Of Knitting

At this time of year, you may well have noticed that I wear lovely knitted jumpers. These are warm and personal, and it is a great joy to wear them both practically and emotionally.

A lot of hours go into the creation of one of these garments. It doesn’t just happen overnight. In fact, it happens over many nights, and it's a wonder to watch them slowly emerge into the fashionable garment they become. Each stitch draws ever closer to the finished product. So what’s all this got to do with parish life and sorting out the Church of God?

Most days are a single stitch, maybe 2 on a really good day. A little something happens, a conversation, a prayer, a reading, a surprise encounter, a cheeky text. It’s all just part of the potpourri of parish life. It’s hard to step back and see the progress that is being made. What has changed over time? Anything… something? The completed outfit in all its wonder lies hidden from us. We have to be content with just seeing part of what is happening. Sometimes it doesn’t look like much, and there are some days when it certainly does not feel like much. But then, that’s OK. Maybe the threads of continuity and consistency are the strongest and most colourful and heartwarming of all. The simple knowledge that each and every day, prayer is offered and we give The Almighty a chance to whisper back to us. You have to listen for a long time and like the knitting experience, not a lot seems to happen, but everything is happening.

It’s helpful to look back over the years and reflect. Where have I/we come from? How has the garment changed, developed? Where were the blunders, and just look at the progress?

24/8/25

To Foster an Encounter … Bring Your Empty Bowl.

It was a quirky little phrase that got my mind ticking and thinking.

It could be a catchphrase for one of those dating app things. A way through to the screen to foster an encounter with someone whom you probably haven’t met before. An encounter that hopefully might be fruitful and joyous.

But the person who said or wrote ‘To foster an encounter’ was a Christian religious leader of many people, and so they were obviously talking about encounters of another sort. Encounters with other people, encounters with the living presence of The Risen Christ.

How do we foster, encourage, allow, and make possible these encounters? A few quirky reflections from my desk.

Encounters with others and encounters with the Risen Master sometimes occur by chance, and sometimes they happen as a result of our conscious seeking and effort.

So part of this ‘fostering of encounters’ business is to make conscious decisions to actually encounter others and to encounter Him. We place ourselves in the right time and space in order for this experience, this meeting, to occur. There is an effort to be made.

All familiar and logical and things you have heard before.

But peel back the first layer of the onion skin and ask yourself this.

Do I encourage others to foster the possibility of an encounter through me? In modern lingo, am I the screen through which others might be tempted to click on a link that leads them deeper into the mystery of the God who adores them.

It seems to me that for others to encounter the Messiah via me, I first must have encountered Him myself and that somehow my attitude, my words, my countenance, my ambience must demonstrate clearly that encountering Him is a joyous and marvellous meeting and an ongoing relationship with the one who can never give up on us. Perhaps it's not all that much different from a dating app after all.

So having an attitude of joy, maybe even chortling or giggling sometimes, seems to be a good place to start. And showing forth that you are loved and that you KNOW that you are loved, must make a distinctive and discernible difference in how we live and how we interact with others and how they find us.

But there is a bit of risk here. And the risk is this. That we think that just because we have had the awesome privilege of encountering The Master, that we have all the answers and that we’ve got Him, and others haven’t. That it’s all gooey and mushy and lightning and rainbows and clearly the slick solutions and 8-character passwords are exclusively ours.

But so often when we seek and encounter those who need us, who are most broken, we find that actually we do not have the magic words after all.  That instead of smart and savvy phrases all we can offer are our tears and emptiness. Instead of bandaids and fixing it all instantly solutions, we find to our horror that we are cursed with the most appalling void of inadequacy and there are no words. Instead of us bringing an encounter to the crumpled ones, in our incompetence and dereliction of solutions, the broken and smashed are the faces of the bruised Him, and they actually foster us with an encounter of the pierced Saviour. So in order to foster an encounter, maybe we should just come with an empty bowl and allow ourselves to be filled with their peace …His love …His peace.

Jacinda Ardern eloquently captured this upside down, round the wrong/right way, this role reversal,  this piercing, reaching, ache for adequate words in her speech to parliament after the massacre in Christchurch in 2019, where 51 people were killed and 89 others were injured. She said

“We gather here, 14 days on from our darkest of hours. In the days that have followed the terrorist attack on the 15th of March, we have often found ourselves without words.

What words capture the anguish of our Muslim community being the target of hatred and violence? What words express the grief of a city that has already known so much pain?

We may have left flowers, performed the haka, sung songs, or simply embraced. But even when we had no words, we still heard yours, and they have left us humbled, and they have left us united.

