Bert Broekhuyse - 8.30a.m. Mass - 11 October 2009

My  Journey of life and faith

I would like to start my presentation with introducing my wife Clare and myself, Bert Broekhuyse. We regularly attend the 8.30 Sunday Mass here at Saint Johns, Kippax. We have been married for nearly 52 years and have 5 children and 19 grand-children.

This will be a narration of my journey through life, but also with my sweetheart, wife and bride -  Clare - and excursions into my faith as a Christian.

I was born on the 20th of February 1935, in Dutch town called Utrecht. I was the first born of 6 sons and a home delivered baby with severe complications. I was admitted into the intensive care unit of the Utrecht university hospital as critical ill and spent the first 6 weeks there, attended by a very capable paediatrician, who was also the personal physician of the Dutch Royal household.( we lived in that area). Dad often related his prayer for divine intervention, and his prayer always ended with: ‘Thy will be done’.

In relating this to his offspring, he made a strong point of a philosophy of life: ‘Change the things you can change and accept the things you cannot change.’

Dad moved to Amsterdam, he was a pastry cook, and he established a fine boulangerie in the new part of Amsterdam about 4 months before the outbreak of WW II. I had just about reached schooling age, however, Amsterdam became a garrison city for the German occupation forces. Eight out of every ten schools were commandeered by the German High Command. If you wonder why?  Schools make ideal military assets. All classrooms became dormitories, passageways-locker rooms, gymnasium - mess hall, playgrounds  - parking lots for motorised military equipment and the round-about in front of the school, well, the flagpole was replaced with an anti-aircraft battery. And schooling?  6 hours a week, rostered to the remaining schools and in the short time available, the teaching staff attempted to educate the kids in the skills of three Rs.  No mean feat. I never quite caught up with the normal standard of education until later in life.

The war years where an adventure for young kids. We collected shrapnel from the anti aircraft shells, visited the German encampments, where occasionally you were given a sweet morsel or a ‘Rause! Rause!’ roasting.

Dad had 3 brothers on farms and food for our family was smuggled into Amsterdam to feed his family. Not only did Dad feed his family, but food deprived Amsterdam, had many needy and hungry people and every day, on a rotation basis, we had at least four dinner guests, with whom our fare was shared.

It was well after the war and shortly before migrating to Australia, that Mr Riepen, who lived on the second floor of our 4 story tenement block, confessed to dad that he stole food from us during the awful war winter of 1944 . The potatoes were stored under the floor for safe keeping. He had found a way into the storage area and pinched every day 2 or 3 potatoes during mealtimes. Less chance of detection. He cried when he related his misdemeanour and guilt. While under the floor, stealing our food, he heard the blessing of the meal from our living room, ‘Give us this Day our daily bread and forgive us … We still say grace before each meal and food wastage is a capital offence.

In May 1948, the Russians became very cheeky. They achieved atomic capability with the complements of Mr and Mrs  Rosenberg. It was the start of the Berlin airlift and all of Western Europe was extremely anxious and fearful. So much so, that my father was convinced, that the power struggle between democracy and communism, was about to be settled. He applied to migrate to Australia and with the cultural speed for which the Australian Emigration Department is now known, my Dad, a fully self funded migrant with wife and 5 sons, was granted entry after 3 years long . The sixth son was born in Australia.

My first job in Australia was at Sergeant’s meat pies in Darlinghurst. My Australian education started there in the skills of the basic Aussie language, should I say, swearing. I had extremely good teachers. After 6 months, I started an electrical apprenticeship and armed with Dutch/English dictionary I tackled the major challenge, i.e. being educated in a foreign language in a strange country.

I was well aware, that education is the key to living and, while attending Belmore Tech once a week on a Thursday night, I enrolled in the adult education classes of Canterbury High School,  conducted during the night hours and over the next 3 years, 3 nights a week, I managed Intermediate and matriculation.
This gig was followed by attending Ultimo Higher Tech and completed year 3 Certificate Electrical Engineering and did that years final exams in the week of our honeymoon. Passing mark average 96%.  Yes!!!!!

Clare and I met and courted in the Bankstown area and were married on the 23rd of November 1957. Nearly 52 years ago.  My, doesn’t time fly when you have a good time. I applied for a large number of jobs that were well within my educational standards that I had achieved by now, but, alas, every job was taken or did no longer exist. Clare and I decided to use my skills and nous in our own private enterprise and we moved to Culcairn and started an electrical contracting business. When we moved to Culcairn, Clare was pregnant again, but this time, after many miscarriages, the pregnancy proceeded as it should. Noelene was born, however, she lived for about 4 hours.  ‘Thy Will be done’  came home like a sledge hammer.

The entire town mourned with us. Mick Baz, the local general store keeper, carried the little white coffin and placed it on the back seat of a new Holden provided by the local Holden dealer.
The local sergeant, Harold Ferris and his offsider Neil, closed off the Olympic Highway, which passes through Culcairn, the shopkeepers closed  their doors, as the sizeable cortege passed through the town to the local cemetery, a mark of mourning and respect.

Clare was informed by the local doctor, that, although she will fall pregnant again, she will never produce a family. The possibility of adoption was discussed and, in passing comment, this was mentioned to Mick Baz. He immediately told Clare to ring Sister Ann of Saint Margaret’s Hospital. Clare did, and was informed to contact the Catholic adoption agency. ‘Well’, said Clare ‘Mick Baz told me to give you a ring.’ ‘Not Mick Baz from Culcairn?’ asked Sister Ann. ‘Well, I owe him so many favours, I was about to make arrangements for this little boy, if you like, you can have him.’ ‘Yes please!!!!’, said Clare. ‘Fine, you can pick him up next Saturday’. And with that she put down the phone and the following Saturday Colin come in to our life. A family at last. ‘God will provide.’

Fifteen months later, John was born and then, two more miracles happened, Luke and Michelle were born at a reasonable catholic space apart. And, Clare fell pregnant again, expecting twins.
We were over the moon, however, never count your chickens before they hatch.  The twins were still born. This was a very severe blow to Clare and me. ‘Thy Will be done.’

We entered a complete new enterprise, licencee and management of a hotel, The Woy Woy Hotel. While in the hotel venture, we decided to apply for another adoption. The Catholic adoption agency was by now defunct and all adoption were handled by the Child Care Agency, who refused our application on grounds, that it was against departmental policy to have children adopted into licensed premises. We strongly suspect one of our drinkers, sorry, clients, who was first secretary in the Secretary General’s department of NSW, to have intervened on our behalf. The Agency contacted us and a stringent inspection of the pub was made in regard of separation of drinkers ( clients) and  family. Separate entrances, living quarters etc. Unknown to us, others became involved behind the scenes and it became a test case for equal rights for licencees in regard to qualify for adoption. Out of the blue, we were contacted to take custody of a female child at the Cooma District Hospital and to receive the appropriate papers, which we were to present to a solicitor of our choice and arrange adoption. So, Monique come into our life.

We arrived that Saturday at about 1 o’clock at the pub with the new babe in arms. The pub was busting at the seams. What the agency did not want, was happening. Monique passed from hand to hand of all the rough diamonds of our pub. The dredgers and slaughtermen, garbos and road workers, painters and builders, brickies and concreters, all cooed over Monique, while the barmaids were frantic in case theyíd break her or something like it. God takes and God gives.  Our family was now complete.

In Woy Woy, we belonged to the parish of Saint John the Baptist and became involved with the volunteer working bee, as I did in Culcairn,  to renovate the presbytery. These priests talk to one another. Father McCarthy volunteered me as a catechist for the local High School.   Year 11 and 12 in one of the largest public high schools in NSW those days. A daunting task and armed with sheaves of instructions and information material I fronted my class. The classroom was the size of a mini lecture theatre.

The attending students, all six, were lost in this humongous room.

Oh my God, what am I to do? They all knew who I was, but I formally introduced myself and started a roll call, as you do.
I only did that once. In desperation I asked: ‘Why are you here?’
Because mum said I had to attend. I want to see what a publican can teach me about church. Nowhere else to go. This was most encouraging, not really. The next question was not only addressed to them, but an examination of myself. Why are you a Catholic?

Why indeed.  Most of us are born and reared in a family of the catholic faith and this matter became an animated discussion among the 6 students.

I decided, that the religious instruction class should become an informal discussion group, exploring the reasons and virtues of religious beliefs and its effect on daily life. The class progressively grew and at the end of the year, nearly 50 students attended and participated in lively, but orderly discussions exploring the art of living and observing the laws of morality.

The last day of the school year and for many the end of schooling, the entire group. unknown to me, gathered in the beer garden of our hotel. The staff got me out of our private quarters, as it was my day off, and I celebrated with these young adults the end of school and the start of adult life. Lemonade, squash and saspirella.

In 1975 saw Clare and myself with the clan of 5 children move to Canberra and started totally afresh, as electrical contractors.

The demise of Whitlam saw Frazer take residence in the Lodge. After about 3 month the entire Housing and Construction work crew that looked after the Lodge were instructed to leave and amongst others, I was summonsed to the Lodge and this was the start of nearly 14 years of serving 2 Prime ministers and  more than 20 years, to Government House, providing electrical services, which complimented our other private contracts. 28th of February, 1999, saw me retire and son John, no 2 son, kept the business going until 3 years ago.

In 2007, Clare and myself, with our 5 children and 19 grandchildren, celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary.
We now live quietly in retirement, the good life, tending our vegie patch, collecting eggs from our chooks, ( must get a cow to complete the urban farm) loving our dogs and providing pre and after school care for grandchildren.

I perform daunting manual tasks in my shed and Clare cooks tempting dishes. I serve the community of Saint John with some ambitious manual tasks suggested by some, I will not mention any names, but as I said, parish priests do communicate. Those little tasks are my prayers. We all worship in different ways.

Life is good, however, what is around the corner of life, is only for the Almighty to know.

From childhood, prayers were daily recited but some always seem to be important. So,I like to conclude with one prayer that I recite often in my native tongue. It is the blessing on Our House.

Our House, meaning, our family, our home, our endeavours, heritage and future.

Under your Protection is this House,
Protect it from danger and grief
Protect it from tempest and fire
Protect this House at all times
Our House it is Your Abode
Now, till Holy Eternity.

May Your God smile on you and protect you.

Thank you for your kind attention.

Mathew Toohey - 6.00pm Mass - 23 August 2009

Like many of the people who’ve been asked to share their faith journeys with you in previous months, I’m not quite sure why I’m here talking to you tonight. But when Fr Michael asks you to do something, it’s pretty hard to say no. So here I am.

When I asked what I should talk about, Fr Michael replied that a good place to start would be to answer the question: “Why am I here?”

But before I go on to answer that question, it’s probably best that you understand a little bit more about who I am and where I’ve come from.

I’m the fourth of six children. When I was born in August 1975, my parents Denis and Margaret now had four boys under the age of five. Mum’s fond of saying that with so many youngsters to look after she was too tired to conceive for the next few years, so it wasn’t until I was almost 7 that my sister Monica was born in May 1982, followed by Bernadette in December 1983.

When I was born, the family lived at Loftus in Sydney but just before my second birthday, we moved to Melbourne for Dad’s work. So the events in my earliest memories took place at our house in Glen Waverley, which was a real ‘nappy valley’ suburb back then. Everyone seemed to have young, growing families. When I was in year two, around half the mothers of the kids in my class had a baby that year. With six kids in our family, we were on the high side of average but certainly not the largest: one of my friends was one of nine, and there were several families with seven or eight kids.

Being the fourth child had its benefits: my brothers were always doing something interesting, and even if they wouldn’t let me join in they usually let me watch. But it also had its disadvantages: most of my clothes were hand-me-downs, some of which had seen better days, and I often felt like I couldn’t keep up with my brothers. I didn’t start talking until well after I was 2. Mum reckons that I struggled to get a word in when I was little – and that I’ve been making up for it ever since!
(As you’re about to discover.)

As a youngster it seemed to me that the whole world was Catholic. Virtually everything we did was connected with the parish or school: tagging along with Mum when she did tuckshop duty, Dad going off to pastoral council meetings, our trusty Kingswood station wagon being one of the last cars out of the car park after Sunday morning Mass because there were always so many people for Mum and Dad to talk to and us kids being excited at the prospect of warm, crusty bread from the local bakery. Bread and cheese for lunch after Sunday morning Mass was one of our family rituals. Our other rituals included grace before meals, saying the Rosary at the beginning of a car trip and on most Fridays, fish on Friday and Dad returning from the big weekly grocery shopping trip on Saturday mornings with a couple of kilos of chicken wings and potatoes that got turned into our favourite meal: chicken wings and chips. Yum!

But I think my favourite ritual was Mum saying our prayers with us as she put us to bed. The list of people that got a mention seemed to get longer and longer, til eventually Mum would abbreviate it to “God bless Mum and Dad, Brendan, David, Andrew, Matthew, Monica and Bernadette and all our relations and all our friends. Amen.” But before you knew it, there’d be someone that deserved a special mention and then the list would start to grow again.

Having seen my brothers make their First Reconciliation, First Communion and Confirmation, I was keen for all of those things to happen to me too, so that I didn’t feel left behind. I sometimes felt lonely and stupid during my primary school years because I was so uncoordinated and couldn’t play cricket or football to save myself, but there were also times where I felt like one of the gang.
I remember preparation for the sacraments being times when I felt that sense of belonging.
Our parish priest at St Leonard’s, Fr Tom Foynes, was an Irish missionary, from the days when Irish priests were still sent out to Australia. I always remember him as old and a bit cranky but he gave good homilies and managed to say the second Eucharistic Prayer in less than 4 minutes and still make it a heartfelt prayer.

At that time in my life, prayer was either of three things:
- rattling off a standard prayer like the Hail Mary or the Our Father;
- asking God for something I really wanted or that someone else had asked me to pray for, like a new bike or to heal someone with cancer; or
- thanking God for something that had happened, like being allowed to stay up late and watch a movie on TV.

I sometimes prayed to one of the many saints that my parents invoked. Mum’s family, especially, had a saint for every occasion. For example, St Anthony was not only good at helping to find lost things; he also had a pretty good track record at helping Grandma or Aunty Bun to light their rather fickle gas oven.

I also remember that time as a time where there seemed to be lots of priests, nuns and brothers in our lives, as well as a fair few ex-nuns and priests who’d left active ministry to marry. These people were different and not just for their clothing. (Sometimes I used to think that when they’d entered the novitiate or seminary they’d received a blessing that made them lose all sense of fashion.) They also stood out for their prayerfulness and devotion to duty.

Just as I was about to follow my brothers to secondary school at Mazenod College, Dad found a job in Adelaide and we moved in November 1987. Before we moved to Adelaide, Mum and Dad made a trip to check out schools. Br Paul Rogers at St Michael’s made such an impression on them because he said to them that even if they didn’t choose to send us to St Michael’s that they should strongly consider living in Henley parish because it had a great sense of community and quite a lot going on for young people.

The fact that it was an MSC parish was a big selling point for Mum and Dad. Mum grew up down the road from the Monastery at Kensington, while Dad grew up in neighbouring Rosebery and Mum’s eldest sister Helen is an OLSH nun. So the MSCs have had a big influence on my family.

At some point in my faith journey, I stopped going to Mass because my parents made me and started going for my own reasons. It’s hard for me to pinpoint exactly when that happened. I guess it was one of those things that happened so slowly that I didn’t notice it, but by the age of 14 I would take myself off to the vigil Mass on Saturday night even if Mum and Dad weren’t around.
 I also used to spend some time in the Chapel at school, sometimes just sitting there in silence, at other times praying the Rosary. Saying the Rosary seemed to be a good way to quieten the thoughts and worries that were always racing through my head and allow them to be replaced with a calm silence, to just be.

I remember RE classes at school being a big disappointment: ‘a load of airy-fairy, moralistic, pseudo-Christian bullshit’ was how I once described them to one of my teachers. But in Year 11, that changed. Mr Hustwick was a tall, overweight, middle-aged New Zealander with an unusual obsession for netball. As a maths and physics teacher, he was pretty ordinary. But he was a great RE teacher. Whether we were looking at the Bible or discussing euthanasia or abortion, he managed to get us sharing our views in a forthright but respectful way where in previous years class discussion had been characterised by snickering and awkward silence.

That year we also went on retreat. Not just a single day retreat like we’d done in Year 10, this time we stayed overnight. That was great for two reasons: firstly, I’d already discovered that I need more than one day to unpeel all of my layers and, secondly, you learn so much about other people by sharing the first moments of the day with them and by working alongside them to prepare or clean up after a meal. I can count the number of “mountain top” moments – those moments where you know with every cell and fibre of your being that God loves you unconditionally – on one hand. I had my first “mountain top” moment at that retreat.

There were other teachers who influenced me too. These were people for whom teaching wasn’t just a job, it was a vocation, and for whom teaching us about how to lead a Christian life was something that wasn’t just confined to RE class.

In Year 12, I joined Antioch. It was great to have a group of friends with whom I could openly and honestly share and discuss my faith. Being in Antioch also helped to bring me out of my shell a bit.

Even before I had joined Antioch, I’d become involved in the music ministry at Henley. The Antiochers did the music for the Saturday night Mass and on a couple of occasions they needed a few extra people, so my clarinet and I would be invited join in with the singers, guitarists and occasional flute or saxophone to make music. At first, I made a lot of mistakes but the other musos always encouraged me and made me feel welcome. Gradually, I started coming more often and before I knew it, I’d become part of the group and played every week. This combination of music and faith was and still is crucially important for me.

In 2000, I moved to Canberra to work in the public service. At that stage I was living in Lyons, so went to my local church at Curtin. But after a year or so, the lovely, gentle, pastoral parish priest was replaced by a priest who specialised in saying Sunday Mass in less than half an hour. To me, it felt rushed and not at all prayerful. After a few weeks of this, I said to myself, “Why am I putting up with this when I know that there’s an MSC parish less than half an hour away?” So I started coming to Kippax. At first I knew hardly anyone, so it certainly helped that I already knew Fr Chris Murphy from his time at Henley. But gradually I got to know more and more people in the parish and started to feel at home here.

I studied Australian sign language (or Auslan, as it’s usually called these days) for about four years after moving to Canberra. Before I studied Auslan, I hadn’t realised that the vast majority of deaf kids are born to hearing parents and the vast majority of deaf parents have hearing children. So unlike the typical family situation, most deaf kids grow up in the knowledge that they are and always will be fundamentally different from their parents.

I also learnt that there’s a big difference between Auslan, which is the natural sign language of the Australian Deaf community, and Signed English (capital S, capital E), which was invented by some well-meaning but ill-informed teachers of the deaf in the 1970s as a visual representation of English. Unfortunately, they based it on American Sign Language, which is so different from Auslan that it’s virtually unintelligible. For this reason, Signed English has never been fully accepted by the Deaf community. One of my Auslan teachers used to show her disdain for Signed English by always mimicking the action of getting a dirty taste out of your mouth after saying it: for her, it was never just “Signed English” it was always “Signed English, hawk, spit”.

That’s pretty much the way people talked about homosexuality when I was growing up. It seemed to me that whenever people mentioned it they felt the need to spit it out as quickly as they could. For many years after I first heard the word ‘homosexuality’ the only thing I knew about it was that it was bad. For as long as I can remember, I have always felt different: different to my brothers, different to the other boys at school. As I grew older it gradually became clear to me that the main reason I felt different was because I am gay. And when I say gradually, I mean really slowly. It wasn’t until I was 21 that I accepted that I’m gay and it took me another couple of years to start coming out. And although the word ‘gay’ has white, male, middle-class overtones that don’t always sit well with me (even though I am all of those things); I could never call myself ‘homosexual’ because of the negative connotations that word developed during my childhood and adolescence.

It would be fair to say that I’ve spent the bulk of my adult life wrestling with what it means to be gay and Catholic. I think there’s probably another round or two left in that wrestling match, but one of the things I’ve worked out over the years is that things that are meant to be have a purpose. So if being gay is what I’m meant to be, it has to have a purpose, a reason.

