The year was 1990 and it was the year after our daughter Stephanie had died. I was going through a particularly dark time with my prayers and understandably I felt as if all the sparkle had evaporated from deep inside me. Instead of water, joy and light there was darkness, gloom and sadness. Instead of my prayers being chocolate and mangoes, it felt as if I was chomping on a piece of grey old chewing gum.

And this went on not for days, but for months. Fortunately retreat came up and I went to the retreat conductor to seek advice.

He listened patiently to my sad little story, offered his condolences and then asked  ‘If your prayers just feel like grey old chewing gum then why aren’t you just offering that up?’

‘Because’ I explained, ‘I am embarrassed by my piece of old grey chewing gum. God deserves better and I want to offer something much more sparkly but I have nothing else to give. I would be ashamed to offer him my old grey chewing gum’.

The conductor again listened patiently and reiterated the obvious. “David, if a piece of mangled old grey chewing gum is all you have to offer then just offer that. If that is all there is then it will be an authentic and honourable gift of prayer and God will accept it gladly and joyfully. It is not a sin to offer something that we think is sub standard. The sin, if I may say so, is to become a bit self centred about our chewing gum and to pretend that we know what God wants from us. To cling to it or allow it to cling to you, will mean that that is all you ever have to offer.”

Point taken Fr. Retreat conductor. Maybe the grey old piece of chewing gum was exactly what God wanted to take from me.

And so I began. It was excruciating at first. It was embarrassing and I felt as if I could be doing better, should be doing better. It took several dark agonising months before I found something other than grey old chewing gum on my plate which I could then offer to God in my prayers. It didn’t happen overnight and it certainly didn't happen easily.

But the confronting truth I learnt was this. That in order to get rid of the grey old chewing gum I had to first offer it to God. To continue to hold it and guard it jealously to myself could only mean that it would be with me for the rest of my life to the exclusion of everything else and that is not what my daughter would have wanted and it is certainly not what God wants.

To be honest sometimes the bit of grey chewing gum is still there as a side serve and the trick is to offer it with just as much relish and just as swiftly as the mangoes, Tim tams and the glass of very good red.

Now I tell you that story for two reasons.

First, as a way of encouragement to you. It may well be that someone who is listening to this or reading this is going through the ‘old grey chewing gum phase’. If this is you, I encourage you in the strongest and yet most compassionate way to simply offer up your grey old piece of chewing gum and to do the same tomorrow and the next day and the next day and… you're beginning to see a pattern here right?

The second reason I tell you this story is because it fits very nicely with the widow’s mite in the gospel today.

Maybe the widow felt squeamish and embarrassed, particularly if she had to make her offering in front of everyone. Remember that our Lord and the disciples were watching people putting their cash into the plate.

Or maybe the widow was a little further down the track. Resigned to the fact that she was a widow which was at the bottom of societies scrapheap and while she was not cheerful and chipper she was tolerably OK, knowing this was what she had to do and she was just simply batting it out and seeing where this next little path of her life would lead her.

Or maybe… and this is what I would like to believe even though I have no proof of it… Maybe she was comfortable and joyful in offering her two coins to God. Yep, for the time being at least this is all I have and I know God rejoices in my gift even if it is not as much as the boys from the top end of town. These two little coins are all that I am and the rest is over to you God. There is a real sense in which these two coins are everything. It's my very self that I am giving over.  And aren’t you just the most marvellous God for accepting my two little coins or my piece of old grey chewing gum. You are the loving God who rejoices in what I thought was a little gift, but is actually worth more to you than anything else in the whole wide world.

Of Auld Lang Syne

What is it about Auld Lang Syne that stirs us with a bitter sweet nostalgia and poignancy?

John Green in his book ‘The Anthropocene Reviewed’ explored the potency of Auld Lang Syne.,

He wrote

“I think Auld Lang Syne is popular because it's the rare song that is genuinely wistful - it acknowledges human longing without romanticising it, and it captures how each new year is a product of all the old ones”.

As I read those words a memory came to mind of a special new years eve. It must have been in the late 1990’s for I can still remember the folk Jeanine and I were visiting. There was wine and good people, laughter and nostalgia. We were young enough for the bewitching hour not to have whittled us down.

