I was privileged to go to an exhibition on the history of the Notre Dame Cathedral last month.

Normally, you would expect to admire photos and gaze at bits of information on easy-to-read plaques.

Instead, we were given something like an iPad, and the process went something like this.

You held the screen over different pictures, and information appeared on your screen, including little movies and pictures. Within each station, there was a wealth of information, and there was even a bit of a treasure hunt and puzzle to solve if you were that way inclined.

A lot of work went into the production of all this, it was beautifully presented and there were some definite plusses.

For me, who is short of stature, it meant that I wasn’t stuck behind someone of larger stature bobbing around, trying to catch a glimpse of something gorgeous. I could take my time just gazing and tapping at the screen in front of me.

But there were some things that were missing. For one thing, there was no interaction with the other patrons. There were probably about 40 of us, just staring longingly, deeply into a screen. Each of us was seeing the same thing, but not talking about what we were seeing. The soft caress of conversation you normally get in a gallery was replaced with stony silence. We were together, in the one place, seeing the one thing, but we were not connected in any way. While I get the economics of it and the razzle-dazzle of the screen is addictive, I missed the connectivity that comes with an ‘old-fashioned’ exhibition.

We have caught the screen ... and the screen has caught us, and it will not let us go.

Jesus, the Scandal…and the Miracle of Pentecost.

In today’s gospel, Philip's words could well be mine or yours.

“Show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.”

We long to see the Father. We would ache to reach out, to touch, to know, to engage, to gawk and chatter. For most of the time, we walk blindly in faith, stumbling along, hoping, glimpsing, sometimes sensing, getting a slight ‘whiff’ of the divine. A cursory little glimpse out the corner of our eye. A set of circumstances that tumble down in front of us in a way that we could never have envisaged or hoped for. Puzzling and alluring. But,.. that’s just about it.

There is a line of logic which says that we as human beings can never really ‘Know’ God. Not know Him completely in all his infinite glory. Our minds and hearts can never take it all in, and his ways and purposes are baffling, frustrating, bewildering and incomprehensible to us. If God is completely ‘other’… What hope do we have? And yet.. and yet. We long for the miracle of Pentecost.

Perhaps it is Philip’s obvious and understandable yearning that is the best proof that we have. ‘Show us the Father and we will be satisfied.’  Now, where did his desire come from? There is clearly a longing within Philip where he kind of knows, wants to know more and yet,… isn’t quite there … yet…

‘Show us the Father and we will be satisfied.’

Or would we? Would one solitary interview, one photo, one prod at his piercings ever really be enough for us?

Jesus’ firm response to Philip, maybe it's even a chastening, is to point to the indivisible, unbreakable, indissoluble unity that Jesus and His Father have.

“I am in the Father and the Father is in me. The words that I say to you, I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works.  Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; To have seen Me is to have seen the Father.”

And I suspect that there is a clue here. When we see the same unity amongst ourselves, when we are in harmony one with another, then we have a fleeting peep at the face of God. In our fractious world, it doesn’t happen often but I have been privileged to watch it at what might seem an odd place. And that place is the arrival area of Tullamarine Airport. Hugs, flowers, balloons, tears and passionate kisses are all around.

At that ached-for moment, when the face you long to see emerges from the sliding glass doors, there is nothing that you wouldn’t do for them. Even getting up in the middle of the night to be there, sleep deprived and hair askew, is no hardship, but on the contrary,y it is a thrill and a joy. Where else could you be? Who else would you be with?

So it is with God.

The Father we see in Jesus loves the world, lays down his life for us, is not ashamed of us, but actually invites us to dwell with him forever. This is the ferocious passion with which He loves us. This is His deepest and keenest desire.

The Father we know is the judge we love.

And yet… The Jesus we meet is a scandal.

There is no solid proof that this is the one. There is no absolute certainty that we have made the right choice. The Father we see in Jesus is not the noble, exalted, all powerful man we seek, but He is a jew who died crushed on a cross. How macarbe.

