thus; that if you find yourself being gazumped by the odd, unexpected wave of emotion, then you are quite normal, very healthy and the stupefying process is unfolding as it should. Bewildering, unpredictable and embarrassing perhaps but perfectly normal. For it is in these times and tears you are in heartfelt unison with the Master. The One who knew there was no recipe for grieving, as he sobbed over his companion Lazarus.

October 30th

Once upon a mountaintop, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up.

The first little tree looked up at the stars and said: “I want to hold treasure. I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I’ll be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!”

The second little tree looked-up and saw a large boardroom table where important people gathered and made decisions that changed people's lives. It was a dignified, highly polished table, exquisitely finished and every join and corner was meticulously crafted.

The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women worked in a busy town. “I don’t want to leave the mountain top at all. I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me, they’ll raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world.”

Years passed. The rain came, the sun shone, and the little trees grew tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain.

The first woodcutter looked at the first tree and said, “This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me.” With a swoop of his shining axe, the first tree fell.

“Now I shall be made into a beautiful chest. I shall hold wonderful treasure!” the first tree said.

The second woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, “This tree is strong. It is perfect for me.” With a swoop of his shining axe, the second tree fell.

“Now I shall be that shiny elegant boardroom table where politicians and rulers will gather. They will sit around me and I will be first to hear what will be in tomorrow’s papers.

The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looked her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven.

But the woodcutter never even looked up. “Any kind of tree will do for me,” he muttered. With a swoop of his shining axe, the third tree fell.

The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought her to a carpenter’s shop. But the carpenter fashioned the tree into a feedbox for animals.

The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold, nor with treasure. She was coated with sawdust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals.

The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took her to a carpenter’s shop, but no shiny big desk was made that day. Instead, the once strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple little table with a wonky leg and an uneven top. The table was not planed or polished.

The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard.

“What happened?” the once tall tree wondered. “All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountaintop and point to God...”

Many, many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams.

But one night, golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feedbox.

“I wish I could make a cradle for him,” her husband whispered.

The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and sturdy wood. “This manger is beautiful,” she said.

And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

One evening a tired man and his friends came to an upper room where the wonky old table lived. Around this table, bread was blessed, broken and shared. The wine was poured and one of the most enduring and important rituals began on the table. Life-changing words were spoken. ‘This is my body.'

And the second tree knew that he would never be forgotten and that he was holding the most important thing in the whole world.

One Friday morning, the third tree was startled when her beams were yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man’s hands to her.

She felt ugly and harsh and cruel.

But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy beneath her, the third tree knew that God’s love had changed everything.

It had made the third tree strong.

And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God.

In today’s gospel, Zacchaeus climbs a sycamore tree. He makes himself vulnerable, emptying himself of the things that are not important finds salvation. The Master also embraces the wood of a tree. Together with a spear and nails, makes himself vulnerable. With his arms open wide He offers us salvation as well.

One of the smashingly good things about going to a different country is that it makes you appreciate your own backyard with greater glee than ever before. One of the things that Manhattan taught me was how lucky we are to have so much space around us. We may not think of it much, but boy oh boy, it sure struck home when you go to live in New York for a couple of weeks.

Jack and David live in what we would call a ‘cosy’ apartment. A very skinny galley kitchen, one lounge room smaller than the lady chapel, a bathroom that just fits in the necessary and nothing else and a bedroom. In New York terms, it's positively palatial.

Why, because there is only a crushingly limited amount of space.

So all the buildings just go up. Selling ‘air rights’ above your church building is a real thing and worth big socks of American dollars to parishes there.

My son-in-law David works on the 67th floor of a building and the highest we ever went up to was the 105th floor of a building. The view was astonishing and unforgettable, but it did make me think.

The next time I tootled along a Western district road I could not help but feel how lucky we are to have all this space around us. We might see it all day, every day and so have come to take it for granted, but please dear reader, never forget how fortunate we are to live where we do and in such a scenic part of the world.

