This year it will happen on Thursday April 14th at 7:30pm.

It’s the night before Good Friday and in a stunning, sublime act of worship, the priest takes a towel and a bowl of water and washes 12 peoples feet. At the time of typing there are still some spots left if you wanted to be one of these 12.

This might sound a bit odd, but it is one of the things I look forward to the most every Holy Week. Using the bowl and towel goes to the very heart of what being a priest is.

It is the relentless service of others. Doing the most menial and grungy task with dignity, glee and joy. We understand that to wash someone’s feet is one of the most important and liberating tasks that we can do.

This most uncomplicated act of worship comes from the Master himself who, knowing that he would be dead within 24 hours, knowing that one would deny, one would betray, still washed his friends feet. He did so not just because it was the right thing to do, not just because the feet were mangy and needed a good scrub, but simply because he loved them.

We have been unable to celebrate this liturgy in the past couple of years and so to be able to do it again will come as a fresh, poignant and exquisite  joy.

But the theme of loving humility is to be lived out not just on this most extraordinary night, but day by day, hour by hour, in every encounter, in every conversation, at every act of worship. Whenever we are tempted to lofty triumphalism, then we clergy must always remember the bowl and towel.

Brutus and Festus do some crowd control.

We hear them before we see them. Shouts and cheers.

It’s Festival time and the city is awash with religious excitement. The trouble is that when people get excited about their faith then they do stupid things.

“Come on Festus… this sounds like a bit of fun.”

We see people coming down the road from the Mount of Olives. Its quite a rabble, the curious and stupid come out to see whats going. They  never stop to think that its us poor bozo’s who have to keep everyone safe. And if we have to stomp on a minority of people to stop the majority injuring themselves, then we have done a good day’s work.

People are taking their cloaks off and spreading them on the road. As dumb as door. A cloak is your security blanket. It’s used to keep you warm, to barter and trade. It’s as good as any denarius.

It’s a bizarre gesture and an incredible sight. As they lay their cloaks on the dusty rocky road I can’t help wondering if this is what they call the red carpet treatment. I also remember this same Jesus guys saying something like

“If anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well.”

Which is the most blockhead thing I’ve ever heard.

So I understand the gesture of throwing their cloak on the ground and just what it means for the people. What they are really saying is that they would give their all for this guy.

And here’s another crazy thing. This Jesus guy is on a donkey. An ass … can you believe it? If he is so important, how come he hasn’t got fine black horses like Cornelius? Is Jesus important or not? Or have the crowds just been duped and deluded.

There’s a widow from Nain with her son in the crowd who is just busting to try and get past our line to try and touch Jesus. I reckon there must be some history there.

She’s so determined that she manages to quickly scuttle past Festus and run out onto the road. I can see the glee on Festus’s face as he spontaneously launches himself in her direction and falls on top off her. Even from where I’m standing, I can hear the air escaping from her as she hits the dusty rocky road. Without flinching Festus tosses her over his shoulder and takes her back to the crowd, glaring at everyone else as his way of warning.

The heaving swarm of bodies are all crying out that the top of their voices

‘Blessed is the king

who comes in the name of the Lord!

A king, riding on a donkey? Good ol Herod ain’t gonna like this. Paranoid old poppet. Any whisper of another King and Herod is going to put his stomping boots on.

The other person I recognise is Jesus Mum. She has thrown her cloak out in front of her son and is waving her palm branch along with everyone else. She’s excited. Her face flushed with pride and hope. And I get that. What Mum wouldn’t be pleased to see her son do so well. But really honey. Really…? This is all just going to end in tears. Your tears.

You see, while this guy is all very popular today, God’s gift to the world, I have seen this far too many times before. It's a slippery pole that you climb to the top and when you're at the top, there’s only one way, one option left and that’s a quicker slide down again. Always finishing further down than where you started.

Yep, I reckon that by the end of the week this lot will all be baying for his blood and I’ll be getting overtime for a crucifixion.

The noise is deafening and the crowd is going ballistic. The air is filled with thrumming, waving palm branches.