They were simple words, repeated by community leaders who witnessed the loss of their friends and loved ones. Simple words, whispered by the injured from their hospital beds. Simple words, spoken by the bereaved and everyone I met who has been affected by this attack.

I thought there were no words, but then I came here and was met with this simple greeting. Your greeting. As-salaam Alaikum. Peace be upon you.”

In order to foster an encounter … First, bring your empty bowl.

Broken-heartedness is the beginning of all real reception

Jack Hirschman

Jack’s line seems rather brutal and not one of the most uplifting phrases that have ever been written.

When we have our hearts broken, as we all have and as we all do, we have a choice. We could barricade ourselves securely behind the concrete pylons of bitterness, revenge and retribution. This will effectively keep any potential and possibilities of a close relationship and intimacy safely away in another ‘country’, a different dimension. This ensures that the same gut-wrenching of hurt can never envelop us again.

Or… we could, if we are very brave and over a long period of time with lots of bumps, bruises and relapses, use the experience to refine our gifts of compassion, understanding and empathy.

In a world that seems to have fiercely set up its cement and barbed wire borders, we need folk who can empathise and understand. Those who, when they hear us howl, can say to themselves… ‘Ah, yes, I remember this bit. I know what this felt like. I would really have appreciated someone just to sit with me and maybe just quietly pass me yet another box of tissues.’

We need people who will wisely, graciously and with great tenderness receive us when we are at our lowest.

Jack’s words are a call to all of us to transfigure that revolting experience, which is our most ickiest, into the most welcoming and sought-after ministry.

The really good news is that you don’t need to have a clerical collar to do this. Some of the most scrumptious acts of caring I have ever had the privilege of receiving have been from people who are exactly like you, dear reader, and you have left me inspired and always wanting more.

12/8/25

Recently, Jeanine and I went to see a very light movie called ‘Jane Austen Ruined My Life’.  The storyline is so thin that it was almost transparent. A young woman must choose between two possible suitors. Like that’s never happened before. Hmmph! A good friend who has always been there and the dashing rebel, an impossibly good-looking guy, she meets on a writer’s retreat.

Within all the froth and turmoil of this love triangle, there are some provoking lines and important lessons to be (re) learned.

Towards the end, the young lady reflects that she is quick to blame others for her own lack of a happy ending, when ultimately this is up to our own very selves, the person in the mirror.

In today’s world of the ‘quick click on the computer’, we look for instant relationships/partnerships. Someone who will fix everything instantly, from a leaky tap to a broken heart. Over the years, we learn that the most excellent of bonds are painfully constructed over a lifetime, and the people whom we enjoy most are also those who stretch us and challenge us to be the very best we can be. And while I squirm, this is what I see every time I look at the squashed guy on the cross. But I’ll let the gifted Beth Pattillo (script writer) have the last word.

“I could blame my lack of a happy ending on Edward all day long, but the truth was that my dissatisfaction with my life wasn't anybody's fault but mine. I'd been looking for a man to sweep me off my feet when I should have been looking for one who was willing to pick up the pieces. Not some fictional hero, but a real flesh-and-blood man. Someone who would love me for the long haul.”

The Unexpected Hour is..… Now.

One harsh reality of life is waiting; waiting for someone to show up, waiting for something to happen, waiting for things to change.

Sometimes it seems like all we do is wait. Some people wait for a diagnosis, others for a cure. Some wait for the day when the pain will stop and the grief will become softer around the edges. Others wait for the answer to their prayers.

Many in our world wait for healing, reconciliation, and the resolution of conflict. Sometimes it seems as if the world has waited from the beginning of creation for peace, and the end of war, hunger, and poverty.

Sometimes we live with the overwhelming feeling of waiting, but with no clear idea of what it is we are actually waiting for.

When I think about my own waiting, I realise that I generally don’t ‘wait’ in the present. My ‘waiting’ happens in the past or the future. The great tragedy is that in doing so, I lose the present moment, and I can’t ever get it back again.

Waiting in the future brings fear and anxiety about what might happen. The unknown and lack of control haunt us. Waiting in the past brings sadness, anger, or guilt about things that have happened, or the things done and left undone. As difficult as the present moment may be, that’s the only place where we can ever be fully alive. It is the only place we can truly experience God.

When we move out of the present and into the past or the future, we not only postpone life; we deny life. We deny our resurrection. We desecrate the sacrament of the present moment. We have refused the gift of God’s kingdom this very moment where he is here with us.

And the curious thing is that Jesus does not eliminate waiting. If anything, it sounds like just the opposite. He tells the crowd, “Be like those waiting for their master to return.”