Everyone is from somewhere else.

One of the lovely things about growing old is that the next generation teaches you things and not just about technology and phones. Frequently they come out with really wise things and I was privileged to learn again from my son-in-law.

We had been visiting the Ellis Island Immigration Museum and he astutely remarked that ‘In New York, everyone is from somewhere else.’ For him, that is part of what makes New York a vibrant, bubbly, dynamic place to live. Wave after wave of different people from different places and different cultures are continuously reforming and reshaping this mind-popping city. You just never know who you’re going to meet next and from context, they have emerged.

At Ellis Island, we heard stories from all sorts of people who had come to the land of the brave and the free. Some came seeking a better way of life. Some came just to survive because their ‘home’ was been torn apart and their lives were at risk.

I am reliably informed that 98% of the folk that fronted up to Ellis Island were allowed to stay. Ever since people have been coming for a new life and fresh opportunities. They bring with them ideas, interests, food and spirituality. When diverse cultures are properly and healthily assimilated, we all learn and are enriched.

Everyone is from somewhere else.

Two questions to draw out this profound quip.

First, I wonder whether we as a nation, a community and as individuals are as welcoming. Ellis Island certainly had its criteria for entry, but the question was not ‘Why should we let this person in?’ but rather ‘Why shouldn’t they come and be a part of us?’

The other question … If everyone is from somewhere else… then where are you from?

Luke 18:15-30 October 23rd

Blessed babies and a miserable millionaire.

In today’s gospel, we have a conversation between a miserable millionaire and Jesus.

The wealthy guy asks what he has to do to get into the kingdom and Jesus swiftly kicks the question upstairs to the law.

Come on sunshine you know how this goes.

You know the commandments: ‘Do not commit adultery, Do not murder, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Honor your father and mother.’” And he said, “All these I have kept from my youth.”

And in my mind, I see Jesus looking at this guy and thinking.

“Why are we having this conversation? You know the answer already. What else is going on here? Where is this chatter going?”

And I want to come back to this later.

There is also an incident with babies being brought along to get blessed by Jesus. There is a link between the blessed babies and the miserable millionaire and the link is a question.  Who's going to make it into the Kingdom of heaven?

Answer

• Those with childlike trust.
• Those who know that the most important thing in the whole world is… HIM.

So Father David’s pet theory is that the Millionaire sees the babies being blessed and thinks … mmm … I’d really like some of that. What’s lacking in me?

It is not just a matter of keeping the law and staying squeaky, shiny, and clean, it is the quest of accepting, embracing, absorbing, and subsuming into one's very being, the kingdom, with the unqualified, uninhibited and joyous trust of a child. We can only do that if we know and rejoice in the fact that He is THE imperative for us and to us. We should rush to it and accept it; not just because it is the right thing to do, not just for the hope of heaven, not just because it will do us good, but because it is what He has always desired for us. The only question is how we inflame our desire to the same level of passion and joy as an innocent child.

Or put another way, it is not a question of meriting the kingdom of heaven; ticking off the commandments on our checklist like the miserable millionaire. One enters and claims the Kingdom by and through, a willing, cheerful, sacrificial, loving and transforming relationship.

Thus….

What exactly or who exactly are the babies accepting? What is Jesus’ messiahship? Jesus’ messiahship over us and within us, is a relationship with someone … it is a relationship with …HIM. This is what the babies are accepting and it is what we are called to embrace and live.

We trust and we are dependent… We know and live how much we need Him.

Back to where I began with the miserable millionaire and that intriguing conversation.

When the conversation with this ruler ends and he walks away, we are left to assume that he went his merry way and ultimately went down to the fiery depths of hell forever and ever amen. But… we are not told. In fact, I don’t think he is ever mentioned again. We’re not even given his name.

But later on, maybe he did sell everything. What then??

We can be so quick to judge others for a one-off conversation, an event, or a mistake. A quick look in the mirror and the briefest glance at our own history…Sadly and painfully we can be equally as swift to dismiss ourselves by some blotch that happened a long time ago and which God has already forgotten. We are far more than our smudges and flaws.