I can see Jesus up close. I look at his face to see if he’s enjoying himself, searching for any smugness and self congratulations. There’s none. And far from me looking at him and trying to get his measure, he is looking at me and its as if he’s known me for a thousand years. When he looks at me and my uniform there is no fear or anger. He's not looking at any of that. Instead he is looking into that most secret, that very deepest part of me. And far from disgust and abhorrence, his gaze is one of affection and great beauty. The moment is over before it’s begun. It’s both fleeting and forever.

He passes by and the noise slowly evaporates. People go back to their homes talking and laughing. Another great outing.

Festus and I run the last of the remaining crowds off the street.

“How long do ya give him Festus? 50 pieces of silver says we’ll be driving in the nails within a week.”

Sigh ….tomorrow life will go on… I’ll get up, put on the uniform, extort, belittle and intimidate; have a great time… … and yet… and yet… I can’t forget the look. His look.

Great news Friends! Our book fair is going gangbusters. From now until Easter you can snap up some of the many fantastic bargains at The Hub. I consider it a privilege to be able to help out there.  I do so for a couple of reasons. One is that there are plenty of gaps on the roster and cheerful helpers are always needed.

But also because it is a whole lot of fun. The sparkle of scintillating conversation. Meeting new people without a mask and getting to know others just a little bit better. These are valuable gifts that, unlike the books, cannot be priced and sold.

When I am at The Hub I wonder if The Master ever went to the Market. Did he perhaps go with his mum to buy bread and fish? Did he and his mum come home with a basket of pomegranates, figs and dates?

And as he grew older, was it not likely that Mother Mary sent him off to get the groceries where he learnt to haggle and to engage in witty repartee? Did he go tremulously to grumpy Bill who sold walnuts and with a shy smile to Martha who would slip him an extra egg because she knew that Joseph hadn’t got any orders for coffee tables these past two weeks.

Maybe not those particular people, those particular things, but The Master comes humbly, almost surreptitiously, into our hurly burly, our gossip and chatter, our commerce and tedium, our giggling and the boring stuff we just have to do. The trick is to see Him and engage with Him. Most importantly… allow Him to engage with you.

Which is the best reason I know for scribbling my name down on the roster and being in our own ‘modern market’.

Brutus goes to the garden. 

“Festus. Festus! Get out here” It is the middle of the night and I am thumping on his door because our blockhead leader Claudius has a so called ‘important’ job for us.

“Festus!”

I hear muffled whispering and scurrying around. I smirk to myself.

“Festus?”

“I’m in bed”

“So I gather. Festus, our illustrious leader, thinks we need to go to a garden tonight and he’s picked you, me and a few other blokes because he loves us so much. We have to arrest a serious trouble maker. Now get your gear on and get out here. Tell what hers name the party’s over for tonight”

There is more scurrying and whispering before a bedraggled Festus emerges, hair askew and strapping his sword to his thigh. He stumbles after me all the while cursing me and Claudius.

“This is Judas” I explain to Festus and he’s going to introduce us to the rebel Jesus.

Judas hurriedly gives directions

“It’s at the garden at the end of the street on the way to market, just past The Dodgy brothers inn. You can’t miss it.”

More soldiers meet us at the end of the street with lanterns and weapons. It's a blitheringly cold night and like Festus I’m missing the warmth of my bed.

Next to fall into step with us are police, then chief priests and finally some Pharisees. The odd thing is that on any other night, in any other circumstance, on any other issue, there would be a serious difference of opinion and no one would agree on anything. There would be as many different solutions offered as there were people. Tonight though its different. We are marching as one and there is a sense of unity and purpose in the air. None of us want to be out and we are grimly determined to get this over with.

Judas leads us straight to a group of about 10 or so people huddled together singing songs. By the way they are singing I think they may have had  a few strawberry milkshakes.

We surround the little clan but we all know why we are here and for whom we are here.

I catch a glimpse of his face in the lantern lights. It’s oddly familiar but I can’t quite place it. He steps forward and asks who we are looking for. He speaks clearly, confidently and without any fear. Odd because if I was surrounded by this group of people I would be needing a change in uniform.

‘Who are you looking for?’

This is going to be cinch.

But then something in his voice  sparks my memory. I recognise the calm, confident and even compassionate timbre of his voice. It’s melodic without being soppy. Strong without overbearing and grumpy. There must be some mistake. Not this guy. Surely. This is the same Jesus that healed Claudius’s servant.