Yet the Holy Spirit that the Master alludes to in today’s gospel teases us, allures us, taunts us, dares us to follow and dance.

And just sometimes in a moment of weakness… or is it strength, we are convinced that this crucified one, this pushed aside one, this downtrodden, this rejected, beat up, spat upon, mocked one, is truly The one; the face of the Father, the heart of God. The miracle of Pentecost is that we believe, however feebly and however fleetingly.

Perhaps the miracle of Pentecost is that even today, after all this time, people still gather together to worship the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

There are still people who keep watching, hoping, longing, waiting, like the bedraggled folk at Tullamarine.

There is still a worshipping community that craves for the new creation and longs for a peek of God’s face.

The miracle of Pentecost  is that there is  still a community of people who long to carry each other’s burdens.

Now when we gather to celebrate Pentecost there is always a temptation to celebrate it as a nostalgic event of the past and remember the ancient Pentecost. John will not allow us to live in the past. The work of the Holy Spirit  is and must be a present work. Greater works than these are alive in us who in spite of our “Philipness” confess that the bruised and risen one, this embarrassment pinned to the cross, truly is our Lord and God. And that we can make this confession with a grin on our face and a flush of excitement in our hearts, is the finest miracle of Pentecost.

How Do You Get a Life Like a … Seal?

It was a superb day for a walk as we clambered along Cape Bridgewater. The walk has magnificent views, and it's got a bit of undulation to make sure you get a healthy amount of exercise. We paused at the end of a section and peered down. Way below us, there was a bob of seals.

There they were, just splashing about in the waves and generally having a wonderful time. I’m sure I saw a couple of them actually catch a wave and ride for a while. They jumped and frolicked as if they had nothing better to do. There was no thought of time limits, deadlines, meetings, argy bargy and sadness. All they did was simply muck about in the water.

I came away envious and puzzled. I mean, for one thing, how do you get a job like that? Something where you just fool about and have a lovely time doing what you were supposed to be doing.

And why, when and how did we make our lives and world so complex, bewildering and complicated? It seems that all the seals achieved is to develop a penchant for fresh fish while we, who are the more ‘intelligent’ creatures, have invented nuclear warheads, firebombing, courts, carjacking, domestic violence and financial scams.

Part of the answer to my dilemma is that some people, and they are in the tiny minority, have chosen to push boundaries and break rules. They have chosen to see their rights as more deserving than the other. Thus, there have to be rules and this goes way back to those things called the 10 commandments.

So… how do you get a life like a seal? Maybe it has something to do with just staying within the lines. Perhaps the laws liberate us, not confine us.

It is a little-known fact that I sometimes volunteer to do ‘Finish Tokens’ at Parkrun. This is a very simple job and it involves handing out a token to each person as they finish their run. Some hearty words of congratulation are offered as the puffing person proudly crosses the line. Things like ‘Good golly gosh. I couldn’t drive my car as fast as that.’ Or ‘You must have had an extra Weetbix or 6 to run that quickly’ You get the idea. It’s a very straightforward job, and any crazy priest could do it.

Sometimes it’s hard to know who gets the most out of this little exchange. Is it the runner who has valiantly conquered the five kilometres, pleased their GP and has raised their pulse rate? Or is it I who has the privilege of congratulating and supporting, and encouraging? Both are winners in this little moment, no matter what time the runner achieved.

Our parish is also fully reliant on volunteers. Some of the work I do see. It’s a great thrill to have such a friendly band of folk to hand out the books and light the candles.

But much of their work I don’t see. How come the carpet is always vacuumed and the candles always trimmed? How do the pew sheets relentlessly get turned out each week, beautifully formatted, printed and folded?

Meticulous minutes are kept, there is always a hot cuppa and a little tasty something after mass on a Sunday. The kettle doesn’t mysteriously boil itself, nor do the tasty scones appear by magic. To all those who volunteer in any capacity, for any job, please know that you are valued and your work is deeply appreciated.