I’ve also struggled with being single. When I was growing up, being single wasn’t a destination; it was something you did before you became a priest, brother or nun or got married and had kids. Studying economics, which can reduce human relationships to a ‘marriage market’ with winners and losers, further encouraged my belief that single people are the fish that John West rejected, the dregs of the marriage market. It’s only in the last couple of years that I’ve begun to appreciate the freedom and flexibility of being single. While my brothers and most of my friends have gotten married, settled down and had children, I still have the freedom to do not just what I want but also what’s needed in my community. I guess I’ve also begun to see being single as something that might have a purpose too.

Maybe God delights in variety.

Maybe single people and gay people are God’s reminder that human participation in the co-authorship of creation doesn’t always have to involve procreation.

Maybe God’s reminding us that the legacy we leave for future generations doesn’t always have to include our genetic material.

Maybe God’s reminding us that marriage and parenthood are special gifts, gifts we might overlook if they were universal.

So, to get back to Fr Michael’s question, why am I here?

I’m here because I believe in God. I believe that Jesus died and rose for us and, even though I have difficulties with some of what comes down to us from the hierarchy, I still feel that the Catholic Church is the best place to come to a fuller understanding of Jesus and to strive for holiness.
I can’t imagine worshipping in another denomination.

More specifically, I’m here at Kippax because MSC parishes have something special about them:
I feel at home here and at Henley in ways I haven’t experienced elsewhere. Like a hefty proportion of people who come to St John’s, I live outside the parish boundaries. Indeed, there are at least nine Catholic churches that are closer to where I live than Kippax. Of course, we can always do better, but what we have at St John’s is pretty special.

I’m here because taking my bat and ball and going home won’t help the Church to come to a more nuanced understanding of homosexuality. When I was growing up, I did not have a single role model who was openly gay and Catholic. I’ve often heard people say that it’s impossible to be gay and Catholic. But I’d like to think that with God’s grace I might be able to prove the naysayers wrong and be an example to those young people who find themselves going through the same sort of struggle as I did growing up.

And I’m here because, in Peter’s words from today’s Gospel: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the message of eternal life, and we believe; we know that you are the Holy One of God.”

Pauline Greig - 10.00am Mass - 16 August 2009

My Faith Journey

Thank you Fr. Michael for asking me to speak of the Faith Journey in my life.

My journey seems simple, made up of stories , beautiful stories, that come from my years in Catholics schools and this MSC Parish at St. Johns and my precious family.

But to go back years, many years…I was born and raised in Tasmania. Robert and I met at Cygnet where I taught at the Government school and Robert had been transferred from Hobart to the Cygnet branch of the Commonwealth Bank. My church was the Church of England and Robert’s the Catholic church.

Two years later we married and went on to a Navy life. In our first year of marriage we were living at HMAS Harman, close to the Queanbeyan ACT border. During that year I made the decision to follow Robert’s Catholic faith…hearing in my head “The family that prays together stays together”, from Bishop Fulton Sheen. A simple reason ( not a longing) thinking of a family to come. My preparation was by Fr. Cork in Queanbeyan in 1960!

We had many postings with the Navy. It was a posting to HMAS Cerberus in Victoria that we experienced community at the Immaculate Conception Parish and school of nearby Hastings. We have fond memories of those faith-filled country people.

Our last posting was here to Canberra in December 1970… I say ‘last’ because we made the decision to put down some roots with our children who were close to completing primary school and soon to attend Daramalan College.

When we arrived in Canberra and settled in Higgins, Simon and Elizabeth attended St. Vincents at Aranda…the nearest catholic school at the time.

With Sarah aged four, I contacted the Catholic Education Office to enquire whether there was a refresher course available to prepare me for a return to teaching when Sarah started school. A Mr. McPhilips spoke to me and asked if I would be interested in a part time position ( like now! ). I drove to Manuka and met Mr. McPhilips who employed me and within the week I was relieving Sr. Noella the Principal, for the afternoons with Sarah slotted into Kindergarten. My credentials…teacher and Catholic mother.
How times have changed!

When St. Matthews School at Page opened I moved with my children to a full time position in a Year Three. St. Matthews had six dedicated Josephite nuns and a small lay staff to get the school established. The Principal at the time, Sr. Leo recently went to God aged 94.

It was during this time at St. Matthews that I experienced some understanding of my faith.
I always had beautiful children in my year 3’s but this year they seemed a ‘knowing’ group as well as beautiful. We had very few resources but I came across a box of large black and white cardboard pictures…about ten in all. Among them was a grandparent and child, a birthday party, two people listening to each other…all had some expression of love and tenderness. Somewhere along the way we had heard or sung “God is love and where there is love there is God”. From these pictures we saw “that’s love”. Then came…”So that’s God”. The children could see and so could I. Nothing was as important as ‘love’. And so it happened…tiny acts of helping, being kind. I’d hear “That’s love” and for sure there’d be an echo of “So that’s God”.

It was a year with a further understanding of God loving us even when we ourselves aren’t so loving.

In mid 1972 Robert received a short-notice posting to Darwin…the duration of which was to be one year if he went alone, two years if we accompanied him. He chose to go alone and for us to remain in Canberra. He had a lonely isolated year away from us. However, close to Christmas 1972 I won a “Silver Circle” at school which was half a return air fare home for four days. A very exciting time for us all…but much for him to do in our new house in Latham which I had moved to in August of 1972.

Suburbs in Belconnen were growing quickly. St. Matthews school accommodating 900 children…bursting at the seams.

A school to be built in St. John’s Parish.

At a meeting of parents at St. Matthews the decision was announced that a school would be built in St. John’s parish, Judy Netting stood up and asked if any of the staff would come with the children….
My appointment to St. John’s Primary School was a continuation of my faith journey. As well as my Year 3 , I became the co-ordinator for religion in the school. St John’s was the first Catholic Primary school without nuns and me a convert! But what came out of this was wonderful, for we couldn’t rely on the nuns who knew it all for us—but to learn for ourselves and did we learn…sharing resources, discovering great liturgies, songs…strengthening our faith and trust in each other.

MSC priests, great principals, and parents all bringing the school something special that to me is still there.

Of course there have been times that were challenging but I’d always remembered when telling Fr. Hoare at St. Matthews how I found a staff member hard to get along with he said, “Pauline it is easy to love the ones you love, but that’s not what He asks”. I’ve heard that over and over through the years…to keep loving when I’d rather not.

When I retired from St. John’s school, Fr. John Rate asked Ken Moran and me to prepare the Parish Newsletter, the Compact. Ken in time had other commitments, then other parishioners came and contributed many faith-filled contributions.

I stayed on….and on and for fifteen years Maureen Craddock and I produced the Compact. Me finding the front page, joke and thought for the week, with Maureen deciding whether entries were ‘politically correct’ or not with much talk and laughter and never a cross word between us, ever.

It was those Thursdays with Maureen and Marian England and the many MSC priests that my faith strengthened. How little we know what is asked of our priests. I saw love, acceptance, kindness, patience and community with so many parishioners coming and going.

Down the years great sadnesses have come upon families from St’ John’s…Robert and me included. A touch on my shoulder from someone coming back from Communion can never be forgotten.

A short time ago Fr. Mark spoke of the sunsets, landscapes, and music as examples of the expression of God’s love for us. I have always felt that too. So thank you Fr. Mark.

I cannot finish without telling you of my prayers to the “Infant Jesus of Prague”.

Many years ago there was a family member suffering from cancer. A close friend came to our door and gave me a prayer card. It was how to pray a novena to the Infant Jesus of Prague. All very new to me …and explaining that the prayers to be prayed on the hour for nine hours, for those in need of prayer. I placed it on the piano and that afternoon a neighbour dropped in to say she’d be away…as she was going home to Prague! I showed her my novena card and she spoke very fondly of The Little Infant Jesus of Prague and the church where He could be found. She left and returned with a small statue of Him for me to have while she was away. All this in one day!! That was 23 years ago and the novenas I say for people bring comfort for me. Could I ever question this way of prayer? No, too many novenas have been answered including the cure for our own family member.

Thank you for listening to my faith journey…that will continue as we drive from our house without steps in Aranda, where we moved twenty years ago, to come to our parish –still St. Johns!

Lucie Anfiloff 8.30am Mass Sunday 9 August 2009

MY FAITH JOURNEY

I was born in 1948, a few years after World War II, during a warm European summer in the German town of Uelzen.  About a year before, my parents, Domna and Stasys met at a dance and discovered that they lived in barracks across from each other in the Lithuanian Displaced Person’s Camp.  Although they did not know each other’s languages, they communicated in German.  After a whirlwind romance of only three weeks, they were married in a civil ceremony.  My father was Catholic and my mother was Russian Orthodox.  Before the war they had lived in countries which were governed by a communist regime that did not recognise any form of religious faith.  Many years later, when I had become an adult, my mother told me, that when I was born there was a great deal of pressure from the Catholic priest in the camp to have me baptised in the Catholic Church.  Old family photos show my parents dressed in borrowed wedding garments being married in a Catholic Church, while I’m clothed in a christening gown, held by my godparents, presumably baptised on the same day.  My heritage is Lithuanian Russian.

Together with many other people, our little family migrated to Australia in 1949, when I was about 10 months old. Soon after our arrival, my mother and I were taken to a migrant camp in Cowra and my father was given work with Parks and Gardens in Fairbairn.  He worked hard and very soon, by mid 1950, he had bought a block of land and built a small two- room cottage in Queanbeyan.  My brother, Edward was born soon after.

My primary school years were spent in St Gregory’s Primary School, Queanbeyan.  The school was run by the Good Samaritan nuns and, as many of you present here know, catechism was an important part of the curriculum.  Sadly, I was partially deaf and this condition was only noticed by Sister Dorothy, my 3rd Form teacher.  She advised my parents, who were shocked, having believed that I had some form of intellectual disability because I hadn’t started talking till I was about 4 years old.  I mention this now, because it is an important factor of my faith journey.  I believe my inability to hear influenced my learning and comprehension of most things including the study of Catechism.  From that point most teachers placed me in the front seat and I began to comprehend much more.   It appears that there was nothing the Ear, nose and throat specialists could do at the time.  However, I must have acquired some religious understanding for I never missed Sunday Mass or Holy days of Obligation, even fervently attended novenas from about 10 – 12 years of age, clasping by brother’s hand as we walked the 2 kilometres, or so, to the newly built church of St Raphaels, next to the school.  

I believe that I gained only some limited religious values within my family – namely, that there was God. My father only attended Mass at Easter and Christmas and funerals, weddings and christenings.  I distinctly remember how much I wanted him to come to Church with me and how proud I was when he did. My mother attended Russian Orthodox services once a month in Canberra when she learnt to drive and my brother and I used to go with her, although we mostly played outside with other children while the services was on.  I don’t recall religion as being a topic for discussion at home.

My parents worked hard to build a life, but their marriage was extremely rocky.  My father drank and domestic violence was an occasional and unwelcome visitor in our home.

In 1958, when I was 10 years old, my uncle and his wife migrated from England and lived with us for a year.  He was of the Russian Orthodox faith and well read in that faith, so very quickly after his arrival he assumed important responsibilities within the church’s Parish Council.  Once, when I was 10 years old, while my parents were away, my uncle assaulted me sexually.  I never forgave him.

From 1960 to 1965 I attended the Canberra Catholic Girls High School, now Merici College.  Notwithstanding my hearing difficulties, I was a bright student, always seated in the front row and loved most of the subjects I was taught except for maths.  I can honestly say that religion was a favourite subject and I think that it was about this time that the seeds of searching were planted in me. When, I turned 15, it had become increasingly obvious that my hearing difficulty was affecting my learning.  I got a hearing aid that I didn’t want to wear, because it was so ugly.  I would do all manner of things to hide it and often I wouldn’t wear it.   At about the same time the family moved to a beautiful place in Red Hill.  My father had spent 3 years building this house and during that time an accident occurred to one of the men helping him that cost the family all that they owned.  For 3 years the family had been happy, my father had stopped drinking and the future seemed promising.  This accident cost my parents their house and the eventual and tragic collapse of their marriage some 3 years later.   In the 4th year of High School, I failed all my subjects and was resigned to doing a business course.  The headmistress at the time, Sr. Mary Damian rang my mother at the beginning of the following year to insist that I return to school and complete my leaving year.  It was thanks to this remarkable woman that I matriculated with flying colours.  I am ever grateful to her and the nuns who taught me, for they knew much more about me than I knew about myself.  At the end of my last school year, I attended my first silent retreat and the memory of this event has stayed with me to this day.

In 1965, at the age of 17 and when I left school I began work in the Public Service and by the age of 19, I no longer went to the Catholic Church, but occasionally attended the Russian Orthodox Church in Narrabundah, because at the time, I felt that I belonged there.

After 20 years of marriage, my parents separated in 1968 and were officially divorced in November 1969.   Also in November 1969 and after a whirlwind romance, I married a young man of Russian heritage and with a similar background to mine.  He had been christened Russian Orthodox and in order to marry him, I chose to be confirmed into the Russian Orthodox faith.  I was 21 years of age and my husband was 23.

We were blessed with two sons, Alex and Victor born in 1970 and 1973 and a daughter, Sonia born in 1981.  All the children were christened in the Russian Orthodox Faith.

At about this time, my brother who lived in the US converted to Mormonism.

Right from the beginning our marriage was extremely rocky.  There were fundamental differences in life values including the fact that my husband was atheistic. In addition, both of us also worked full time and the family had to cope with serious mental health issues with Mother-in-law who was diagnosed with paranoid Schizophrenia. My husband did not acknowledge his mother’s illness.  Married life is not all roses as most couples will know.  How we managed to stay married for 25 years is a mystery to me.  Very little religion was imparted to my children, except that my sons were altar boys for a short time.   Notwithstanding the poor example, we as parents gave them, deep in my heart I know that all my children believe that there is God and for this I’m truly grateful and can only pray that God will draw them to Himself even more closely. 

For the duration of my married life, I never really practised the Orthodox faith and only attended services for my mother’s sake and at Christmas, Easter, funerals and christenings, just like my father had done so many years ago.

I must mention that during this time I followed the “alternative” path which seemed to glitter with the promise of future peace and love.  However, the light on this path shone for only a little while and eventually faded completely.  I could no longer see where I was going.  I was utterly lost.

And so, in 1994 and after 25 years of marriage, I had had enough and walked out of my home and my marriage.  I took nothing.  My beloved 13 year old daughter came with me.

This event was the beginning of a long, winding journey to a relationship with God.  From this point, I will only share with you those events that I consider to be critical turning points in my faith journey.

Sometime in 1995 or 96, my daughter became involved with the protestant, Church of Christ.  For a long while she was afraid to tell me.  However, she eventually did and I decided to go to a service with her, just to check it out.  On this particular occasion she happened to be singing hymns with a group of other youth.  During the sermon which happened to be about family responsibility, I became emotional and had an episode of uncontrollable shaking.  Normally I’m a person of complete self control, particularly in public places.  My daughter came to me and sat me down and stayed with me.

After this event I suffered moments of incomprehensible yearning.  For what, I didn’t know.  Weeks passed and the yearning wouldn’t leave me.  I began to think that I should perhaps start a prayer group or something.  These feelings got stronger and stronger and I finally shared this with my daughter.  I told her that I longed to pray, but I really didn’t know where to begin or even how to pray.  Soon after she put me in touch with a Church of Christ Home Group. It some 12 years or so later and I’m still an active participant in the group. The group consists of women only and meets once a week.  The structure of the meetings includes scripture study, discussion, sharing and praying for others.

For a few years I regularly attended services at the Church of Christ and was embraced by the small community there.

As time moved on, I began to feel that I was not obtaining enough knowledge within the group and began to develop an intense desire to know and understand  the Bible more intimately.  I had no idea where to start and had not actually shared this feeling with the ladies in the Home group.

One night in August 1999, at 4.00 in the morning, I dreamt that someone was calling me.  I woke up and walked around the house to see who it was.  No – one, so, I went back to bed and fell promptly asleep and at 6.00 when I woke up, I took up a book I had been reading in the very first paragraph that I read, there was a comment by the author on the study of Theology. I was overtaken by an overwhelming excitement and knew that this is what I had to do.  At work, that same morning, I bubbled over with excitement and went directly to my boss to tell her what had happened.  Again, this uncontrollable behaviour is quite uncharacteristic of me. My boss then informed me that St Marks, which is Anglican, conducted theology courses and perhaps I should contact them.   I won’t go into detail, but all the administrative requirements fell into place and I was accepted to do a Degree in Theology.  I began a part-time course in September that same year.

The following two years were filled with intense study, assignments copious reading and the sharing of my newly acquired knowledge with whoever would listen.  My thirst seemed unquenchable.  However, I never completed my degree due to family responsibilities.  It didn’t really matter, because my thirst had been quenched and I knew that I was heading in the right direction.

Somewhere in this time, I met a man who was a member of the St John’s Parish Council.  He had come to my home to provide me with a quote for some painting.  When he came to my door, I thought to myself that he was so good looking that I would give him the job even if he was the most expensive quote.  He actually ended up being the cheapest and I gave him the job.  In the course of this association, I discovered that he and his wife were Charismatic Catholics and that they were having a meeting at their home to which I was invited.  Doubtfully, but in good chee, I arrived on their doorstep with a friend in tow.

In the course of the meeting, the group of people checked with us about whether we had problems with people praying in tongues.  No. So they joined hands with us and began to prayer.  I don’t know how much time passed, but I was completely overtaken by overwhelming tears and unstoppable weeping.  I don’t know how long I wept, but I know that when the praying and crying had stopped, I felt completely released from a number of concerns that I had been carrying for years.

Soon after this I fronted up at St John’s to talk to Fr Dominic about returning to the faith of my birth.  I attended Charismatic Mass at St Christopher’s Cathedral and joined a Charismatic Prayer Group.  Eventually, I felt that this wasn’t for me and began attending Mass here at St John’s.

In the past five years I have farewelled my parents for the last time after a time of caring for them.  My father had dementia and lived in  a nursing home and my mother remained at home with chronic heart failure.

I’m blessed with 3 wonderful adult children, and two beautiful grandchildren with whom I have loving relationships.

I do voluntary work with the organisation Samaritan’s Purse coordinated by the Anglican Church.

I have also studied Icon writing at St Benedicts in Narrabundah.  The rare times that I have painted an Icon I have felt prayerful and meditative and consequently consider it to be a spiritual discipline.

I have been coming to St John’s for approximately 8 years.  However, other than attending Mass and some of Fr Michael’s lectures and  more recently, having coffee with a group of wonderful people from the church, I have had little involvement with the Catholic community here but I have no doubt, that with time this will all change.

My favourite biblical passages are The Haemorrhaging Woman and The Woman at the Well.

Thank you for your patience

Kathleen Teys 6.00pm Mass Saturday 1 August 2009

A FAITH JOURNEY

The stories of faith and courage that we have been privileged to hear in the past months, have touched my heart, moved me to tears, and made me smile. They have increased my sense of community and for me, anything that unifies us in faith is something to be nurtured. I would like to thank Father Michael for inviting me to share with you a little of my own wonderful and, for me, amazing journey.

       I was, like many of you, a Great Depressionchild. I was born in 1936 in Dunedin, N.Z to an English migrant Mother and a rebel-type Father with a keen sense of justice and right and wrong, a love of nature, and animals, but a person of forthright speech who did not suffer fools gladly. One of those highly intelligent people who, through no fault of their own are denied the opportunity to make the best use of their talents. My mother had had a troubled early life. Her mother had been cast out from her middle class shop-keeping parents home when she fell in love with an Irish Catholic civil engineer. The rest of her short life was not a happy one. From my Mothers stories, told to me throughout my childhood, it always seemed to me that my Grandfather epitomised the stereotypical  vaudeville Irishman. They had four children and lived in poverty before my grandmother died of throat cancer at the age of 36, while Peter Hughes, her husband, was serving in the first world war.