Today’s gospel is not, however, simply about passing time. It is about presence and being present. Jesus sees waiting as an act of faithfulness; the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

So we are mistaken if we think today’s gospel describes an absent God, a God who left some time ago, for whom we wait.

Jesus is teaching us how and where to wait. He’s inviting us to be present to the One who is always already present. He’s inviting us to listen for the knock, to watch, and to be alert. He’s inviting us to be present to the reality of God in each other, in the world, and in ourselves. This is the God who is present in the dreary and tedious grind of our lives, especially in our waiting.

We are mightily tempted to ask, “So where is God in all our waiting?” But maybe the better question is, “Where are we?” Where am I,… right now?

So he says, “Be dressed for action. Something is going on right now. Right here. And I want you to be a part of it. Come participate. For it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. This is for you.”

“Have your lamps lit,” the Master says. “There is something to see. Move out of the darkness. Come into the light. See what is right in front of you, what is all around you, and what is within you. For the Father wants you to have nothing less than the kingdom.”

“Be alert,” he commands. But this isn’t a threat of punishment. It’s an invitation to be blessed. “Blessed are those whom he finds alert.” Jesus is not just inviting us to be awake, to be ready, and to be watchful. He is calling us to be fully alive and to remain alive. Blessing and life are synonymous in God’s kingdom. It is as if Jesus is saying to us, “Be alert, be blessed, and I will come and serve you. I will feed you the bread of life. I will serve you the cup of salvation.”

All of this, Jesus says, happens at an unexpected hour. Like a thief in the night, the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

So, when is the unexpected hour? When will all this happen? Well, I guess that for most of us, maybe all of us, the most unexpected hour is today, right here, right now.

The most unexpected hour is the hour spent in the hospital waiting room; the hour sitting next to the phone waiting for news of a loved one; the hour praying for a miracle; the hour in which we wait for clarity and a way forward; the hour waiting for the grief to end and life to return to normal; the hour in which it seems as if nothing is happening, the hour when life is not the way we want, and there is nowhere to go.

Interrupt the past. Interrupt the future and come into the present, be still and know

Know who you are … now
Know where you are… now
Know who you’re with… now
The unexpected hour is… now.

5/8/25

A transcendent moment. What is really going on here?

It happened on a Saturday. I wasn’t really expecting it and certainly didn’t plan it, but as with all the finest and exciting moments, it found me.

I found myself watching with rapture as a magnificent pelican glided gently over our lake, slowed, almost hovered, and then calmly settled onto the water.

Now, outwardly, there is nothing remarkable about this. Pelicans pull this trick all the time, but walking along, I had time to ponder. I began to turn my rusty, creaky, decrepit mind to the logistics of it all.

An adult pelican (the screen reliably tells me) is about 10 kilograms for round figures. Some weigh more, some less. That's just over 22 pounds for old fogeys like me.

You see where this is going, right? If a young human being who was 22 kilos tried to land graciously and gracefully on Lake Hamilton, they would inevitably sink straight to the murky bottom. And if I at a nimble 69 kilos, tried to confidently stride onto Lake Hamilton then I would become embarrassed, humiliated and very wet.

So how come this magnificent creature can skim the water and rest comfortably on the surface of the water with all the ease of me settling into my easy chair, complete with fluffy slippers on my feet and a glass of something heart-warming in my hand?

I’m sure that a veterinary/zoology/physicist type person could explain it to me, but I would need a rather simple explanation with some stick figure diagrams and finger puppets, and even then, it's doubtful I would get it.

Perhaps it's better not to understand but to simply enjoy being enthralled by these precious opportunities. The transcendent moments where you find yourself asking, ‘What is really going on here?’

3/8/25

First,…Get right with God.

He was a wise, crusty old gent. Someone who had a sharp tongue and soft heart. A no-nonsense guy with few pennies, but lavish hospitality.

The first couple of times when I went to take him communion at home, I asked

“Would you like to have a chat first or communion? His repose was instinctive, forthright and confident.

“No! When we get right with God first, then we have the best chance of sorting ourselves out. And with that lovely beaming moon face of his, he would look at me with a wry grin and say, “Afterwards we can sort out the Church of God”. His wisdom was incisive and always helpful.

If you get right with God first, everything else falls into its proper place, although I have to admit that we never did quite manage to sort out the Church of God. However, I always came away with the assurance that at least my friend and I were tidy, contrite, blessed and refreshed.

Having lost money in the GFC and being diagnosed with something ugly and unpleasant, my companion knew today’s gospel very well. He also had the clever knack of putting the gospel stories into an accessible language, so here is how he would have told it to his great-grandchildren.