25 May 2025

Reading the Room.

There’s a modern-day phrase called ‘read the room’. It means that when you are going into a situation or a meeting, or a conference to speak, you know a little something about your audience and the mood they’re in.

So, for example, when someone goes into a wedding reception to make a speech, you can be fairly sure that everyone is happy, onside and that they will receive you pretty well and even allow you the odd mistake.

For example, ‘Thanks for all the presents, some of them are really nice’. True. That actually did happen. Everyone laughed, toasted the happy couple more than a few times and then danced like no one was watching. The room had a particular vibe to it and was pretty easy to read.

If, however, you are having a blow torch of an interview with a hard-hitting media person, then… that also is an easy room to read but not nearly as much fun or dancing as the wedding reception.

In today’s gospel, however, I’m a little puzzled about the Master’s ability to read the room.

The place he goes to is a place where a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralysed. It’s not a happy place. It’s not glamorous and sexy and jovial.

The people there are depressed and gloomy.

The gentleman that Jesus approached is particularly dejected because he has been an invalid for 38 years. Jesus knows this, so you  would think that the Messiah who has compassion and perception as some of his key selection criteria would have a better opening line than “Do you want to get well?” The question is so obvious that it is offensive.

I would have understood if the man had responded. With something like

“Well, what do you think, sunshine? I’ve been lying here for 38 years now. What does that tell you? Work it out”

It’s almost as if Jesus is telling this guy it’s your fault that you haven’t been healed. You clearly don’t want to be made well. From a cursory first glance, The Master has not read the room well.

But scratch the surface a little, peel back the layers, and we see that the problem is not whether the man wants to be healed or not. The problem is that there is no community, no helpmate, to get him down to the healing waters. It seems that only one person at a time gets helped and only when the waters stir.

“I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

And here we learn again the importance of community, of reaching out to others who are in need and being  fiercely honest with ourselves of the times when we need help.

You and I can probably all recall times when we have been paralysed by something or someone or some circumstance.

We have been immobilised by the fear of what might happen, the memory of the past error of judgment, the things that we can do nothing about. Like the guy at the pool, sometimes we are frozen by our own weariness or by loneliness or by the ignorance and misunderstanding of others who have not taken the time and energy to read us properly even if we allowed them to in the first place.

And so often the outward and visible need is only a small part of the problem. In order to read the room properly we have to ask ‘what else is going here’… What other needs does this person have and we have to be incredibly patient and silent before we get answers.

Reading the room is not easy and often we have to wait a long time before healing and wholeness can properly begin to the one who is not well but more especially when it is us who need the healing.

It is unfortunate and I know this painfully well, that the odd blunder, the rush to sound wise and discerning, the unintentional inappropriate remark, can set the whole process back. You can never unsay things; ask any honest person.

What if we learned from Jesus and simply sought to support, uphold, and partner with people who, in their own situation, are seeking wholeness and well-being? What if, instead of dictating what that wholeness and well-being must look like, we asked them what sort of healing is taking place and what sort of life they see God shaping for them, and how we might support them? What if we asked them what sort of support they might be able to give us, trusting them to have the gifts and ability and contributions to the body of Christ? Even though with God, no one is ever alone, God has put us together as his body for a reason. We see the blind, the lame, the paralysed and that’s all well and good and true. But how well do we read the room that is deep within our own souls? Our own paralysis, our own blindness.

It's Not About the Time?

For the past few years, it has been my joy to chug around the lovely Lake Hamilton. Through the week, I use this space to try to sort things out in my brain.

On Saturday, the whole thing shifts into a different dimension where there is a welcoming community to engage with.

Later in the day, you get this very impressive email letting you know your time, where you came in your age category and reminding you of your salad days when your personal best was so many minutes and seconds.

Up until recently, I found this email encouraging, exciting, and an inspiring challenge.