In his sneering boisterous way Festus yells out

“We’re looking for Jesus of Nazareth.”

Jesus responds

“I am he” Simple but it says it all. No case of mistaken identity here. The guy has fessed up but his response prompts some of the religious leaders to go weak at the knees for reasons I don’t understand.

So again he asks us,

‘Who are you looking for?’

Festus can see he’s on a roll and just wants to go home  so he yells

‘Jesus of Nazareth.’

Jesus answers

‘I told you . It’s me… So if you are looking for me, let these men go.’

Which we cheerfully do. No point in cluttering up perfectly good cells with people we don’t need.

Festus does one of his famous rugby tackles and knocks this guy flat. We pull him up to his feet, bind his hands together and we march off into the night. His so called friends have all run away and off we go. Easy pickings.

But in my head there are two things that are bothering me.

One is the calm and resolute way that this guy met us. It’s almost as if he knew we were comin’ for him long before we ever knew. Almost like this was all part of some bigger plan and it is us that are the pawns in the game not him. He is actually the King.

The other thing that worries me is the possibility that we have made a mistake. Yet Judas has always been one of our most reliable informants. His information has always been accurate. People are exactly who he said, they are where he said and when. Tonight was no different.

Could it be that a healer, someone who mends bodies, his about to have his own pulverised?

It’s dark now. And I am back in bed. The adrenaline frightens sleep away. The whole thing was over very easily and very quickly. I can still see his face. A question tumbles through my mind.

Who was really in control here?

Tomorrow life will go on… I’ll get up, put on the uniform, extort, belittle and intimidate; have a great time… … and yet… and yet…

It’s late. I’m lying in bed waiting for Matilda and I am somewhere in that lovely dozey land.

There is a timorous knock at the door and I sense more than hear Matilda approaching. Her perfume is different, potent, exotic. She slips effortlessly into bed and instead of the usual vivacious extrovert, she is tentative, almost hesitant. Something is quite wrong.

I wait for her to speak and finally, in phrases that shyly emerge, she tells me.

“It was supposed to be an easy gig at Crispus’s place. You know the Pharisee that always has plenty to say… especially about himself”.

‘Come and dance for us Matilda. Here’s a down payment to entertain us. I’m having a few friends over for wine and song’

“The denarius were plenty and I agreed quickly with a wink. It wasn’t until later in the day that I learnt that the carpenter was going to be there. Sort of a local curiosity piece. I suspect that I am there to trap him

I use the denarius to buy some of the best perfume I can find from the stall in the market. I use every last coin and it comes  in an alabaster jar. I’m so pleased and excited. It’s like a really big break to be asked to entertain at Crispus’s place.

I go in through the door and there is quite a crowd there. There is food and people, laughter and song. The wine is really flowing. The party is well under way. I receive the rest of my money and Jesus is pointed out to me. He is sitting quietly and there are three Pharisees asking him knotty questions. I’ve made a living of reading men’s faces and I know these guys aren’t really interested in Jesus’ answers. Their faces are full of fear and loathing.

I stand behind Jesus in order to surprise him, but somehow he already knows I’m there and far from sending me away or speaking harshly, he just simply turns and looks at me.

Now a lot of guys have looked at me in lots of different ways but never, never have I been looked at like this before.

His eyes look straight through me and straight into me. It’s like he can read and know everything I’ve ever done and most of it I am not proud of. Yet he continues with a look that is pure love. A gaze that knows and understands the past, and yet it has already been forgotten.

An invitation and a look of love that is so very different and so very powerful that it is irresistible and far from me seducing him, he has mesmerised me in a way that I have never known. He smiles … and that’s when my tears start.

By now everyone else in the room is silent and gawping at us. But I am not worried or embarrassed. Something else has begun here, something else is going on in a different dimension altogether and it’s like… there’s only me and him in the room. Everyone else is blacked out.

I fall to my knees and not knowing what I am doing or why, I empty some of the perfume on his feet and wipe it away with my hair. Embarrassed.

The titters go up around the room.