The ruler knew the commandments, knew he had kept them and yet he knew that he was somehow not quite complete. He knew that there was something more.. that he is lacking in some way and he was not sure what that something else was. … or ….maybe he did know and that is why he sought out The Master. This is why he is having this conversation and maybe if he knows, he is fearful of having this discussion. He is a little queasy because he knows what will be asked of him.

And I will bet a bottle of my finest that there are times when we have had a conversation in our prayers exactly like His. We have set off to ask safe questions in safe territory, all the time knowing that we need to travel just a little further to where we need to go, but we really don’t want to go there… not yet…maybe not ever.

And I am sorry that the millionaire went away miserable, but I reckon he was courageous for at least confronting his impasse … his predicament.

Perhaps he was asking as a child does.

Am I there yet … because at some level he knew he wasn’t. At some level, he knew he had a way to go.

The child on the other hand has no doubt. In their simple, unquestioning faith they are already there. They have already arrived. They are already home. In fact, they never left home. They have always been blessed and always will be.

Who are you Francesca*?

When Jeanine and I had the undeserved privilege of staying in New York we slept in a hotel room that was 12 square metres. The bed was squished firmly against one side of the room. The custom was that you left a paltry $2 tip for the housekeeping staff who are paid well below what they could reasonably expect. So $2 it was.

And every time we returned to our room, somehow, miraculously the bed was made in a meticulous fashion. The room was spotlessly clean. It smelt clean, it felt clean. Fresh towels were in abundance and there was a nice note from Francesca saying a very big Thank you for the generous tip, complete with a smiley face.

We happened to see one of the other domestic staff and mentioned not only how pleased we were with the service, but we hoped that $2 was an appropriate amount. It seemed such a little for so much work.

The staff member reassured us that it was a generous amount and that Francesca would be extremely grateful.

We never met Francesca, yet for 15 days straight she ministered to us in a hidden way that will always be deeply appreciated. So who are you, Francesca?

From the scant little bits and pieces, I gleaned here are some guesses.

Obviously, she worked hard and she probably had several other jobs just to live hand to mouth. From the other staff, I reckon I could have a good guess as to what the colour of her skin might have been. Francesca represents countless people who are the working class that we rub shoulders with and greet but never really know as human beings. They are on a malicious treadmill that somehow needs to be dismantled. Then together with all the ‘Francescas’, we can walk forward together in harmony and a healthier sharing of our abundance.

(* Not her real name)

What happens when God says ‘No’?

Our liturgical gurus will often divide the gospel of the year into the chunks we see for very good reasons. Sometimes their logic is hidden from us. Other times like today it's a little easier to understand.

We’ve got two stories, both about prayer, nestling side by side.

The first one is about the widow who does not give up.

She wants justice against her adversary. Maybe it was a feud about the tree that overhung her fence, or maybe her husband’s will was being fiercely contested by someone who hadn’t been in touch for years.

Whatever the biff, she consistently and politely continues to go to the judge and put her case before him.

It seems the judge couldn’t really give a dingbat about the widow and her petition, but in order to make his own life more comfortable he caves in and grants her request. The moral of the story is ‘Keep at it. Don’t give up.’ Politely and persistently bother the Almighty. This is a story about doing prayer.

The second story is also about prayer. But this one is about attitude. The state of heart when we pray.

The beginning almost sounds like a joke. Two guys go into a synagogue… One has a self-aggrandising attitude and waxes loudly about what a good boy he is and how woeful other people are, especially the other guy who happens to be praying in the Lady chapel.

‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

The other guy in the Lady chapel is well aware of his shortcomings and … ‘He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

So those who organise our lectionary have given the preacher lots of material on prayer. It’s about persistence and it is about attitude. Both are necessary and vital.