Then I had a conversation with someone from Parkrun who gently reminded me that it's not just about the time of minutes and seconds, and it’s not just about trying to appease the doctor and the bathroom scales. There is something else going on here as well.

It’s a bit hard to put into words, but the something else is about ‘being’, not doing. When the endorphins and heart rate are elevated, when the mist is rising off the lake, when the pelicans rise slowly into the sky, and the sun does make it up and warms you, you become someone just slightly different. You even smell slightly different at the end of the run. Moreover, the world is just slightly better, and the insurmountable is not quite the impossible bully that I thought it was. Just being there, in the zone and enjoying instead of worrying about the clock that is ticking is far more important.

Sure, I’ll always be curious about the numbers in that Saturday email, but now I know there’s something far more important going on. How liberating to understand that it's not about the doing and the numbers. It’s just about being.

Get on Board…

She came to me in a different parish, in a different time. It transpired that her mortality was beginning to pinch. Things were not quite the same as they were when she was 27 and a half. There was a doctor's appointment, a referral, a test and the first wisps of fear snuck into the conversation.

We discussed the options. She could do nothing. Simply walk away from the medicine train that was waiting patiently for her at the station. Or, she could get on board and see where the train took her.  The confronting part was that she did not know her first station. There was no question about her final stop where the train terminated, but the platforms in between were downright terrifying just because they were unknown.

And who to tell. Who could keep confidences and how would young nephew *Billy (*not his real name) react? It was a bubbly, complex cake mix that could very easily turn out icky and toxic.

We talked through the options but ultimately there seemed only one thing for it.

To stride towards the train, leave the cumbersome baggage of fear and the unknown on the platform, and entrust the ride to those who had sacrificed their youth on the altar of medical school and internship.

It transpired that the ride was not quite as bumpy as feared, at least not this time, but having ridden this train once, the next time, and there would inevitably be a next time, it would not seem quite as ferocious.

My thinking is that many people, every day, get on this medicine train for the first time. I applaud your courage! Ask the staff lots of questions. Leave your surplus baggage on the platform where it belongs. Just get on board. You are not alone.

Your next appointment with the Bogey Man

In that ambiguous parish, in that mythical year, a person of no specific gender and forgettable name came to me. Over a cuppa, or was it a glass… This person poured out in delicious and refreshing honesty their ongoing relationship with the Bogey Man. That’s right! The Bogey Man does exist.

It transpired that at 3:15 am precisely, the Bogey Man had snuck into this person’s home, stole silently to their bedroom and roused them from their slumber. They whispered only two terrifying words. A  phrase and a question that The Bogey Man knows will strike horror into anyone’s heart and steal vital hours of therapeutic and essential sleep. “What if…?”

That’s all it would take for The Bogey Man to do his worst, effective and cruel he was.

So we listened and chattered. We allowed gentle dollops of silence to massage us. We eventually realised that the weapon of The Bogey Man was a futile bent stick, likely to break under the swiftest of logic’s glare.

Between us and the teapot, or was it a bottle, we phrased the whole encounter in a slapstick format which, from my dodgy memory, went something like this.

Your next appointment with the Bogey man is scheduled at 3:15 am tomorrow morning.

To prepare for your appointment, you should bring every fear, qualm and possible scenario that might cause you discomfort, grief and panic. Upon arrival, present them with your medicare card, your credit card, your driver’s license, together with 3 references. You can expect the side effects of sleep deprivation, cold sweats, irrational fear and impaired judgment. There is no medicare rebate for a consultation with The Bogey Man. He is cruel and greedy.

To kill the Bogey Man, you only need two words. First word.. sounds like…

Easter 4

Who is the Good Shepherd?

The fourth Sunday in Eastertide is traditionally set aside as Good Shepherd Sunday.

When I think of The Good Shepherd, my mind goes straight to three Shepherds. The Master who is THE Shepherd. The other two are our Diocesan Bishops, Bishop Scott and Bishop Gary.

