Once upon a time there was a film called the 10 commandments. It starred Charlton Heston and watching this film at the drive-in is one of my earliest childhood memories.

The exhilarating bit was the part where the good guys got to walk through the walls of the Red Sea and the bad guys in their chariots all drowned. The spooky bit was the plague of the first born. This was the plague that finally convinced Pharaoh, at least temporarily, that he should let the Jewish blue collar workers go out into the wilderness and worship to their God.

Now bear in mind Pharaoh had changed his mind each and every time Moses had called down a plague upon the land so there was no real guarantee that Pharaoh wouldn’t change his mind this time.

Moses well understood the fickle heart of Pharaoh. He had also checked the Macdonald's app on his phone to discover that there are no drive through MacDonald stores in the wilderness on the way to the promised land.

So he asks his people to bake some bread but they have to do it in a hurry. There won’t be time to do all the proving and knocking back and waiting for the bread to rise. So they skip those bits of the recipe and make something akin to our pitta bread today. Unleavened bread. Bread without the yeast.

Meanwhile the angel of death is passing over the land and striking down the first born. This same angel is also skipping those houses that have the blood of the lamb daubed on the doors of the house.

For our Jewish brothers and sisters this is one of the most solemn feasts on their religious calendar. Understandably its called The feast of the Passover.

Growing up as a faithful practising Jew this celebration would have been a wonderful occasion for Our Lord. This was what he was up to with his little band of blokes the night before he died.

In the upper room there would have been lamb, olives and of course the things that we are familiar with, bread and wine. More little things.

I tell you all this because it helps to explain why we still use flat bread, unleavened bread, bread without yeast at our eucharist today and not the big fully stuff that we buy from the supermarket.

There are a couple of little things in the Eucharist that came back to me the other day that I hope might be helpful for you.

First, after the bread is blessed, I usually keep my forefinger and thumb together just in case there are any tiny parts of the blessed bread that are still on my finger tips. The chances are remote, but it helps to remind me of what it is and WHO it is that is here at the altar with us.

Secondly Our unleavened bread at the eucharist starts off completely covered. It is hidden under the veil or under the corporal. The bread of the life, the Master is often hidden from us and reveals himself ever so fleetingly and tantalisingly. This is perhaps the most powerful part of the story of the disciples going to Emmaus. It’s not until they sit down at table and the stranger breaks the bread that they realise who it is that has been walking alongside them. The Risen Christ sharing their story, their grief, their life, their journey.

Another little thing. At the Eucharist in Hamilton we deliberately bless more hosts than we need and the excess is reverently placed in the tabernacle behind the high altar; not just for safekeeping but also for two other reasons.

One, because under normal circumstances, the Church would be open and people can come in and say their prayers in the nearer presence of the blessed sacrament which is… well it is Him. This is why we approach communion with joy and respect, reverence and hope, confidence and humility.

Secondly there are times when Mrs Tiggywinkle might not be feeling too well and would like someone to bring her communion at home. Then the blessed sacrament can easily be accessed and taken to Mrs. Tiggywinkle or a nursing home or a hospital or wherever the need is.

In the very early days of Christianity, when it was a crime punishable by death, Christians used to meet in furtive secrecy on a Sunday and bless enough bread for each person to make their communion at home once a day. Then they would scurry home, make their communion each day and return the next week. They returned faithfully, fearfully knowing that it was the little things that mattered.

In today's gospel the disciples have had a bit of argy bargy about who is the greatest and The Master knowing their angst uses the parable of a little child to teach them what is really important. It is the little things, like a child, like the busted bread. Like Him.

I thought of Axel the other day. He was a young man of 20 something years and I met him at the funeral of his great aunt. There were several things that struck me about Axel. His manners, charm and his rich guttural accent which was both tricky and endearing. But what was even more memorable was the profound sense of grief he honestly expressed at the funeral. It is not something you tend to see in young men and not something you would expect from that particular family connection. But there it all was, tears and tissues to boot.

We chatted for a while at the cuppa after the funeral. He told me how he was an engineer and working for a prestigious firm. They paid him accordingly for his hard work and expertise. There was an attractive partner on his arm who was obviously a great support to him. Then the real story spilled out. How great aunt had been so good to him, taught him things and secretively spoilt him. And then great aunt simply didn’t wake up one morning. So in effect he was just setting off on his ‘grief journey’.