Once upon a time, there was a corn farmer who couldn’t help but get rich because the ground he owned was rich and fertile. It never got blown away with dust storms because it always rained exactly when it should, and the sun shone exactly when it should.  All he had to do was plant seeds…. And up came the most luscious crops. The farmer had more than anyone else, even Abe next door. One year he had so much corn it wouldn't all fit in his barn. It was bursting at the seams. So he drew up plans to build a much bigger barn – I mean…really big. Bigger than a Coles supermarket warehouse. But when harvest came around next year, even that wasn’t big enough. Probably because he had also planted carrots. No problem, thought the farmer – I’ll build an even bigger barn – this one will be humungous. This was by now the biggest barn anyone had ever seen… Like ever. Even on a landline. He had a frightful time getting town planning approval, but in the end. It was still too small for the corn and carrots, and by now, the farmer was also growing a few cabbages on the side. So the farmer decided that this time he wouldn't mess about and he would build a barn so huge there was no possibility it could be filled. The barn almost touched the sky and the farmer thought to himself, tomorrow, when I bring in my huge harvest, I can simply stop and enjoy myself. From here on I will have a wild party. But that night wasn’t going to end nicely for the farmer… because that was the night God told him his time was up – his days were done, his life was over. Jesus says – how silly for the man to spend his whole life storing up riches for himself, and not having treasure in heaven.

My home Communion guy would make the obvious but necessary point that the rich farmer was so driven by accumulating his produce that he had forgotten the generous God that had made it all possible in the first place.

He was so focused on getting his planning application through the council and trying to find a way around the cyclone-proof question on the form that he had no mental space or energy for those who were sleeping rough and hungry in town. And forget about going on “Farmer Wants a Wife” and finding someone special to cuddle and share his wealth with.  That was never going to happen.

Part of the sadness of this story is not the farmer’s sudden and shocking demise. The thing that makes my heart twinge and writhe is the wasted potential. There is so much that he could have accomplished and so many lives he could have enriched and changed. The rich farmer would never understand that you always get back more than what you give, no matter the commodity. Time energy, carrots, corn, dollars or cabbages.

When we read this familiar story we know how it all ends. It’s a bit like watching a slow car crash and being unable to stop the carnage and catastrophe.

So while we might be tempted to feel anger or envy towards the farmer, which is perfectly understandable, a better emotion would be compassion and pity. The farmer was not wealthy at all. He died quite poor.

Sometimes, My Home communion guy would simply say

“ First, …Get right with God”

But sometimes he would dress it up a bit more and use this prayer

Heavenly Father, when greed triumphs
And the poor are betrayed,
Come to your kingdom.
Strong and holy God, destroy the masks of selfishness and ego and fill us with the riches of your poverty
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

When Silence Speaks Loudly.

Some of you might recall an incident like this.

You and a ‘special friend’ have been invited over to baby sit the neighbours children.  Everything is laid out, the food is prepared for them and for you. The youngsters are amenable and go to bed on the second time of asking, which is pretty good actually.

Which just leaves you and your ‘special friend’ to watch some TV and wait for the neighbours to get home. You’re young, perhaps in your teenage years and you both feel things pretty strongly. Surely a quick snog wouldn’t go astray. I mean it's not like you're actually hurting anyone, right?

And so by entirely mutual consent, with a racing heart and a little clumsily…

And then all of a sudden there is the swing of headlights up the driveway. Two car doors shut, the front door opens and you and your friend are now at opposite ends of the settee, furiously, studiously, watching an absolutely fascinating documentary on the mating habits of the praying mantis in deepest darkest Africa. Riveting and compelling viewing!

Your hosts aren’t fooled for a moment. The frisson in the room is grabbable. Once upon a time they too were teenagers. This is why they have kids for you to babysit.

But bless em, they don’t say anything about the obvious and instead politely ask if the children ate all their vegetables.

It occurs to me that some of the finest things are said loudly in silence. Looks of forgiveness, looks of longing, the firm handshake, the blushing baby sitters at opposite ends of the couch.

Why do we feel that we have to fill up silence with words and shrieks and chatter? Silence has always been far more articulate and effective in her ‘speech’ than noisy words. May silence continue to speak loudly.

Their Potential Lies Hidden From Us.

At this time of the year, particularly at morning prayer, the stained glass windows are just a cold slab of black glass. I can sort of make out some of the outlines, but that’s just about it. The detail is missing, and the colours are nonexistent.

I sort of remember the picture, but the more I look at this sheet of black glass, the more I forget and the more it all seems drab, almost hard and uncaring instead of bright and engaging.

