The Beauty of Bread.

Bread comes in all shapes, sizes and styles. Sometimes there are healthy bits in it, sometimes it is just cotton wool to wrap up a sausage and some onion. But apart from the outward texture and flavour, there is something deeper, more profound and more lovely about bread.

There is a simple, uncomplicated humility about bread. It doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is. There’s no fanfare with it, and it is seldom the ‘main game’ on the table.

It’s happy just being a slice of toast, or the chunks that hold the ingredients of a sandwich together. Hec! It’s happy just to help you mop up a delicious soup or the spicy sauce from a beef rangoon. Because bread is content not to be the main attraction, probably doesn’t want top billing, that’s what makes it so luscious. The self-effacement is what makes bread so absolutely essential. I mean, imagine a sandwich without a minimum of two slices of bread. Or garlic bread without the bread.

Perhaps that’s one of the loveliest things about bread. It knows that it is important, nay even essential, but it never boasts about this.

As I reflect on the last 40 years, I find that I am trying to become more and more like bread. Offering what is important and essential, but in a quiet, background, supportive way. Mopping up the muck, holding together that which needs support, allowing the other to be the flavoursome and the colourful. Always nurturing and sustaining. Sometimes with healthy bits and often being a bit crummy and broken myself.

When the self is selflessly offered, everyone is given the strength to journey on. Everyone is nourished and is given the strength to get where they need to be. May we become, and always be, bread for each other.

Where to Buy 2 Kilos of Anger.

It was one of many conversations that I enjoyed in this interconnected community.

The person ahead of me in the aisle spotted my collar and proceeded to tell me with great vigour about an article they had read in a newspaper. Based on the two sentences they quoted from the article, I understood why they felt so strongly.

Given the effect that it had had on this person’s blood pressure and with the wise voice of my doctor and the word hypertension echoing faintly in my mind, I chose not to follow up on the article.

Understandably, my friend was looking for an agreeable advocate in their line of questioning, but as I had not seen the article, I had to politely decline. It would be churlish of me to comment on something I had not read and did not understand. I would be casting doubtful aspersions in ignorance.

Part of the dilemma is the brevity of time and space that our friends in the media have to dispense complex concepts in bite-sized, easily digestible morsels for our consumption. It can’t be easy. At least the scores in the footy are accurate and indisputable, even if the process of getting the score on the board was fraught with danger, knocks and bruises.

The other thing that perturbs me is that the front page with its BOLD  headline is often crafted to incite anger and or fear. I know where to go to purchase a kilo of grumpiness. It might be good for sales and the pharmaceutical company that dispenses my blood pressure tablets, but it doesn’t always make for congeniality and laughter, which are gifts that we all crave.

Ultimately, I look forward to many happy conversations in this splendid connected community of ours.

Who’s in the Pub? The Barmaid.

Harlot … Prostitute. This is what they call me. Not to my face, mind, but I hear them muttering on the other side of the bar…. as I leave the table after pouring their wine. And while they might scowl about me in derision and call me names, this does not stop them from gawking at me and reaching out inappropriately.    On a good day, they call me by name, Rahab and here at the inn, I am often just called the barmaid.

In the 21st century, when they are being polite, they will refer to me as a ‘sex worker’ and when they are not being polite, well,… There is a colourful array of names that are not particularly helpful. None of these words really describes me properly, for no one really knows me for who I am… not really.

My parents and my siblings have had nothing to do with me ever since I came to work here. I call them the name of “hypocrite” as all of them have had their indiscretions. It’s just that since my soldier husband died,  I had nowhere to go and no trade to support myself. I was left penniless, and I needed the money to live.

I see no way out of this, but I know that one day, my looks will fade and someone younger and prettier will take my place, and I will be in a worse position than I am now.

I’m not a monster, and I am always honest in my business transactions. What you see is what you get. I reckon that everyone, the businessmen, the soldiers and tax collectors, appreciate integrity. They certainly seem to keep on coming back.

Occasionally, there is small talk, gentle pillow talk, but usually there are the slaps and bruises after they have got what they wanted. After all, what am I going to do? Tell on them? But I know them. After all my dealings with men, I can see past their actions into their hearts. I see the loneliness, the need, the longing for something more than the superficial encounter.