Axel asked me lots of hard questions like “If great aunt wasn’t in the coffin … then where was she? What was life like on the other side of the grave and… how do you know?”

But the phrase I will never forget, the one  I had no reply for was this candid admission. “I just don’t want it to hurt anymore”.

For which of course there is no right answer or reply. Hopefully an empathetic silence and a willingness to sit gently with someone seemed like the right thing to do. It still does. I haven’t found or been told about a more appropriate or healing response. Have you?

Jeremy Fisher lived many years ago in a place that is many kilometres from here. But he came one night and poured out his heart to me. The contents were not pretty and there was quite a bit that Jeremy was not very proud of. But there it was, hanging in the air of my study like a tangible dark cloud between us. It was such a heartfelt and authentic admission that I whipped out a nearby stole, did what the Church does and pronounced absolution. It wasn’t in the formal dark confession box with 3 Hail Marys  and an Our Father for good measure. But what passed between us and more importantly, between God and us, was an exhilarating experience of the power of forgiveness. Then with the last words “Go Jeremy and of your charity pray for me also a sinner who needs your prayers”, the aura between us popped and was replaced with a dancing light joy. The next time I saw him was when he came to the altar rail at the Sunday mass and then at the Church door. It was as though the encounter had never happened which is as it should be; because that is how God sees it or rather He doesn’t, as he has already forgotten what is past and is always encouraging us onto and into His future which is our future.

I’ll lay odds that each and everyone here has had a moment like that with a Jeremy Fisher. Someone we care about. Someone who generously has taken us into their confidence and we have been given a rare and precious insight into the innermost being of another soul. It is always an undeserved and unlooked for privilege and both listener and speaker are the wealthier for the encounter.

However, it does come with a cost and the cost is not only keeping the confidence, but the ongoing loving of another soul who puts their trust in you. This is your cross and it is theirs; maybe you have been the Jeremy Fisher who has made an informal or even formal confession. I tell you about Jeremy and his story because it has overtones of today's gospel. Jesus invites, teases out the disciples' confession. Watch closely as he cleverly  and brutally extracts the information. Jesus asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?’  And they answered him, ‘John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.’  He asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.’ This is our friend and brother who also draws out of us the truth about ourselves and about Him. There is a price tag which is pinned to this confession of faith.Then in today's gospel Jesus does something which to our eyes and ears seems rather harsh and odd.“

And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.”

And I can’t help but think of Jeremy as he left my study that evening. Nothing more was ever said and nothing more ever needed to be said, because it was all dealt with. We don’t need to say anything more and the hardest thing I find is not revisiting someone else's woes, but not to revisit my own past tumblings. Why is that? The backdrop to today's Gospel is a journey. Jesus will be brought from Caesarea Philippi in the far north, via the mount of transfiguration, back to Galilee, then to Jericho, to the gates of Jerusalem and then to the cross. A confession of faith, a demonstration of belief, inevitably sets the disciples and Jesus on a path to Calvary and from there to resurrection. And just as surely as Jeremy began a new path and a new life, so it is with us when we listen, when we confess, when we walk with the disciples and the Master. And Jesus will make it very clear what is going to happen to him.

“Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again”.

And Peter bless him, as only Peter can, wants a different sort of Messiah and to understandably protect this guru whom he has grown to love.

“And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him”.

My hope would be that you have been Jeremy and that you have also been a minister that has shouldered the privileged cross with dignity and joy. That you have been given the courage to lose your life for His sake, and for the sake of the gospel, to save it. For the crosses of confidence that we carry and for the crosses of confidence that others shoulder with us, may the Lord’s name be praised.

"Dear David,
Thank you very much for this essay, the logic of which escapes me. However if you like, I would be happy to buy you a beer so you could explain it to me.
In bepuzzlement  your New Testament theology lecturer."

I want to come back to this little note at the end of the homily.

There are three things that I find difficult about today's gospel.

First there is the apparent put down of the woman by Jesus. When this poor, distraught Mum comes begging for an exorcism for her daughter, Jesus seems to be rude and insulting. ‘Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’

Imagine what our Safe Church officer would say about that. Bullying, discrimination  and harassment for sure.

