Great is thy faithfulness

One could sum up the entire Old (or First) Testament with the word ‘faithfulness’. This word describes God’s response to the covenant he made with his people. In the wonderful story of the minor prophet Hosea, his unfaithful wife Gomer, becomes a metaphor for Israel, Yahweh is the faithful companion.

Faithfulness is at the heart of what a relationship is. In marriage it is absolutely central. We have enough data about how many marriages fail and the effects it has on families. Marriage is about love, faithfulness and plain hard work. When was the last time, if ever, that you have asked another couple, ‘What makes your marriage a success?’ Or has anyone ever asked you? A successful marriage is a partnership where there is give and take, where tasks are shared equally (that includes shopping, cooking, child care, cleaning …), where, if both have work outside the home, both jobs are seen as important – not just for the income, but for social and professional contact, personal development. Decision-making in such a partnership is fully shared, the other is always consulted. Your partner has to be your best friend, your favourite companion. You need to be flexible. The balance will occasionally shift when there is illness or when one of you is studying or if one of you is playing high level sport. Faithfulness ensures that the balance returns as quickly as possible.

If this is faithfulness, then unfaithfulness is much easier to define than breaking a marriage vow. We cannot look at each other as if we are chattels to be owned. Marriage is a most sacred bond, it is sealed in loving fidelity, in the presence of the community. It is sacramental. That is – marriage is an ongoing, everyday sign of God’s presence in our world. That is why it is also a sign of his faithfulness to us, a part of the covenant made with our first parents, and part of the new covenant made by Jesus in his ultimate sacrifice.

None of us is perfect (especially me) however. Failure to be perfect is to be human. But we cannot make our humanity an excuse for not trying. My own family has not been spared from collapsing marriages (a brother, two sisters, three nieces) and I am sure your own families share such stories. As in Hosea’s story, God will always walk with you, will always love you, will be faithful to you to the end of time. Let him be your stronghold and your rock when times are tough and dark.

Apostles to the Indies

Right from my first day at school I was aware that somewhere on the globe there were people who were a) poor, b) not Christian and were either from c) Asia or b) Africa. We weren’t asked to feel sorry. We needed to contribute. Our faith demanded that we make a difference. They were heady, self-affirming days for the church. We in the developed world were doing what we had to do – exporting our Christian faith and heritage, missionaries, teachers, nurses, values and attitudes. Young men and women were fired with zeal to serve, and they did. Following the Second Vatican Council our surety failed and we stumbled. By the mid-70’s we developed a new confidence, but we were no longer missionaries in other lands, we had a sense that each of us is called to take the Good News of Jesus Christ to others. The faith communities established throughout the world by a missionary church were now established and independent, possessing indigenous clergy.

Almost 30 years ago I befriended a young Dominican priest from Valencia, Spain. His order of Dominicans was founded with a missionary spirit. Its priests were sent to the far reaches of the world. Pifa was sent to Australia to learn English, then with his English – poor as it was – he was sent to Taiwan to learn Mandarin. He laboured in Taiwan for 25 years. He was appointed Vicar General of his diocese before returning to Spain. He loved the Dominicans and loved Taiwan. But he returned to Spain spent and exhausted, troubled by burden of his role. He has since left the Dominicans, religious life and the priesthood, and now works with his brother.

Pifa was a contributor, a giver. He responded to the Gospel, and for over 35 years he offered his whole self to the work of the church, and yet what strikes to the core, is that he is a human being, driven by faith, but flawed, frail and imperfect. Perhaps that says something about our mission as a church and something about ourselves.

The icons we have set ourselves as missionaries are often lofty, saintly persons, perhaps martyrs on foreign soils. Next Wednesday is the feast of St Francis Xavier, a more famous Spanish explorer and missionary to Asia. He is believed to have personally converted over 100,000 souls. An extraordinary feat by any means and he is appropriately called the “Apostle to the Indies.” I pray that all those who labour far from home for the sake of Kingdom, and those who labour amongst us here at home are blessed with fruitfulness and riches beyond compare. But on Wednesday, I shall particularly remember Pifa.

