This collection goes back to October 2010 and ends in December 2010.
4 October 2010
This past week I have sat through a great many meetings, workshops, presentations, heard the spruiking of vendors every morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea, caught up with a number of local and interstate colleagues. Conferences are opportunities for networking, learning, sharing, socialising, re-evaluating, questioning. When you attend such events, one way to assess its value and your own learnings is to ask the question: what have I learned that will change my practice? The key sessions I attended were on learning leadership, performance management and principalship of small schools. Much of what I heard has yet to drill down into my consciousness, there was an immense amount of information to record, absorb and understand.
Many of the presenters have spent years in research and teaching, developing their theories, skills, fine tuning their material, writing up papers, followed by knowledgeable tomes of great worth. They hope their proposals ring true, trusting that those who listen effectively and honestly will be able to change/transform/challenge/dismantle/edify current practice.
Jesus’ disciples had only a short time to spend with him, to teach them what really mattered. Nevertheless, Jesus did not teach them everything they needed to know. They had to return to the scripture and tradition of their forebears – and indeed remained faithful to Judaism. From early in the life of the church, its leaders, often bishops, met to argue their points, admonish those who fell outside orthodoxy, and attempt to ever more clearly articulate what it was that was central to the life of the church. Great schools of theology arose and disappeared, new schools have taken their place, only to be challenged. Christianity continues to be vital because it is constantly reflecting on itself, constantly changing. Yet it must remain faithful to its core, and that is the person of Jesus.
So too, must we educators remain faithful to what it most important in our schools – no matter what innovations are introduced. Your child is the reason this school exists.
The scriptures prompt us to think forward, to anticipate the future and to do so with vision and imagination, if we are to build the kind of future we desire, the kingdom of God itself, our minds as well as our hearts must be prepared. The prophet Habakkuk (2:2 – 4) reminds us: For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfilment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late. And so it will.
14 October 2010
St Mary of the Cross MacKillop
Born 15 January 1842
Born into eternal life 8 August 1909
Canonised by Benedict XVI 17 October 2010
The airwaves, television and newspapers have already spent countless hours, millions of words in the lead up to this weekend’s canonisation. The secular radio talkback shows have given air to every form of criticism and praise, academic, spiritual, agnostic, antagonistic, supportive, anti- and pro- miracle, church, religion. MacKillop banners, flags, cards, busts, DVDs, operas, musicals have been rushed to the market, and events that would rival Ben Hur have been organised to celebrate the recognition of Mary Helen MacKillop, a Fitroy, Melbourne-born child of Scottish immigrants Alexander and Flora, sister to seven siblings, as a member of that great Communion of Saints.
The dignity to which Mary has been raised is a clear and salutary reminder that we who share this wide, brown continent have no less a calling to sainthood, to do God’s work, to walk in the path of Jesus than any canonised saint. If anything, all the fuss going on in Rome and around Australia, would be an embarrassment for a woman whose life was dedicated and gifted to the poor, and whose determination to do so was matched and surpassed by only by a faith rich in love.
Camila Battista da Varano (an Italian princess and Poor Clare nun), Giulia Salzano (founder of an Italian order of sisters), Juana Josefa Cipitria Barriola (founder of a Spanish order of sisters), André Bessette (a Canadian religious brother), and Stanislaw Soltis (a 15th century Polish priest) will also be canonised at the same ceremony.
21 October 2010
I am a fan of the Matthew Shardlake, 16th century-based ‘detective’ series by CJ Sansom. What is striking in his stories is the consciousness of class. Not ‘class’ as in fancy or looking good, no, the distinction made about individuals by virtue of their birth. Australians are egalitarian by nature, although we can all tolerate a snob or two! The English were once very class conscious, India is renowned for its caste system, inherited chieftainships, fiefdoms, kingdoms and empires have encouraged royal and noble classes. As democracy has stretched its arms across the globe, class has become less important. In Australia a train driver can be prime minister, and a real estate agent can be a princess.
Putting oneself above others, having “airs” or pretensions has replaced class. And anyone can do this, poor or wealthy.
Luke tells a parable (18:9 – 14) ‘to some people who prided themselves on being virtuous and despised everyone else’. It’s the story of the Pharisee and tax collector who went to the Temple to pray. The Pharisee prays to himself, I thank you, God, that I am not grasping, unjust, adulterous like the rest of mankind, and particularly that I am not like this tax collector here. The tax collector, who dared not look heavenwards, prayed: God, be merciful to me a sinner.
