And who is my neighbour?

In 1988 then-Archbishop Eric D’Arcy brought Renew to Tasmania. This was an invitation for the Church in Tasmania to reflect on its journey. Catholic communities met in small groups to tell their stories and their dreams. Almost 20 years later, I recall some of the pain that some expressed about how difficult it was for them to become members of the local parish and to feel at home with those with whom they worshipped. One lady still felt left out, a ‘foreigner’, after having spent fifty (yes, fifty) years in the parish.

There are still two communities of Samaritans still living in Israel to this very day. Their ancient heritage and religion is a fusion and result of Assyrian and early Israelite intermarriage (some 720 years BC). The Samaritans accepted the Torah (the Pentateuch or first five books of the Bible) as their sacred scriptures. After the refusal by the Jews to accept their assistance to rebuild the Temple at Jerusalem, the Samaritans built their own temple (it was destroyed in 128 BC). The Samaritans would not accept the books of prophets, the Psalms or the history of Israel’s kings, leading the Jews to consider them as foreigners. They were despised for their incompleteness.

In answer to the lawyer’s question: ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus responded with the parable we call ‘The Good Samaritan’.

We live in a global economy. The peas we eat could come from China, our jam from Brazil, our oranges from California, our cotton clothes from India, cars from Korea and Japan, our tomatoes from Italy. The people who provide the necessities for our daily lives are not the neighbours next door, the farmer down the road, or the bootmaker in town, our neighbours truly are international. Yet we are not the same. We cannot compare the Chinese farmer, or the Asian child labourer with our next door neighbour. We share the earth and its economy, but there is no equity.

For all the energy and money we outlay to be more comfortable, we don’t even seem to be able to connect to the people we share offices and workplaces with, let alone a church pew. The invitation from this parable is to prove ourselves neighbours, not merely be neighbours. It is about actively participating and engaging in the world in which I live: my family, my school community, the people who live near me, my church, my town, my state, my country, my world – hungering after justice. And then I can offer generous and gracious hospitality.

Don’t let your neighbours wait 50 years for such an invitation, and don’t be afraid to be different.

Brought up in (the) faith

Long before I even knew the word, I used to stare up at the baldachin at St Mary’s Church. This canopy over the altar was painted blue and covered in stars, a reminder I suspect, of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Star of the Sea. I was fascinated. I stared a lot during mass when I was a child.

The mass was in Latin. The sea of ladies’ hats, scarves and mantillas, the rattling of beads, the smell of incense and wax, wooden kneelers, the Kyrie, Gloria, Agnus Dei and the special feast day singing of Panis Angelicus – it was the stuff of dreams. My father loved church. A whole morning could be spent yarning while we waited desperately to get home for Sunday lunch. We had fish and chips on Fridays, fasted for three hours before communion, bravely attempted the family rosary in May and October, tried desperately to collect indulgences to escape the ravages of purgatory, prayed for the poor babies in limbo, for the conversion of Russia, gave money to save black babies in Africa, kept stamps for the missions, admired my mother’s frosted glass statue of Mary and we had two sets of the Sacred Heart and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Favourite gifts for special occasions were fluorescent crucifixes. Such was the culture and faith into which I was incorporated as a baby.

On the very same day I was baptised, a little baby girl was baptised in Launceston some 2000 kilometres away. We became members of God’s family that day in February 1955. Our proud families bustled with joy and it cause for great celebration. Many years later this little girl would be my wife. And we too would present our children for baptism.

We would bring up our children according to our faith, prepare them for Penance, Eucharist and Confirmation. Our hope is that what we provided by deed and word would be sufficient example to imprint upon their essential character, a drive to pursue a deep relationship with their God, a firm desire to explore their faith and the stories of their forebears. They began this journey where I did. In church. Discovering the faces and voices of churchgoers, growing in their familiarity with liturgical word and gesture, making meaning of the space in which we gather as a Eucharistic community. The inessentials have fallen away.

Undoubtedly the Catholic school can unveil part of the life of the church. But it is not the Church. To discover that richness means making the step to active membership. Don’t allow this opportunity to be denied to your children.