Resilience does matter

My primary school reports indicated that I was a consistent student who had some promise if he was to work harder, be neater and be more organised. I went to three primary schools – all Catholic. I have very fond memories. I remember drying stamps to support the missions, singing Highland songs, being rather horrid with butterflies, hanging off the monkey bars, lunches wrapped in greaseproof paper with homemade cakes and biscuits (and sometime homemade bread), playing rugby with my dad as coach, learning to read and write. I was never afraid of the Sisters (Mercy and Josephite). Justice was always quick and grudges were not held. I was never much trouble. Life was pretty care-free. There were tough kids at school who would occasionally give me a scare, but all in all, bullies were few and far between. Surprisingly no one noticed I couldn’t see well until I was midway through high school when I was finally bespectacled. It certainly explained why I liked sitting at the front of the class – I could see the board.

We were a pretty homogenous group. Many of us had larger families, most had stay-at -home mums (not mine!), we saw each other at church on Sundays and at my first school I was related to nearly everyone. TV only went for few hours every evening. It was an enchanting and enjoyable life – but we also ran with the punches. Life could be tough too. Parents didn’t fight your battles, you fought your own, you won or lost. If you lost, you just got on with it. You toughened up. Today we call it resilience.

Today’s kids are not as lucky as we were in 1960. My world was pretty black and white, good and evil, Catholic and Protestant. I didn’t have decisions to make day after day. My parents weren’t as well educated, wealthy, mobile, housed or entertained as well as they are today. Nor were we kids as sophisticated, world-aware, or as well-listened to as today’s children. We didn’t have to be taught how to cross roads, how to behave with the elderly, how to beware of strangers, heart disease, and the myriad things kids need to learn about today. We didn’t have integrated studies, computers or calculators. Paper was scarce and sacred. What we were taught we regurgitated for tests and we were scaled in letters and percentages and shown class averages.

Your children are going to be adults in a world which is going to be so different from my childhood and yours. Schools are rapidly changing. Not quickly enough for some, and too quickly for others. All this surrounds your child, they are bombarded by advertising, consumer goods, bigger and better everything. But to be resilient, they need you to be standing with them in this maelstrom of a postmodern world, guiding, giving wisdom, helping make good choices. Enjoy them. Love them. Make them strong.

Unconditional loving

When they were 4 years old, and after I had read their bedtime stories, I would tuck my sons into their beds and tell them that I loved them more than all the stars in the sky and more than all the sand on the beaches in all of the world. That’s how much I wanted them know how loved they were.

This enormous love I have for my children, as do we all, cannot prevent the occasional disappointment or extinguished dream, and it doesn’t mean we cannot see their less-than-flattering selves. But I am also quite aware of my needs as a parent. My demands of my children must not be unreasonable, they must have choices – and from a range of options; they need to be offered independence, small at first, until they are ready to establish themselves outside the home.

The love we have is a ‘taste’ of what God’s love is like for us. It is all embracing, forgiving, liberating, dependable, and unconditional. Yet it is not undemanding, for like your love for your children, it calls for some response. It requires acknowledgement, a desire to engage in a loving relationship. We are all called, despite our frailties, poor, rich, sick, healthy, black or white, young or old, to give something of ourselves in return. Indeed we are called to love.

So unfailing is his love that, as Paul so eloquently puts it (Romans 8:35ff), ‘Nothing can come between us and the love of Christ … For I am certain of this, neither death nor life, no angel, no prince, nothing that exists, nothing still to come, can ever come between us and the love of God made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.’

The new mind

I had a call from my son. “The light won’t work.” I attempted to explain what he needed to do over the phone. Yes, he’d already bought replacements, but they wouldn’t work. He would check the fuses. Light was eventually forthcoming and my expertise appreciated and affirmed. Before they left home I wanted my sons to be able to change a tyre, check oil and water, change a light bulb and replace a fuse, cook edible food, go to church without being harassed, drive safely and always remember how much we love them.