In Psalm 37 we hear Blessed are the anawim (the poor who seek God’s deliverance) for they shall inherit the earth. Jesus, as we know, was unambiguous in his preference for the poor. The writer of Ecclesiasticus (35:12) reminds us that The Lord is a judge who is no respecter of personages. He shows no respect of personages to the detriment of the poor man. Class and wealth have no meaning to God. We know of Jesus’ pity for the rich young man who could not choose between his wealth and eternal life (Mark 10:17 – 23).
If we take off all the extraneous layers of our lives, the cars, holidays, shacks, 50” plasmas, 40 square houses and the designer jeans, we would still live well. If we take away some of the internal layers of pride, selfishness, possessiveness, self-righteousness, I suspect our lives would be all the richer. In the end we have one life. We have to make the most of living, of being alive. And it’s not lording it over others. Jesus tells us it’s about service, fidelity, love.
The character of Matthew Shardlake is a hunchback lawyer who is constantly been drawn into the intrigues of Henry VIII’s court and the likes of Cromwell and Cramner. Through the series he maintains his integrity to the bitter end, no matter the cost to himself. He knows his physical appearance brings prejudice and persecution and there is a sense of real justice in that despite his station in life, he not only overcomes the odds, he stands for good, for trustworthiness, for friendship.
28 October 2010
I call one of my gym classes ‘Mortal Combat’. That’s not its correct name, of course, but we punch and kick and give our fictional opponents no mercy! Needless to say it has caused me more injuries than it’s worth recalling from being somewhat over-exuberant. I also actively support chiropractors and masseurs in the process.
Mercy is active compassion towards another, an essential form of Christian charity. It is well beyond sympathy for others in unfortunate circumstances, it includes the intention to ease their suffering. Christian mercy is either corporal (physical) or spiritual. The bestowal of mercy is called clemency.
To teach us about mercy, in particular about God’s mercy, Luke (19:1 – 10) relates the story of Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus is not only very short, he is also a senior collector of taxes for the Roman overlords (and you have understand from this that he was detested by his fellow Jews for his treasonous occupation). When Jesus arrived in Jericho, there was a great crowd and Zacchaeus couldn’t see Jesus, so he climbed a sycamore tree. When Jesus passed by he called to Zacchaeus to come down and invited himself to his house. Whereupon some of the crowd grumbled that Jesus was going to a (public) sinner’s home. Zacchaeus then told the crowd that he would give half his wealth to the poor, and if had cheated anyone he would repay them four time that amount. Jesus then cried out, Today salvation has come to this house.
Just what has happened in this story?
Luke is at pains to tell us that when we respond to and accept God’s mercy we undergo a conversion or transformation and that this experience is not just a change of attitude, it is a change which overwhelms all aspects of our lives, our internal, spiritual lives and our external, public lives. This explains why Zacchaeus’ response spills out into a radical letting go of his ill-gotten gains and Jesus’ affirmation that this is a sign of God’s salvation.
For most of us, this conversion is usually a life-long experience, as we grow from selfishness to selflessness, from me-centred to other-centred. It is measured growth, revealed as our understanding of our relationship with the divine is deepened and nourished. As our tax-collector of last week’s Gospel (Luke 18:9 – 14) uttered in the Temple, God, be merciful to me a sinner, it is about acknowledging our limitations and accepting God’s compassion as a journey of a lifetime.
Unlike my entanglement with Mortal Combat, there is no injury when we seek God’s mercy, for it is freely given.
3 November 2010
Where do you draw the line? What is the straw that breaks the camel’s back? And what happens when that ‘line’ is crossed and what are the consequences for you and for the person who has ‘pushed’ you to and beyond this limit? If I remember correctly (and we are talking about the distant past here) my father used to bite his tongue and his right hand would quiver and quaver as if…. And even then it was seldom. Sometimes there is a fine line between, for example, pain and suffering, silliness and stupidity, naïveté and immaturity, wrongdoing and criminality, consequences and punishment. The list goes on. And yet, I suspect, inbuilt in each of us is a dividing line. What led you to draw the line in that place and not another? Is it built on tolerance, or well-established guidelines, maybe it depends on what side of the bed you climbed out?
Now, if you had a fundamental belief upon which your entire life was built, and you were asked to let it go, how would you cope? This is not about meeting half way, nor about stepping beyond the line, this is going right out to the edge of the other side.