       With no-one to care for them, the children were separated and sent to various Catholic orphanages. After the war, my Grandfather remarried and the children were returned. Life did not improve and the Catholic faith, as practised at that time, did not help. At 14 my Mother began her training as a children’s nanny in one of the “Big Houses,” and all her life she remained passionately fond of children. However her Father had continued his dissolute ways and at the end of each month, when payday came, [12 shillings, I believe] he was at the gate waiting.

       Migration seemed to be the only solution and when my Mother turned 21, that is what this frightened Catholic girl did. She ran away to N.Z. where she met my father and a more bigoted anti-Catholic she would have gone a long way further to find! The saving grace was that he adored her and defied his own family to marry her. The downside was that she became forever separated from her Church.

All of this pre-amble is second hand history,  but it has had a very strong influence on my life.

       Bear with me while I share a few lines written by Douglas Molloch and doctored a little by me.

 CRAZY QUILT

Sewed points and squares form a pattern of

Life’s cares-

Old garments, old memories,

And what is life?

A crazy quilt.

Sorrow, joy, grace and guilt, a

Piece of velvet, a scrap of silk,

A length of ribbon, a square of scarlet and

Here and there an edge of ribbon to

Enhance the common place.

And so the hand of time will take the

Fragments, and make the patterns fall,

To show our lives, a thing of beauty after all.

       My love affair with the Catholic Church began when I was about 8 years old, in the wash-house  in the far S.E. of N.Z. where my Father was the senior engine driver on the railway. My Mother was looking for something this day and opened the big cabin trunk that she had brought from England. This was exciting as I had never seen it opened before. After sorting through various papers and odds and ends, she took out two pictures, the most beautiful things I had ever seen, an image each of Mary and Jesus of the Sacred Heart. I attended Presbyterian Sunday School regularly and knew about Jesus and his Mother, but the sight of these pictures, was like a spear in my own heart. After showing them to me, they were put away and I never saw them again, but they were never forgotten, and, I believe that  the purity and sweetness of their expressions claimed me on that day.

       We were a solitary family and misfits in  many ways. My Mother had no family in N.Z. and my Father had virtually no family either. He had left his, for my Mother’s sake although  none of this was not recognised by me as a child. My parents were keen gardeners and readers. We lived a very “Green,” life, growing almost all our own fruit and vegetables, we had hens and ducks,  made all our own jams and pickles and walked round the corner  with an enamel billy, to a friendly farmer to buy milk each afternoon.

       My Father believed that people who bought things in cans at the shop, were not nice people to know! Looking back, I realise that we lived frugally and very close to nature. The farms and the bush formed my backyard and playground and the natural world of seasons, of growing things, mountains, fields, river, creeks and sky were an everlasting source of fascination and wonder.

       As I grew, Sunday school gave way to Bible class, Church, choir and Scripture Union, Brownies to Girl Guides, Primary school to our little District High School in the tiny farming and sawmilling township of Tuapere, close to Fiordland, which  was almost completely unexplored at that time. The natural world and my life seemed to be  one, seamless whole, how could one not believe?

       By the time I left to go to Teacher’s College in the big city, when I was 17,  disenchantment with my Church had begun to set in and although my faith never faltered, my church attendance did. The next three years were ones of considerable turmoil, perhaps it was a period of “divine discontent.” A search for belonging, led me in many directions. An encounter with Moral Rearmament and their lovely, sincere but, to me, hopelessly naïve and idealistic people. Meeting students from many different countries and religions had a profound effect and I learned that alcohol, the party scene and casual sex were not to be a part of my life and that I was basically a Martha rather than a Mary.

       After two years of College and one year of teaching I came with a friend on a working holiday to Australia where I had my first encounter with two “Catholic’s.” I had taken a job as a cook on Greendale station 15 miles from the small town of Tambo close to the headwaters of the Barcoo river. We met on the Westlander as I travelled overnight from BB to Charleville in the Central West of Qld.  They were  Mercy Nuns. I can’t even remember their names but by the time the  journey was over, I thought that I had found my destiny.

       However that was not to be. Within weeks I met my future husband, the local “Gun” shearer, and in four months I had married him in the  Catholic Church  against the advice of my employer and the disapproval of my future Mother-in-law! It was not a nuptial Mass because I was not a Catholic at that time. I knew none of the twelve people present, or at least only superficially, and I didn’t care. I had eyes only for my husband.

       Life for newcomers in a small bush town is always difficult, and mine was no exception. I was made very conscious of the fact that I was a foreigner and would always be so. There are always sweeteners however. For  me, there was the husband I adored, and eventually our 4 children, Auntie Laura, a devout Catholic, [loathed by my Mother-in-law!] another teacher, also married to a shearer and Father Ray Benjamen who took my friend June and me for instruction in the Catholic faith. I faced many hurdles in my learning over the next five years and Father Benjamin faced them with me with patience and tolerance. My final obstacle was acceptance of the Church’s teaching about Our Lady. For many months I struggled with the concepts. It was like running into a brick wall - too high to see over, too thick to go through and too long to go around. One day I was in tears of despair trying to explain the problem and I can still hear myself saying, “ Father, I’ve tried looking at the problem from every angle, what more can I do?” 

       He sat and looked at me for a while, and then he said.

“Kathleen, have you tried praying?”

I looked at him in disbelief and then I blurted, “What would I say?”After a little consideration he said, “You could try, Help me!”

       That night I did, feeling like an idiot. After all, if reason hadn’t solved the problem, how could this possibly help? By morning I  experienced  my first miracle. In wonder and awe I realised that the wall between Our Lady and me had been swept away. I later took Mary as my confirmation name and she has remained my consolation and my inspiration ever since, particularly through my child bearing and child rearing years when my own Mother was so very far  away.

       I mentioned earlier that I idolised my husband. This never faltered through the forty years of our marriage, and when he died without warning, 11 years ago, I believed that my life was over and that God had forsaken me. We had only been in Canberra for two days and I knew no-one except the immediate family who had no Church affiliations. Through  the funeral director and the advice of my son-in-law, Harry was buried from the Catholic Church in Q’beyan where my Son-in-law’s mother had been buried three months before. Having Father Mark Croker, an ex- shearer to bury him was a great help, support and comfort and, for me, another miracle.

       For  three years I prayed nightly, “Lord take me tonight.”  I woke each morning with the agonised words, “Oh God, I’m still here!”

       I must be a slow learner, but finally the penny dropped and I tried, “Well, Lord,  if you won’t take me, show me what you want me to do.”

       At this time I was only attending Mass at Christmas and Easter. On the third Christmas, I sat beside a man who sometimes sings in the choir. We sang along together and exchanged a few words. What a lovely man he was. That encounter gave me the courage to decide to attend  Mass regularly in the New Year from there on, and I did.

              Regular Saturday night vigil with our wise and wonderful Priests,  and the kindness of people like Gwen Jones and her friends , led to meditation group and friendship with some wonderful women, Veronica Brennan, Toss Van Den Heuvel, Manel and Kerry Yard to name some. This led to the amazing experience of Cursillo,

which was like a new conversion or rebirth for me. It was a weekend of new experiences and more miracles, where I felt truly nurtured and supported, surrounded by those lovely, prayerful women. I will never forget Our Ladies Way of the Cross and the many healing tears I shed.

       Mass, meditation, Cursillo and a sense of caring and community here at St Johns were leading me to one of the most significant experiences of my life. In 2005, I went as a volunteer to the Vunapope  Sacred Heart Mission in E.N.B. Papua New Guinea.             /

       One Saturday night in the Compact, I saw two lines of print that leapt out at me. “Interested in working overseas,” and a contact phone number. Immediately, I heard The Gallilee song for the first time. I rang the P.A.L.M.S. number on the Monday morning and that call changed my life. My journey took another turn and began to gather momentum.

       It was there in P.N.G. that my faith journey, that had begun in N.Z so long ago, had continued to grow slowly but steadily through my marriage and gained such impetus from my time in the  St.Johns community, finally came to fruition and maturity. It took eighteen months of study preparation, discernment, setbacks and opposition, but every time things looked hopeless, the Gallilee song bobbed up again to encourage me and friends kept reminding me that “If God wants you, he will find a way.” And so it proved to be.

       In the two and a half years at Vunapope I experienced the joy of following where God appeared to be leading me.

This joy gave me healing and a tremendous outpouring of  love and creativity. I was able to use all the skills that I had ever learned and find many more that I never knew I had. The Gallilee song led me there and the love of my God and friends in Christ sustained me and nurtured me. Everything that I needed, even in the most unlikely circumstances, was supplied to me. It was like travelling in a mighty slipstream. Surely it can only have been through God’s grace! My faith has become a personal relationship with The Son, as though Our Lady has        finally given me to Him.

       This long journey has taught me the value of community in the nurture of faith,  that no man is an island, that each one of us is personally responsible for bringing about God’s kingdom here on earth, for bringing others to Christ. I now know that it often takes only a kindly look, a smile or a friendly word to show the face of the Son to another. Who can tell when they might be ready to recognise Him? It is only we, in faith and love, love of God and one another, who can bring about The Kingdom here on Earth.

       Why do I choose to be a Catholic? First of all, because everyone can. The Church is truly Universal, even if many Catholics are not. We may hear about the Exclusive Brethren, but the Exclusive Catholics would be an Oxymoron!

       The Church is the Church of Christ our Saviour and Catholics have Him as their personal role model. Jesus walked and talked with sinners, but He never became one!

       My motto is, “Take a sad song and make it better.” This has always seemed to mesh nicely with the teaching of the church and I like the way that Catholics make jokes and laugh at themselves and the Church. It seems to be such a healthy, human thing to do, don’t you agree?

       Thankyou for the privilege and the opportunity to share some of my story. Perhaps it will help others to see that all the scraps and remnants of their lives have become, at the hands of The Master architect, and designer, a truly beautiful Quilt.

        As a final offering I would like to share a short poem, my personal faith statement.

All WE NEED TO KNOW

God is love, only love,

If we live in love ,we live in God, and He lives in us.

Everything else is a needless complication,

An irrelevance.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

The Trinity, the Godhead, one and indivisible.

Pure, boundless love.

Life’s cruelties, miseries and injustices are all manmade.

As we wallow in our own sea of self doubt,

Blame, shame and vice,

God’s light is like a beacon, a goal

The one place where each one off us may find ,

His everlasting home.

Tom Stewart - 8.30am Mass - 12 July 2009

Good morning. My name is Leicester Thomas Stewart, better known as Tom.

Looking back over my 88 years, I realise I have had a very fortunate life, in which in retrospect, I am sure have felt the light touch of God.

My parents died within one week of each other in 1921 when the Spanish flu epidemic was still active. Eight children were left orphans and I, the baby, was only 6 months old. I was reared by a childless couple in Dorrigo on the NSW Northern Tablelands and I later took their name by deed poll.

One of my earliest memories is kneeling at the bedside with foster mum saying 3 Hail Mary’s and the Glory Be. Often I claimed tiredness and was allowed to say my prayers in bed. Something I still do occasionally.

My foster dad became a catholic before he died, and answer to his wire’s prayers perhaps! I like to think so.

My primary education was from young Irish Presentation nuns in Dorrigo. First day at school was difficult, having my freedom curtailed I kicked the poor nun on her shins!

In later life, we became the best of friends and when Pope John XXIII announced that missionary nuns should each be given their first trip back to their homelands, I sent her twenty dollars and said, “Buy yourself a Guinness in Ireland”. She sent me a postcard with the cryptic line on it, “I did what you said.”

On the subject of Guinness I read recently that there is to be a Matchmakers Fair in County Clare in September. In an interview on love and romance the Matchermaker said “For the Irish love is one part and Guinness four parts. It keeps everyone happy and laughing.” How does it work for the Irishman who doesn’t drink? “Don’t know he says I’ve never met one.

It was while at the convent school that I got ‘The Wonder Book of Science’ for Christmas. Three of us then made up some gunpowder and possibly at the devil’s inspiration, put some in the spoon of incense in the thurible before benediction one night. When lit, it flared up, burnt the fingers of the old Irish priest who dropped the Thurible. Utter chaos! We were all barred from being altar boys but next Sunday were reinstated when no one else was available! I hope St Peter hasn’t noted that episode against me. Hopefully the country bumpkin has been forgiven.

I then had two years at St John’s College, Lismore in 1935 and 1936. I was a poor student but read every book in the library and my efforts then to express my thoughts and later, spirituality, through poetry, continue to this day.

One of my classmates in later life became a State Governor and a priest from school told me that he had given the faith away and asked me: “Are you keeping the flag flying?” My answer was “just”.

About that time in my youth, I had written: “I do not often pray, perhaps I am not built that way.” But nearly 70 years after that meeting, the flag is still flying!

In the Second World War, I was conscripted into the army until I was able to transfer to the Air Force. After air crew training, I was posted to a Bomber Command squadron of the RAF in the UK. I survived 26 flights over occupied Europe, mainly to the Ruhr. I’m sure that at that time God was close to me as I prepared for death. As a 23 year old, I wrote of this in a poem:

PRE-RAID PRAYER

Oh God, if it should be thy will tonight

That somewhere in the vastness of the sky

I should keep tryst with death, I ask that I

Have faith enough to know that it is right

That I should die; that better years will be,

That I drink not the dregs of death in Vain

But find You through my own Gethsemane.

Official figures show only 25 out of 100 air crew in World War II Bomber Command came through unscathed, I was one of the lucky ones.

While on that overseas service, Adrienne, my wife, brought up the unborn son I left her with. He was 18 months old before I set eyes on him. Then in 1953, he developed polio during a polio outbreak and we had a worrying time for months visiting him in the isolation ward at the Coast Hospital, Long Bay, Sydney. We had no car then no telephone for any news. He recovered, thank God, and is now a farmer at Armidale.

In 1998 I had a serious operation for a blocked bowel and was given only a 50/50 chance of recovery. I know that prayer group here at Kippax prayed for me and today I offer my belated but very sincere thanks to them.

Adrienne died in February last year, after we had our 65th wedding anniversary which we celebrated in Calvary Hospital. I feel sure God was kind to her as she had a quick passing. The doctor in charge of her ward wrote to me: “To change from being in reasonably good health to having become so unwell in a short space of time defies understanding.” Both Fathers Michael and Mark gave spiritual support during that difficult time.

I have two children, three grandchildren and four great grandchildren. Yes, I have had a very fortunate and blessed life and I will finish by reading a recent poem of mine. As you listen, try to visualise the Brindies early one morning, seen through intermittent sunlight and rising mist which spoke to me of the Creator.

THIS POET’S PRAYER

“Lord of the dancing hills in shimmery skies

Today reflecting glory from your eyes,

May these frail thoughts of mine as prayer arise.

Beyond mind’s boundary, smiles world to be

Which my earth eyes strive hard to see,

As brain ponders incompetently.

You, of the noonday sun and the starry night,

Please cull these fragile words that here I write,

And with a few, I trust, find delight.

Abba, remember me.”   
© Tom Stewart 2009

Thank you.

Joy McInerney - 6.00pm Mass - 4th July 2009

My Faith Journey

Good evening everyone and thank you for this opportunity to share my thoughts with you.
When I thought about my faith journey I realised it is inextricably linked to my life journey. My faith is influenced by my life experiences, and the way I cope with the demands of life is influenced by my faith. So this is a real mixture of the two.

When I was born, in England, my father was a curate in the Church of England. (Now known as the Anglican Church) Dad would describe himself as High Church or Anglo Catholic. (This to distinguish himself from us who are Roman Catholics.) High church practices and teachings are similar to Catholic teachings, the main differences being belief in Papal Infallibility, the dogma of the Immaculate Conception and the English liturgy. In 1950 Dad was invited to come to Australia for 5 years to be Parish priest of St Mary’s, Atherton. England was still recovering from the war and subject to rationing, so this was a wonderful opportunity.

The adventure nearly ended before it began because I become dangerously ill on the voyage, forcing the family to disembark at Fremantle so that I could be hospitalised for surgery. We eventually reached Atherton and I was enrolled at St Mary’s Girls boarding school in Herberton run by Anglican nuns from the Society of the Sacred Advent. At the age of 6, three weeks in hospital, where my parents could only visit for 2 hours a week, followed by boarding school, gave me a certain early self reliance and independence. This manifested itself in mischief and I often found myself in trouble.

Boarding School was a whole new ball game. At home, my mother had taught me to say my prayers and I went to church, but at St Mary’s religious practices galore were embedded in the daily routine. I accepted them as a part of life and enjoyed the rituals. Times for prayers during the day, including the Angelus, silent breakfasts, religion lessons, Mass on Wednesday and Sunday (at which I was an altar server) abstinence from meat on Fridays and provision for confession were all part of the routine. We stayed at school over Easter, participating in all the liturgies, and I came to love the ritual and ceremony of this very beautiful and special time and still do.

After 5 years, instead of returning to England, Dad moved to a parish in Rockhampton and I left boarding school. At home in the rectory, life revolved around church activities and parish needs, this was our normal family life. I joined Anglican youth clubs, taught in Sunday school and attended Church functions. It was expected and I complied.

When I moved to Canberra I was on my own for the first time. I had lost my status as the parish priest’s daughter and no one knew me. It felt very strange. Having always practiced the high church Anglicanism Dad taught, I discovered that not all Anglicans were like me and I was regarded as “odd” and very “catholic” in my practices.

I met John, who is a catholic, and in 1968 we were married in a nuptial mass at St Thomas More’s catholic church. Fr Morgan allowed my father to officiate in the part of the ceremony when we exchanged our vows. Our wedding ceremony was perfect.

It was easy to continue our individual religious practices, but the arrival of our son Nicholas demanded a re-think. We wanted to establish a practice of family worship, so I went to the Anglican service and then the three of us would attend Mass. Sundays were sometimes a little fraught but we managed. This commitment to family worship is what brought us to St John’s. Our children joined the Sunday night music group, so we came too. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Nicholas was born with Cystic Fibrosis, a genetic condition passed on by both parents. So any child we had had a 1 in 4 chance of having CF. We sought counselling, prayed fervently, put our trust in God and Jillian was born. We were devastated when she was diagnosed with CF. God had said “NO”. Why? Had our trust and faith been completely misplaced? It presented a major faith crisis. On many nights I stormed down the street, screaming at God and asking what possible good could come of this betrayal. God let me shout it out – even ignored the bad language – and eventually I came to see God’s wisdom. The two children shared an intimate understanding of what each had to cope with and overcome, and what each endured in times of acute illness. They were a wonderful support for each other and the best of friends.

We were given the opportunity to take the children to Lourdes but were doubtful about it. What if God said “No” to our prayers again? We were advised to go only if we were prepared to accept whatever blessing God chose to give. Lourdes was a peaceful, prayerful and deeply spiritual experience and our blessing was that both children remained well while we were away on our wonderful family pilgrimage.

I had joined a prayer group of catholic women. There were few opportunities for this in my Anglican community and my beliefs seemed to align more with my catholic friends. We explored our faith together and I learned much from them. At charismatic meetings I learnt about God’s love for ME. Here the scriptures were opened in a new way and it was a very happy and affirming experience. Teams of Our Lady gave John & I the opportunity to explore our couple spirituality. My spiritual growth was taking place with the encouragement and support of catholic groups instead of in my Anglican community.

On Ash Wednesday 1982 I was at mass at Jillian’s school. When the priest held up the host and said “this is the body of Christ” I realised that I wanted to belong fully to the catholic community where I was accepted and affirmed in my faith. Pentecost Sunday was the joyful day when I was received into full communion. I felt I had come home at last. And Sundays became a lot less frantic!