I consider myself extremely fortunate to have lived 65 years of a great quality of life. I look back on the odd childhood photo and reflect on the wonder of my life and how it all turned out, and the places I’ve been to and the people I have encountered, could not have been foreseen or predicted 64 and a half years ago, with my incontinence, inability to walk or compose this article.

It seems that as the sun has gotten higher and the ‘day ‘of my life has unfolded, all that was obscured and concealed has gradually come to light and been available and accessible to those around me. And while I have been slow to glimpse it in myself, others have frequently seen remarkable things in me that I have not been able to see myself. Why is that?

But it works the other way as well. Over the years, I have been privileged to watch others develop and change and grow and mature and shine in ways no one could ever have dreamed of.

The potential in a friend and also in a total stranger is always there, and in ourselves. Sometimes we just need to wait a little while and open those ‘other eyes’ to see the potential that is all around and within.

The Scorpion and the Egg.

This is one of those many homilies about a mythical person in a mythical parish. This person is a collage of people whom I have been privileged to minister to.

I’m going to call this person Seraphina. Seraphina was one of those remarkable people who danced in the shadows of the parish. She had never been a Sunday-by-Sunday person and was never going to be. Apparently, there had been a ‘to-do’ with Reverend what's-their-name, and so that was that. The exact details of the debate had been lost to time, but according to parish legend, it was a fiery contest with no clear winners. There never are, except maybe the pharmaceutical companies that make blood pressure tablets.

Some Sundays, I’d just look up and she would be there. And by the time the last hymn was finished, she would be gone again.

So the first opportunity I had to really get to know her was when she turned up in the Hospital.

She had been diagnosed with something nasty and incurable. The long-term outlook was pretty grim. That’s me dressing it up and trying to be polite.

Seraphina and I had some scrumptious chats, and she taught me much. I shall always be deeply and profoundly grateful for her patience and skill. And even though she may not have been a Sunday by Sunday pew sitter, I always came away from her bedside knowing that I had been in the presence of the living God. And that was both a scary and an exhilarating experience.

I was young and inexperienced enough to believe that prayer might go some way to sorting all this out. So pray I did, as pray I might, as pray I tried.

I would come back to today’s gospel frequently.

The Lord’s prayer was always a good place to start. I knew how this one went, and I could prattle it off quick smart and give myself an A+ every time.

I would read again the bit about the guy who had unexpected visitors and knocked on his neighbour's door at 3 am in order to get a sandwich loaf and some sliced honey leg ham, and a bottle of Chianti to give to his visitors.

“ Because of his persistence, he will get up and give him whatever he needs”. There! It's in the bible, so it’s gotta be right. If I am just persistent enough, then Seraphina’s next scan will show a reduction in the tumour and we’ll be well on the way to recovery and a full, healthy and happy life.

And I read and prayed the next bit.

“So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.  For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened”.

I was sure searching and knocking and asking, all it seemed to be to no avail.

How do we reconcile Our Lord’s promise in this gospel reading with the cold, hard reality of Seraphina in a coffin? For me at least, the scorpion of death had not lost its sting at all.

What do we say when God seems to fail?

A tiny baby step forward was given to me once by a wise old priest. “Hmmph!” he snorted. “This God of ours, I shake my fist at Him”.

And I can tell you that after every Seraphina’s funeral, there is a good deal of passionate fist shaking and long may it last.

Perhaps part of the answer is that we are not supposed to have all the answers. Perhaps our fist shaking and our silent sobs are the prayers that we should be offering more frequently instead of the quick, trite I’m the religious prayer professional person.

And perhaps another part of the jigsaw puzzle that we never see completed on this side of the grave is the line ‘your will be done’ which would infer that God’s will isn’t always done. Perhaps, sometimes God’s last word will be spoken convincingly and lovingly sometime in the future and Seraphina’s story is just Episode 2 of a huge blockbuster mega series the final episodes of which are only just being directed and rehearsed.

One other thing that I think about. I refer you to the very last bit of the gospel with the scorpion and the egg.

‘What parent, if the child asks for an egg, will give them a scorpion?’

On the surface of it, I was asking for an egg for Seraphina(s), and it felt like, feels like I was handed a stinging scorpion.

But what if, by asking for a continuation of poor quality, pain-riddled, morphine fuelled life for Seraphina, a delay of what is inevitable for all of us, I was in fact asking for a scorpion for her?

And is it not possible, that through Seraphina’s gentle, superb and holy ministry from her deathbed, that God offered me an egg? A new life, bursting with blessing, enrichment and potential to share with the world. Maybe now I can finally, authentically learn to say…

For the kingdom, the power and the glory are indeed yours, now and ever amen.