If you can imagine this scenario then you are at the place that the seven brothers, their mother and their teacher found themselves in before the Seleucid King Antiochus IV Epiphanes in Maccabees 7:1ff. The king insisted that they eat pork, forbidden to them under their dietary laws. The consequence of refusal was gruesome torture and death.
I could rationalise that eating a piece of pork is something that my God would forgive. But there is no rationalising here. These men and woman are responding from the depths of their being. There is no differentiation between this act of betrayal of their religion and to worshipping an idol, both would condemn them. Their fidelity is total. There is no line to be crossed at all, no compromise.
As each of the young men was martyred, they declared their belief that eternal life awaited them. By Jesus’ time and ministry this idea of eternal life as a reward for a life lived faithfully was firmly entrenched – both Pharisees and Essenes had absorbed this concept, influenced by the Greeks from the Hellenistic period. Now they had something worth dying for. Eternal life.
So what cost are we willing to pay to achieve this? Is it a philosophical sham, or have we so accepted eternal life for everyone that we no longer have to fight to get there? What kind of person will gain access to this heaven? Only saints? As we all strive to provide ever more for our families, are there values will we never compromise? What about the problem of evil – especially as it affects human beings? What of the Pol Pots, Josef Stalins, Idi Amins, Adolf Hitlers – and Antiochuses of our world?
The Maccabean martyrs cried out to Antiochus that there would be no eternal life for him. So, what awaits us? What must we do to share their unshakeable belief, and thus gain eternal life?
11 November 2010
This is the time of the year when the Sunday readings turn towards the apocalyptic and we recall the armistice of the First World War. Advent is just around the corner, there is a heightened sense of expectation growing. A reading of Luke (21:5 – 19) envisages a somewhat torrid preparation for the end times. Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes and plagues and famines here and there; there will be fearful sights and great signs from heaven.
Little wonder that millennialists believed that the Great War was the beginning of the end. It may well have been the war to end all wars. Its terrors forced all of humanity to think deeply about its future, Australia itself was thrown into maturity as it left its mark and its dead on far off shores and trenches. 60,000 Australians from this single war are buried on foreign soil (another 40,000 have died on other battlefields), and another 156,000 Australians were wounded, gassed or imprisoned from a total of 417,000 enlisted men. Which mother, which sister, could not have imagined that their son and brother had entered into hell itself? And when those walking wounded returned who could not have seen that the light in their eyes had gone out?
Neighbours, villages, tribes, nations have fought since time immemorial over land, resources, influence and power. Inevitably our sense of righteousness demands that good is on our side. For as the apocalypse pits the forces of good against the forces of evil, so too our wars are justified by our greater need, our desire for retribution.
If we remembered, and if we remembered well, we would never go to war. But our memories are faulty. But if we live in the ‘end times’, we also see daily glimpses of the living kingdom of God among us. For those who endure the life of faith, Jesus tells us they will win their lives. Let us give thanks and remember well. Lest we forget.
18 November 2010
One of my (very much) younger gym colleagues sent me an invitation to attend a demonstration class of BodyJam. I had no idea what to expect, though the ‘Jam’ part did make me think I’d be pushed to the limit. While I made it all the way through my introductory Zumba class (but never to return), I had not been warned that BodyJam was yet another bounce and dance class. I did ten minutes and scurried away to the cycling and walking machines. Nothing is as it first appears.
William of Wales, second in line to the throne, was born to be a king. His genealogy affirms his right of succession by primogeniture. His pending nuptials will again ensure that the Windsor dynasty will continue to reign (if not rule). It may well be possible that he will not be King of Australia if the republicans among us have their way. But if he was, what would he be king of?
The notion of Jesus’ kingship as a potentate who rules benignly over the faithful in some eschatological future is at odds with the Jesus on the cross at Calvary. The soldiers mocked him, saying: If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself.
He was not a king like David. The lineages recorded in Luke and Matthew do not leave Jesus as a direct heir to the Davidic throne. He was no crown prince. The stories that accompany his birth of angelic choirs and visiting nobility are purposeful for the communities who awaited a kingly messiah, but we have to accept that the reality was somewhat less romantic. He had no court, no army. There were no royal decrees. There was no crown of gold to place upon his head. His kingship was signalled by a crown of thorns and a promise of a kingdom partly here and partly to come.
Kingship has its origins in the Old English word cyng, a tribal leader – known for strength in war and wisdom in peace. Kingship in early communities brought a sense of unity, of protection, of purpose. Kingship was relational – acknowledging responsibility for one’s land, family and duty to the community and receiving support and encouragement in return.