Family life with sick children required flexibility and took on it’s own pattern of children being well, then one (or both) becoming ill, then perhaps going into hospital and when they were well again coming home. The problem is that we expect a pattern to repeat but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes, despite all the prayers and the medical skills, young people die. Last week in his homily, Michael talked about the raising of Jairus’ daughter and how this story illustrates that not even death can separate us from God’s love. His homily resonated with me. In this life, God can only work through us “God has no hands but ours”. We pray for healing and God’s answer is to give the sick person the grace and courage to fight the illness and to endow the medical profession with the expertise to research, develop medications and treat illness, and the skills to perform delicate surgery. If all these fail to cure, God can only say “Come, I will take away all your pain and suffering and give you new life with me in eternity”. Our surrender is God’s ultimate healing. This healing is no consolation for those left behind, we are devastated. But think, when we pray for healing, for whom do we pray? Surely it is for the person who needs healing. If they die aren’t they healed? Is death the ultimate healing? Please don’t think that I am trying to be flippant about this. Jillian died in 1990 and Nicholas in 1996, both a long time ago. I am still working through their deaths and I struggle every day with my grief and my new identity without them.

In times of sickness and death I draw great comfort from the ministry of the church. To be enveloped in familiar rituals of prayer, anointing and communion was so grounding when I was floundering in the unfamiliar territory of the children’s illness and death and when I suffered a stroke and was helpless and terrified about what the long term effects might be.

Michael asked me to think about why I come to mass. I know that God is in everyone and everything, but here I am centred. I feel the strength of the community as we affirm each other in our faith. This community joined me as I committed my children to God, and being here with you somehow gives me a link to them. I am nourished in receiving the sacrament, it is my grounding point, a very particular physical contact with the divine, and for me, it is the closest I can come to Nicholas & Jillian in this life, for it puts me in touch with the eternal and their new life.

I’ll finish by saying that it took me a long time to realise that I need to think through my beliefs so that I am able to call my faith my own, so I look for opportunities for reading and discussion. These have come through Cursillo where I’ve learnt from the witness and love of others, through liturgy where I’ve had the opportunity to understand more about the rituals I love, as well as to serve and to work with others. My prayer group provides space for meditation and sharing and these beautiful women help to keep me focussed and faithful.

I have been doubly blessed in my primary faith teacher and friend, my husband John, who has taught me through his deep faith, about love, tolerance, acceptance, justice, and commitment. He has supported me on my journey and loves me even when I drive him bats. I couldn’t have done it without his & God’s love.

Terry O'Brien - 6.00pm Mass 28 June 2009

Sharing  

Fellow Parishoners,

Tonight you’ll hear of the faith journey of a very ordinary simple guy.

Many people and events in my life have impacted on my Faith and Spirituality – I’ll share a few of these events with you.

My faith has not always been strong – it has been tidal – that is, with highs, lows and doubting times.

My faith reached a sense of reality via an incident of some 60years ago !    In a simple Transcription lesson ( which we kids called conscription!!) we had to copy -in our very best writing – this quotation

            “I shall pass through this world but once; if therefore there be any good deed I can do let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again”

This quotation has long been my Morning Offering and still is ! There have been times when I have declined to do a good deed, that being, when  I felt the person concerned needed to face reality and their responsibility and not continue to live in fantasyland. I have a high intolerance for people being exploited and intimidated.

Some sacred occasions in my life have been

·        Being in the room when Mum died

·        Being at the birth of our children

·        Being married in this church

·        Being an acolyte and near the altar as the priest says the words of Consecration over the bread and wine `

·        Seeing our children receive the sacraments in this church.

  How special all these have been

Family of Origin

Both of my parents worked full time for most of the first 46 years of their married life. We kids did not go without anything however we did have to grow up quickly – some of my siblings were home births by necessity!

Most of my siblings imbibed alcohol very vigorously even though Mum and Dad were not inclined and early in my life I came to detest ‘hangovers’ so alcohol and I decided on a moderation friendship .

The clergy and Religious were often hosted by my grandparents and parents.

Michael Kiley told us some weeks ago  how special the clergy have been to him, especially the MSC . Well, in our family we had the Archdiocesan clergy and the Marist Brothers. Like Michael, my friendship soon turned to affection for most of the reverend rascals! When the Clergy and Brothers were sleeping over I was always warned by my mum about my language and not to tell those stories! What stories Mum?

Schooling

At the Berridale Public School, Malvene Kelly and I, along with the other students had a most inspiring catechist. Her joy, faith and goodness really impressed and motivated us. She taught us by silent example and is still very much alive at 93.From her we learnt that faith is caught and then taught.

Later the Marists at Campbelltown added much to my faith knowledge and spirituality by their daily religious instruction.

All this has been nurtured and enriched by the many MSC’s who have been here since my arrival in 1981.

Our parish is the envy of so many Canberrans! This is a parish where there is a warm welcome for all,the liturgy is alive and people of all ages are empowered. Sacred Heart Day some 10 days ago – what a joyful/ prayerful day that was –two masses culminating in that Parish Family concert embracing all age groups.

May I add – Kippax Parish sure has talent, faith and strong community spirit. I’m so enriched by and happy being here. Bless you Michael, Mark  and Marion.

Faith Enriching Experiences in my life

Visiting Lourdes – seeing people’s hopes for a miracle which was very easy to understand. However, seeing their acceptance and resignation when no miracle was obvious, the dedication of their thousands of carers and then my bathing in the freezing water of the river taught me to be grateful for many blessings.

Then 43 years ago I lived as a missionary near Guadalcanal –often called ‘Bloody Beach’ because of the battles of WWII.

At that point in time canniballism  was still fashionable so I was a bit fearful till I lost weight!

The faith of  the Melanesian people and their trust in spirits made me assess my Jesus faith.

Visiting the Leprosarium at Tetere was a real wake up call because those 80 patients oozed gratitude and appreciation – rarely sadness. This visit reminded me of the Lazarus story in the gospel – there I saw Jesus with a tear in his eye for them too!

Spirituality

The oil for my spiritual life has been prayer, meditation, music and quotations.

My favourite miracle is that of Jesus’ meeting/greeting and eating with the apostles on the way to Emmaus.

Music, hymns and songs all bring me joy! Especially the following songs –

·        ‘Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the water”  Here I see myself fearing things as Peter and the Apostles did on that stormy Sea of Galilee

·        The Gallilee Song by Frank Anderson MSC

·        Issaiah    “I will never forget you my people,

                               I Have carved you on the palm of my hand”

Prayer  - of St Francis of Assisi – make me an Instrument of your Peace

A consoling quotation  ‘I had no shoes and complained until I met a man who had no feet’

Inside the self –assured Terry I do have a question I often ask myself (now that I am the last of my tribe) – “how much longer do I think I have on this planet?’’.  Do you ever have these thoughts?!?

My belief about dying is not fearing a God holding a ledger of my weaknesses but a Father/Mother God saying “Terry I know you did your best – Come now , I will show you your room in my house.

In conclusion

I daily remind myself of my Morning Offering when I’m shaving  - NOT doing my hair!!!

That being:

“I shall pass through this world but once; if therefore there be any good deed I can do let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again”

My main claim to heaven is that I taught religion for some 46 years and in Catholic schools – surely that deserves a reward of some kind.

To quote from last weeks Compact

A little boy was saying his prayers

            “Lord , help me to be a better person, but if you can’t, don’t worry –

            I’m having a pretty good time as it is!”

Bless you all.

Luan Nguyen - 10.00am Mass 21 June 2009

Firstly, I would like to thank Fr. Michael for giving me this opportunity to share with you my journey of faith.  I am humbled for this privilege since it is not often that I am asked to give a speech, especially to a large gathering.  I think this is a great initiative and the first that I have ever experienced.  Not only does this allows parishioners to share their life stories but also giving our dear fathers a break from having to prepare the weekly homilies, not that we are sick of hearing their homilies, quiet the opposite.

Since the time that Fr. Michael asked me to share my faith experience, I have been doing a lot of reflections about my life journey, my early childhood memories in Vietnam, growing up in Australia and my family life.  Refecting back to all the events in my life, I realised now that God has been instrumental in my life journey, always there caring like a father to his children, silently guiding me through life with His grace and blessings.

Let me introduce myself.  My name is Luan Nguyen.  I can proudly say that I am an Australian Vietnamese for I have lived almost three quarters of my life in Australia.  Even so, I cannot deny my roots, my cultural heritage, family values and early childhood experience living in a Catholic family and community.  I noted that yesterday, Saturday 20th June was World Refugee Day.  I was also once a refugee, one of the many Vietnamese boat people who have risked their life in the open sea in search for freedom.  I will touch on this a bit later.

I was born in South Vietnam in 1971 to a Catholic family.  Both sides of my family are Catholics, though I cannot trace how far back.  What I do know is that, it was probably the Catholic faith that has brought both sides of my family to South Vietnam.  Both sides of my family were living in small Catholic communities in North Vietnam.  In 1954, when Vietnam was divided in two, an amnesty was given for the Vietnamese people to either choose to stay with the communist North or migrate to the democratic South.  I am guessing that given the communist’s view on religions in general and the Catholic faith in particular, the local parish priests would have urged the people in their Catholic communities to quickly migrate to South Vietnam before the amnesty ended, even though it may meant leaving behind relatives, livelihood and most importantly the feeling of guilt for abandoning the tombs of the ancestors.  This is particularly disheartening, for although we followed the Catholic faith, ancestor worship is also part of our culture.

I can still remember from my early childhood living in Vietnam and belonging to a large Catholic community.  We all followed the Catholic way of life that is, attending daily mass, learning to recite the Gospel and prays of by heart.  Even after Vatican II, the pace of change in post war Vietnam was not noticeable within the church.  Unlike the loving, caring father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, we were taught to be fear of God who will make judgement on where you’ll end up after you died depending on how you have lived your life.  Things were either black or white, nothing grey in between and no questioning of authority from the priests, nuns and religious leaders. The obligation to attend mass was more to do with either booking your place in heaven or to avoid being labelled as not ‘religious’ enough by the neighbours.  Somehow, perceptions and face-saving were more important than the actual intention to know more about God by attending mass.  It is just following the crowd and in some ways, made keeping the practice easier.

There were strict codes of conduct when attending mass and these were enforced by the so called church ‘elders’ or members of the parish council, normally men well know for crowd control.  The wearing of t-shirts or shorts to mass was not allowed for example.  You cannot choose where to sit; rather males and females are divided into the two aisles of the church and ushered in by the church ‘elders’.  On reflection, I felt that we were being indoctrinated into the Catholic ways without the liberty to question or make sound judgement to follow the faith.

Life in Vietnam was pretty ordinary until one night when my parents quietly told my older brother I that we would be escaping from Vietnam with my uncle, mum’s younger brother by boat.  I was nine years old at the time and was very scared and frightened of the thoughts of travelling in the open sea for I have heard of many unsuccessful attempts by people in the community who have lost their lives.  I can’t image how difficult and heart breaking it must have been for my parents to send us off, knowing that even if we survived the trip and managed to settle in another country, they may never be able to see us again.  Myself a parent, I would not have the courage to do what they did.  However, at the time, Vietnam was sending soldiers into Cambodia with mounting casualties and no end in sight of the conflict.  Compulsory military service was required for all males reaching 17 years of age.

Escaping from Vietnam was a criminal offence, punishable by imprisonment.   So, the whole operation was done in great secrecy, under the covers of darkness.  In a 3 by 12 meters boat, 82 people were packed on board, men, women and children. We were packed in like sardines in the lower deck with a simple roof over our heads, no windows, except for the small openings at both ends.  I remembered being allowed to come up to the end of the boat and witnessing how rough the sea was.  The dark blue waves were like those visualised in the Hollywood movie The Perfect Storm, if any one has seen it.  Standing there without any life jacket or safety harness, suddenly the boat rocked.  Had it not for the boat engine attached to the side of the boat, I would have fell and vanished into the raging ocean with little chance of being rescued.  Not standing right here now and sharing this experience with you. To me, this is a sign that God wanted me to have a second chance of life and to bear witness to His blessings through the people that I encountered in my life in Australia.

After 3 days on the open sea, our boat reached Malaysia. Apart from suffering seasickness, we were unharmed.  The rough sea condition allowed our boat to avoid encountering sea pirates, who were capable of delivering much more physical and emotional damages to people on board if we had encountered them.

We spent nine months in a refugee camp on a small Malaysian island before being granted permission to travel to Australia.  It took a bit longer to process our application because my brother and I were classified as orphans, so they had to find people in Australia who were willing to sponsor us.

On a cold early September morning, our Qantas flight landed at Melbourne International airport.  Imagine how cold it must have been, considering that we just left tropical Malaysia.  A short sleeved shirt, a pair of shorts and thongs were the only possession on me.  We were then transferred on another flight destined for South Australia.

The early years settling into this new country, the cultural and social differences would have been a difficult experience had it not for the generosity of the Australian people who has welcomed us in with open hearts and assisted us greatly to settle in and rebuild our lives.  They are the teachers at the Catholic schools who provided a little extra of their times to help us overcome the language difficulties.  They are people who donated their time or surplus assets such as old furniture, beddings, clothes and cooking utensils to help kick us off.  They are the neighbours who showed us the Australian ways of life.  They are not unlike the people in this parish who are part of the Refugee Resettlement Program.  This is where I witnessed God’s work in those people living out their Christian life by helping those less fortunate than themselves.  “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me,… (Matthew 25:35).

In 1991, I met the love of my life, Tam To when I first visited Canberra for my brother’s wedding.  We continued to keep contact via letters and telephones while I complete my final year at university.  So, you can image my interstate phone bills stacking up and considering that I was on AusStudy, it was the price worth paying for.

We were engaged at the end of 1993 after I moved from Adelaide to Canberra at the completion of my university degree.  We were married in December 1994 at St. Mary’s Catholic church, Braddon in the Vietnamese Catholic community.

Tam was a Buddhist when we met but was willing to convert to Roman Catholic because she felt that together we could guide our children in the one faith and Christian values.  Considering that 80% of the Vietnamese people are Buddhists with only 10% Catholics, it is not surprising that there are many married couples who are in similar situations to us.  However, some choose to retain their own religion thus causing conflicts within the family in regards to bringing up the children.

We are happily reaching our 15th wedding anniversary.  Like many young couples, the early years were rather difficult.  However, one day after reading about a couple who have just celebrated their 60th wedding in the newspaper, I made up my mind to try and follow their example.  It is a very simple and effective philosophy but difficult to apply if one is not willing accept love and forgiveness.  When the reporter asked the couple what was their secret to a happy marriage, the man’s reply was so simple.  That is, never to allow an argument between them to last overnight or more than 24 hours.

You may not believe it but St. John the Apostle, Kippax was one of the parishes that I regularly attended mass when I first moved to Canberra.  After we were married, we continued to come to this church since we lived just around the corner in Higgins.  We got to know father John Rae and the assistant priests, fathers Dominic and Rodger.  We witnessed the transformations that took place within this church in terms of the massive internal renovations carried out within these walls during father John’s tenure.  We could remember coming to mass with the ladder and scalp folding around us since the work took many months to complete.

We sort of drifted away from this parish after we bought our first home in Palmerston around 1996.  Our sons, Dominic and Leon were born in 1997 and 2001 respectively.  Our church attendances were a combination of this parish, Holy Spirit in Nichols and the Vietnamese Catholic community.  When I thought about this now, I regretted that we did not make up our mind on which parish community we really want to belong to.  Although we were always welcomed into the church community where ever we go, I felt a little uncomfortable not being part of one parish community.

I am glad that we made up our decision to be part of this wonderful parish community.  Our sons at the moment are attending St. John the Apostle primary school.  Dominic has received all required Sacraments (Reconciliation, First Communion and Confirmation) at this church and Leon is yet to follow so it is appropriate that we become a member of this church.

I admire the strong congregation of faith in this parish community.  In this busy world, of information overload and materialistic distractions, it is especially harder to keep the faith.  To see the same regular parishioners coming to mass every week showed that you really want to come and share in the celebration with us.

Fathers Michael and Mark are wonderful ‘shepherds’ of this parish. I believed that father Michael is achieving what he has set out to do after returning from Rome.  That is, his mission to encourage the people of this parish to be likes saints.  All my early childhood preconceptions about God have been shattered on hearing from father Michael’s homilies about the God of love, mercy and forgiveness.

I hoped that I have not bored you out with my winding long story.  In closing, I would like to say the pray of St. Francis of Assisi for I believed that the world would be a much better place if we all inspired to live by it.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Frank Craddock - 8.30am Mass 14 June 2009

Good Morning.

I am always inspired when I come into this Church and see the beauty of God’s Creation in the hills that surround our City.  The vista changes continually with the change in weather and season.

My name is Frank Craddock  - Francis Joseph Craddock to be precise.

My Family and I have lived in this Parish for 37 years.

My Faith Journey began on 7th April 1940  -  a sunny Autumn Sunday  -  when I was born into a Loving Catholic Family.

I was born in the Sydney Suburb of Earlwood in a small Private Hospital and lived in that Suburb for the next 24 years.

My Family at that time consisted of Mum and Dad and three Sisters who were aged from 15 to 17.  An elder Brother, John, had died at 2 days old on 14 March 1938 and a younger Brother, William, would be born in 1943 and live for only 13months.

Was I spoiled?   Well what do you think!

My Dad, Patrick Francis Craddock, was born in Sydney on 19 February 1894 and was an only child.  His Mother died at child-birth and he was raised by his Dad and by his Dad’s Sister.  He spent most of his childhood at Riverston   -  then a rural district on the outskirts of Sydney  -  now a Suburb of the ever-expanding City of Sydney.  At the age of 22, in 1916, he joined the Army and served with the 1st Australian Light Horse in Egypt.  He contracted Malaria and returned to Sydney towards the end of 1919.

Mum, Dorothy Irene Chapman, was born in Singleton NSW on 30 April 1899.  She had 2 Sisters.  One remained a spinster and the other joined the Order of the Sisters of St Joseph  -  the “Brown Josephites” as they were known.  Sr Mary La Merci was her name and she taught at many schools in Country NSW and in Sydney. She was Principal at St Brendan’s Annandale until her death in 1978.

My Great Aunt, Sr Mary Gabriel, my Mother’s Aunt, was a Sister of St Joseph.  She ran the Orphanage and Girls’ Home at Lane Cove for many years until her death in 1948.  I was privileged to serve as Altar Server at her Requiem Mass at the Mary McKillop Chapel at Mount Street North Sydney, the Head House of the Order. Sr Gabriel had joined the Order in the days of Mother Mary McKillop. 

I will touch on a couple of events that I will refer to as “coincidence” but that illustrate the small interesting world in which we live.

The first is that Dad worked as a Horseman on the Property of William Crace at Gungahlin around 1910 and went from there to work as a Horseman at Galong Castle  -  now the Redemptorist Monastery.  Who would have thought that we would move to live so close to those Pioneer Properties.

But wait – there’s more  -  at around the same time, Mum was sent from Singleton to Nimmitabel to attend and board at the Josephite School there.  She travelled by train from Singleton to Cooma and by horse and sulky from Cooma to Nimmitabel.  Why would a young girl attend school in Nimmitabel when her Family lived in Singleton?  Well it seems that “the best music teacher at the time was based at the Convent at Nimmitabel.  Mum studied Piano for many years, passed all the examinations of the day, and went-on to become an accomplished player and teacher.  I remember well the sing-songs around the piano in our Home at Earlwood and later in Canberra at Waramanga.

Dad worked for the NSW Railways before and after the War, firstly based at Newcastle and then at Sydney.

Mum and Dad were married at Singleton on 11 January 1922 and went to live in Newcastle where my three Sisters were born.  They later moved to Marrickville in Sydney and then to Earlwood, to a Soldier Settlers Block, in 1935.  My Mother and Sister remained in that House until they moved to Waramanga in Canberra in 1972.

I was Baptised at Our Lady of Lourdes Church Earlwood.

We would visit the Nuns quite often and that was generally quite an adventure as we did not have a car so public transport was used.  Visiting Day was once a month on a Sunday and we would be feted with sumptuous afternoon teas.  I remember the visits well.  In those days, the Nuns were dressed in such a way that only the front of the face was visible.  As a little boy, I remember being a “big hit” with the Nuns and many Nuns remained friends for years.  Sr La Merci would visit our Home once a year, on Boxing Day.  She would always be accompanied by another Nun.  They would not sit down to eat with the Family, and a separate table would be set in a separate room, the Lounge Room.  Things changed over the years and we enjoyed Bonnie’s company and she enjoyed Family Functions in a much less restrictive way.