Secondly, Jesus wants to hide himself away and not to be talked about. “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there”. “Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one;” Surely if you were the Son of God and had come offering salvation to all, you would spread the news as widely as and publicly as possible.

The third thing is Jesus' unsuccessful attempts for privacy and public silence. “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there…. Yet he could not escape notice.”

So much for having a quiet afternoon kip.

“Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it.”

So if Jesus is all powerful, then how come the people don’t abide by his orders?

A motley collection of thoughts that might be helpful.

With the issue of the peoples disobedience to keep mum. The relationship that Our Lord offered to these people is the same one that He offers to you and to me. It is a relationship of trust and love. Like all relationships of trust and love this infinitely precious thing can be abused, misread or ignored all together. This love business and especially this God business, is a risky risky thing. When the Messiah stretches out his hands to reconcile and to heal, his palms will frequently be pierced and punctured. And this is true of us as well. When we reach out our hands in the name of friendship, or with the intention of  hope and reconciliation there is always a risk of rejection and failure. Otherwise it is not truly love. If we reach out with a self seeking motive,  where we hope to achieve or gain something for ourselves, then not only have we missed the point, we have missed out on a relationship that could be quite special and lovely and divine.

On the issue of the Christ who consciously chooses to conceal himself. My best starting point and that is all it is, is silence and hiddenness are often how love is expressed. The couple's silence over the candlelit dinner is not a sign of the absence of love, but rather the intensity of their relationship. What is harder to understand is the apparent absence of God’s presence. When we seem to be calling in the dark and all we hear is the echo of our own unanswered prayers shouted out in frustration and anguish. Perhaps it is then time to listen. To listen hard and carefully. This is the bit in the prayer conversation when He wants to speak to us and wants us to discover that the Kingdom is already within us. We cannot do that unless we are very still and very quiet, sometimes for a very long time.

And what of  our Lord's grumpy conversation with the Mother who in a sense, is just as tormented as her daughter. It is almost as if our Lord wants to engage her in conversation; that he is teasing her  and encouraging her into a deeper dialogue. The Master knows the depth and passion of a Mothers love and He wants to use her angst to begin a relationship with her. What if the Master knew what He was going to do all along? That he always had every intention of healing the daughter, but saw an opportunity to make a new friend with a stranger from another land.

All of these things are just tiny starting dot points. The hidden, ineffectual and arrogant Christ are all the same one. They are the teacher who longs to speak to us and to engage with us and draw us onwards and upwards into His very self. This is the very best Christ that we could have. One who is constantly using every means He can to transform us into the very best that we can be. The most effective teachers were not the ones who gave me the answers on a silver platter and sent me away. The very best teachers were like my New Testament lecturer. The teachers who gave me just enough to keep on learning, to keep on asking, to keep on discovering, to keep on wanting to know more. The ones who stretched me and made me think … really hard.

Praise then to the elusive Christ who reveals just enough of Himself so that we want to keep on learning, keep on asking, keep on discovering, keep on listening, keep on thinking… really hard. The elusive Christ who always wants me to get to know Him more and more. The one who wants to buy me a beer and chat with me. Silly me. It wasn’t  a put down from my lecturer. It wasn’t about the beer and the essay at all. It was about a relationship.

Have you never noticed how doing the dishes can be quite cathartic? It’s a therapy where you don’t actually have to think too much about anything. A space to reflect and sort out our wonky world. Things are in a much better place once the last shiny dish has been triumphantly put away.

But sometimes there is a stinker of a pot which needs a bit of elbow grease and a stubborn will to make it gleaming again. Something stayed on the heat just a little longer than it should have and a simple wipe and a fleeting promise is not going to sort it out. A little something extra is required. Maybe a special product of a brand that cannot be named here. And if that doesn’t quite do the trick, then the last desperate measure is this. You leave it soaking overnight. This is pretty hard core and means that the pot/pan/utensil is on its last warning.

I thought about all this as I slushed around the night. My hands gradually thawing in the satisfying swish of the water. There are quirks and problems in our lives that are very much like grubby dishes. Some are mundane and easily dealt with. You’ve seen it all before, done it all before and it’s as easy as an afternoon doze on a sunny afternoon with a refreshing beverage to hand.

Other problems are a little more gruesome. They are trickier and require more brain power and more energy. You get there, but the oomph required is substantially more.