‘If Jesus knew who this was… and he calls himself a prophet. A man of God would never allow this to happen. Oh…the shame of it. There just aren’t any moral standards these days. Now in my synagogue, in my day … let me tell you’

“I can feel their scorn for me and Jesus. And it’s when the perfume is gone that Jesus tells Crispus off, but in such a gentle public way that Crispus has nowhere to go and nothing to say.

Then Jesus turns and looks at me with that look and tells me in such a confident way that the past is past and to go in peace. And so I do. So here I am Brutus. I have come straight from the party to you.”

I’m gobsmacked of course. Matilda has never told me anything about her personal life. It’s always been a business transaction pure and simple. Well, maybe not so pure, but there has never been any heartburn in the relationship. Nothing like this.

But something has shifted. Matilda has changed and I have changed. Maybe we have changed.

I have nothing to say. I mean, just what does a built like a brick temple, Roman soldier, say to such an outpouring? In soldier school they didn’t teach us anything about this touchy feely muck. They taught us how to run someone through with a sword. They taught us exactly where to hammer the nails through the hands and feet. Although they forgot to say how hard you have to hit the nails so they stay in the wood, especially when the crim thrashes around.

I’m thinking about all this when…

“Brutus… No-one  has anyone ever known me like this carpenter. Ever. He understood me, knew my every flaw. And just for a few fleeting moments when he looked at me, everything was as it should be. It was amazing. But if it is so splendid and perfect … then why am I crying?”

Take impossible off the table

You remember how I wrote about the Harvest Festival at Glenthompson? To begin with the numbers seemed sparse and our hearts sank.

But we toddled into Church, we sang, we prayed and we gave thanks for the generosity that makes our tables groan. We prayed for those who did not have anyone to be with and were hungry that night; especially when we tucked into generous glasses of wine, scrumptious sausage rolls and thick juicy sandwiches.

We had a new auctioneer to inspire us. He did a cracking job, but it's not over until the last item has been sold, the last glass washed up and the last coin counted.

No one expected the tally of cash to be anywhere near what it has been in past years and yet when the counting had happened, a couple of times just to be sure, there was a major miracle. The sum was what we had always made.

This happened thanks to the hard work and invisible ministry of so many. If you are one of those folk, then you should know how grateful the Anglican community at Glenthompson is.

But when the euphoria had evaporated there were a couple things to draw out from this. I think about a little lad who shared his play lunch when old wise people had forgotten theirs. The result was that thousands were fed. Perhaps my story of the Harvest Festival and the loaves and fishes are the same?

The other dynamic is that something quite mysterious happens when you give things away. It is repaid back to you, multiple times over, in ways that you could never have imagined. So next time there are hard cards on the table, the first one you should remove is the ‘impossible’ card.

Festus came into the Dodgy Brothers inn the other night with a smashing great yarn about Claudius our idiot boss. Claudius has many servants but it happens that  one of them, Romulus, wakes up paralysed and in great distress. Can’t move a muscle and is in tears. Now Claudius… did I mention he’s an idiot, I think I might have, Claudius does not know how to manage people. His style is to strike first and ask questions later. There is no fair work place or trade union. You live day to day not knowing if you will have a job tomorrow which is why every denarius is important. You’ve got to make a stash for your own superannuation fund.  All that being true, I’ll now say this for Claudius. He does care for his personal servants. So when Romulus wakes up paralysed Claudius will do anything and everything he can to help him.

Festus picks up the story from here.

“After having tried excessive amounts of wine and the local physician, Claudius gets desperate. He had heard about a travelling healer called Jesus who  has a reputation for lepers. So Claudius reckons that if it’s good enough for Jesus to heal a leper, he can sure as hec fix up a bit of paralysis. What’s a centurion got to lose?  Claudius sets off to Capernaum to try and find this Jesus guy. The story goes that Jesus offers to come and heal Romulus in person.

Another thing in Claudius’s favour is that he understands authority of the spoken word. So when Jesus offers to come and make a house call free of charge, Claudius won’t hear of it and explains that when he gives an order, it happens.

So if Claudius asks fifty soldiers to jump into the river Nile on a freezing cold night, then they do it. Or if he asks 100 soldiers to go and attack 256 heavily armed Philistines it happens. If Claudius asks Festus to wash his socks and polish his 7 shiny stupid helmets then Festus sighs heavily, rolls his eyes and resigns himself to an afternoon of tedium.