My education started at Our Lady of Lourdes School, conducted by the Sisters of Mercy, in 1945.

My First Communion was celebrated at Our Lady of Lourdes on the Feast of Christ the King on the last Sunday of October in 1946.

This was the last occasion on which the Family was able to celebrate with Dad as he died when hit by a train at work on 10 November 1946.

My Aunt, Sr La Merci, decided that I needed the influence of the Brothers, and I began a 10 year association with the Christian Brothers when I joined 3rd class at Christian Brothers High School Lewisham at the beginning of 1948.  I left school in 1957 after sitting the Leaving Certificate.  I was not a great student or sportsman but seem to remember largely enjoying my “school years”.  Discipline was a feature at School, as it was at all schools, both boys and girls, in those days.  I encountered many fine teachers and dedicated holy men.  John McGee who is here this morning was at Lewisham a few years before me. Religious Education was prominent throughout all of my school years.  Class rooms were adorned with Statues and Crucifixes, and the like, and prayer was said regularly.  Religious Education was not confined to one Subject Period, but was introduced at every possible opportunity.  I must say that throughout all of my schooling only one Teacher was not either a Brother or a Nun and that one was an ex-Brother.  There was no shortage of Religious Vocations.

Back at the Parish, I became an Altar Boy in early 1947.  There was a Parish Priest and an Assistant Priest (a Curate).  An MSC Priest would supplement the Resident Clergy.  Fr Joe Madigan would travel from The Monastery at Kensington by tram on a Saturday.  He would spend most of his time hearing Confessions and would celebrate Mass on Sunday before returning to Kensington.  Little did I think that I would come to live in an MSC Parish and have children attend an MSC School.   At that time Mass was said in Latin and at Communion the Host was placed on the tongue.  Fasting was required from Midnight the previous evening. The Priest said Mass with his back to the People and the Laity had no active role to play.  All Masses were celebrated on Sunday Morning with no Mass on Saturday or Sunday Evening.  The Altar was much higher than today.  One of the tasks performed by the Altar Boy was the movement of the Missal from the right hand side of the Altar (the Epistle side) to the left hand side (the Gospel side).  The Altar was too high and the Book and its Brass Stand were too heavy and so at my first attempt I almost dropped the whole lot.  An audible sigh went round the Church but the Parish Priest was quick and caught both the Book and Stand.  I, and two or three other fellows, remained as Altar Boys until about age 20. 

The Parish Priest of the day, Monsignor Clark, was much attracted by “Ceremonial”, probably because he had come from St Mary’s Cathedral where he had spent some years as the Archdiocesan Chancellor.  The bigger Feasts therefore were accompanied by Singers and Musicians and Processions with Flower Strewers and as many others as could be found.  In these Celebrations, the Priests of the Parish were enthusiastically supported by the Nuns.

“Sodalities” were much in evidence and each month a Sunday Mass was set aside for attendance as a group by the Holy Name Sodality for the Men, the Sacred Heart Sodality for the Ladies, and the Children of Mary for the Girls.  A Perpetual Novena in honour of Our Lady of Perpetual Succour was conducted each Friday Night and the Church was well filled by young and not so young.  For the teenagers it was somewhat a “Meeting Place” and was often followed by a Social Activity.

Then there was the Parish Mission.  The Missions were generally conducted by Priests of the Redemptorist Order.  Two Priests would live in the Parish for 2 weeks during which time they would celebrate Mass, hear Confession, visit Homes, and Preach.  I still recall the last night of the Mission when the lights in the Church would be extinguished and the “more fiery” of the Priests would preach on “Hell and the Devil”.   

The Catholic Youth Organisation was active in the Parish.  Like many others I joined as soon as I left school in 1957 and was still a member when I left Earlwood and Sydney in 1964.  The CYO was not a particularly “Prayerful” organisation.  But the Assistant Priest was always in attendance at Meetings and Functions.  Prayers were said at Meetings and an Annual Mass and Communion Breakfast were held.  Boys played Rugby League in a competition that drew teams from across Sydney and Girls played Netball.  There was Tennis, Athletics and Bush Walking, and, of course, a number of Dances in different Parishes.  Theatrical Performances and Concerts were held and, each year, a “Grand Concert’ was held at the Sydney Town Hall with CYO Branches competing for “The Cardinals Cup” in Group and Individual Categories.

Like many CYO Members, I discovered my “Child Bride” at the CYO.  Maureen Kelly and I met at the CYO and were friends for a number of years.  Not long before I left Earlwood we began a courtship which was conducted largely between Sydney and Canberra.  We were married at Our Lady of Lourdes on 16th April 1966.  At breakfast on the first morning of our honeymoon we met Mary and Ken Moran, who were married on the same day.  Who would have thought that we would live in the same Parish a few years later. 

We moved in to a new House in Curtin and our first child, Patrick, was born at Canberra Hospital in October 1967.

 In 1969, we returned to Sydney to spend time with Maureen’s Dad following the death of her Mum.  We lived in the Miranda Parish. Clare was born at St George Hospital in May 1969 and Andrew was born at Sutherland Hospital in September 1971.

We returned to Canberra and moved in to our present Home in Latham on 05 March 1972, the day the first Mass was celebrated in St John’s Parish.

Our Children commenced school at St Matthews Page, moved to St Thomas Aquinas Charnwood and transferred to St John’s at Florey on its opening.  St Francis Xavier Florey followed and schooling was completed at Daramalan College.

Two of our Children are married and we have a wonderful Son-in-law  and a wonderful Daughter-in-law.  We have 3 beautiful Grand Children with our Daughter-in-law expecting a Baby in the next 2 weeks.  We pray that she will deliver safely.

 The Parish here at Kippax has proved to be an inspiration in Faith Formation for the whole of its 37 year existence.  We have had wonderful Parish Priests and Assistant Priests and we have been encouraged to pursue and question our Faith.  The Parish has embraced many avenues to assist in our Faith Development.  One of the earliest was Cursillo which is still exciting many Catholics and Christians generally.

I was involved with Parish Councils and Finance and Development Committees for about 30 years and that activity provided different association with Priests and Fellow parishioners.

I joined the Knights of the Southern Cross in 1961 and spent 6 years working for the commercial arm of that Association from 1969 to 1975.

More recently I became a member of the Catenian Association.  The Catenian Association commenced in England in 1908 at the instigation of Louis Casartelli, Bishop of Salford.  Each Grouping is called a Circle.  There are 2 Circles in Canberra, about 30 Circles in Australia, and about 300 Circles Worldwide.  There is no “hidden agenda” with Catenians.  It provides a Social Network for Catholic lay men to help live out their various vocations as husband, father, friend, committed Christian and active Catholic.  Although this is a “Men’s Organisation” many of the activities include Members Wives.  I can provide further information for anyone interested.

So where am I in my Faith Journey today?

I fail many times each day.

I try to pray often and to dedicate all I do to God.  I try to pray, not so much in a formal way, but in constant conversation with God.

I try to not take anything for granted and to pray that I might use my talents to the greater glory of God.

What of the future!

Technology is all around us and along with its obvious benefits there are problems.  We must learn to use Technology for our growth and not allow Technology to lead us in directions that hamper our Spiritual Growth.

The Media, be it TV, or Radio, or Print Media, or Internet, presents us with a plethora of opinion and comment.  We should ask ourselves “Whose opinion is that?”

Truth among Politicians and Business Leaders is manipulated.  We should seek the “Real Truth” and act upon that Truth.

We must pray for our Families and for all Families that this beautiful world may produce the fruits that God intended.

Mike Kiley - 6.00pm Mass 31 May 2009

M y Faith Journey

When Father Michael approached me to give this reflection his instructions on its content were fairly broad. This suited me as it gave me some licence as to what I would cover in explaining my faith journey.
What I will try to explain is why I am where I am today in that journey and what my faith means to me.
So where to start? Looking back there were three major influences working together which laid the foundations for my faith.

Firstly family. Both my parents had an Irish Catholic heritage. My grandfather on my Mother’s side studied for the priest hood. Luckily for us he was expelled from the seminary for participating in mixed bathing at Manly beach (or so the story goes). While he did not become a priest he had friends who did become and I am told they were always around my Mother’s house when she was growing up.

Dad went to Christian Brothers Lewisham. He told stories about how he used to help the Brothers run their weekly Bingo nights.

The involvement my parents had with the clergy meant that, while respected, they were not put on a pedestal. I will come back to this as it is important in a later part of my journey.

Part of growing up in an Irish Catholic family was going to a Catholic school. I started at St Thomas More Primary School at Campbell with the Irish Catholic Nuns. I then went to Daramalan. Dad had been keen to send me to St Edmunds’ given his connection with the Christian Brothers. However good friends of ours were already sending their children to Daramalan and gave the school very good reports. These reports, plus the convenience of Daramalan, convinced my parent s to send me there. That decision had a significant impact on my faith journey.

Mum and Dad were always involved in the Parish and school communities.

While at Daramalan during the late 1960s and early 1970s my memory is that the formal religious education was quite directionless. It is my theory that the Church had not come to grips with the changes to the Church that flowed from Vatican 2. Gone were the certainties of pre Vatican 2 when, I understand, that the Catechism played a significant part in religious education. However I have been very impressed with the religious education that our four boys have received.

The second influence in my faith journey revolves around the influence the clergy have had in my life. As I mentioned, Mum and Dad were quite comfortable around the clergy. It was quite natural for them to invite the MSC priests from Daramalan into our home. I remember one priest refusing to go home until he won a game of cards. It was the only time I knew Dad to deliberately lose, though it took until 3.00am to make that decision to throw the hand. I got to know these men as individuals. They wore their faith lightly and did not expect to be treated differently because they were priests. As a teenage boy to see you could be ‘religious’ and have faith and not be different was very important. Their faith to me seemed to be simply part of their lives.

The third influence in my formative years was my peer group. While far from perfect, Church was part of their lives so it was part of mine.

In summary the foundation of my faith was the example of my parents, the example of the MSC priests from Daramalan and my peer group.

After finishing University at the ANU I went to Sydney where I concentrated on my other religion, playing Rugby. However I could not escape the MSC priests as the Randwick Parish where we went to mass is a MSC Parish.

Daniella had also moved to Sydney and after deciding to get married we moved back to Canberra and as fate would have it we were again living in a MSC Parish.

Being part of this faith community of St John the Apostle Kippax and the school communities both actively (following my parents’ example), through such things as the family groups, and through the friendships we have made continues to reaffirm my faith and has been a significant part of my faith journey.

This Parish has an enviable reputation for its community involvement and lay participation. It is my view that a significant reason for this is the inspired leadership we have had from the MSC priests over the years and currently. On Wednesday nights I play mixed Oztag with Father Mark and the only thing which marks him out from the other (male) players, apart from his age, is that in all the seasons I have played with him he has not sworn once or disputed the ref’s decision. To me this continues the MSC tradition I had come to know in my earlier years, that of the MSC clergy being ‘ordinary’ in the best sense of the word.

The strong foundation I was given and the reaffirmation I have received from the St John Parish community means that my faith is part of the fabric of my life. This has both a down side and an upside.
The down side is that I have to guard against complacency.

The upside is that during the hard times I do not have to go looking for my faith. It is there. When my brother-in –law, and best friend, died 10 years ago leaving 4 young girls and when my Dad died recently, my faith was there. I cannot explain what it provided because I do not know what it would have been like without my faith. Faith, for me, is not there to make sense of events or to provide explanations when things go wrong. All I know is it is a mystery, a gift that cushions the hard times.

A further upside of my faith being part of the fabric of my life is that it gives me hope, it allows me to see the glass as half full. And reminds me to be grateful for what I have been given. As G K Chesterton prayed:

Here dies another day
During which I had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world round me:
And which tomorrow begins again
Why am I allowed two?
(Quoted from Soul Survivor by Philip Yancey (p51) )

Marie Flint - 10.00am Mass 17 May 2009

                                    My Faith Journey                                          

Thank you Father Michael.  My name is Marie Flint and I have been a member of this Parish since its formation in 1972 but my faith journey started well before that.  When Father Michael asked me if I would speak about my faith journey I asked him to send me the guidelines he gave to other people who have spoken of their journey and he said – “No.  There are no guidelines.  Just tell us why you are here.”

I am here because my parents gave me not only the gift of life, but also the gift of Baptism.  I am the eldest of three children (all girls) born to a farming family that lived on the Southern Tablelands of New South Wales.  My parents were both from a strong Irish Catholic tradition.  All my many relatives, in both Mum’s and Dad’s families, are Catholics and most are regular Mass-goers.  Faith and family are central to their lives.

I had a very happy childhood.  There was lots of love in our family, and lots of prayer.  We went to Mass every Sunday in a small bush Church like those described in John O’Brien’s poems; and on holy days and special feast days like St Patrick’s Day we went to Mass in the Church in Crookwell.  My parents belonged to the Church Sodalities, and Dad was a member of the Knights of the Southern Cross.  I used to see both Mum and Dad saying their prayers, kneeling in front of a picture of Our Lady.  Dad prayed every morning before he went out to work with the sheep or the potatoes, and Mum prayed in the evening.  My Grandma, Dad’s mother, lived with us and we children knew that when she was sitting in her chair reading from her prayer book she was not to be interrupted.

Mum taught me and my sisters our morning and night prayers, and from as long ago as I can remember, we said the Rosary each evening as a family, kneeling in front of a picture of the Sacred Heart which had pride of place over the fireplace in our living room.  We also said the Rosary when we travelled any distance in the car.  It’s said that faith can’t be taught, it must be caught.  My faith was certainly “caught” from my family, but Catholic doctrine and traditions were “taught” to me, mainly by my mother.

My primary school education was at a small State school - one teacher, one classroom, and about 20 children aged from 5 to 15.  There were no Catechists and the local Priest visited only once a year.  It was Mum who prepared my sisters and me for First Confession, First Communion, and Confirmation.  Mum was a good teacher and I can still remember word for word some of the catechism questions and answers I had to learn.  During my preparation for Confirmation, when I was about 11, Mum made me not only learn the catechism answers, but also explain what they meant so that I’d be able to answer any questions the Bishop might ask me.  But over and above the catechism questions and answers, Mum and Dad taught me that the most important things in life are to love God, and to treat others as you would like them to treat you.  As it says in today’s reading from John’s Gospel – “love one another as I have loved you”.

When it came time for my secondary education I went to boarding school in Goulburn, to the Sisters of Mercy.  It was quite a change.  There were about 200 girls - 100 were boarders; all my teachers were nuns; classes were large; discipline was very strict; and we went to Mass every morning (twice on Sunday because the school choir sang at the later Mass). This was pre Vatican II.  The Mass was in Latin.  Catholicism seemed to be very straightforward – a faith where right and wrong, rules and responsibilities, good and evil were clearly defined, and where God punished transgressors, regardless of any mitigating circumstances.  This seemed to be a harsher faith than the “love God and love others” faith I had learnt about at home.  However, I really enjoyed the 5 years I spent at boarding school.  I learnt that I had to “pray as though everything depended on God and work as though everything depended on me”.  I also learnt a great deal about responsibility, service and constancy from the strong women of faith who were my teachers, and I made lots of friends.  I was very good friends with one young nun and we supported each other through upheavals in both our lives.  She died just a few years ago. 

In 1963, after completing school, I came to Canberra to go to university.  I lived near Manuka and used to go to Mass at St Christopher’s and to the weekly dances run at the parish centre there.  However, I passed only one subject that first year so I quit university and got a job with the Bureau of Statistics.  It was more than ten years later that I went back to study part-time and completed my degree.  

The year after I came to Canberra I met Brian and three years later we were married.  We were blessed with two beautiful daughters, Megan and Belinda. (Megan, her husband David and my wonderful grandchildren are here.)  When Belinda was just a week old we moved to Higgins.  It was 1969, the world had just watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon, and here we were out in the country.  There were no buildings between Macquarie and Higgins, just paddocks with sheep; the closest shops were at Dickson; and there were no church buildings.  Mass for all residents of Belconnen was held at Macquarie, in the government school hall.  As the vacant land was developed and houses were occupied we had Mass in school halls in Page, Higgins, then Latham, until finally in 1972 St John’s Parish was formed with Fr Harry Morrissey as our first Parish Priest.  This was the beginning of my ongoing association with the wonderful men of the MSCs and their ministry of love.

Father Harry visited everyone in the parish and he challenged us to develop an adult faith.  He encouraged us to set aside 15 minutes each day to pray: 5 minutes to read the Scriptures; 5 minutes to silently reflect on the reading; and 5 minutes of shared prayer.  This was a new experience for me.  My Irish Catholic upbringing had focused on the Catechism, not the Bible, and on formal prayers so I found this type of prayer difficult.  All those Rosaries where I said the words parrot fashion while my mind wandered who knows where had not prepared me for this.  But I persevered and gradually became more comfortable with this approach to prayer.

The challenges did not stop there.  Father Harry encouraged parishioners to do a Cursillo, a short course in Christianity.  He was very persuasive and wouldn’t take no for an answer - he even offered to arrange for childcare if necessary.  When I did take part in a Cursillo I discovered another way of relating to God.  The Cursillo allowed me to experience the presence and love of Jesus in a very personal relationship.  I also experienced the loving and caring community of others who were on the Cursillo.

Around this time, I responded to a call for volunteers to become Catechists.  I attended a training course run by the Sisters of St Joseph, and began taking a class once a week at Higgins Primary School.  I found it a very rewarding experience but 6-year olds can certainly make you focus on the elements of your faith, especially when they ask questions like: “How can you tell that God is really here?”  The support of other more experienced Catechists from the Parish was a great assistance in this ministry which I continued until my girls were both at school at St Matthews, when I went back to work, again at the Bureau of Statistics.

By this time my marriage had been in trouble for a number of years. I found that my faith and especially attendance at Mass and the sacraments was a source of great strength and comfort, but the situation was deteriorating.  So, after much consideration, and 10 years after our marriage, Brian and I decided to separate.  This was a very difficult decision and was especially hard for our girls.  I continued to come to Mass after we separated and although I think I made the right decision I still felt that I had failed my children, myself and my God.  I needed the support of the parish community, but I felt isolated.  It’s good that 30 years on our Church and school communities are much more understanding and compassionate towards people in the same situation.  Through prayer, and the love and support of my family and friends, I came to terms with being a single parent.

Several years later, when I was 39, I had health problems and needed to have surgery to replace a heart valve.  It was confronting to think about my mortality and prepare for the possibility of not surviving surgery.  My parents, my girls and I all cried as I was wheeled off to theatre at St Vincent’s in Sydney, and they went off to Mass in the Chapel there.  But as you can see the Lord wasn’t finished with me!  And 13 years later when I had to have the same procedure again I was still apprehensive but much better prepared to accept whatever happened.

Last Sunday a number of people, including my granddaughter Bridget, spoke at Masses about Family Groups.  I joined a Family Group when they began in this Parish twenty years ago.  I found it was a great way to get to know other parishioners and their families in a social setting.  Family Groups are a wonderful and fun way of affirming and supporting each other.  I still belong to the same family group and we have celebrated marriages, births and special occasions, and comforted each other through illnesses and deaths, loving and caring for each other just like any family does. 

Another part of my faith journey has been learning about the Scriptures.  As I said before, this was not part of my early faith experience.  When a work colleague and friend of mine, an Anglican, discussed Scripture and quoted passages, I recognised that my knowledge was sadly lacking.  I began by participating in some of the Scripture study groups which were started during Father John Rate’s time here at Kippax and more recently I have learnt much from Father Michael’s lectures on the Catechism and his insights into the early Books of the Old Testament.  However I am still a beginner on this aspect of my journey.