Now with loved ones literally on the other side of the planet and a year that has gone so quickly and yet so slowly, Auld Lang Syne seems to be larger, more powerful and yet more tender than ever.

You might like to bring to mind your own Auld Lang Syne wherever, and whoever that might be. Allow the song to stir that something special in you all over again.

Where were you, who were you with, what was said, what didn’t need to be said, but was actually spoken more powerfully than words? Where will Auld Lang Syne send you in 2022?

Perhaps John Green might help us again.

“I think about the many broad seas that have roared between me and the past, seas of neglect, seas of time, seas of death. I’ll never again speak to many of the people who have loved me into this moment. So we raise a glass to them - and hope that perhaps somewhere, they are raising a glass to us”.

A Fete like last year

Whose image is it anyway.

Bishop Morrie is a fictional character created by columnist Michael Leach. This is one of Bishop Morries homilies.

If you haven't done your taxes yet, you better get a wriggle on. Money is a symbol of love, and some of your tax dollars will go to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, and give security to widows and orphans. Sure, most of it won't, but who are we to contend? We have to pay our taxes, whether we like it or not. Isn't it saner to see the gift rather than the cost?

Jesus understood taxes better than anyone ever. In today's gospel a bunch of Pharisees, those holier-than-thou politicians of his time, cornered Jesus with the question, "Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar or not?"

Like all Pharisees, first they buttered him up: "We know you're honest. You don't play favorites. You teach the way of God." Then they gave him the gotcha question: "Does God want people to pay taxes to the emperor? Whose side are you on, God's or the government's?"

Of course, their issue wasn't taxes. It was about tricking Jesus into an ageless, go-nowhere argument and making him look the fool. Jesus was direct: "Show me a coin you use to pay the tax."

One of the Pharisees held out a coin in his palm, with Caesar's face staring right up at him like, well, like the ruler who built the roads and bridges and fed the foodless and led the armies and levied more taxes on the rich than the poor, and, if you didn't pay your taxes, could have you arrested -- that guy. Oh yeah, Caesar used taxes for welfare, too, and even the people from the top end of Jerusalem felt they somehow had less because those who had nothing got to lick the pot.

"So then," Jesus answered the Pharisee, "give the government what you owe the government, and give to God what is God's."

The coin was two-faced, just like the Pharisee himself.

The only kingdom Jesus was interested in was a spiritual one. A denarius bore the image of Caesar, who demanded denarii in return. The Pharisees and everyone else wore the image of God, who asked for nothing but love and compassion for those who had little. That's what Jesus was talking about. He couldn't care less about taxes, one way or another. "Be interested only in the kingdom of God, which is not of this world," he taught, "and all these other things will be added unto you."

He was neither a politician nor a pundit. He voiced no opinions and taught in parables. Can you imagine Jesus on one of today's talk shows?

"Mr. Jesus, you're not on Facebook but you have more than 2 billion followers. That said, do you really think a camel can get through the eye of a needle? Really?"

See Jesus laugh, stand up and walk away. "Come follow me," he says, "and I will give you rest."

"Huh?"

Jesus also gave joy. "In this world you shall have tribulation," he said. "But be of good cheer for I have overcome the world!"

A sure way to experience tribulation is to whine about taxes. Why get yourself sick? And, after all, if you're rich and pay a lot of taxes, you're still going to have the most toys on June 30th. What's the big deal? If you're affluent enough, you'll still have all you need and a little bit more. And if you're struggling or poor, you may not have to pay taxes at all.

Have you ever heard people argue that Jesus told individuals, not governments, to help the poor? Well, aside from the fact that charity just caresses the edges of human woes, let's just remember, Jesus tells us it's right and just to do both: If we're rich, he asks us to give away some of our toys before and after we pay taxes. If we're affluent, we can always share a little more of our "more," can't we? And if we're poor, our widow's mite is worth more than all the amusements in the world.

A sure way to overcome the world is to live for God 24/7, be able to put in an honest day's work for money that provides a healthy and comfortable life for ourselves and our family, and to pay our taxes without complaint and become a cheerful giver.

Jesus made it clear: "It's easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than for someone with too many toys to enter the kingdom of heaven anyway.”