But this is true for me too. I am more than just the figure they see and a body they take pleasure in. I know that I am unique. I have hopes and dreams, needs and wants, and apart from good ol' commandment no. 7, I do try to keep the law and commandments.  I do go to synagogue, I do say my prayers, I do go to Passover and Yom Kippur, and if there is someone in need, I keep some of the leftovers from the bar meals for them.

But some of my clients are often dishonest, uncaring and brutish. They are always a ‘someone’ to me, whereas I am always a ‘no one’ to them. I find that I hang out with tax collectors because they, too, are despised and belittled, but we both have an extensive list of clientele, and because of our principles, I actually think we align more closely with the Torah than the scribes and Pharisees. Perhaps the tax collectors and prostitutes will get into heaven ahead of the clergy and the teachers.

I long for the coming of the messiah. To straighten out this squalid, upside-down mess of ours. To see everyone as they truly are and to shout it from the rooftops. And it would take nothing less than the Messiah to do this. We’ve got ourselves into quite a mess.

I long to be seen and loved for who I am, not what I do, and I think that is true of everyone who comes through the front door or the back door of the inn. To be seen, known and loved for who we truly are, not what we do.  I am turning this over in my mind and heart when all of a sudden there is a loud, urgent knock on the door and there stands a rough-hewn, grubby carpenter with a teenage girl in labour.

“Jesus, Master carpenter, when you knock upon the woodenness of our indifference and sloth, give us the will to open the door and greet your arrival with joy. Grant us the strength to open our souls, our lives and our hearts to you. Step across the threshold of our complacency and lodge within us. Love us for who we are, not what we do. Weep, dance and laugh with us.  Make us uncomfortable, surprise us, disturb us, disquiet us and challenge us. Replenish us when our cup has run dry, and when we are famished, nourish us with the bread of life. And finally, when our earthly temple collapses in death,  bring us to the home you have prepared for us where your eternal banquet goes on forever and ever, Amen.”

The Question I Fear Most.

I often find myself asking the Almighty lots of questions. Understandable, inquisitive things like … What were you thinking when you created tarantulas? How come we seem to be biased towards doing naughty things even though we know that there are fearsome consequences? Why is it so much easier to start a war than it is to finish it? I discover no clear-cut, well-reasoned answers, which arrive with thunder and lightning, but rather, in my dotage, I find myself just sitting gently trying to find the answer from within. Like reliable tradies, outside external messengers, angels, seraphim, and posties are a rare commodity.

But often it occurs to me that perhaps The Master might have some questions for me, particularly at the end of my life, when I know I must give an account of my good things as well as my villainous acts.

I don’t think the Almighty will ask me for references from 3 reliable witnesses, preferably one from my bishop. No, I think this will be a direct line of questioning, just Him and me.

Is it not possible that he might ask me, ‘What in my name were you thinking when you….here insert one of my many disappointments….?’

But it is not this particular line of questioning that I fear the most, excruciating and understandable as it might be.

The question that will make me squirm and writhe is this.

‘What did you contribute?’ We are given so much and so many chances to share our wealth, energy, talents, compassion, understanding and nourishment with others and to our collective community as a whole. Daily, the opportunities are there for celebration. I know that I have been given so very much by so many; now it's my turn to do the giving.

23/11/25

On the 150th Anniversary of worship in our diocese, we also celebrate the feast of Christ the King. In his reign, there is no war but only lasting peace.

On 23 September 2025, at the UN Security Council session on Ukraine at the United Nations General Assembly in New York, President of the Republic of Finland Alexander Stubb spoke these words as a joint statement on behalf of the Nordic states.

He speaks clearly and emphatically about the hope for peace in one part of the world.

President,

I’m addressing the Security Council on behalf of the Nordic states, Sweden, Norway, Iceland, Denmark and Finland.

I’m probably given the honour to do this, because Finland shares 1340 kilometres of border with Russia.

Now, the Security Council has had Ukraine on its agenda for the last 11 years, with few results on paper and even less on the ground. At the same time, it’s quite clear that the General Assembly has overwhelmingly and on several occasions condemned the aggression by Russia.