During my life I have suffered, as have many of you, the loss of loved ones, most recently my Dad and my younger sister.  I was quite accepting of my Dad’s death four years ago.  He was 87, had lived a long and good life, and had been ill for quite a few years.  He was ready to die and we were ready to let him go. I found it much harder to accept the loss of my sister two years ago.  She was only 44, had a husband and two young daughters, and though she had been sick for some years we were not ready to let her go.  However, in the two Parish communities where Dad and Donna lived, loving, caring people comforted us in our loss.  Their faith sustained us.

Eamonn Murtagh - 6.00pm Mass - 2 May 2009

Good Evening everybody
I am to speak briefly about my faith journey. I begin with a short poem:

LOVE IN THE AIR

The preacher says that God is love,
And God we know is everywhere,
So simple when you think of it,
It’s clear that love is in the air,
The air we breath is full of love,
For God indeed is everywhere,
We’re mushroomed by a loving God,
Who’s with us full of tender care.

Question? Who had the greatest impact on my faith journey? My mother and father. They were married in 1916 the year of the Easter Rising in Ireland and loved the following poem :

I see his blood upon the rose,
And in the stars the glory of His eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.

I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but His voice - and carven by His power
Rocks are His written words.

All pathways by His feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.

The writer Joseph Mary Plunkett took part in the Easter Rising and was executed by the British in 1916.

I am one of a family of 10 – 4 of whom are left. I had very loving parents, a very happy childhood and lived and worked on a farm out the bush from Castlerea in Co. Roscommon – Rosary every night and Mass every Sunday – as kids a penny for lollies. My mother was a wonderful person – a living saint – indeed I believe that all mothers are living saints – so all you beautiful mothers take a bow – you are all very special people and very close to God.

This poem about my mother is for each one of you.

MOTHER

Could I crown with jewels most precious
And speak of you with words most fair
Even still would I be far from paying
My debt to you Oh mother dear
Born in your own painful labour
A crying thing, a pagan waif
But you so kind with loving wonder
Set me on God’s path of grace
How I remember early childhood
When you taught me how to pray
Living in your loving shadow
Christmas brings such thoughts my way
God has blessed you dearest Mother
May He keep you ever so
And may all your sons and daughters
Live their lives as well as you.

My father was a hard working farmer who loved us all dearly – and even when we were very young, asked for our opinions and listened to our responses.

Once he and I were looking across a field of potato stalks just beginning to flower – he said “do you think its time to spray” and I said “I don’t know” and he said “But you must have an opinion” I was 2 ½ but he treated me as if I were a man!

DADDY

He was a man
A manly man
Of virile ways
With lively tongue
And happy smile
And thoughtful mind
Bereft of guile
A working man
Who tilled the soil
With adept hand
And winsome toil
No small feat then
To feed his flock
Of children ten
A cheerful man
Who laughed and prayed
Taking life’s troubles
In his stride
He gave advice
Did all he could
Respected was he
In the neighbourhood.

During my youth and early manhood I worked on the farm – one of my tasks was training and breaking in young horses – I had many wild and exciting rides both with saddle and bareback.

I went to a 2 teacher primary school and did a smattering of Latin to serve Mass which was then in Latin – also some Shakespeare, Algebra and Geometry. Later I went to a boarding college where I discovered Neville Shutte’s books on Australia – A Town Like Alice and The Big Wet. Played Gaelic Football – club and college – went to University and did a BA & Dip Ed – Taught in Ireland and Nigeria during Biafran war - very scary and came to Australia January 1970 and taught Geography and Economics at Wyong High School.

1971 was a very special year – went to Sydney Uni to do a Masters Degree and supervised Dip Ed student doing practice teaching – and on May 15th married the love of my life, Philomena, in St Marys Cathedral. At the end of that year I got a lectureship at Riverina CAE (now Sturt Uni). Our two sons Joe and Shane were born in Wagga. After 4 years there I got a Senior Lectureship in Singapore Regional Language Centre teaching courses in Bilingual Education and Language Testing.

From there I went to Stanford Uni to study for a Doctorate in Linguistics and come back to the NT to do my Research and compared a Bilingual school at Bamyili where they make Didgeridoos to a monolingual school at Beswick - the only station in the NT owned and run by Aboriginal Australians. Spend one delightful semester teaching English Literature to a class of Aboriginal students at Batchelor College – on leaving they gave me a ceremonial didgeridoo and a bark painting.

From there I came to Canberra to take up a position with the Department of Immigration assessing Overseas Qualifications and Developing an English test. After 4 years I moved to the Department of Education as head of Planning and Research and after 10 ½ years there I retired.

I have experienced a wide variety of parishes both here and overseas – but St Johns is away ahead of them all – Two wonderful Sacred Heart Priests – Fr Michael and Fr Mark, a lovely bright church and a happy cheerful and welcoming congregation. The charismatic prayer group started when the parish began and has helped me enormously in my faith journey – it meets downstairs at 7.30pm every Thursday and all are welcome. Now a verse to celebrate St John’s

LITTLE BITS OF HEAVEN

A cheerful voiced ‘Good Morning’
A friendly welcome smile
A warm handshake also
A greeting without guile

A hug to say ‘I’m sorry’
When things are turning rough
A word or two of comfort
Life sometimes can be tough --

The people and the clergy
Just one big happy crew
This place is surely blessed
The spirit shining through

And we are all so grateful
To know that we belong
On our lifelong, joyous journey
To this delightful throng --

We are mindful of our fortune
And we thank the good Lord too
For those little bits of heaven
At St Johns…..

And now to finish

AN IRISH BLESSING

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always on your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
the rains fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again,
May God hold you
In the palm of His hand.

Anne Fulton - 6.00pm Mass - April 26 2009

Reflection of my Faith Journey

When Father Michael asked me if I would like to do this, all I could think of was ‘I don’t have anything to say”. When I told my younger daughter that Michael had asked me to speak her response was “Mum what an honour. You must do this”. Katie has the gift of the gab and those of you who knew her Dad would know where that gift came from – what’s more she has kissed the Blarney stone not just once but twice. So she could not understand why I felt I had nothing to say. I started to consider that maybe I could say something and here I am.         

As I reflect on my childhood my world seemed to revolve around family and the church. I was the fourth child and only daughter born to my parents Marie and Denis Kenny. They were people of strong faith and were loving parents who lived the message of Jesus “love one another as I have loved you”. I grew up with all the traditional Catholic practices as part of our family life. As well as caring for we four children, there were also three teenage relatives living with us because of various family circumstances. My parents were generous with their time in every aspect of church life. Dad was a member of St Vincent de Paul for many years and Mum was in the CDA (Catholic Daughters of Australia). Both worked hard to raise funds to establish their new parish financially. When we moved to far north Queensland my Mum was the main carer for my Dad’s Mum, his Aunty and his disabled brother until their deaths. My parents passed on Jesus’ message to us by the way they lived.

All that I had learned from Mum and Dad was reinforced by the nuns at school - firstly the Ursulines in Sydney and then the Mercy nuns in far north Queensland. Because there was no Catholic high school where we lived I went to boarding school for my secondary schooling. I have very fond memories of my days at boarding school where I became a Child of Mary and joined the YCS (Young Christian Students) which gave us the opportunity to discuss scripture and how we could live the gospel values. Until I was seventeen, my life had totally revolved around the church.

At this point my eldest brother became engaged to a beautiful girl who became one of my best friends. However, Faye was an Anglican and her family was very upset that she would consider marrying a Catholic. This was a very difficult time for both families but to me I see it as a critical time of growth in my life as it caused me to not take my faith for granted - to stop and think about my beliefs. It also gave me the opportunity to experience something outside my comfortable world and so helped me to be more understanding and accepting of differences. I appreciated “though many we are one” in a different light. Faye did marry Den and our families became great friends. Although she never became a Catholic she went to mass every Sunday and was an active member of Vinnies for a number of years. Tragically, she was killed in a car accident 14 years ago and was buried from the Catholic church with both Catholic and Anglican priests officiating. I have included this last part of Faye’s story as I believe it indicates what can be achieved when people work through difficulties with love and respect. Having recently been to Northern Ireland and come to appreciate their sad history more fully it is ever so clear to me that the only way to deal with confrontations is through love and respect.

I was shown love, acceptance and respect when I married Frank who had previously been a priest. In fact, he and Michael were seminarians together. It was very difficult for Frank’s family when he left the priesthood and then married but they showed me nothing but love and acceptance. The MSCs likewise showed me nothing but love and respect even though Frank had left their family in a sense. Frank, a faith-filled, generous and loving man was a wonderful husband and father to our four children. His life had been enriched in so many ways while a student, a seminarian and a priest with the MSCs and we were fortunate enough to share this too through him. His faith, energy and generosity inspired me and so our marriage was another critical time of growth in my life as was the birth of our four children whom Frank was known to fondly refer to as “our four miracles”.

Throughout my life my faith has been nurtured by the Eucharist and I am constantly challenged by the homilies we hear each Sunday, by the witness of those in our community and by those I work with. I have been teaching young people for over 40 years, most of which have been in Catholic schools. In all of these schools so many good people work tirelessly to educate their students in all aspects of their lives - love, acceptance and compassion is taught as a way of life and young people are provided with the opportunity to go out and help others less fortunate and thus live their faith. The world our young people are growing up in is so different from my youth but many young people respond to these challenges and live their lives according to Jesus’ message “love one another as I have loved you”.

When Frank died suddenly 6 1/2 years ago the bottom fell out of my world. I had never doubted life after death until this time. Even though my Mum had died a few years before this, my sister-in-law a year before that and several cousins and other relatives had also died, I had never doubted eternal life. But now I did. I worked through that doubt and one of the things that helped me through it was remembering being in a religion class which Frank and I shared teaching  when he spoke of the Resurrection as being so important to Christians as it was this feast that gave us clearly the message of hope. At this time too I was strengthened by the amazing support from so many friends and family. The love that we as a family were shown at this time was extraordinary and a real inspiration to us all.

Someone sent me a card at the time of Frank’s death which said “Courage is not looking back in anger or forward in fear but around in awareness”.  This really captured my attention and helped me to refocus onto what my life should be about – doing what I could to help others and so live my faith through love. I have continued to try to do so and although I do so imperfectly this is where I am at now. I live in the hope that I have passed onto my own children and the students I have taught that we need the nourishment of the Eucharist to help us to live Jesus’ message of love which I believe is the essence of my faith       

Ljiljana Argy - 10.00am Mass - April 19 2009

My Faith Journey

Thanks Fr. Michael for asking me to share my faith journey, it is indeed a privilege to do so.  Although I accepted the invitation to share with everyone this morning, it is not without trepidation, and I indicated to Fr. Michael, that my sharing should be brief, as there’s not much history when you ask one so young!

For those who don’t know me, my name is Ljiljana Argy.  I am blessed to have been married for almost 25 years to my soul mate and dearest friend, Steven.  We have 3 wonderful children, Mathew 20, Nicholas 17 and Olivia 11.  I have been a member of this parish from when we married in 1984. I have made so many good friends here, and consider myself truly blessed to belong to this community.  I am so grateful for the love of our extraordinary MSC priests, who through their teaching and example have helped to make this place a truly wonderful spiritual home.  Over the years their friendship has been a very powerful and positive influence in my life. Just witnessing how ‘real’ and humble these men are has been a source of inspiration.

My life’s journey began in 1964.  I was born into a Catholic family of Croatian origin in a small city on the Danube called Vukovar.  Life was pretty tough for my parents, unemployment was high and they, like so many others found it extremely difficult to make ends meet.  My mother was a shift worker in a blanket factory and my father was forced to work abroad in France.  It was no way for a family to exist, so my parents made what must have been a very difficult decision, and we migrated to Australia in 1969.

I was almost 5, and from what I can remember of those days, it wasn’t easy to settle in to a new country with no knowledge of the local language and without family or friends to turn to for support.   For this reason, migrant families tended to stick to their own ethnic groups, where they could gain a sense of belonging and security.  My family was no exception.  We attended Sunday mass that was said in Croatian.  Social activities focused around spending time with other Croatian families and attending functions put on by the local Croatian clubs.

Our Croatian priest at the time became a very close friend of our family and I considered him to be like an uncle to me.  Actually he married Steven and I and baptised 2 of our 3 children.  He was the glue for a recently arrived community and I think helped to keep the Spirit alive among them.  I feel that Fr Mato’s influence, as well as that of my mother and grandmother, have had an enormous effect on my Catholic upbringing and have contributed in bringing me to where I am today.

That said, when I reflect back on that time, and on my experience of church, it didn’t hold much meaning or relevance for me.  We were expected to go to mass each Sunday with no questions asked, daily prayers and references to God were part of our every day.  On reflection, I was largely a Sunday Catholic, and my faith was just routine and I was doing what was expected of me, often without giving any of it much thought.  Perhaps this is not uncommon for teenagers and young adults, but I struggled with feelings of disappointment, and in all honesty, I felt like a fraud.

It wasn’t until after I got married and decided that Mass in Croatian was no longer for me (how very liberating), and I started attending mass here at Kippax, that something had awoken in me.  I’m not sure if I was just more open to the message, of the Good News, or if it was the fact that Mass was said in English and therefore had greater meaning and clarity for me, but little by little I felt drawn in.  I felt like I had finally started to connect with this God from my childhood, the God that my mother and grandmother had so lovingly taught me to pray to, even if only in a rote kind of a way.  The God who I had been taught to fear but somehow, almost instinctively, knew I needn’t fear.  This was the beginning of a new journey for me, a journey that would help me to understand that Christ is always by my side, and a journey that continues to lead me to the great truth that God is love.

In more recent times, my spirituality has been nurtured through movements such as Cursillo, Marriage Encounter and Ministry to the Newly Married.  It has been a privilege to take part in such programs and to spend time and energy focusing on Christianity with others, both as an individual and a married person.

Being a good Christian has never been easy; there are so many challenges and obstacles in a modern and largely secular society.  I have often experienced times at work for example, where it’s been difficult to express a view that supports a Christian perspective, mainly for fear of judgement and criticism.  An example that comes to mind is the topic of sex before marriage, particularly for younger people.  I was very quickly shot down as being out of step and old fashioned, when I dared to express the view that young adults should be cautioned and that it is our responsibility to impress upon them that their bodies are temples that should only be given to another in true love and with great respect for the other.  However awkward these situations may be, I feel that, it’s really important for me to stay true to my faith and to myself.

I recently read a profile on a prominent politician who I found very interesting and who, from all accounts, appears to have a big future ahead.  I caught myself feeling delighted when I discovered that he is a Catholic.  I realised that deep from within there is great joy and pride for me in being Catholic.  I love that the way we celebrate mass is so universal and that as a Catholic, no matter what corner of the world I find myself in, if I attend mass, I feel at home.

I do, however, have my share of struggles as a member of the Catholic Church and at times feel disillusioned with our Catholic leaders.  I worry that the Church is becoming irrelevant to the younger and even no-so-young generation.  The Church’s official stance on issues such as homosexuality, women priests and even celibacy can lead to frustration for me.  Sometimes I worry that we are no better than the Pharisees of Jesus’ day.

In the final analysis though, my guide in life is Christ.  I know that if I continue to fix my gaze on Him, my life will have been a worthwhile and meaningful journey.  I know that given any circumstance in life, no matter how difficult, if I can just remember to ask myself; WWJD or WWJS? And respond from there, then it is impossible to do better.

Some years ago I found a beautiful quote from Mahtma Gandhi, who even though not a Christian, had a great love for Jesus, and I’d like to finish by sharing his words with you.

If you want to feel the aroma of Christianity you must copy the rose.  The rose irresistibly draws people to itself and the scent remains with them.  Even so, the aroma of Christianity is imparted in an even quieter and more imperceptible manner, if possible.

Sigrid Kropp - 8.30am Mass - April 12 2009

My Faith Journey

My parents were of Catholic stock but, non believers. Dad however, had a very puritanical streak. If you professed to be something then he expected that person to honour their commitment or profession especially anyone in public service. That could make for some lively discussions and also some very uncomfortable ones. It also made Dad somewhat unforgiving. Mum on the other hand just went with the flow. She generally accepts people as they are. We came from Germany, migrating in 1960.

At school in  Germany I remember that we would have passages from the bible read to us. I don’t remember the context, just the readings. In 1961 we moved to Raymond Terrace. There at the primary school we had religion classes. I found it difficult to explain that I did not belong to any religion but that I wanted to go to the Catholic classes. That was not allowed as I was not baptised, I could however attend the Anglican classes.

My mum’s best friend Hermine used to take me to Mass in Mayfield on a Tuesday evening. The Mass was of course in Latin. There was little explanation or teaching and I was not invited to join her family on Sundays. However, the Anglican minister invited me to attend Mass in his church on Sundays. I was also invited to their home where his wife introduced me to some other girls my age and where she proceeded to instruct us, albeit informally, over afternoon teas. I became an Anglican and a member of a community. Hermine no longer took me to Mass in Mayfield.  At 16 I became a Sunday school teacher and that meant that I needed to attend the 8 am service, this was followed by a frugal breakfast at the Rectory with Sunday school at 10. I am not a morning person and often struggled to wake up; however, somehow Dad or Mum would know when I needed to be asked whether I was going to church that day, which was usually enough to get me up.

In 1969 I moved to Sydney, fist boarding and then sharing a flat with Carmen in Croydon Park. I sought out the local Anglican Church only to leave during the service to check the notice board. Yes, it was Anglican, but so different. That was the first time I became aware that there were fundamental differences within the Anglican Church. Carmen and Les, her then fiancé now husband, are Catholic and were happy to take me to Mass with them. When I went home I would attend the Anglican Church in Raymond Terrace so that I could receive communion, the rest of the time I joined the Catholics.  In 1970 I joined the Navy and continued to attend the Catholic Mass but not as often, I had discovered Christ Church St Lawrence in Sydney. It lacked the community spirit of my church in Raymond Terrace but it fulfilled my spiritual needs.

In 1974 I married Jim. Jim was Catholic but, never attended Mass. During our Marriage Preparation period Jim did come to mass with me however, he had not kept up with the changes of Vatican 2 and felt that the changes in the Catholic Church were not for the better. Our preparation sessions with the Priest were often strained and after a while I attended on my own. Father did not ask me to convert and told me to bring up any children in whichever church I was active.

Following our marriage I stopped attending church on a regular basis for a few years. Our marriage was awful and I was often in despair. After about three years I did go back and found a large measure of comfort in attending and in receiving communion. But, I did not become an active part of the community rather remaining on the fringes.

Our boys, Ben and Daniel came along and I was still attending half and half. In 1984 we returned to Australia and Jim was posted to Melbourne. After a brief stint in a house in Williamstown we moved to St Albans. Ben was attending pre-school and I decided to enroll him at the local Catholic Primary School as I was attending the Resurrection parish church. They had no vacancy but Sacred Heart in St Albans did. I decided to have the boys baptised. What a fiasco. Jim was at RAAF Laverton in the English language section. He had some students from overseas defence forces and had gone to work that morning to organise a BBQ lunch. He forgot that the boys were being baptised. Neither God parent was able to make it from interstate so I organised two Proxies, Jim’s brother and sister in law.

 To some extent that was when I decided that I could not have a foot in both camps and signed up for the RCIA program at Resurrection.

24 Years ago, Easter 1985, I became a Catholic. Yes, I came home.

Later that year I abandoned my marriage. Strangely enough, although we both regretted our failed marriage, we were able to find a measure of peace.

The hardest thing about the RCIA program was not receiving communion. For me that is the essence of church. It nourishes my soul and gives me comfort.

Becoming part of the Resurrection community however, was wonderful. They became my extended family. When I moved to Canberra St John took over, there was that same generosity of spirit and same sense of belonging.

I am not a good catholic. Oh yes, I do things but that is because this is my community my family.  It is comfortable; it doesn’t test my faith and it makes me feel good. It does not make me a good catholic. 

I seldom go to confession, which is an aspect of being a Catholic I find particularly difficult. And yet, when I do, what a comfort and blessing it is. I was however, most comfortable when we were permitted to have the third rite of reconciliation.

I often let LIFE take over. It is so busy; there is little time for reflection, little time for more than a fleeting prayer. My boys attend Mass infrequently and I worry that I did not give them a proper catholic grounding as I seldom vocalised my faith or explained my belief.