The issue really is about who we belong to. And he belongs to us.

Paying taxes? Petty change.

Following Jesus? Priceless!

Homework questions.

When you look at a coin whose image do you see there?

When you look in the mirror, whose image do you see?

Does your money belong to you or do you belong to your money? Whose in charge?

Does God belong to you, or do you belong to God?

The most beautiful thing in the world is … vulnerability

Much of this article is pinched from a book by John Green. He talks about a dog who ‘in the early evenings would contract a case of the zoomies. He ran around us, yipping and jumping at nothing in particular and then after a while he’d run over to me and lie down. And then he would do something absolutely extraordinary. He would roll over onto his back, and present his soft belly. I always marvelled at the courage of that, his ability to be so absolutely vulnerable to us. He offered us the place his ribs do not protect trusting that we weren’t going to bite or stab him. It’s hard to trust the world like that. To show it your belly.”

We tend to wear pieces of ‘armour’. Cynicism, anger, and irony are just some of the uniforms that we use to cover our tum tum against the barbs of the world and others.

The image of the dog lying on its back also reminded me of The Master on the cross. There with his belly exposed and pierced by a soldier. For some it might seem gory, but for me it is an exquisite thing that he was so vulnerable and beautiful because of His love for the world.

“The most beautiful thing in the world is vulnerability”. John Green would argue that you cannot see the beauty of the world unless you are first vulnerable yourself. The armour plates of prejudice and grumpiness quash any potential blossoming of vulnerability and love.  The dark glasses of suspicion and preconception blind us to what we need to see most. A belly defenceless and exposed. There for the piercing, there for the caress, or both. But always accessible, beautiful and vulnerable.

A reflection for the 24th of October.

There are three groups of people in this gospel story. There is Jesus, there are the people who tell Bart to keep quiet, the ‘shooshers’ and then there is Bart himself. And the usual course for the preacher is to zero in on Bartimaeus. To offer a smashingly good homily and marvel at how good it is that Bart had great faith. How Bart keeps calling out in the face of such overwhelming odds. Isn't it wonderful that his sight was restored? And isn’t Jesus just marvellous for making it all happen?  And wasn’t it great that Bartimaeus became a follower of Jesus? But Bart's progress is not just a physical restoration of his sight and a movement towards Jerusalem. There are many other signs of movement here.

Bartimaeus goes from sitting on the road to following Jesus to Jerusalem.

He moves from having the security of his cloak, to having nothing to wrap around him except the confidence he has in Jesus. He no longer needs the cloak.

He goes from being a beggar, fiscally challenged, to having everything he could possibly need and more.

He moves from  being an outsider, to being one of the ‘Jesus crowd’.

Bartimaeus begins by asking for mercy and is able to move to a point where he can ask specifically for sight to be restored. Something has shifted, moved in the ether. Bart is making progress. He has already begun his journey to Jerusalem, thus to the cross and therefore to resurrection. He just doesn’t know it yet. But he will.

More movement. Notice that at the start Bartimaeus calls out to the ‘Son of David’ but by the end of the story he refers to Jesus personally, tenderly. Jesus has become ‘My teacher’

And it all begins with that yearning deep within him for his sight. He knows that there is more than what he can see or rather what he can’t see. He goes from being silent to asking questions.And there is a not so subtle lesson for us here and the lesson is this. That  asking questions and learning is the same as seeing. When we are prepared to ask and more importantly prepared to listen, that is when we, like Blind Bart, have the opportunity to have our vision restored and then we too can begin to go up to Jerusalem. It takes a lot of guts to call out in our darkness, to go against the flow of the people around us. To draw close to a teacher who lays down his life for you is an exquisite privilege and a terrifying challenge. Jesus' response is interesting. Of course he knows what Bartimaeus wants, he knows what Bart needs, but he wants Bart to articulate his need out loud. To say it for himself. Not, ‘I know what is going to be best for you Bart’ but rather “What is your agenda here Bart? How can I best support you?” Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?