And it’s very easy to give up when things don’t go our way. When God doesn’t seem to have our 64 precious things on His agenda. It’s also very easy to feel smug and gooey when we are tucked up in our own parish church and we haven’t done any self examination or if we have, we have been misguided, done our theological sums wrong and come to a false answer about how we stand in God’s eyes.

My thinking is that if we get the attitude right, then everything else falls into place.

We do believe in a merciful, compassionate and forgiving God, but we must always be honest with ourselves and honest with Him.

First, bring your contrition and integrity, and in that spirit offer everything else. I strongly suspect that our prayers are sometimes not answered, not because of what we ask, but the way we ask. Any parent is more likely to accede to a child's polite and courteous request, rather than the self righteous, self-entitled, temper tantrum of ‘It’s my right.’

So prayer is not just about ‘doing’… it is also about ‘being’.

Now, all that's fairly straightforward and tickety-boo. I’m sure you have heard it all before. But there is another harder question skulking in the background here.

What if …sometimes… God says ‘No’ or at the very least He seems to say ‘No’, or it feels like He says ‘No’. Ask any parent who is in the ICU unit of the Royal Children's Hospital today if they feel like their prayer is being answered.

What I offer is a random hotchpotch of thoughts and ponderings.

Sometimes, like the widow in the gospel, the answer is ‘not yet.’ Sometimes we have to wait a long time for healing or help or whatever it is we are asking for.

Sometimes the answer is not what we expected. The solution to our dilemma ABC may not be DEF, but actually 5.6 #! The answer is in a different dimension altogether. Something we never thought of.

Sometimes God helps those who help themselves. What if it’s not about God bestirring himself and waving a magic wand? The answer might well be that God is waiting for us to get our stuff together and do what has been blitheringly obvious for a very long time.

And sometimes God’s will is not done. It is not God’s will that people are caught up in war, or their life is ended by someone else. The gift of free will by our loving God means that folk are free to choose sin, which inevitably harms people in all sorts of ways. It’s why we pray ‘Your will be done’.

Something else I thought of while trying to cobble this interminable homily together. We all like it when God says ‘Yes’ and that’s all yummy and scrumptious. But sometimes Father should and must say a polite, but firm ‘No’. We may never know why and it might seem harsh and brutally unfair, but ‘No’ is just as valid an answer as ‘Yes’.

And if ‘No’ seems cruel, unreasonable and barbaric, then perhaps a bit of quiet reflection before a crucifix might help to put things in perspective. Or perhaps we might start again like the guy in the Lady Chapel.

‘Lord be merciful to me, a sinner.’

Two of our most potent emotions are fear and anger. They are part of our DNA. Our companions in the media know this and will sell ratings and papers to us riding on these two deeply ingrained feelings ... They can be used for good. Like, it’s helpful to run away from a person who is threatening you.

But next time you catch a glimpse of a headline or a little news banner, ask yourself what is really going on here.

See how we quickly and easily rise to the bait.

Sadly it can also happen in our day-to-day encounters. We can ‘push each other’s buttons.' Sometimes without realising it, sometimes sadly, just for the heck of it wanting to watch the smoke and the Catherine wheels.

But when it happens to our own selves it's a different thing altogether. We seldom act well when we are fear - full or grumpy. We are less than we ought to be. We are not the sort of people we are supposed to be. We can be better. I know this dear reader because I am hideously guilty of these things myself. We can become so immersed in our own maelstrom that we completely forget that the other person might well be sinking in a swirl of unhelpful emotion.

The best strategy I have discovered, in fact, the only strategy is to remove myself physically, psychologically and every other ‘lly’ out of the situation. Then step away figuratively, in time and in space.

It’s not easy and it will cost, but the fruits of making this ‘space’ might well be understanding and reconciliation. At least let’s give them a chance to grow and flourish. Our ‘adversarial’ world may not actually be as grumpy as we are led to believe.