I am intolerant, often critical, I like a good [bad] gossip, I sometimes embroider the truth, and I often let my personal comfort dictate my decisions. So I would not want anyone to hold me up as a good example of Christian living. But, I know that I am in God’s presence when I stop to pray, when I need to hold his hand, when I see the sunset or sunrise. When I read in church, when I receive the host and particularly when I am entrusted to distribute communion.  And sometimes he does challenge me to leave my comfort zone. This is the third date that was organised for me to speak. Each time I managed to find a reason why I could not do it. I said I would but, I had misgivings. I have told you that I find confession difficult; admitting to ones shortcomings is such a private thing. So, why then am I standing here in a very public forum? He does have the last word.

John Drury - 6.00pm Mass - March 22 2009

“My Journey in Faith: so far.”

My name is John Drury. I have lived in Latham since 1972 which makes me one of the elderly of St John’s Parish, Kippax. I have been an Acolyte here since 1978.

Anne and I have been married for 42 years. We have 5 children and 10 grandchildren the youngest of whom lives in USA but was baptised in this church on 27 December. I recently retired after nearly 47 years in the Australian Customs Service including 14 years as Deputy Head of the agency. This is an important part of my journey as I will describe.

To tell my story, I went to the sources and found that so much of it was tucked away in my Missal including:

• Prayer cards for deceased relatives including grandparents, my father who died playing golf, and my dear mother-in-law who died after being struck by a car on a pedestrian crossing in Sydney

• A memento of the mother of my best friend at convent school. She died of leukaemia and left behind 7 very young children

• A picture of me the day I went to Jesuit boarding school

• A prayer card for a family friend who died in the destruction of the World Trade Centre in New York on 9/11 in 2001

• Memorials of priestly ordinations. Mark Raper SJ who sat next to me in class; Tom Renshaw SJ the son of my best friend at boarding school; Mark Hanns MSC; the Episcopal ordination of Rev Dr Mark Coleridge as Archbishop of Canberra and Goulburn.

• A card collected in Seattle USA when Pope John Paul II died

• A memorial card in French of a lady in Antwerp who told me a wonderful story about giving birth during an air-raid in 1944.

I was born in 1943, the eldest of 4 boys and 4 girls. While I was born in MSC territory – Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs – my mum and dad moved to Merrylands near Parramatta which was close to dad’s work in engineering for an American company. Dad grew up in Hay and at an earlier time had been the chauffer for the town’s parish priest. One of dad’s brothers became a priest; a sister became a nun in the Presentation Order.

Our upbringing was strict in compliance with the form of pre Vatican II Catholicism. Family rosary was rarely excused. Benediction, Holy Sodalities, fasting and abstinence were all the extras which were unremarkable in our household and many others in the local parish. Clerics were venerated. The future Cardinal James Freeman was a classmate of our parish priest and hence was an occasional visitor to our home. It was an honour to be asked from time to time to go with them to the Saturday afternoon Rugby League Match of the Day at the Sydney Cricket Ground.

My inevitable Altar Boy training began shortly after my First Communion. I was very good at mastering the Latin phrases. I saved up and bought a Daily Missal and was a daily communicant until I left school.

Pre Vatican II elements still stick to me. When I approach the Eucharist I still utter:    “ Domine, non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum sed tantum dic verbo et sanabitur anima mea.” - Lord I am not worthy that you should come under my roof but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

A huge swerve on my journey came when I left the Christian Brothers school at Strathfield and went to the Jesuits at Riverview. It was like going to my second home. My father and his 3 brothers had been there. My cousin had just left. My uncle, Fr John Drury SJ was teacher, boarding master, and sports coordinator. As a place of learning, it contrasted with the strictness of the Christian Brothers. Greek and history were prominent. Authors like James Joyce were read and we were taught to listen to music. I loved it. Mass every day; chapel every night; priests all over the place.

This was the late 50s and we were feeling the winds picking up as they blew through the corridors of the Catholic Church. Mass in English became more regular. But at first when the celebrant would announce that “mass today would be a dialogue mass in English”, the groans would echo around the chapel. 300 boys preferred the Latin to wake them up. Nodding. Dreamy. Like the clickety clack of a train on a track.

A few years ago on a regular visit to Brussels, I was displaced from my usual hotel and found myself across town. Nearby was a massive old basilica which had been closed for years but which was now a venue for evening mass. So I went. Quickly it became clear that the church had been given to the St Pius X group. The mass proceeded in Latin and all the old rubrics were on full display plus lace albs, birettas, the works. I grabbed a French/Latin Missal and easily followed the liturgy in its Latin-rite format. My Altar Boy days were back. Did I like it? Not one bit. But the other 19 in the church were absorbed.

Meanwhile, back at school my days were drawing to a close. My Catholicism was still grounded in my family but now this school also had weaved its spell. Did I have a vocation to the priesthood? Other boys were clear cut in their intentions. As schoolboys, we did V de P work at the local hospital. But as a teenager in a boarding school was I aware of what was expected as a Catholic layman? On holidays, I filled in as a postman at the local Post Office where a shopkeeper attacked my Catholic faith every time I delivered mail to him. There was virtue in this. I was soaking up experiences which would help me in the next phase of my journey.

I made the decision as the eldest of a large but not wealthy family to find a job and to study at university at night. My dad’s Knights of the Southern Cross connections introduced me to a senior official in Customs and so began my incredible career in Customs House at Circular Quay. Adjoining Customs House Lane at the time was the Matt Talbot Hostel. I joined other Customs officials and spent lunchtimes there helping the poor. I was exposed to prisoners just out of goal who needed help to get home. Many were aborigines. A few shillings for their fare and for pie and chip meals seemed so inadequate but you hardened to the reality that it was all you could do. Interestingly, there were non-Catholics who joined us in this work which at the time I found unusual but inspiring. Ecumenism was new to us Catholics but not to some of other faiths.

It was a time when people knew your religious affiliation – for good or for bad. Attendance at lunchtime Mass in the city was a time when you spotted work colleagues. You came back to work on Ash Wednesday with the mark on your forehead. You were conscious of setting an example. No swearing or using the Lord’s name in vain; cut down on the alcohol; treat the female staff with respect; apply justice and equity in decision making.

And away from the office were the Parish and the Catholic Youth Organisation.

In time I became president of the local CYO and Anne was secretary. Others in these roles had married and so did we. Marrying a fellow Catholic was desirable. It was preferred.

Meanwhile my job was having its own journey. Australia in the 60s was the place where large passenger ships brought migrants from around the world. Along with my colleagues we boarded these ships just inside Sydney Harbour and processed the arrival documents for thousands before they were released to their lives as New Australians. If we worked on Sundays, we would grab the opportunity to attend Mass on the ship. One day, an Italian chaplain was saying Mass and I turned to our interpreter - a wonderful Greek/Egyptian lady who was not a Catholic– to ask what he had said in his homily. She was crying. She later told me that the priest had said that for these people, their old life had ended but that their new life was only an hour away. He begged them to love their old life but to love Australia more and to become great Australians. I’m sure so much of her own past had been revived as she listened to this priest.

For me, my direct experience has never allowed me to overlook what migrants had given up to come to Australia nor with what commitment they embraced their new country. I was to come across this issue again and it would challenge me.

Like so many civil servants, transfer to Canberra occurred. I now had an economics degree from the University of NSW and my career was shaping strongly. I faced inevitable compromises as I moved into the senior ranks of the civil service. Decisions had to be made based on Government policy grounded in law. I also exercised rights of hire and fire and was responsible for probing misconduct which required challenging judgements. I gave an employee leave to serve a goal term but this was a failure. He repeated the offence soon after returning to work so I sacked him. I fined another who I warned was close to being a lost cause. He reformed and has had an outstanding international career since.

 In 1988, Barry Jones was Customs Minister and he asked me to form Coastwatch. This was to become an outstanding unit within Customs and in time would become significant in the Government campaign against so-called Boat People. I was smack in the middle of all of this. My aircraft were usually first to spot the vessels. My Customs patrol boats shared the role with the Navy of intercepting the vessels themselves and either turning them around or escorting them to port. On one occasion, the 8 crew of one of my vessels pulled a hundred people from the sea after a refugee boat burst into flames.

My role in those times was clear. I was responsible to the Government for detection and interception. Was I troubled by the consequences? Of course I was. But so were the Immigration officials to whom we handed the asylum seekers and I applaud those who did everything possible to ensure they were treated fairly and with respect as they were processed through the difficult stages of off-shore detention.

And what about my journey away from work? Clearly, church life for so many Catholics today is vastly different to what it was when I was a child and even after I became an adult. In those days, Catholicity was measured by whether or not you were a mass-goer. The figures today show that on this measure, we are a shrinking breed. We all have friends and family members who are in that non-practising group. By my own measure – and I’m a staunch practising Catholic – I have not resumed my old habit of daily Mass. Why not? It’s available. I don’t receive the sacrament of Confession as regularly as I used to. Why not? It’s a magnificent sacrament and my last Confession in East Timor a couple of months ago enthused me to become more regular but still I’ve fallen short.

I read more and I’ve learned more about my faith in recent years than ever before. This is my classic period of senior religious education – largely self-taught but inspired by the goodness of the people around me. Some are Catholics but many are not. Some have no religion. Some are Presbyterian or Lutheran or Assembly of God. Others have been damaged along the way. And I’m at a loss to explain why most of our children despite their Catholic education, have gone missing.

Recently, I read a critic’s review of the work of Seamus Heaney, an Irish poet. Heaney was raised a Catholic with all the trimmings. He is no Mass-goer now but is what I am seeing around me what Heaney so vividly typifies? In other words, has my journey of faith been grounded primarily on external adherence to ritual or traditional faith? As Heaney writes:

‘‘And yet I cannot

Disavow words like “thanksgiving” or “host”

Or “communion bread”. They have an undying

Tremor and draw, like well-water far down.’

I think I fit there – in part - but I hope I’ve found more in my faith as I’ve journeyed along. I love the Catholic Church dearly but I rejoice more in its brokenness than in its glory. For me, the church is best when it admits its errors and confesses just as we all do with the words “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” I think we have had great Popes in recent times and I’m sure there are more great ones to come. The challenge for all of them will be to listen to the voices of the faithful, especially the laity.

My journey has been a physical one as well as a spiritual one. I have been to Mass in London, Paris, Washington, New York, Tokyo, Brussels, Seoul, San Francisco, Shanghai, Beijing, Bangkok, Singapore, Guam, Samoa, Port Moresby, Wallis and Futuna, Fiji, Dili, Railaco, Tahuya and Brush Prairie, USA. The Church is alive even in places where it is said to be dying. I have come away from Mass in Brussels – the heart of secular Europe – where I have been inspired by the faith of the people. I know people there whose commitment is outstanding. And look at those who came to us last year from all over the world for World Youth Day. You have to say that we saw the Holy Spirit in action as much as the Disciples saw at Pentecost.

I haven’t mentioned that my journey took me to the gravesite at Gethsemane Abbey in Kentucky of Thomas Merton, the great spiritual-writer monk who I pray will one day join the ranks of the canonised. But that part of my journey will keep for another time along with many other stories which are not yet written because my journey continues.

Domine non sum dignus.

Marina Philip - 10.00am Mass - March 15 2009

"My Faith Journey"

I have so much to say so I hope I don’t bore you or go too long!

I am extremely humbled by Fr Michael’s tap on my shoulder to speak to you today. I asked him ‘What should I say, you know where I’m at?’ He kindly said ‘say why you’re here’.

To get to that answer, I need to tell you where I’ve come from in my journey of faith.

To start with I am a Christian who was raised in the Catholic tradition. I love the Lord my God with all my heart, my soul and strength though at times I probably don’t show it! My God is my life. He is the air that I breathe. I literally fall apart if I haven’t spent time with my heavenly Father.

At the end of the day, I would like my story to be one of faith, hope and love with the greatest of these being love. For as long as I can remember my one sole dream or purpose was to love and be loved. This longing drives me day-to-day. Please join me now on my journey on a simple journey of faith but yet complicated by religion.

I was born into a practicing Catholic family living mostly in Shepparton, Victoria. Every Sunday we went to church were I, the youngest of three, would customarily go to church and somehow muck up every single week and somehow hurt eachother. I was bored. I didn’t like the weekly tug a wars with my siblings, the feeling as though Mum was hammering out the words to prayers as if she was hitting us all over the head, nor did I like watching Dad putting his hand on his heart during kneeling time, or having to wait so long for Mum to stop talking to people after church!

However, I recall clearly at the age of 10 saying to myself one day in a service, ’what is the point of all this? If I am here week in week out there must be something more to this.’ I guess this was when I personally made a decision to follow Christ. From that time on I listened attentively to the homily’s, the gospels and let the hymns like ‘Go tell everyone the good news of the Kingdom of God has come’, ‘How great thou art’ and ‘Seek ye First the Kingdom of God’ resonated within me (though I dared not sing out loud too much because that was so uncool.) I chose in my mid-teens on my own accord to still go to church.

My personal faith was fuelled by stories told by my grandfather who by religion was Lutheran (his wife was Catholic and the children were raised Catholic). His stories made God real to me in this present day not just stories out of the bible. I would like to share one story with you. My grandfather sailed the tall ships, mostly in the Norwegian seas. On one his sailing trips, a tug boat was taking a tall ship he was on to port. A huge storm blew with 40 foot waves. The tugs thick rope broke and the tall ship was irretrievable. The wind was howling. The only attempt to make things work out was to get a mask up and sail. My grandfather was sent down below to get a sail. Attempt 1 failed as the wind blew the sail off. Attempt 2 again failed. There was only one sail left. It was here when my grandfather who was the only one on deck at the time saw out above the water a man in shining garments. He blessed the boat and I think said ‘peace be with you’. The wind slowed slightly and the third and frailest sail was hoisted successfully. I believed his stories which as I said, fuelled my belief that there is a God who was very present even today.

My move to university in Melbourne was distressing at the time. I tried to find a Catholic church that I could belong to, but I realised nothing could compare to the beauty of the parish I had come from in Shepparton. There was no where to go. While staying on campus, dear friends of mine took me to there AOG service which was so alive and spoke in a language that appealed to me. The service was moving. My friends didn’t push for me to go again. I felt I knew Jesus but had other things on the side like at the time praying to Mary.

The move to Canberra for work gave me a new opportunity to find a church. I tried the Catholic Church closest to me but again I found it so dull. I remember being with friends and looking at St Johns church from the outside but not going inside. We felt too afraid to do that.

Finally I became involved in a Pentecostal movement through the influence of a housemate when a bible study group started at our house. It was lively and spiritual though the road was so bumpy. The teachings seem great on the whole but I would go see my parents and have long discussions trying to work things out with them. What was tithing? Why do they have to spend a whole sermon on how to love or be a friend when I already know how to love and be a friend. Don’t other people know that? And so on. By and by, I met my now beautiful husband who also started coming to church as well. I found St Michael’s Church in Kaleen somehow and started attending irregularly to nightly services there and chose to have an adult baptism. But I continued to go to the Pentecostal Church.

My husband-to-be by religion was Anglican, heaven forbid. My parents were supportive and spent sometime with us together in the lead up to the engagement (and marriage) exactly what impact this may have on us in our marriage and later as a family. They called in the local priest and other families who had mixed denominational marriages to speak to us. We were as well aware as anyone of the implications. No easy road ahead for our marriage or in raising children.

In the long run, Andrew and I agreed our wedding would be here in Canberra and that we really wanted the churches from our upbringing present at our wedding. We decided on Andrew’s school’s chapel. That of course brought into question whether we could have a Catholic priest come and recognise our marriage in an Anglican church with an Anglican minister. Thankfully a dispensation was granted and for which I am so grateful our marriage is recognised by the Catholic Church. My father was disappointed that communion wasn’t given but in the words of the wise priest, ‘you’ve just climbed Mt Kuskisco. There’s no need to climb Mt Everest’. It was a major effort but our wedding had far reaching impact I’m sure not just on the two of us.

Amongst all this, Andrew and I continued to attend the Pentecostal Church for sometime feeling compelled by various relationships and our involvement in various ministries. By baby number 2, Josephine, Andrew stopped regularly coming to church and soon our family was divided. Besides the division present, I personally began questioning whether the church was really for us. The road had become even rockier and I started to really wander how truly genuine people were. At a similar time, Annabelle started school at St Matthew’s in Page and all the anti-Catholic sentiment that I had accumulated along the way from non-Catholics slowly dissolved as I saw the beauty within the Catholic community at the school. I longed for something like that again.

Some would say why do you put so much emphasises on going to Church? Why go?

To build one’s own personal faith and effectiveness requires more than just personal prayer, reflection, bible or devotional reading. In Church, there can be found wisdom and guidance that takes us back to the basics rather than being continually apart of the world that is exceedingly getting faster paced, were busyness equals happiness and were information is fed to us in abundance. Boundaries that have been either God inspired or possibly church inspired can guide us through the rich tapestry of life, providing balance, stability and ultimately freedom. And there are other benefits. The devotional I read puts it like this ‘Alone I cannot serve the Lord effectively, and He will spare no pains to teach me this. He will bring things to an end, allowing doors to close and leaving me effectively knocking my head against a wall until I realise that I need help of the body, as well of the Lord. There are truths taught in God’s house that you won’t hear anywhere else. There you’ll find a Spiritual family to belong to, a faith to live by, and a focus that gets your eyes where they should be – on Christ!’ {from The Word for Today}

I can personally testify the power of the body, that is, the Church when I was healed from an ulcerated polyp. I had lost 5 litres of blood and would have had surgery to remove it had it not been found that I was just 4 weeks pregnant. To the amazement of my doctor and gynaecologist, I kept our baby. I had tests after the pregnancy and the polyp had disappeared. Annabelle is now our delightful 10 year old. It’s no coincidence that her name means beauty and grace because she literally was a gift of God’s grace. This all can be attributed to those who prayed for us at the Pentecostal Church.

But why here in a Catholic Church at St Johns Kippax?

I cannot deny where I have come from, the Catholic Church is apart of me somewhere deep down within me. While coming back to the Catholic Church has taken some adjusting, I have realised it has shaped me in who I am today. The Church and my Catholic school upbringing instilled values in me that I hold dear. For example, that life is precious, the sense of community, the focus on family, and virtues like no sex before marriage. It is ‘a way of life’ some say, nurturing and caring not only about thy self but giving of self. In so many ways, the Church is compassionate and forgiving. It’s taught me all sorts of things about life.

Being brought up in the Catholic tradition, I didn’t always appreciate the structure of the service. I have come to realise how much I value hearing the old and new testament readings each week, the prayers of the faithful, the time where we say peace be with you, and the homily. The service allows me to have a chance to prepare my heart for communion and to thank Jesus for dying on that horrible cross for me. The service/mass allows me a place of refugee from the week’s storms to be still and know God is God.

I remember speaking to Father Mark openly on our first visit and he calmly said something along the lines that you know where to make your home because you will be at peace. This parish of St Johns is similar in some ways to my home parish. It is a parish that is alive. There is a sense of the fruit of the spirit here, being grace, love, joy, peace, faithfulness, gentleness, self control and patience. There is a sense of community and genuineness of the congregation; people talk to you because they want too not because they have too. There are times too were I personally have been so deeply moved. One such time was at a Sunday evening service. The reflection song was ‘Shout to the Lord’. I have heard this song sang many times over the years but that night was possibly the most powerful. There was no lead singer and yet the whole congregation sang in harmony to the tune, with so much love, you could sense the grace and the feeling of being united. There is also such a welcoming and acceptance of people with no judgement here at St Johns.

I also discovered that someone dear to us here at St Johns holds a similar train of thought that to love and be loved is the essence of life.

This Church has also aided my family to gather as a family at church though some issues did bring division. We quickly became friends with some great families here. We have truly been blessed.