’Perhaps it is only when we know and can articulate our own blindness and blinkered view that we have a hope of seeing more clearly and then we can go forward to Jerusalem. This is not gentle Jesus meek and mild who heals just because he can. The one who waves a magic healing wand to make all things nice with sugar and spice. Here we are confronted  with a  Jesus who asks quite a lot of us. To examine ourselves and to speak out loud of our failures and inadequacies. Our frogs and snails and puppy dog tails. Our healing comes at a cost. You can’t claim it all on medicare. You’ve go to know you need a Band-Aid, then you have to ask for one and only then can you receive one. This is the teacher who also looks us in the eye and he will ask us from time to time not what do you want, but more pointedly what do you NEED?

And then there are the third group of people. The ones I call the “shooshers”. They, like blind Bartimaeus, make some progress in this story. At the beginning of the story they sternly order Bartimaeus to keep quiet, but very quickly change their tune and say it's ‘OK Bart; off you go, he’s calling you’. They, perhaps more than Bart, make the biggest leap here. Bart knows his need and calls out in faith. The 'shooshers' are fickle and  they think they know how the plot should go. I often wonder whether they joined Bartimaeus on the road with Jesus and went up to Jerusalem? I’d like to think that at least some of them did, if only out of curiosity.  In the end the shooshers say Three things to Bart

‘Take heart;
Get up,
He is calling you.’

Their progress, is Bart’s progress, is our progress. Perhaps today we should consider the possibility that the shooshers are saying those three things to us as well.

Take heart;
Get up,
He is calling you.

Then we ditch our security blankets, take heart, jump up and get on the way.

I want to read you an excerpt from a novel. In the story the hero Jack is invited to come and work in a carpenter's shop. The Master carpenter Charlie is an experienced gent of few words but the words he speaks are insightful and I found them helpful. You’ll probably pick up that English is not his first language and I have dulled and omitted some of his more colourful language.  Here’s how the story goes.

‘Down at my end of the workshop Charlie had laid out the wood for the boardroom table he was making. Three perfect walnut boards, fifteen feet long, eighteen inches wide and one and half inches thick. The first time Charlie had given me a job using timber of this quality I’d asked “What’s this?”

“Piece wood,” Charlie said ‘Sweet mahogany. One hundred years old.’

“I don’t think I’m ready for this” I said.

Charlie had taken the cheroot out of his mouth and given my statement some thought.

“Jack” he said, ‘Till you make something nice out of it, it’s just a piece of wood’.

I studied the rough walnut boards with reverence. This was one of the classic furniture timbers. Very few makers ever had the chance to work with wood of this quality and size. I turned one of the boards over. Chalked on the other side was the date Charlie had laid the the boards down. 10/3/46. This wood's moisture content was so low that even the ducted central heating in some Collins street tower wasn’t going to cause it to move. Did an emerging mining company deserve a table made from unobtainable timber, air-dried for at least fifty years? Wouldn’t some lesser, wetter timber do? The miner wouldn’t notice. I’d once asked Charlie the same question about a bureau he was making for a hotel owner with drug connections. “This (here insert naughty word) I’m not making it for” he said. “He’s just the first owner. I’m making it for all the owners”.

A few things to draw out of this little excerpt.

Jacks opening line “I don’t think I’m ready for this”.

There is a sense in which we are never quite ready for this adventure that we call discipleship. We approach it joy, yes but also I hope with a sense of respect, awe and tremulous anticipation. And I think that at every chapter in our lives, no matter where we are up to in our life - novel there will always be a sense in which we say

“I don’t think I’m not ready for this” and I think that is a healthy way of going forward. How can we ever be really ready? But you friends.. You are more ready than you know.

Notice please that the wood needed to be aged. With the years the moisture had dried it out until it was absolutely ready to be the best possible wood it could be. We ought not to be miffed if there are a few grey hairs in our congregation. Rather this should be a cause of celebration for we have truckloads of life experience to draw on. Often the more mature we are, the better we are.

“Till you make something nice out of it, it’s just a piece of wood”. We need to be fashioned. We begin simply enough as a piece of wood.  Gnarly, bumpy walnut boards, rough hewn but ready to be made into something quite lovely. The Master Carpenter sees the potential in us and if we allow him, will fashion us into something quite magnificent.

“This mmmggh  I’m not making it for” he said. “He’s just the first owner. I’m making it for all the owners.”