Despite my desire to see them have these survival skills, they learned so much from school, their friends, basketball, soccer, cricket coaches and friends. They excelled me at maths, struggled with wordcrafting and pretty well enjoyed life to the full on the way to growing up. They have quizzed me about my voting patterns, asked for fatherly advice about their family roots, queried my thoughts and feelings on a thousand things – and put their hands out for this and that.

There is a balance to what you do as a parent. They will also do things that will make you cringe, make your hair grey or advance your need for various therapies. The skills you passed on or those they learned elsewhere may not be adequate or sufficient. They may fall on their faces, write off a car, lose a friend, fail in a relationship.

In writing to the Romans (12:1 – 2) Paul gently advises, ‘Do not model yourselves on the behaviour of the world around you, but let your behaviour change, modelled by your new mind.’ He reminds us that while we are living in the world, what surrounds us is transient and passing. The new mind is one that possesses skills for the future of creation itself. It is one in which faith in Jesus is lived out though care for the environment, the poor, the elderly, the disabled, the dispossessed, the imprisoned, those who mourn. The new mind moves well beyond the world which surrounds us and helps us enter into the lives of those for whom justice and prosperity appear to have forsaken.

These skills are here now for the learning. Maybe they are not in a curriculum document, nor are they capable of being assessed A to E in a plain English report, but they are vital for the mission of Jesus and the survival of the humanity.

Giving is no yoke

I used to try so hard to be a good boy (and still do). I returned to my family home when I was 9 – having spent several years with grandparents. I had to find a place in the family hierarchy. When I left for my grandparents there were 4 children, when I returned there were 9. I had to be good, I thought, to be noticed. So I cooked, cleaned, mowed, studied and played so everyone would know what I good kid I was. I’m not quite sure of the machinations, but it worked.

There are many in our community who find it easy to be givers. They are joiners, workers at the coalface, volunteers. They’re in Vinnies, Apex, Lions, Rotary, Soroptomists, Red Cross. A friend has just returned from Fiji – on a building project. They do great things. They’re committed, they put in and they make a difference.

The kingdom of God requires labourers too. As Catholics we interpreted this as meaning priests and religious (brothers and sisters) alone. We have reclaimed our role. Many have laboured long and hard in the vineyard of the Lord. It strikes me, however, that many who have so laboured have made hard work of their calling. It has been a sacrifice, almost a divine imposition. ‘Why me?’

‘My yoke is easy and my burden light,’ said Jesus (Matt 11:30). My parents loved me and cared for me anyway. No more and no less. God will love those who are great mothers, great clerks, roadworkers, footballers, followers, friends and life partners. No more no less. Those who have worked longer and harder receive the same reward as those who have just begun (Matt 20:8ff) - the same as those who struggle with life, with their kids, their in-laws, shopping, just getting through a day. Yes, we need the movers and shakers – and we need those whose lives are reflective, we need thinkers, prayers, artists, creators, planners. Faith is not a burden, it is a gift of joy. We live it out in our own way, but none of us is greater than the other, we are all called to serve, to take up that yoke and carry our share of the burden.

The hurt of disappointment

Things do go wrong. The children we hoped would most perfectly reflect the values and love we have showered upon them, find themselves sitting in the principal’s office, the police station or the courts. Let’s face it, it’s hard not to take it all personally. When your child is in difficulty, you want to do everything in your power to protect them from whatever dire consequences await them. Sometimes we express our deep concern as anger or anxiety. Neither of these responses provides support for our children. Nor is it particularly helpful to attack those disciplining your child, unless you are convinced that a miscarriage of justice has occurred. Perhaps feeling disappointed, hurt or ashamed are the most natural feelings, but I would like say to you, focus on the good, let love condition your response: listen with care, let it be an opportunity to learn.