The kingdom over which Jesus reigns is certainly different. It maintains that sense of relationship, unity and protection. And those who seek to enter this kingdom are required to offer faithful allegiance. The benefit is life eternal. The key to entry is faith built on love for others.
If we work in reverse and consider Jesus’ life as kingship, we see a radically different model of kingship in action. Jesus’ kingship is a life of service for others, indeed, it is most perfectly expressed in his self-sacrifice for humanity on the cross.
It will be almost impossible for us to have a relationship of any significance with William if he ever becomes king of Australia. But if Jesus’ kingship is a living act of love, then a relationship with him is not only possible, it is imperative.
25 November 2010
We’re waiting for our first family wedding. Our eldest son and his fiancée will marry in January. They were engaged on a balloon flight over the Gold Coast over a year ago. Since then they have been planning the big day with a vengeance: venue, celebrant, decorations, attendants, dresses (bride’s and bridesmaids’), suits, invitation lists, invitations, forewarning far distant relatives, menus, the service. Everything is on track, so we expect that it will be a great day.
When we look forward to a special event, a birthday, a trip away, a party, we can always put our finger onto the calendar and count down the days. As it approaches, so does our excitement. Our sense of anticipation and expectation grow.
The first Christians expected the second coming of Jesus to be in their own lifetimes. There was an urgency in their preparation: don’t marry unless you have to; live out the Gospel right now (Romans 13:11 – 14) – for you know not the day when your master is coming (Matthew 24:42). There was undoubted disappointment that this day did not arrive. But when it became apparent that the second coming would be later rather than sooner, Christians adjusted their expectations. They began to take a longer view of when this day would occur.
So how do you await or watch out for something that you cannot put your finger on? Our ancestors figured that Halley’s comet would be seen every 76 years, winter followed autumn, even the moon and planets followed observable, predictable patterns. Over the centuries we have had soothsayers, fortune tellers, millenialists, prophets of doom and gloom haranguing us to accept the imminent end to the world as we know it. They have all been wrong.
For the Christian the tension between the present and that unknown future is where our lives are lived out. What and how we are is played out into the future. It is a flip of the hands, one side is now, the other is ‘then’. The coming of the Lord is filtered back into the present when the Gospel is lived out, when the kingdom of God takes on flesh and substance in our daily lives.
Advent (Latin) is a direct translation of parousia – the Greek word for the second coming of the Lord and the first two first two Sundays of Advent highlight this notion of the parousia, while the second two Sundays focus on the Incarnation of the Lord. Advent also marks the beginning of the Church’s liturgical year. Our Sunday readings move from Year C to Year A.
Like the preparation time that precedes Lent, Advent provides a key opportunity for self-reflection, penance and self-renewal, and upon our lips and in our hearts we should urge, ‘Come, Lord Jesus, come.’
2 December 2010
It takes just a small jog of reality to realise the preciousness of life and the love we have for our families. I have spent this week with my mother in Rotorua NZ as she has undergone a barrage of tests. She is in good spirits but somewhat tired from her illness, and probably the attention that has been paid to her buy her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, in-laws, nephews, nieces and cousins, doctors and nurses. If nothing else she knows she is deeply loved.
Everything that was written long ago in the scriptures was meant to teach us something about hope from the examples scripture gives of how many people who did not give up were helped by God. (Romans 15:4)
When Paul wrote to the Romans he expressly understood that God’s action in the world, his ‘help’ is a result of the hope they possessed. It is not a passive hope, such as when we can, with some affectation say, ‘I hope everything will go well’. It is a hope that requires our active participation: I will love you, care for you, feed you and clothe you, visit you and be your companion. That is what hope is. Hope is demanding, we must know what it asks of us.
And so John Baptist’s voice in wilderness heralds the coming of the Messiah (Matthew 3:1 – 12), Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths. It is our responsibility to ensure that we ourselves are ready, and we have prepared what is necessary for the arrival of the Lord. We become ready by familiarising ourselves with the message, being willing and able participants, being alert and aware, using all of our wits. And there are things that must be organised: the community, the reception, the welcome, the acknowledgement, the celebration, the anticipated mission, the difficulties and trials ahead, the promise and fulfillment. There is no naked hope, it is, like all enterprises, planned.