Our work, our prayers, our ministry, is not just for ourselves and it’s certainly not about us. It’s always about … Him. Nor is it just for our children. Our work, our prayers, our ministry is for future generations and even the generations that have not been born yet. Frequently, not every time, but frequently when I stand at the altar, I am aware that there have been countless priests  before me who have stood where I stand and have offered the same sacrifice. And long after I am gone there will be a string of priests who will stand at exactly the same place and do exactly the same thing.

The question that we frequently need to ask is

“What will future generations think of the decisions we made in 2021?” Will they thank us or will they be cranky with us?

A prayer to finish

O Christ, the Master Carpenter,
who at the last through wood and nails purchased our whole salvation;
wield well your tools in the workshop of your world,
so that we who come rough-hewn to your work bench
may be fashioned to a truer beauty by your hand.
We ask this in His name Amen.

“Please Father Oulton. What will heaven be like?” This question was frequently asked when I was a school chaplain for a few years.

Initially I would try to come up with the right answer, which invariably was the wrong answer, because I didn’t know the answer.

You can say things like, “It will be far better than we ever expected and of course, Gran and Gramps will be there;” After that it gets tricky.

I learned too late to retort with “Now Johnny, that’s an interesting question; Why do you ask?” And then the real story would come tumbling out.

Some folk of more mature years have not been shy in positing the same question and I think a healthy interest in the after life is a good thing - after all, everyone is going to find out one day.

Sometimes I have replied with things like “You know that marvellous cup of coffee you had in that funny little café that made everything else seem bland…”

Or

“You know how the Master made that 120 gallons of really good red wine at the wedding reception… and how you found that special bottle to share with that very special someone…”

Or

“You know how you looked into their eyes and all of sudden everything was perfect and nothing else mattered. Everything was just as it should be and you didn’t want the moment to end… ever… and then you kissed, and somehow everything just got even better?”

You can see how my answers have slipped and shimmied all over the years as I have tried to find a parable that speaks the unspeakable.

My latest answer is this.

“Heaven is when you arrive at that special incredible place and you know that you are home even though you have never been there before”.

Once upon a time I took our daughter to a Wiggles concert. You know… those skivvy clad people that dance and sing with a very young audience. I remember it as a very rowdy outing but great fun for all of that.

A few months ago The Wiggles announced a fresh line up of people to include not just gentlemen, but also some ladies as well. Included in the new line up are some people who happen to have come from a different ethnic background.

Here’s a couple of quotes that made the news.

“Fruit Salad TV seeks to inspire a diverse audience with its gender balanced and diverse cast,” the group said.

“Fruit Salad TV will endeavour to reflect today’s pluralistic society, and put a smile on the faces of children all over the world who see themselves reflected on the screen,” he said.

Now my question is not ‘Why the change, why the different skivvies or why the new line up?’ My question is… Why is this news? Is it really such a big deal? Are people from different backgrounds still not integrated fully, properly, healthily, completely into our everyday life and TV screens? And if not,… why not? Clearly we have a ways to go.

I look forward to the day when such an announcement does not have to be made and the transition just simply happens. There will be no need for press releases, glitzy photography or media launches.

Next question. Do you think the toddlers who will watch The ‘new’ Wiggles will really mind or even notice? That’s the beauty and innocence of youth. They are so much more accepting and welcoming than us old crocks. When did we learn to see people as different from ourselves and how do we permanently remove our fractured lenses?

Story one  - Fist shaking in the Lady chapel

Well, it has been a time and our media have had a lovely year bringing us every possible conceivable angle on the whole COVID thing. Pictures, graphs and editorials. Much ink, much screen space, much grumpiness and some not so polite difference of opinion. It’s all out there for us to see, hear and engage with.

What is not so clear is what our response should be when we come back to that quiet, still place deep within us when we encounter the Living presence of the Risen Christ?

What should we say to Him and more importantly, what is it that He might want to say to us?

It’s probably not a surprise to you that often when I have gone across to say morning and evening prayer that there have been times that I have sallied forth with a torrent of understandable angst and even shaken my fist for good measure. It’s probably not me at my finest and I’m pretty sure that it doesn’t allow the Master to say what He has to say. It certainly doesn’t ease any restrictions, but it is good, honest, raw, logical prayer. You could almost argue it from the other end and say that there might be something wrong with me if there wasn’t an element of crankiness and despondency in my prayer this year.