The Council was entrusted with the primary responsibility to maintain international peace and security. And I think it’s quite safe to say that we have failed in that. Ordinary Ukrainian civilians, and actually Russians as well, are paying a high price for this.

Now, quite often I hear the words “we need to eradicate the root cause of this war”. The root cause is very simple. The root cause is that Russia is not abiding by the UN charter. It’s really as simple as that.

It is trying to violate the independence, the sovereignty and the territorial integrity of Ukraine.

Now, the UN Charter lays out the principles that underpin multilateralism. These principles, in my mind, are universal. Every country has taken a sovereign decision to uphold them when joining the UN. They are the minimum common rules at the core of the whole international system.

We heard that in the speech from the Secretary-General today, and we heard it from the President of the General Assembly.

Now, the prohibition of the use of force, sovereign equality and territorial integrity are fundamental to our co-existence. These rules are violated daily by the Russian Federation in Ukraine. Russia’s war of aggression violates the very essence of who we are. It violates the very essence of the UN charter.

If we allow borders to be changed by the use of force, it will set a precedent with global implications.

If I look around the room here today, I think most of us have had the experience throughout our history of war as a means of expansion. We’ve either been the victims thereof or we’ve been the aggressor.

And I always felt that after 1945, we should have all learned our lesson. And many of us probably believed that after 1989, that lesson had been learned and we’d be moving towards some kind of eternal peace.

But the truth is that when we don’t nurture the international institutions that are the foundations of peace, like the United Nations, we fail.

I think a just peace is in our shared interests, and the solution is quite simple. It’s in two phases.

The first phase is a ceasefire. Ukraine has accepted it. The United States has proposed it. Europe supports it. But there’s only one country that doesn’t want a ceasefire, and that is Russia.

And the second phase is very simple. You go into peace negotiations, and peace negotiations can last a long time, but they are indeed the only way we can get out of this. It’s in our interest to ensure that the peace is sustainable and without a relapse.

President Zelenskyi has repeatedly called for a ceasefire and high-level negotiations, and Moscow’s response has been more missiles and drones.

The message to my Russian colleagues around this table is: it’s time to talk about peace. There are too many people dying as a cause of this conflict.

I personally think that today could be a game changer for many reasons.

One of them was President Trump’s post on Truth Social, which I didn’t think left any space of interpretation. It was a clear message that it’s time to end this war. And I think Secretary Rubio noted that President Trump is running out of patience.

Now, of course, Russia is not operating alone. So we urge all states directly or indirectly supporting the invasion to stop.

We live in an era of increasing geopolitical tension and hardening rhetoric in international relations. I think we need to be clear. Might does not make right. Borders cannot be moved by force. Kherson, Zaporizhzhia, Donetsk, Luhansk, Crimea and Sevastopol are Ukrainian.

Membership in this Council comes with power, but it also comes with responsibility.

Please use that power to stop the killing and pave the way for a just and lasting peace in Ukraine for the sake of all of us.

And let me finish by quoting my mentor, President Martti Ahtisaari, who was a big friend of the United Nations and who received the Nobel Peace Prize in 2008.

He said that what humans begin, they can also end. Please, end this war.

18/11/25

We are the Clever Ones… Right?

Each week, it is a great joy to be able to chat with my daughter. She lives in New York, and we engage in lively conversation thanks to a thing called Google Meet.  We swap stories and update on family news.

This is a first-world privilege not afforded to most of the world and would not have been available to our society 50 years ago.

We’re the clever ones… right?

But the advancement of technology and medicine over the past few decades has not stopped there. O  Lordy, Lordy no.

Think of the motor vehicle. It takes us from A to B and then onto 3.6 and back home again. It’s air-conditioned, plays music, and now comes with navigation devices that even the most ungeeky priest can work out and use competently. We’re the clever ones … right?

Think of the medicine and prescriptions that most of us of mature years rely on and the cleverness that was involved to test and refine these tablets to a safe and effective level. Where the clever ones … right?