Hooray, it's our pet blessing

This weekend we are celebrating our annual pet blessing and we have deliberately chosen to align it closely with St. Francis day which falls in early October. St. Francis saw, understood and enjoyed glimpses of God in the created order and especially with animals. So he spoke openly and unashamedly about sister moon and brother sun. At Christchurch Hamilton we have a window in the porch in his honour and as you would expect it has a menagerie of animals to view.

As this parish is in a regional part of Victoria understands better than most just how special is the relationship between animals and humans. You don’t have to travel too far out of town to see that this relationship, this interdependence is not only something that is vital for the livelihood of our hardworking farmers and their families, but it is also something that they actually enjoy. I had the undeserved privilege of growing up on a wheat sheep farm in the Wimmera and I well remember the sheep, the chooks, the pigs and even the odd cow. It was a fantastic life and I remember feeding all these animals and the pleasure of watching them grow and flourish.

And then there are our pets. Those special animals that we have a unique relationship with. We engage with them, we feed them, we scold them, we cuddle them, we pick up after them and we simply enjoy them.

The Genesis creation story makes it pretty clear that with this relationship of care for God's creation, there comes a certain responsibility as well. Those of us with pets and with livestock well understand that in addition to the sparkle of the relationship, we have duties to perform and nurture to offer, even when and especially when, our animals and pets drive us nuts.

Human life and the lives of animals are sacred. It is not something to be treated lightly or with disrespect. In looking after God’s animals we are sharing in God’s creative work and that is a wonderful vocation and something we should rejoice in.

Our animals teach us things, like responsibility, like the need to feed and discipline our creatures. They stretch us and inevitably we fall in love with them. Just ask anyone whose pet has died about the hurt and sorrow they felt. If they can articulate this sorrow, they will tell you that it wasn’t very nice. That's me dressing it up and trying to be polite about it.

This relationship between livestock and person, pet and owner is an exceptional relationship. It is utterly and simply enjoyable. But more than that, it is a mirror image of the relationship that we have with God.

We say a lot to our pets, “Sit, stand, come here … and don’t. Sometimes we need to say those things repeatedly.

We are constantly speaking to the creatures we love. Even if the speaking is done through a pat, or a stroke, or a cuddle.

But I wonder what our pets would say to us, particularly in their twilight years,..

I reckon they would say something like this.

“Thank you for feeding me and caring for me. You admonished and rebuked me when I needed it and you encouraged and supported me when I was on the right path.

Sometimes it was great and sometimes I really needed steering back in the right direction and a jolly good spanking. But always, always you loved me, even when you had to tick me off, I always knew you were loving me.

And that, my friends, is the sort of thing we should say to God on a regular basis.

“Thank you for feeding me and caring for me. You admonished and rebuked me when I needed it and encouraged and supported me when I was on the right path.

Sometimes it was great and sometimes I really needed steering back in the right direction. But always, always you loved me, and even when you had to tick me off, I always knew you were loving me. You were always there for me. Always.

‘Legacy’ - what others see when they no longer see you.

It was a fruitful conversation to have and it went like this. That when you are 20 something you are pretty much absorbed in life and living it to the full with no thought for the future and certainly Sister Death is non-existent. Sure, like she happens, but only to really old people.

But now that we are a little closer to our dotage, Sister Death is peeking from around the corner and casting alluring, knowing looks. How do I/we prepare to greet her?

I think I have begun the process by doing the pragmatic stuff. My favourite undertaker knows exactly what vestments to put on my body. There is a file with hymns, readings etc. Cremation is the order of the day. I have a will and I have a nifty purple organ donation card which takes pride of place in my wallet.

Other people will arrange their inevitable interview with Sister Death in other ways and that is right and good and proper and appropriate.

But there was another word lying latent in this conversation. This other word was ‘Legacy’. Someone defined it this way. Legacy is what others see when they no longer see you. So the question that is in my face and will not let me shy away is this.

‘What will others see when they no longer see me?’ What legacy will remain? Here are my pious, naive wishes.

That something I have said, written or done, will have enabled just one person, at one point in time, to glimpse the unconditional love of You Know Who. Pretty much pie in the sky, but it's a good thing to aim for. So having had a go at answering these questions, it’s now your turn.