Then there are the problems that need to be soaked while you sleep. These require a little more thought; a bit more cogitation and a coming back to them with fresh eyes in the morning. The trick is knowing which problem requires which treatment.

A reflection for August 29th

First a confession. The phrase “Our tears will dry” is an absolute and unashamed pinch from someone far more articulate than I, but as always you deserve the best and the best I can offer today is this simple but profound phrase “Our tears will dry”.

This mornings first lesson is from the book called the Song of songs. If you have never read it then you should. It will only take you about 20 minutes to read. It comes with a warning though and the warning is that it is a pretty racy raunchy read. Probably MA 15 years and older. Someone cheekily said it was the sealed adult section of the bible. So  if you thought that the bible had nothing to say about that marvellous intimate union between a man and woman then I am very pleased to be able to tell you that you are wrong. Check this out!

The voice of my beloved!
Look, he comes,
leaping upon the mountains,
bounding over the hills.

My beloved is like a gazelle
or a young stag.
Look, there he stands
behind our wall,
gazing in at the windows,
looking through the lattice.

My beloved speaks and says to me:
‘Arise, my love, my fair one,
and come away;

So here’s a bit of background.

The Songs of Songs was written in the 5th century, B.C., and is attributed to King Solomon the guy with lots of wives and concubines. It is written in a very poetic manner, and on the face of it, it is a love poem clearly showing the love, anticipation of, and of the great admiration for, the woman through whose eyes the male object of her affection is perceived.

     Look, he comes,
leaping upon the mountains,
bounding over the hills.

My beloved is like a gazelle
or a young stag.
“Marvellous stuff!”

There are three ways of interpreting this book:

First, it is speaking of God’s love for his People;

Secondly, it is a parable about the loving relationship between Christ and his Church.

Thirdly, it is seen as describing the love between a bride and groom. The book is intended to say how fabulous married love is in the sight of God. It is a wedding song honouring marriage, showing that human love and sex are good in God’s eyes. Sex is good because God gave it to us. But like all of God’s gifts it is not to be abused.

But I think this book speaks to another pining, another ache that is deep within us and all around.

In these times we are grieving and longing for the days of yore. We miss life as it was at the beginning on 2020. How idyllic and easy it all was back then. We grieve for the closeness of those who we cannot reach out and touch. We are also yearning for a future when all this is behind us and we want that just as surely and as potently as the bride wants her hubby in the song of songs.

The good news is that one day the flowers will blossom, our hearts will sing, we will giggle and chortle and the sense of His closer presence will be restored.

“But”, you rightly and understandably ask, “When will these things come about? When can we ditch the masks, the QR codes and the sanitiser?” My answer is that I don’t know exactly. I have scoured my diary and cannot find a single entry where this new era is scribbled in.

Mmmmm… perhaps ‘when’ is not the right question. Perhaps it is enough to know that it will be.

Remember the ache of the two parted lovers from the Song of songs?

The ache they felt for each other is as powerful as the same ache that we feel for the past and for the future. The difference is that our ache for a different time zone and reality is often about our own convenience or inconvenience. The ache of separation that the lovers feel is always about someone else, the other, our beloved. This is the same as our longing for Him, which is the same as the desire He has for us.

There will be a time when…
the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone.

The flowers will appear on the earth;
the time of singing will come,
and the voice of the turtle-dove
will be heard in our land.

Spring will come again, lovers will be reunited and our tears will dry. They will dry because He will be so close to us, that He will be able to reach out and wipe our tears away. And when all our tears have been expunged and are finally dried, then we will be able to see him as He truly is. Then we will understand that He also has been crying. Crying for us and crying with us.

Our tears will dry because we will again understand and rejoice in the simple fact that we adore a compassionate, broken, wounded healer who yearns to be close to us. Our tears will dry.

Tell me… what did you learn?

I can’t have been any more than 12 years old. My dad had bought fish and chips at Warracknabeal. By the time he got back to Sheep Hills this gastronomic delight had cooled slightly.

“Here David. Pop these in the oven as a treat for dinner.” I was stoked. We hardly ever got fish and chips and McDonalds hadn’t quite made it to Sheep Hills. I dutifully did as I was told; then got really excited and really hungry.

Until… an acrid aroma began to fill the kitchen. Something wasn’t quite right. A little wisp of smoke hung in the air. My father, looking more than a little puzzled, strode purposefully toward the oven.