And then we took travel to a whole new level where hundreds of people can get on board a tin cylinder and, in just over 24 hours, arrive on the other side of the planet. And don’t even get me started on space travel.  We most certainly are the clever ones … right?

But then, if we are so clever in this age of communication and connection, how come many feel nothing but isolation and loneliness? And boy… we sure know how to start a war. But,… we’re not quite smart enough and clever enough and wise enough to know how to end a war. Perhaps we have a ways to go. Perhaps we’re not the clever ones after all.

From the pen of 

Michael K. Marsh | November 13th 2022

I want to tell you about a friend who came and sat with me. They knew I was in a jar of bumpy pickles.

I was feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, lonely, stuck, and grouchy.  As I talked on in ever-diminishing circles, my friend wisely and astutely never actually told me what to do.

I think the questions of what we are going to do, what we want to do, or what we should do often occupy much of our time, effort, and energy. They’re not necessarily bad questions, but maybe they are not necessarily the first question.

Then my friend asked me, “What do you want the future to be?” He was asking me about my vision for the future. I think it’s the same question Isaiah is setting before us in today’s Old Testament reading.

No wonder I didn’t know what to do. How could I? I had no vision for the future. That’s why I’ve got stuck. “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” Proverbs 29:18

I was in search of a vision for the future, and I guess there is a sense in which I still am … for our community, for our parish and for the world.  Maybe you are, too. I think Isaiah has exactly what we need to hear today.

Not once in today’s Old Testament reading does Isaiah tell the people what to do. Instead, he offers a vision. It’s less about what to do and more about a direction in which to move. Isaiah offers values not just to be believed but rather to be lived and enacted. The vision he offers never ends; it’s always unfolding and enlarging.

He offers a vision of who God is and the desires, longings, and hopes God has for us. And it’s not just one thing. It’s a menu of beautiful, soaring, and poetic images of what life can be like. Each image is an entry point into the divine life. Take a look at the à la carte specials board. What whets your appetite?

What parts of Isaiah’s vision capture your imagination, ignite your passion, and cause your heart to sing out, “Yes! Yes, that’s it!”

Is it the part in which God says, “I am about to create new heavens and a new earth?” And if so, why does that grab you? What possibilities do you imagine? What needs to be created anew in you? How might you be a co-creator with God of the new heavens and earth? What kind of place do you want to leave to those who will follow you? What is this vision asking of you? Where and in what ways can you make a difference and bring about something new?

Or maybe it’s the part in which God says, “No more shall the sound of weeping be heard … or the cry of distress.” Wouldn’t that be nice? No weeping, no cries of distress, just the heartbeat of life. Do you hear the hope in that? Is that your vision for the future, for yourself, and others? That day is coming, but it begins today with our compassion, love, healing, and grace for ourselves and one another. Is that something you can give yourself to? If that’s your vision for the future, then what is being asked of you today?

How about that part in which God says that we shall not labour in vain and that our children and descendants will be blessed? Is that the vision that’s important to you, and if so, why? What do you see when you imagine work, the daily things we do, whether paid or not, that are meaningful and make a difference in the lives of others? What would that look like in your life? What’s the blessing you want to give others? And how might you become that blessing?

And there’s that part of the vision in which God says, “The wolf and the lamb shall feed together…. They shall not hurt or destroy.” It’s an image of nonviolence and reconciliation. Is that your heart’s deep desire for the future? What if we lived in a world of nonviolent families, schools, and workplaces; nonviolent political, economic, and justice systems; nonviolent cities? Is that what you want the future to be and, if so, how might you begin to cultivate nonviolence toward yourself, others, and creation? What relationships need reconciliation? How would you live a peace-filled life in your thoughts, words, and actions?

With each aspect of this vision, God is giving us wings to soar, but it is up to us to give the vision roots by which we ground it in our lives and the lives of one another. We need both soaring wings and grounded roots.

Imagine if we all took a piece of this vision and gave it our prayer, time, and energy. Imagine if we gave that vision roots in our lives and relationships, if we let it be the lens through which we see one another, if we let it guide how we think, what we say, and the things we do. Imagine the possibilities.

What does that look like for you today? What feelings does it  bring up in you? What does it inspire in you? What is it asking of you? And what might it offer you and our community?