So Claudius says … ‘Just say the word Jesus and I know it will happen’.

Jesus is impressed and says ‘Off you go then, let it be done according to your faith’ which is a very clever way of saying that if you are palavering with me, Romulus won’t be healed. But if you are authentic and really do believe, then your servant Romulus will be healed. When Claudius gets home he discovers Romulus doing the dishes. The floors are swept, the roast lamb is cooking and the washing hung out to dry.”

It's a great story and I’ve given you the edited, polite version. Festus is often one to embellish a bit and sprinkles his stories liberally with some colourful adjectives. This is the PGR version .

We’re onto our second goblet of wine now and I really want to believe the story, but Festus has only got it third hand. Surely such things don’t happen, can’t happen and yet … and yet..I so want it to be true.

Sometimes when Festus is onto his third goblet of wine he says some rather deep things. It’s one of the things I like about him. The profound truth often lies at the bottom of the wine.

It’s one of those moments. He holds his goblet almost tenderly as you would a child . He looks me in the eye and says.

“You know what this means don’t ya? It raises the question of authority”

I grunt and try to look as though I know exactly what he’s talking about. I don’t of course. I haven’t a clue.

“Yeah, there’s the authority of our uniform. When we put it on, strut and swagger through the streets we command a certain amount of authority and we can get our way. There is the authority of Claudius which I know only too well with his 7 helmets and stinking, festering socks. There’s even Herod's authority which is the biggest, but not necessarily the brightest, in all the land.

But authority over illness and possibly death, that’s a different thing altogether.” Festus takes another slug of his wine.

“It’s an authority that makes you vulnerable for it is not about self, it’s about the other person who is less fortunate. When I stand over Peter for a free feed of fish it’s about me.”

The wine has made my head fuzzy, but somehow I know he’s right. This is a different kind of ‘getting things done’.

I so want it to be true.

Tomorrow life will go on… I’ll get up, put on the uniform, extort, belittle and intimidate; have a great time… … and yet… and yet…

On a house in London there is a plaque. It reads

“John Lennon 1940 - 1980 Musician and Songwriter lived here in 1968”

There is a real sense in which the house changed when that plaque went up. It ‘sealed’ the house as significant and different. And no matter who lives there now or what happens in that house, there is a special sense in which it will always be John Lennon’s house.

I thought about this at a recent parish baptism. It is always a significant event but what takes my breath away is when the child's forehead is signed with the symbol of the cross with holy oil. It is true that the candle and the holy water are all essential, but the cross on the forehead is mind popping.

The cross used to be a means of execution but it has been subsumed and transfigured into a sign of victory and new life. A  symbol of the unconquerable love of the Master Carpenter. Once sealed with the sign of the cross and symbolically ‘drowned’ in the water of the font, the child can never be the same again. Victory and new life are now the babe’s.

It’s easy to miss the blue plaque in Maryleborne just as the sign of the cross at a baptism is easily missed. But these little things change us in ways that we will never know. John would have had no idea when he was living in London that the house would be so visited and gawped at.

And that was the lovely thing about this baptism. In the eyes of God this child will always be remembered, always honoured and always loved. The cross and its victory are always indelibly and inseparably ours.

Did you know that books have personalities? Oh yes, dear reader. They stand on shelves spic and span, ordered, ready and hopeful that you will be their new friend. We are to treat them with respect because no book likes to be defaced, devalued or denigrated. Every book has something to tell us. Often they inform us and we learn things. Important things. Sometimes they are just frivolous and want to entertain us. Some books have sorrowful tales to tell, whilst others will want to allure us to places near and far. They lead us on to new adventures.

Our 30th Annual Anglican Book Fair is now open for business in the Hub. The Fair runs through until Easter and you can purchase good quality pre - enjoyed books at a very sensible price. Thanks to the generosity of previous years we are not looking for donations at this early stage. It is surprising what you find and or is it ..who you find. If you listen closely the books will whisper to you. Some will speak to you of feeling neglected, a bit care worn and in need of attention. Some have looked after themselves and are trim and shiny. Some are like famous people you have heard about. It's an easy decision to pay the poultry price in order to get to know this book better. New friends are made with new books and if we are honest we can never be quite the same again. Our new friend will nudge us along a bit. They will challenge us, surprise us, and yes, sometimes enrage us. But when that verve is distilled and assimilated, we are a little bit wiser and more rounded for having gone through this experience.  