Part of my message then is one of encouragement. That if you find yourself in the fist shaking prayer mode then that is perfectly acceptable and God will not strike you down and smite you. Rather, He will calmly wait for you to finish and when it’s all done, then I am sure that there are some things that our loving Father will want to say to you.

Things like  mmm…

Try this itchy jumper on and see if it might fit.

What if … He wants to say to us  that it isn’t about you and me. It isn’t about what we can and can’t do this week or next week. Pastoral care 101 was this. That it must always be about the person who is in the hospital bed. It’s not about you, the visiting priest or person, your wants, your needs, your feelings. There will be time enough for that later on. When you are there in the moment, it is always about the other. The person in the bed and the person sitting beside the bed.

So I think… I think .. that when I finally settle down and my fist shaking energy is finally exhausted, I think he says to me “Have you considered your brothers and sisters in ICU today? Have you thought about how their families are feeling? And here you are cranky, because you can’t go and have a parma and pot at the local. Have you thought about those who have to bury their nearest and dearest today? And you’re crabby because you had to have 3 goes to get the QR code to work? Really, David? . . . It’s not about us .. what we can and can’t do. It must always be about the person in the bed and those who sit beside them. Get that focus right and everything else falls into its proper perspective.

• End story one

Story two -Stepfather

Most of you know that my parents divorced and each remarried. Within the space of a few years I found myself with an extended family of step brothers, step sisters, a step Mother and a step Father. It was a bewildering time and I am pretty sure that I did not make it easy for my stepfather who came to live with us. It took many years and a much wider perspective to begin to understand.

I read something the other day that helped. Paul Connolly wrote it.

“When their mum began dating Malcolm, Caitlin wouldn’t look him in the eye and Penny scoffed “Nice try!” whenever he asked about her day.

When he started sleeping over, Theo dipped his toothbrush in the toilet. Malcolm endured such slights with stoicism, grace and mouthwash.

He loved Clem and believed her insistence that they were good kids. The trio soon realised Malcolm was not going away. Indeed, he was always there.

On the sidelines at their sport, waiting in the car as their friends’ parties ended, beside them inside frightening emergency departments.

They began loving him long before they realised it.”

This makes sense of my petty tirades in the Lady chapel and God’s response to my ‘How come…’ and ‘When… pray tell..??

The line “The trio soon realised Malcolm was not going away. Indeed, he was always there”, I found particularly helpful.

One day I realised that God was not going away no matter how dissatisfied I was with his performance appraisal. He was always there. He was always going to be.

And then the line

“They began loving him long before they realised it.” This was just what I needed to read.

I began loving God more and more, long before I realised it. Perhaps you also have been loving him more and more, long before you realised it.

Have you noticed that there are a lot of numbers lately? Number of people who have been infected, number of people in ICU, number of people who have died, number of people who are on a ventilator, number of jabs, number of people  who were in the community while infectious, number of mystery cases. We are pretty well saturated, drenched and drowning in numbers.

Now all these numbers are good, dandy and helpful. They give us an idea of how things are going, or not going and I am sure that our fearless leaders use them every day to make those tricky, complex decisions which no one really likes.

In the Church we keep numbers thinking that the more bottoms we have on the pews the better we are. But Big is not always better.

We ambush ourselves when we obsess with numbers. We forget that there are real people on the other side of those digits. Those numbers are real people, shedding physical wet tears and who’s blood pressure is truly rising as they go without work / dollars. They are real people, just like you and me who are simply fraught because they cannot sit at the bedside of their loved one. They are palpable, touchable people who selflessly work vigorously and many hours to look after us, protect us and are patient with us as we are patients to them.

Each one of those numbers is a brother, a sister, a mother, a father, a child, an uncle, a lover, a friend, a colleague. They are important and cherished by a multiplicity of people. They are of immeasurable value to the one who went to the cross and suffered in His own way for each and everyone of them. Everyone of those numbers is a child of God and unforgettable to Him.