Opening the oven, even more smoke came out and my father said a rude word that I had never heard before. Well… actually, it was probably more than one word.

Little shapes of orange blistered the shiny white paper. Of course I had done the right thing and put the precious bundle, paper and all, straight into the oven. Perhaps I should have taken the paper off first? I mean… I guess that would have made sense right? But I was only very tender of years and this was my first foray into gourmet cooking.

My fathers emotions went from surprise, to horror, to anger, to befuddlement, to amusement, to disbelief and then the cycle was quickly repeated… several times.

I don’t remember if the fish and chips were OK and whether we got to eat them. What I do remember was a conversation that began with… “Well David… what did you learn?”

So next time you make a mistake, instead of lashing yourself mercilessly and endlessly, you might instead ask yourself.

“What did I learn?”

It was in the summer of 1975 that I first put on the uniform of Horsham High school. The shirt felt tight around my neck, and the blazer was ill fitting, scratchy and awkward… I went tremulously through the front gate, found my way to where I was supposed to be and began.

Question. When I went through the gates for that very first time was I a student of Horsham High School or not?

There is a line of reasoning which says Yes, of course! My name was on the roll, and I was in a classroom.

There is another line of reasoning which says that I had a ways to go. That I actually became a student of the school as I made friends, played 500 at lunch time, went to the school fete and danced like an uncoordinated teenager at the social. All the time I was becoming a pupil of the school. I gradually became enfleshed in the life of the school community and the school became a part of me. There was an invisible something else that was going on apart from homework, classes, school bells and the uniform.

Gradually the uniform became more comfortable, more a part of me and who I was. Some days it was a joy to put on and I looked forward to the day at school. There were other days when I would much rather have slipped into my flared jeans and a suggestive T shirt (this was the 1970s after all)  and wagged.  Most of the time the uniform was just second nature. I put it on and went to school without a second thought. It was just what I did. It’s who I was.

St. Paul understood uniforms. Check out this morning's 2nd lesson where he is writing to the Ephesians. He cleverly uses the uniform of a Roman soldier as a kind of parable.

The belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness, with your feet fitted with readiness. The shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Truth, righteousness, readiness, faith, the word of God.

Pauls says put these garments on.  There are days when it is a joy to put them on. There are other days when we don’t want to put them on, but most of the time, hopefully, it is just second nature and we just put them on. It is just what we do. It is who we are.  People of Truth, righteousness, readiness, faith, who read our bibles, come to mass and say our prayers.  See the end of the second lesson this morning for Paul's encouragement about prayer.

Now all that might sound gooey and lovely, but have a look at Paul's imagery. A sword, a helmet, a breastplate, a belt. This is fighting gear!

Paul well understands how difficult it is to follow the path of the pierced and broken Saviour. He has obviously experienced his own temptations and allurements, or in his own words ‘The flaming arrows of the evil one’.

And just as God cannot stop loving us, so too the evil one cannot stop tempting us and tiresome as it is, we must make a conscious effort and a confident decision each and every day to put on our fighting gear.  There will be times when we will have to choose these garments frequently throughout the day. Sometimes the arrows from the evil one are fast, furious and frequent.

I don’t remember when it was. There was no special day or event that I can recall in my very sketchy memory, but at some point I felt as if I had become a student of Horsham High School. Even though I had been putting on the uniform day after day, had been enrolled and going to classes, somehow now the uniform was comfortable. I belonged to the school and it belonged to me.

My hope is that there has been such a time or even several times, when you have found yourself thinking. “I now belong to Him and He belongs to me”. I have become and I am becoming, the person I was called to be. I am part of that community which is on this side of the grave and the other. The heavenly host and especially in this parish, Our Lady of Dunkeld, St. Peter of Glenthompson, St. Mark of Cavendish and All the Saints of Penshurst. The  people in Church with me, they are my chums who have learnt lessons with me and encourage me still. They too have had rubbish days and sparkly days.