The story of salvation is not of a flailing humanity before an imperious God. From the moment of our first parents’ fall, a plan that brought God and man to the one table to negotiate, to plead and to bargain for redemption was hammered out. God required that active and lived out hope in order for the plan to come to fruition. As Christians it is our belief that Jesus, son of Joseph and Mary of Nazareth enfleshed that hope and thus fulfilled the plan promised by God.
The voice that comes from the wilderness calls us to account for our preparation We too are invited and called to enflesh that hope in our daily lives, and no more so than in our marriages and in our families. Be present to your family, share your hope and live life to the full.
This Sunday is the 2nd Sunday of Advent. Prepare the way of the Lord!
9 December 2010
Patience is a virtue in short supply. Everything is instant! Goaded by our addiction to shopping, we have no need to wait until our next pay. Instant gratification it is called. TVs, clothes, toys and even cars are bought to satisfy our needs, but our satisfaction is short lived. There is always something else on our lists that must bought.
Australia’s first new F-35 Lightning II ordered last year by the Australian Government will not be delivered until 2014 and the other 99 will be delivered over several more years. To qualify for a degree takes a minimum of three years (although UTAS offers a 2 year nursing degree for students in NSW, and Bond University on the Gold Coast offers accelerated degrees), and training for many occupations is also rolled out over several years. This apparent patience is at odds with our need for ‘stuff’.
This tension is no more apparent than in the first Pauline communities of the first century AD, particularly Rome. Again the writer James (5:7) exhorts: Be patient, brothers, until the Lord’s coming. The sense of urgency, impulsivity, ‘do it now’ was leading the first Christians into grave error.
The sense of anticipation and anxiety that develops as young children’s birthdays approach, the desire to have time move quickly can often mean that decisions made in haste leave too much room for long term regret.
The Jews had been told by the prophet Isaiah some 700 years before Jesus’ birth to expect a messiah. Jesus was not the only ‘messiah’ of that time. And it is most probable that they were expecting a warrior-king who would release them from the bondage of Rome. When the imprisoned John heard what deeds Jesus was performing, he sent a disciple to ask if he, Jesus, was the one for whom they were waiting. Jesus sent his reply: The blind see, the lame walk, the deaf hear, lepers are made clean, the dead are raised and the good news is proclaimed to the poor (Matthew 11:2 – 6). While this was a revelation for John, most Jews would think Jesus, a carpenter of Nazareth, an unlikely choice.
Salvation is played out over, in, through and beyond time. If we measure the time from Creation to Abraham, from Abraham to David, from David to Jesus, from Peter to Benedict XVI the constant and unending message is the same: be patient.
As James so beautifully writes: Let patience have her perfect work, that you may be perfect, wanting nothing (1:4).
16 December 2010
In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God.
All things came to be through him,
and without him nothing came to be.
What came to be through him was life,
and this life was the light of the human race;
the light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.
And the Word became flesh
and made his dwelling among us,
and we saw his glory,
the glory as of the Father’s only Son,
full of grace and truth.
John 1:1 – 5, 14
My favourite Christmas story doesn’t mention donkeys, stables and choirs of angels. It comes from John’s Gospel and it is Gospel that is proclaimed at Masses on Christmas day. John cuts to the chase. This is not a tale, this is the moment in human history when God leaps into our story, taking on flesh and blood.
Imagine if you will, that the God who has brought all that is into being, himself is begotten and born. This self is the Son. One in being with the Creator.
The concept of incarnation is no stranger to eastern religion and is vehemently outside mainstream Islam and Judaism. However, deification and incarnation were well-known and wide-spread throughout the Persian, Greek and Roman empires. The Councils of Nicaea, Ephesus and Chalcedon finally gave definition to Jesus’ incarnation: he was fully human and fully divine, joined in a hypostatic union as one person.
John is under no illusion about who this Word is and what his role will be. There is no uncovering or unveiling, there is no need of a convoluted pilgrimage to Bethlehem nor the need for acknowledgement from wise men and shepherds. For him the incarnation is made real in the person of Jesus as he walked, preached, lived and breathed in 1st Century Palestine.
While the nativity narratives reveal the richness of human storytelling, John directs us deep into the mystery. And this Christmas you too are invited to reflect on the great wealth of human history and God’s saving love and action, made flesh among us not once 2000 years ago, but made flesh each day in one another.
A warm and happy Christmas to you all.
Yet there is still much to be done. Don’t let ‘stuff’ get in the way, nor allow regret to rule your life. We wait. In joyful hope. This Sunday is the 3rd Sunday of Advent.