I wonder what vision is taking root in your life today and what fruit it might bear tomorrow.

Bread for the Journey

Bread for the Journey is the title of a book by Henri Nouwen. I was reminded of his book when watching a show on TV the other day. It was one of those programmes where a group of people are making a pilgrimage together.

The scenery, of course, is stunning, the bantering jocular, the participants are looking for something that is not necessarily their final destination, but rather that special something they discover about themselves and each other whilst traipsing along. Its great television and lots of fun.

At one of their stops they are greeted by a beaming, jovial monk who welcomes his visitors with affection, deference and grace. And then he proudly announces that he has a gift for them. What might it be? Perhaps a signed copy of his memoir, a set or rosary beads, a history of the monastery? No… Instead he hands around a bowl and each person takes out their gift. It is nothing more than a wisp of bread.

How ineffectual. What use could a small chunk of bread be to those who were hiking over great distances and burning energy as if there was no energy crisis?

Turns out, of course, that the bread and its size were both symbolic as all the very finest gifts are.

Bread is one of the oldest forms of sustenance that we have and is used universally to feed and strengthen. And the size… sometimes it is the smallest gesture of love… a smile, the sacrament, a look, a word, a hug, a card… in the twinkle of these minuscule things we are fed most lavishly and memorably. For our homework we might reflect on those crusts of bread that we have been offered and how we might offer the same sustenance to others.

Treasure the Invisible.

Some time ago, we had a working bee here at Christchurch Hamilton. The day was overcast and coolish, but rugged up and looking like a bit of a dag, I cheerfully joined in.

The aim was to smarten up the grounds, get rid of excess vegetation, show the community that we take our care of the environment seriously, and offer a manicured ‘welcome mat’. There were heady discussions about the logistics of what needed to be done, the right equipment, and who would/could/should apply for these much-sought-after positions.

The skip filled easily and quickly. In fact, there is probably another skip waiting in the next-door departure lounge ready to go. The distraught and hapless flag pole was moved out of harm's way, and plotting began for a slightly different version. It now looks very hospitable, and you’re always welcome to see what we accomplished.

It was leading into the footy finals, so there was a bit of chatter about who might win and who might lose. Who had despaired of their team and whose heart had gone into arrhythmia with hope and excitement.

But there was something else that happened, and while it was invisible, I sensed it most keenly when we all stopped for a well-earned cuppa and delectable homemade scone.

The sense of camaraderie and teamwork, co-operation and conviviality was almost palpable. Together we had achieved much, and the sense of pride blended with mirth and jocularity was just as enjoyable as looking over the well-cared-for and much-loved grounds.

These invisible threads of companionship, encouragement and community are the deepest and sweetest treasures for me as a parish priest. They are not quantifiable, touchable or seeable, but it is these invisible things that I treasure most.

9/11/25

The Air is Thinner in the 7th Dimension.

Today’s story really begins on Mt. Horeb, where a naive Moses turns aside out of idle curiosity to see a bush that is in flames and yet is not being consumed by the fire.

Mt. Horeb is not a remarkable place. Just your average rocky elevation with scant vegetation. It has an average annual rainfall that would make the most tenacious farmer quiver with fear and steal them of sleep. Nevertheless, it is on this rocky outcrop that Moses is about to discover that Mt. Horeb is where you encounter the Living God.

Moses politely takes off his sandals and then the Lord introduces himself, “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.”.

This title of God is the same one that the Master will refer to in today’s gospel in his cantankerous encounter with the Sadducees.

What’s the connection between Moses and these scurrilous Sadducees?

The Sadducees say that there is no resurrection. That's when our earthly clay exhales its last breath; that’s it. Life is over, and instead of the white light at the end of the tunnel, visions of angels and departed loved ones; there is absolutely nothing. That’s it, kaput!