Some come and make a new friend…. Or two.

Lent 1      6/3/2022

“Brutus!… Brutus you bothersome brute. Let me buy you a drink” The boisterous voice came from my fellow solider at the Dodgy brothers inn. Festus’s timing wasn’t the greatest as I was beginning to negotiate a price for some entertainment with Matilda who works behind the bar. Festus and I have served together as soldiers for more than 3 years and become firm friends. Often Festus happens to be drinking at the same bar at the end of a hard day.

Our boss Claudius the centurion is an idiot but with 99 other soldiers to mind we actually don’t see a lot of him.

Our job is both hard and easy. It is hard when the crowds became noisy and grumpy and protest about  everything from taxes to Herod's private life.

Sometimes, we have to threaten or intimidate to make sure that peace is maintained.

Sometimes, because the wages are so pitiful and the work so disgusting, we threaten and accuse others in order to buy another round at the Dodgy bros bar.

And sometimes, we extort a denarius or six just because we can and we are in a good mood. It’s one of the perks that comes with the uniform. And yet …and yet…

Festus and I fall to discussing the next days operation. Peacekeeping at the Jordan River where some nut job called John has been stirring up the crowds. There’s been no blood shed but some people have been getting excited and the boss wants to make sure that the situation doesn’t get out of control. It should be a very easy gig but you can never tell and we both settle in for another  goblet of wine.

The next day we find ourselves on the Jordan river with a crowd of curious people who have come to hear this lunatic. John is absolutely convinced about what he says and often it is not suave or flattering.

Some of his speech is about the coming of the Messiah. And what needs to be done in order to get things ready, although it sounds more like a job description for the council workers than a religious speech.

Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth;

And then he starts.

‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; then he picks up a rock. “I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire’.

Charming.. absolutely expletive charming. Thats a winning policy speech.

My heckles go up and I wonder how the crowds are going to take this. I reach for my sword… just in case like you know. Looks like I might get to biff a few people today.

To my bewilderment they actually fall for it.

“What should we do?” calls out one of them? The guy with the leather belt and the Costa wooly beard says..

“Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”

Which is just the bleeding heart, soppy sort of stuff that would appeal to the riff raff gathered on the banks of the Jordan river.

Then Zaccheus the cunning tax collector pipes up. ‘Teacher, what should we do?’

The response ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’

It’s becoming a bit like open mike night down at the inn. Even Festus decides to get on board.

‘And we, what should we do?’

The response is pretty much my job description.

‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’

I squirm, because this is exactly my career path and I wonder how John knew. I’ve never met this guy before and yet he knows how the community works and what it thinks.

Well, for some of the folk this is all just a bit too much.  They grunt and turn away, others go forward for a swim in the river and the crowd disperses. There's no trouble  and we’re not going to be needed here.

“So what did you think of all that Festus?” “Mmmph. He’s as smart as a bag of rocks.” I grunt my assent to the general sentiment and we walk back to the inn, pleased to be knocking off early.

Late at night I’m listening to Matilda sleeping beside me. I’m awake because I can’t stop thinking about the guy at the river. It wasn’t just that he knew how I got my wine money. There was something else. He was authentic.

Tomorrow life will go on… I’ll get up tomorrow, put on the uniform, extort, belittle and intimidate. Have a great time… … and yet… and yet…

The good news is that I was able to volunteer for Park run the other day. You can even look up the Hamilton Facebook page and find a photo of the occasion.

It was a simple task really. Just hand out the plastic token barcode thingy as people crossed the line and Congratulate them on a fantastic effort! I’ve done that five kilometres and it is quite a way.

It was lovely to chatter and work with others who knew exactly what they were doing and to be part of a team. It also reminded me that I was part of something much bigger. In fact Park Run, like Mother Church is world wide.

On the way home I reflected that everyone who comes to Church is also a volunteer. No-one gets paid to come to Church, in fact folk put money in as they come into the building. Some of them have visible jobs like serving at the altar, playing the organ or handing out the books. Some of them have hidden jobs like vacuuming the vast amount of carpet we have, washing the dishes after mass or folding pew sheets. All are important, all are necessary, all are valued and all are deeply appreciated!