Most of their ‘Shepherding work’ lies hidden from us and that is absolutely right. The heavy duty pastoral and admin work is none of our business. Thank Goodness!

So a better question is who are they? For Shepherding is not just something you do, but a shepherd is something you are.

For Bishop Scott and Bishop Gary, one of the most important things they do is simply turning up and being there. It doesn’t sound a lot, but it is. Subconsciously you and I come to understand that they are reliable, accessible, available, and infinitely approachable.

At their very finest we will come to know that we are loved by them even when they have to nudge us uncomfortably down a path that is strange, new and bewildering to us. Bishops and The Master must always say the hard things graciously. While patting us on the head and encouraging us and leading us to the feast, they must also ground us firmly and pastorally in what is best for us. The things that God wants for us are sometimes not altogether to our liking.

I know my sheep. A good Shepherd knows their sheep, and the Master Shepherd knows us really, really well. When the gospel writers wrote these words, the shepherds did not have kelpies and collies to help them. The sheep knew the shepherd’s voice in much the same way I imagine that the kelpies and collies know their owner’s voice.

But there is voice recognition and there is knowing. One of the great privileges of serving a diocese and region like this is the connectivity and the ease of discovery of other people, but it does come with its trickiness. Sometimes there are people who are shy, and it takes a long time to get to know them. Others, they will never really know. Mixed into this seething, bubbly cauldron is the secret ingredient that people are always evolving, changing, being uplifted and transported, being dashed down and maliciously scarred.   We are not the same people as we were when Bishop Garry first came among us 14 years ago, and he is not the same either. We have aged, matured and continued to be transformed. Getting to know a flock is an ongoing and unending process.

Something also needs to be said about the thorny issue of when the clerical shepherds fail the people under their care. The briefest look at the Royal Commission in 2013 would remind us that some of our Shepherds were not good Shepherds at all. What do we say when we see the huge cavernous gap between what the gospel says, and their faults, actions and inaction?

People of all faiths seldom live up to the high ideals that they aspire to and sadly Christians are part of this mix as well.

I would have to start by saying that if a crime has been committed, then… It’s obviously a police issue.

There are processes and an organisation within our church called the Professional Standards Boards that assess each case and determine the appropriate action.

Finally, when the perpetrator dies, the Church will always bury her dead. On the other side of the grave, they are now God’s problem, and while we might be tempted to hang onto our angst and disappointment, we must always ask How does God see this person?

A happier note to finish on

This word ‘good.’

The original meaning was actually "beautiful,” and only later did it expand into a personal/moral direction. So, Shepherds should aspire to be beautiful? Hmmm, now there’s an interesting thought. Probably not the same sleek, glamorous, sort of beautiful that you would find on the cover of a glossy magazine.

For me (and I hope that you might be able to relate to this), the most beautiful shepherds are the zany, crazy ones. The ones that are just a little out there.

But more than that, they are the bruised ones, the fallible ones, the flawed shepherds, the ones who got it wrong, who knew they got it wrong, asked for forgiveness and moved on. The good shepherds on this side of the grave Fr. David, are always sinners.

And I have been thrilled to know and walk alongside many of these shepherds. They are infinitely relatable, for in their many colourful eccentric quirks and faults, I easily see a mirror image of myself and if they have given me great hope and… thus there is great hope for you as well.

So the role as shepherd is not limited to clergy type people at all. Many of them are just like the people you see in the mirror. Every one of you is called to be a good shepherd. I have watched you, Shepherd, and I have been delighted and thrilled. You have encouraged, prayed, cajoled, rejoiced, prodded and shoved each other and me down the road and on towards the heavenly banquet. So the take home today is to keep on with your Shepherding. Don’t be embarrassed by your piercings, sniggers and tears for they are some of your most excellent credentials. We are all responsible for each other and for those who are not of this fold.  Turn up, listen up and enjoy. You are the Good Shepherd.