Homily October 2nd

So what’s all this synod stuff?

Each year our diocese holds a thing called a synod. It’s the Diocesan parliament. It's a curious and important beast and you should probably know a little bit about it.

It’s made up of 1 bishop, the parish clergy and lay representatives from every parish in the diocese, including this one of course. It has some legal people to help us with any tricky things and they are called the advocate and the chancellor. They also assist the bishop in anything legal throughout the year and sadly they have had more than their fair share of things to wrestle with.

Our Synod meets over the course of a Friday afternoon and a good chunk of Saturday. This year we meet on Friday, October 21st and Saturday 22nd.

At the Synod, the bishop gives his charge or address. This is always a scintillating speech and presents the big picture of the diocese and often a glimpse into the National Church as well. We are very fortunate to have a bishop who is articulate and can present complex ideas in an easy-to-understand, even Fr. David can get it, type of way.

We then break for worship, an evening meal and often on Friday night there are some workshops and discussion groups pertinent to the day's topics.

On Saturday morning we begin with morning prayer, and then there is legislation that has been handed down for us to consider from the National Anglican Church. We can choose to either accept it in total, or reject it in total. We can’t cherry pick the bits we like and chuck out the rest.

Then there is any legislation for our own diocese and finally, any motions that we can vote on.

I would expect that this year there might well be some more discussion on the issue of whether we can bless the union of two people who are of the same gender.  I would be surprised  if someone did not move a motion to the effect of

“That this Diocese gives thanks for the life and ministry of Queen Elizabeth the second and extends our deepest sympathy to the royal family in their bereavement.”

What else happens?

The diocesan budget is presented and folk have an opportunity to ask questions for clarification. Our Registrar Peter is a splendid gentleman doing an impossible job and fields queries effectively and with clarity. At this time, leading up to Synod, he and the bishop will be working very hard to make sure everything is put in place so that the whole thing runs smoothly and effectively.

The Head Master of our Grammar school in Ballarat offers a presentation to the Synod and again there is an opportunity for questions to be put. It’s good to see what our Grammar school is up to and it always seems to be going ahead in leaps and bounds.

Reports from our Diocesan bodies are presented and received. For example our Diocesan Mothers Union and Guild.

So who gets to go to this jamboree? All the clergy go. And this parish is allotted 4 places for our lay people. These folk are elected for three years or three meetings. There is often a public gallery for folk who want to come and have a look-see and while they cannot vote on any motions, it is always fascinating to watch Synod in action.

Now you might think all that sounds rather drab, dry and tedious and there are parts that do seem to make you want to lose the will to live. However, it is just plain good fun. There are a number of articulate, witty, intelligent people, particularly from the laity, who sprinkle synod with wise and funny words and make us laugh out loud and often.

There are two other things that we do that are essential to the life of the Synod. First, we eat together and over the table, we meet other people or reconnect with good friends. There is much chatter and a genuine and warm camaraderie is built up. This is vital for the life of the diocese and whatever differences we might express in our speeches on the floor of the synod, there is a mature and professional understanding that we are here just to get on with it, even if we might have a difference of opinion to the rest of the Synod and the decision does not go the way we would have liked.

But the most important thing of all is we worship together. There is an Evening Prayer, a Eucharist and Morning Prayer and to be able to say the office with 100 other people is a rare and lovely thing. Not better or worse than when there are only one or two, but it is kinda nice to be reminded you're not on your Pat Malone.

Well, all that sounds pretty jolly spiffy Fr. David. How do I get to be a Synods rep? Well, as I mentioned Synod reps are elected for 3 years and next year at our Annual General Parish Meeting in 2023, it is an election year for Synod reps. There are those 4 places up for grabs once again and we need two emergency folk. Anyone, from any of our centres in our parish, can be elected or reelected. I commend Synod and our local representatives for your prayers and ask you to consider whether this ministry might be something God is calling you to.