I also realised again that volunteering is a privilege. To serve others and to put something back into a community whether Parish or Park run is a fabulous experience. The collegiality, the sense of participation, being able to help out, is infinitely rewarding. It not only helps the organisation but the volunteer is also enhanced and enriched. Something about being needed and appreciated?

Park run is on Saturdays at 8am. Sunday Morning Mass at Hamilton is at 10:30am. Volunteering is good for you. All are welcome!

And we have no idea..

Part of the privilege of living in this part of the world is that we have the Grampians or Gariwerd  on our back doorstep. There are many different walks which suit all levels of enthusiasm and abilities. Venus baths at the Grampians is a stroll and cathartic. If you’re up for a stiff walk then the Picaninny  is probably a good way to go. The Zumsteins walk takes you on a different scenic walk, or if you are naive and had a coffee over breakfast then Mt. Abrupt is sure to teach you a lesson or 6.

No matter where you finish up, how you get there, how long it takes you, or how many kilos you lose, the view never disappoints. It doesn’t matter what time of day or what season you go, its always the same, always different, always spectacular, always gobsmacking, always healing and refreshing.

There are times in the more vigorous walks where inwardly, silently and sometimes outwardly and noisily, I complain most passionately about the climb. One word comes bubbling swiftly to my lips. Why? Why  am I doing this?

In the gospel reading we have Peter, James and John going up a high mountain…and I reckon they would have been just like me.

While on the way they most likely were complaining and wondering why they had to go up the mountain. When they got up that morning and had their fillet of fish for breakfast they would have had no idea what the day was going to bring. To all intents and purposes they were just following Jesus and having a good ol whinge.

They have no idea that  the mountain is a symbol of an upward journey to Heaven.  It takes focus and drive, commitment and resolve to go there. It's an elevated place, a place away from the ordinary occurrences of life.

Its a different scene, where different things happen. But they have no idea.

And yet for a few fleeting, tantalising, mind popping moments Jesus is revealed for who He is in all His glory. And then just as swiftly the moment is gone. Like an ethereal bubble popping, the vision disappears before their eyes and they are left like idiots on the ground mumbling something about putting up tents.

They have no idea.

Now as a lad I was always stumped by this miracle. I preferred the story of the water into wine and all those healings and exorcisms, raising Lazarus from the dead, feeding the thousands of people, catching all those red fin and mullet.This miracle had me bamboozled because it doesn’t seem to accomplish anything. Most of Jesus’ miracles end up with someone cured, or bellies fed, or a person raised from the dead, but what did the Transfiguration actually “do”?

After this you beaut moment of glory they just go back down the mountain again and life resumes as normal.

Or does it. It will not be until much later after the resurrection that the disciples will look back and see the whole thing context. They will understand that discipleship has both cross and blood and tears, as well as glory, transcendence and magnificence.

But at the time… They had no idea.

And surely part of the message is that it is in the drudgery, the exertion and the ‘Are we there yet?’ that we are most exquisite and dazzlingly gorgeous. We are fantastic just for sticking it out and getting on with and struggling on, even when and especially when, we seem a very long way from the top and the path is rocky, unforgiving and a brutal challenge. We are most triumphant when we are sorely tempted to give up, but choose to go on just a little bit further. And we can’t see the view around us or below and we, like the apostles, have no idea.

And this ties in rather nicely with the first lesson today.

As Moses came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the stone in his hand, he did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.

Moses is quite oblivious to how shiny his face was and how extraordinary he looked. He has no idea.

And if that be the case with Moses is it not possible that we have no idea how marvellous we look when we have come close to the God and spoken with Him and taken His commandments into our lives.

What if someone told you how shiny and radiant and polished you were… you are? What if some crazy, grey haired old priest guy got up one day and told you how striking and splendid you already are. Wouldn’t that be a moment of transfiguration? Might that not change us just a little bit?

That would have to transfigure all of us and we could never be quite the same.

On top of Mt. Abrupt and in our parish church, heaven and earth are indeed full of your glory. And we have no idea. We dance and sing with angels, we worship with cherubim and seraphim and most of the time…. we have no idea.