The Master points out to this misinformed mob that this is not the Jewish faith at all. Come on, chaps, remember in sabbath school the story of the burning bush. God introduces himself to Moses as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.  You silly Sadducees, if we believe in a living God, then Abraham, Isaac and Jacob must still be living. Thus, life does go beyond the grave, but it is a completely different life from the one we know and enjoy now. Clearly, gentlemen, we love, worship and believe in a God who is timeless. There is a sense that when we are at the altar, we are also in that first upper room, as well as at the heavenly wedding reception, as well as being in our parish church all at the same moment. Yes, the 7th dimension is a boggling place not to be academically understood and disappear in a puff of logic, but to be lived in and experienced and relished.

Beyond the grave and in that dimension, there is no marriage because we shall be like angels. This is not to belittle the sacrament of marriage or disparage it. Marriage is great for this side of the grave, but as any married couple will tell you, it is not quite perfect. You do get a human being after all, and they come with their own glitter and they come with their slicing irritations. What’s more, marriage is always for a finite period of time. It doesn’t last forever. All marriages end in divorce or death. Sorry to be so brutal, but that is the reality; but sometimes, just sometimes, even in the most flawed of spouses, we glimpse something of the other. Those moments when we know that we are cherished, forgiven and enjoye,d and we wish that moment could last for eternity.

Interestingly, the most unlikely places and the most unlikely people (take Moses, for example, a murderer and a refugee) are exactly the places and people that are the very interface for divine encounters.

And there is a disquieting question for us to ask the person in the mirror. What if I am the icon, the face of the divine? Tarnished and bruised and lined but all the more beautiful and exquisite because of my blemishes. If God sees in me something of the beloved and rejoices in that, in my quirky nuances and silences, in my inextinguishable jocularity, I learn again that the Master can choose any complexion, any scar, any beauty to give us a glimpse of ‘the other’ and if He can see it in me, then I must take the time and put in the energy to see what He sees in others.

Something also needs to be said about our Mt. Horeb. There are places where the shroud between this dimension and the other dimension, maybe the 7th dimension, is incredibly thin. Your parish Church might be one of those places and it’s worth asking yourself from where is your Mt. Horeb? Where was, where is, that place where you are most centred, most you and He is most present for you? The place where without any fanfare or prior warning, all of a sudden you find yourself ‘there’. It’s not something you can book online. Sometimes, like Moses, we are just idly minding our own business in a geographical place that we know well, which is boringly familiar to us and then we slip through the veil and we find ourselves rubbing shoulders with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. They find us, not vice versa. Or maybe we have just given ourselves the space to realise we were always surrounded anyway.  Then there is no need for trick Sadducee questions about brothers with a genetic heart disposition who keep on dying and leaving a distraught widow. We won’t need to ask the hypotheticals or shake our fist. Our tears will come not from the bottomless well of deep sadness, but spring out of a fountain of measureless joy.

Perhaps this is why the Sadducees no longer dared to ask him any more questions. Because they were in his presence, looking into his eyes and they found themselves in the presence of Abraham, Jacob and Isaac. The air had become thin and they were in the 7th dimension.

Todays story begins at the Queen Vic market in Melbourne. It has a large veranda and sometimes they feed those who sleep rough there with a bottle of water and a BBQ.

Jeanine and I have stayed an inexpensive but comfortable hotel just around the corner from all this so we know the area well and we know who and what to expect. It’s not ritzy, it’s not sexy and glamorous and pretty much every time I have to check myself, remind myself, that I have no idea what has led these people to their destitution and I have no idea where and who they will be in 6 months time and what they will look like.

A mental illness, a case of abuse, the invisible scourge of  PTSD.

The trouble is that every time I consciously or subconsciously dismiss one of these little ones, I not only do a disservice to them, but, just as appallingly, I discredit and diminish my own self and therefore all my brothers and sisters. Everybody loses.

In his book ‘The promise’ Arnold Dix captures this eloquently and succinctly in his own encounter.

“I once gave money to a beggar on the street in Melbourne. The person I was with scoffed, telling me I had probably just been scammed. That immediate dismissal of a perfect stranger doesn’t sit well with me. Even considering that possibility gets in the way of the intention of my act to show someone a little kindness and some mercy.

Who cares if they spend that money on alcohol? Who cares if they don’t need it as much as they have implied?

When we do not take each other at face value, when we discard people because they do not act or look like we think they should, we do a disservice to each other as human beings.”