I have had my share of those learning opportunities. I know the crushing feeling across the chest that happens when the phone call arrives. The bleak tears. The plea for understanding and need for unconditional love. The deep breaths. Sometimes the gaps between the learnings seem remarkably brief and you have to wonder if there has been any learning happening at all. I’ve learned a lot as a parent. My mother tells me I’ve a long way to go, apparently I haven’t seen anything yet.

I want to encourage you in your parenting, despite what you might see as failures, you have already done a great job. There are few scriptural stories about Jesus’ childhood, but the one which stands out is Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem and his remaining at the Temple when Mary and Joseph had left for Nazareth. There is no doubt that they were worried for Jesus, but their meeting with him is one of joy, of seeking understanding, and then of being in awe of the wonderful gift that Jesus was to them. Your children are such gifts. Treasure them always, and forever love them and be in awe of the wonderful gifts they are to you.

Any disappointment could only be a failure to fully love.

Food for the heart

I love those family celebrations where we sit about a great table laden with food. We laugh and tease, recall embarrassing stories and delight in re-establishing contact with our past and catching up on the new. As we get older, we love to hear about how our nephews and nieces are growing up and facing the world. The details of missed weddings, anniversaries and parties are shared and in the end we sit around with each other doing our best to remember the greatest hits of 1975.

We all enjoy companionship. The word itself means ‘breaking bread together.’ Being present to each other at a meal is an intimate invitation. It is an invitation to listen and to be heard, to share in something so fundamental as food.

It is, therefore, not surprising to find that in religious traditions throughout the world, food as offerings, food as a meal, food as a link to the divine, food as appeasement, or food as decoration, makes it way into the living liturgies and celebrations of those communities. There is the Jewish Passover, the Christian Eucharist – in Islam ‘halal’ foods are regulated, Hinduism and Buddhism avoid foods that may have caused pain to animals during manufacture. Through each of these traditions, food becomes a part of the religious culture.

It is equally unsurprising that Jesus, when speaking to the 5000 was concerned not just for their physical need for sustenance, but for their spiritual sustenance. When the disciples suggest that Jesus send the crowd away to buy food from the village, Jesus says, “There is no need for them to go: give them something to eat yourselves.” Fives loaves and two fish are presented to Jesus, he raises his eyes, says a blessing, breaks the loaves, hands them to his disciples. All are fed, with much remaining. While story says much about the mission of the Church, it also speaks clearly about the relationship between Jesus and his followers through the act of sharing food. The food is for both body and soul. They leave that quiet place nourished, full and ready for the world that awaits them in their work and play.

So too in those moments in our homes, the food that is passed from plate to plate, is also the food that nourishes the heart and souls of those you share it with. Take time this weekend to share a meal with family and friends. Feel free too, to join us at the Table of the Lord.

My brother Brett

Seventeen years ago my brother Brett was a policeman in a rural, seaside village on the far east coast of New Zealand. He loved community policing. He regularly took the local lads fishing and diving, to get to know them, to encourage them to build relationships. During one excursion with the boys, Brett dived too deep and he couldn’t make it back to the surface. He left a wife and 3 young children. His birthday is on Wednesday.



How do you sum up a life in one paragraph? It isn’t possible, really. A life has such richness, depth, complexity and colour. A single paragraph cannot hope to express the way in which relationships are played out, how love came about, what it meant to be a parent, to have hopes and dreams, ambitions and careers, to experience success and failure, being part of a faith community.



Every life, no matter how brief, has its impact on the world. While some may be able to measure that impact by a significant contribution to the world of science, politics, education, agriculture, engineering or parenthood, it will always be only one measure of our worth as human beings. Our full humanity, in the end, can only be measured by the standard of the Great Commandment: to love God and one another. This is evidenced in the quality of our relationships with our families and those with whom we work and play. Beware of those who sum up the lives of others in single sentences or paragraphs. Our life picture is most beautiful when painted on a canvas prepared by a God who loves us totally and truly without condition.