By choosing to put on the uniform consistently, faithfully daily, especially when we don’t want to, then we come to know who we truly are and we can rejoice in being who we are.  A moment's reflection will tell us that we were in fact that person long before we walked through the school gates. We have in fact, always belonged to Him. It just took us a few years, many lessons, some whacky teachers, some homework and a crazy uniform to get us there

'What's all this about Mary!? A reflection for the 15th of August

Anglicans believe that good theology is

1. Christ-centred,
2. Bible based,
3. Affirmed by ancient catholic tradition and
4. Supported by human reason.

The flash churchy phrase for these 4 things is the Lambeth quadrilateral. This is very much the case with our understanding of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and whatever we believe must be consistent with these four principles. Christ centred, bible based, catholic tradition and supported by reason. Sometimes Anglicans believe that Mary is an impediment to our relationship with God. It will help if we take a peek at our foundational liturgical document, the 1662 Book of Common Prayer where we discover there are five Marian feasts.

• Presentation of Christ in the Temple, 2 February
• The Annunciation, 25 March
• Visitation of Our Lady May 31st
• Birth of Mary 8th of September
• Conception of Mary December 8th

In the 1995 A Prayer Book for Australia, the Feast of Mary the Mother of Our Lord was re-established (15 August). This is the Anglican name for the Roman Catholic Feast of the ‘Assumption of Mary’ and the Orthodox Feast of the ‘Falling Asleep of Mary’.

Sadly, differing understandings of the place of Mary have been a cause of division and you would think that after more than 400 years we might have actually sat down with a nice cup of tea and some cherry flavoured Tim tams and sorted out our differences. Here’s a couple of sticky points.

In 1854, Pope Pius IX defined the Dogma of the Immaculate Conception.  This is the belief that from the moment of conception, Mary was “preserved immune from all stain of original sin.”

“What a load of poppycock!” Cried  the Anglicans. “We  reckon that there is no clear Biblical basis for this belief.”

In 1950, Pope Pius XII defined the Dogma of the Assumption. This is the belief that, at the time of death, Mary was “assumed body and soul into heavenly glory”. “Hogwash and humbug!” retorted us Anglicans. “The bible contains all things necessary to salvation: so if it's not in the bible or can’t be proved from the bible, then you don’t have to believe in it in order to be saved.”

Oh dear… Is there a way forward?  In 2004 we actually made progress. It seems that the Church of God can be saved by a pot of English breakfast tea and some cherry flavoured Tim tams after all. Not with a glass of single malt and some stilton cheese as some scholars of dubious repute have posited.

Now, remember the part where Mary is sitting quietly in her lounge room knitting Joseph a wooly jumper and the angel Gabrielle comes and calls her ‘full of grace’. Then He offers her the job of a lifetime. The detail and timing is important here. Mary hasn’t actually said “Yes” at this point and yet she already is full of grace. The Anglican Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC) issued An Agreed Statement entitled Mary Grace and Hope in Christ. It reads, “Mary is marked out from the beginning as the one chosen, called, and graced by God through the Holy Spirit for the task that lay ahead of her” and that, at the Annunciation, “the word of God delivered by Gabriel addresses her as already ‘graced’”.

In 1977 Michael Ramsey, the one hundredth Archbishop of Canterbury was asked “What do you believe about the assumption of Mary?” He answered simply and profoundly, “If she is not in heaven where then is she?” Mary is important for a couple of reasons.

First, because she is the Mother of the Lord. The oldest title applied to her by the Church is Theotokos, a term that means ‘God bearer’ or ‘Mother of God’. This was nutted out  at bishops meeting in Ephesus in 431. Not exactly a recent innovation.

Secondly, she is the example for all followers of Jesus. At the Annunciation, Mary responded to God’s invitation and said her Yes.

Now… if you remember nothing else from this flavoursome homily please remember this bit. Mary’s place in heaven is to be regarded as an anticipation of our destiny. Where she is and who she is with, is where we will be and who we will be with. Christians of every flavour, salted caramel, strawberry nougat, rum and raisin, all rejoice in this. If a pregnant, unwed, teenage peasant lass, from a one hick town can make it through the pearly gates, then goodness gracious me, there is hope for all of us. Like her, you and I are called to give God to the world in both good times and bad, but perhaps especially in woeful times. Just as Jesus' love for His mum was so strong that He wanted her in heaven with him, so too is His love for us is so strong that He wants us there as well. Getting there is a noble and joyful vocation; full of tears, struggles and chortles but we do not do it alone. We do it with her and we do it with Him. They are already cheering us on and waiting for us in splendid anticipation.