Coming back after being away from the Catholic tradition means I do now have to sort out some theological issues. Seeking the truth in love for myself will ultimately set me free and so it’s worth the effort. There maybe teachings of the Church I may never come to terms with because now I also have to be true of my Christian but non-Catholic past, but no Church is going to be perfect in anyone’s eyes!

The challenges I see for the Catholic Church is for parishioners to truly build their own relationship with God, to truly lift their eyes and look up to Jesus and walk with Him. I believe this is happening more now than ever before. What that means to me is that the rope prayers that I know so well and say each week make an impact in my own heart rather than just going through the motions. My desire for me and maybe it is for you is that each of us will know that Jesus is alive in us and be ready each day to be His hands and feet in this world; to be an example of His light to this world. My faith has been so deeply touched by strangers that I have supposedly helped.

My desire for the Catholic Church is to be all embracing of other Christian denominations, which though I think it is, as my marriage experience suggests, somehow we may need to make the process easier for believers. Anything that creates unity in the body of Christ is surely good in the long run.

Also my desire is for people who are not church goers, or have done so in the past, can somehow come off the street and find themselves at home here at St Johns or in the Church at large.

My desire is also to see that children don’t get ignored. I see or hear of children feeling forgotton or fight after Church and that concerns me greatly. I truly feel that children are a spiritual barometer of a church. They will reflect all the fruits of the spirit so if they’re fighting, I questioin what are we doing wrong. Having said this, I so appreciate the warmth our more senior parishioners have to the children. They smile lovingly and you can sense such their warmth they have to the children.

I wish I could wash the church from all the sexual problems that has plagued the church and maybe we need to open up the discussion of allowing priests to marry.

The challenge ahead for me lies now raising our treasures, our two daughters. I truly believe in the scripture ‘train your child in the way they should go and they will not depart from it. As parents we set the spiritual roots and if they stray later on, they’ll have memories and values to return to. I want to tell them about God and live a Godly lifestyle before them daily, failing as I do just shows that I don’t have to be perfect. It’s so important to me that I teach my children right and to practice what I preach.  {source: The Word for Today}

There are two more things I need to share. The power of God’s word and that action speaks louder than words. I can give examples of how God’s word, like Johns gospel, being read and seeing immediate change in a terminally ill persons who passed away more peacefully. So I encourage you to read the word out loud to yourself and your loved ones, find promises to hold onto and strengthen your faith with these. Also, live by what you have read and say because in the end actions speak louder than words. Walk the walk and talk the talk they say.

At last, I’m ending. My life is a work in progress. I don’t have it altogether. I know where I have come from and I don’t always know where I am heading. But, thankfully, God’s there with me, guiding my way so long as I keep my focus on Him coupled up with the grace, love and acceptance of Him and of you here at St Johns, I am going in a Godly direction. As it says in Psalm 23 ‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of the LORD Forever’.

I hope and pray that your life journey be a blessed, fruitful and loving one. Keep it simple if you can! And, ‘may the peace of God that transcends all understanding guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus’. {Philippians 4:7}

Thanking you for allowing me to share this all with you.

I was born in Yorketown, South Australia on 19 March 1949. That being the feast of St Joseph, it was a lay down misere that I would have that added to my name, so I became Edward Joseph Kildea, the second child of John Denis Kildea (a farmer) and his wife Veronica Florence Kildea (nee Barnett). There were 5 children born in Yorketown and a 6th born in Port Lincoln following our move to a farm my father bought in that region.

I and some of my siblings were founding students at St Columba’s convent in Yorketown, a school built by the local catholic community and operated by the Sisters of St Joseph. The convent opened in 1957 and I was delighted to attend the 50th anniversary in November 2007. What has been very pleasing has been the growth of non-catholic students attending the school. Some years ago I visited the school on a weekend visit when my cousin was leading a work party there. I recognised some of the members of the work party as former non-catholic school mates from the Yorketown Area School, so I asked them why their children were attending the convent school when there was an almost brand new state school at the other end of the town. Their responses could be summed up in the word ‘community’.

My parents were very devout Catholics and attendance at Mass, benediction etc were very much the norm. The recitation of the Rosary on the way home from a trip to the beach was a not-unusual occurrence.

Young Christian Workers

In Port Lincoln I was involved in the YCW movement, at one stage being the president of the movement in the Port Pirie diocese. One of my champions in that movement was our chaplain, Father Eugene Hurley, who went on to become the Bishop of the Port Pirie Diocese and is currently Bishop (or Archbishop) of Darwin.

I completed an apprenticeship in Port Lincoln, served on the Parish Council as a youth representative, met the woman who was to become my wife and left home in April 1971 to join the Australian Regular Army.

I married Pauline in December 1971 and we recently celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary. We have been blessed with three daughters of whom we are very proud. Fiona is a teacher, Kerryn is a nurse and Melissa is an environmental scientist working in the public service. All have made great choices in their partners and we now have three sons-in-law – Michael, Ben and Chris and two wonderful grand-children.

Military Christian Fellowship

I have been involved with the Military Christian Fellowship for a number of years – while I was a soldier and again since becoming involved with the Department of Defence as a civilian employee in April 2007. I was very impressed with the personal witness of a former Commanding Officer of the Special Air Service Regiment (SASR) to a group of young cadets at the Royal Military College at Duntroon when I was serving there. When people of that calibre can stand up and openly admit to the importance of Christ in their lives, it is a very special event.

When I was posted to Adelaide I was a member of the Parish Council at St Monica’s parish in Walkerville and I arranged for a team from the Modbury parish to deliver a Life in the Spirit seminar in St Monica’s. I was able to do that as I was meeting with a group of men from the Modbury parish on Saturday mornings in a prayer group.

I have been involved with the St Vincent de Paul movement on two occasions – once in Frankston, Victoria and again shortly after I first arrived in Canberra in 1987 when Fr Bede North was the parish priest of St John’s with Fr Chris Murphy as his assistant parish priest. Both of those men were very friendly and supportive as we (Kildeas) sought to settle into Canberra and get our children enrolled in the local Catholic schools.

During the annual meeting of the P @ C committee at St John the Apostle primary school in 1987 I found myself elected to the position of leader/president/worker of the social committee and held that position for two years. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet parishioners and help them to meet others in the parish/school community.

At midnight Mass, 24 December 1987, Fr Bede North received my wife, Pauline, into full communion with the Catholic Church, and confirmed her.

Shortly after our arrival in this parish, a ‘Colloquium on Parenting’ was conducted by Ken and Mary Moran (and others) and the theme song for that gathering was ‘The Living Years’ by Mike and the Mechanics. The lyrics of that song have stayed with me ever since and when I took the opportunity to tell my father, when we were in the Mount Tambourine RSL club, how much I appreciated having him as my father ‘in the living years’ it led to a much deeper relationship between us, which I will always cherish. There was an advertisement running at that time for Telecom/Telstra and it showed an older man waiting by his phone for a call from his son. I got into the habit of calling my father every weekend and quite often the phone would only ring once before he would answer it. I have shared that experience with many people over the years and have been told that it has been a mountain-top experience for them too. Dad passed away in October 2001 but Mum is still living and I now contact her on a regular basis.

A group reunion was formed following the previously mentioned Colloquium and for a number of years I was the only male member of that group with about 7-8 women. I suppose I was the ‘thorn amongst the roses’. I still think about those women and the group and have privately regarded them as my sisters ever since. It gives deeper meaning to ‘my sisters’ when I pray the prayer of contrition.

Shortly after my arrival in Canberra I attended a Cursillo weekend and I have been involved with the Cursillo movement ever since and I note that a number of other parishioners have spoken very positively about the Cursillo movement. I formed a Men’s Group in 1995 and the first meeting was held on 2nd February 1995. That group is still going and meets weekly except when we attend the monthly regional meeting – the Ultreya. Our meetings are based on the Cursillo method, with a lot of singing and reflection on Piety, Study and Action. We usually do some study and take up a secret collection which we have donated to a number of causes.

Pauline and I have been involved in the Family Group movement ever since they were started in the parish when Fr Leo Hill was the parish priest. We enjoy the activities which our group organises and attend the activities whenever possible. We have developed excellent relationships with the other members in our family group. If I had any criticism of the Family group movement, it is simply that it needs to be augmented by other social activities to ensure we all have opportunities to meet and get to know more people in our parish community. I am pleased to note that this matter is being addressed by our Parish Pastoral Council.

I am pleased to be a member of the community at St John the Apostle parish, especially because of the emphasis on love that is preached by our priests. In John 10:10 we read Jesus’ words:

“A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy; I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly,”

My talk would have ended at about this point had it not been for the challenge from our Editor/Parish Priest, Fr Michael Fallon MSC, who said:

“It is clear that you are a very committed Catholic Christian. As I read through the constant involvement that witnesses to this commitment, I found myself asking ‘Why? What is it about the faith that inspires you?’”

I will try to respond to his invitation as succinctly as possible.

In the booklet Twenty-Four Hours a Day, I found the following passage that struck a chord with me:

“Some people find it hard to believe in a Power greater than themselves. But not to believe in such a power (God) forces us to atheism. It has been said that atheism is blind faith in the strange proposition that this universe originated in a cipher and aimlessly rushes nowhere. That’s practically impossible to believe.”

I believe in a Creator God who sent His Son Jesus to show us the way to an eternity in Paradise. Jesus came down to Earth in human format and eventually, by suffering death for our sins and by rising from the grave, demonstrated his power over death.

During the relatively short period of His public ministry Jesus gave us a very clear demonstration of how we should live and how we should develop our relationship with God.

We were given the Sermon on the Mount – (Mt 5: 1-12), which we often refer to as The Beatitudes:

“Blessed are they.......”

We were taught how to pray and about our ideal relationship with God – (Mt 6: 5-15)

“Our Father .......”

Jesus taught us the most important commandment and the second most important commandments – (Mt 22: 34-40)

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind....... and love others as much as you love yourself”

We were given practical examples of who our neighbours are and how we should act towards them in the parable of the Good Samaritan – (Lk 10: 25-37.)

We are taught about forgiveness:

The parable of the Prodigal Son and God’s joy in having is son turning back to Him ( Lk 15: 11-32) “But when he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt sorry for him. He ran to his son and hugged and kissed him.”

The parable about the woman caught in sin in (Jn 8: 1-11)

We are taught that it is never too late to turn back to Jesus in the account of the criminal hanged with Jesus who was given an assurance that he would that very day be with Jesus in paradise in (Lk 23: 40-43)

Jesus told us about the Final Judgement ( Mt 25: 31-46)

“When I was hungry ........”.

In closing, I would like to quote from the Inaugural Speech made by Nelson Mandela in 1994, as it seems to support the work of our MSC leaders and was made by a man whom I admire deeply. Mr Mandela said:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

We ask ourselves:

‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?’

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It is not just in some of us: it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

De Colores.

Thank you for listening.

Peter Kain - 10.00am Mass - February 14 2009

When Michael asked me if I would be prepared to talk with you about my ‘faith journey’ I told him that I had presented a similar talk some 15 to 20 years ago and I didn’t want to bore you all with an iteration of the same old story.  So - if you were here then I’m sorry if you’ve heard it all before!  However, life has moved on and there is more to add since that time.

As I reflect on my life as a Catholic I consider it to be straightforward.  I have had no great ‘epiphany’ as God has always been in my life and I commented to a friend recently that my faith life may be summed up as ‘born a Catholic, raised a Catholic, still am a Catholic’.  Whilst that may seem simplistic and to a large extent is true, and many of you here may feel the same, in itself this has brought its challenges.  As a youth I can recall being on cadet camps with other schools of varying denominations and it seemed as if there was a collective criticism that included the rest against the Catholics.  I recollect being the ‘last man standing’ in many of these discussions as I loved an argument.  Even at that stage I believed strongly in my faith and I have found nothing to diminish this over the years.  So - from where did this strength and belief stem?

I would like to briefly relate a story of a woman whom I never met but I feel has had a great influence on the strength of my faith.  At the end of the 19th century a young woman, of Presbyterian background, moved from Semaphore (a beach suburb of Adelaide) to a teaching position at a country area called Wandearah in the Mid-North of South Australia (near Pt Pirie).  To cut a long story short she met a young man at the local dance and fell in love but, horror of horrors, he was a Catholic.  She was threatened with ostracism from her family should she maintain her relationship with him but her love was strong enough for her to remain true to him.  She became a Catholic and they were married at Pt Pirie in 1899.  I can only guess at the turmoil that would have been in her life at that time but she was determined to support her husband in all things.

They lived on farm some 10 miles (16km for those younger in the congregation) from Pirie with his elderly father and an older brother.  By 1909, being a good Catholic family, they had 5 sons and she was pregnant with their 6th child.  It was then that tragedy struck in their lives when he suffered a ruptured appendix and died of peritonitis.  She was left alone to cope with her young family and her much older in-laws to run the farm and maintain the household.  It would have been very easy for her to have renounced her new faith and return to the support of her family but she had an inner strength that made her determined to bring her children up in a faith that she had agreed with her husband and she stayed on the farm.  The following May (1910) her daughter was born and over the ensuing years she brought her family up to be good farmers, well educated and with a belief in the strength of their faith.  Every Sunday, regardless of weather, the boys had to complete their morning chores, hitch the sulky to go the 10 miles into Pirie for 10am Mass (this was in the days when we fasted from midnight!), stay in town for lunch with some cousins and then head home again in the early afternoon to complete the chores on the farm.  A little harder than our efforts these days to attend here each week.

So how does this relate to my faith journey?  The woman of this story is my grandmother and the daughter that was born after the death of my grandfather is my mother.  I am forever grateful to my grandmother for the obvious example of faith and courage that she instilled in my mother because she, in turn, has impressed upon my siblings and me those same qualities of life.  Associated with this is the profound influence of my Dad who showed, through the love and support of Mum and her many exploits and his own affection for his friends, a way of loving and faith that he would hate to acknowledge.  These influences may not seem to be earth shattering in themselves but they bring a strength that affords me to acknowledge God in my life and to, hopefully, live my life accordingly. 

In short my faith journey has consisted of a number of very strong and loving influences and examples in my life.  As child I was initially taught by the Mercy nuns (a couple of these were great-aunts of mine and wonderful women with amazing influence around Adelaide) and I even recall being harangued by the Redemptorists in the 50’s with hell-fire and brimstone (thank God for John XXIII who reminded us of a God of love and not retribution).  I was taught by the Christian Brothers, and despite a lot of the stories, they also had a great influence upon me.  They were good men who devoted their lives to educating us and I retain a great fondness for many of them.

In 1964 I met a young woman who has had a profound influence on my life.  Libby and I met at a school dance when we were 15 and married when we were 19.  We have 4 sons, all of them married, and (almost) 6 grandchildren.  Many of my personal achievements would not have eventuated if it wasn’t for the support of Libby and her sharing of our life journey.

Early in our married life we had the opportunity to live in Singapore for 3½ years.  In that period I met and worked with a local man of Hindu faith and Rajendrum impressed me so much with his belief and commitment that it, in turn, encouraged me in my own beliefs.  For Libby and I this was a great time of learning and understanding of other people, their culture and their beliefs and I believe that this has made us all the stronger in our own faith.

When we returned to Australia we moved to Canberra and had the good fortune to move into this parish.  These were the days of Mass at Latham Primary School on Sunday and at 1 Starke St during the week.  When my mother first came here she mentioned that she had been concerned as to where we may end up and the type of support that we may have through our parish and was delighted after she had been here and saw the influence of parish life in our own.  My eldest brother, on the other hand, at the age of 33 thought that it was the first church that he had been in that he was the eldest person there!

Libby and I have been blessed by being a part of this parish.  We have been actively involved through the school (I had the good fortune to be the 1st President of the P&F and had the opportunity to work with Ken Evenden, the 1st Principal, another man of great faith) and various programmes through the Church, viz. Marriage Encounter, Life in the Spirit, Antioch and, most recently, the Baptismal programme.  My involvement with Antioch encouraged me to look for broader avenues to assist the youth of our area and I joined Rotary in 1987.  I felt then, and still believe, that Rotary reflects everything that is good in our lives and it has the enthusiasm and the mechanism to support so many people throughout the world.  I have met so many good men and women who, through there own faith and commitment, are prepared to put themselves out to provide support to others.

All of these things have had their immediate impact on my faith but more importantly an ongoing influence in the development of an understanding of God in my life.  I reflect on the influences that the people involved in these programmes continue to have in my life and particularly I reflect on the leadership that we have had through the many priests that have been with us on this journey.  Each of them has brought different challenges to us all and each has provided guidance in the understanding and growth of our faith.

Where to from here?  Have I learnt it all so don’t have to be a practising Catholic anymore?  I doubt it!  My faith growth continues to be with the people I work with and the challenges that meet me each day in a largely secular environment; it is with my family as Libby and I watch them grow and bring their influence to their children; and, very importantly, it is with you, the members of this parish, who join with us in this common union of continual growth and understanding of a God who loves us.  Do I always get right? – probably not, but with the support and love of those around me I can hope to keep the balance tipped in favour of acknowledging the need for continual learning and understanding of this faith to which I was born.

Joe Barr - 8.30am Mass - February 7 2009

It is humbling to talk about your spiritual journey.  Mine is a wanderer’s journey.  I have wandered and travelled all my life and it is hard to stop.  Yet a thread of faith connects the whole journey - it has been frayed at times yet, by grace and the help and wise council of others, has never actually broken.  It has had many colours and textures so it seems easiest to start at the beginning.

I was born in England - conceived in the Battle of Britain and born in the Blitz.  My parents’ Catholic families were very different.  Dad’s large family was of Scottish and English descent with a strict Victorian father, a shy mother, who died when I was young, and ten children who nearly all lived overseas at some stage in their lives.  Dad was the youngest.  There were three nuns and a priest among them, of whom Auntie Nelly, a tiny Sister of Charity in a headdress nearly as big as herself, was the only one to stay in England.  That didn’t inhibit her however as she ran a boys orphanage and a lasting memory is of this tiny nun ordering big teenage boys to do their chores and seeing them meekly accept her as the boss.

Mum was the youngest and the only girl of  three children in her family.  She had a very Irish mother and an English father whom I never knew.  It was a warm close family where the Faith was an every day reality.  Mum was the source of my childhood faith while Dad enforced it.  The nuns at my first, rather grim, convent school must have had a hand in it too but my only memories of that school, apart from a permanent smell of polish and a dark frightening air raid shelter, was making my First Communion.

When Dad returned from India at the end of the War his job had gone.  He eventually found work overseas with what was called the Overseas Food Corporation, or colloquially the Ground Nut Scheme so we set off for Africa on the first of my wanderings. 

We arrived in Tanganyika on my eighth birthday and spent our first year in Dar-es-Salaam in a variety of hotels and houses.  I went to a local convent school, run by the White Sisters.  There were about five European, thirty or forty Chinese and two or three hundred Indian and Goan children.  It was warm, friendly and organised.  Even in a class of over 90 pupils we worked!

In the colonial era the races were usually educated separately so my parents enrolled me at the only European Catholic Boys School in the three countries of Kenya, Uganda and Tanganyika - St Mary’s in Nairobi.  I was put on an aeroplane to fly to Nairobi and never saw Dar-es-Salaam again.

Robust Irish Holy Ghost Fathers ran St Mary’s.  They were a missionary order that had supported itself by bringing the first coffee ever planted in Kenya and eventually the old coffee factory became our school.  When I arrived it was housed in a mixture of huts, sheds and miscellaneous buildings but by the time I left there was a modern school that still stands today.

These were the formative years of my education and my faith thread.  Faith became a habit.  Early morning daily Mass, the Angelus three times a day (for which everything stopped), Benediction, altar server rosters (in those pre-Vatican II days every priest said his own Mass so we had nine or ten altars active every morning and servers for each), and the choir.  We learned our Catechism then Apologetics, the symbolism and legal requirements for furnishing a church and other such rigid subjects.  We never read the Bible - that was for the Gospel in Mass when the priest, having read it in Latin, might repeat it in English from the pulpit.  Otherwise we followed it in the Missal that every boy owned.  Such was our ignorance of the New Testament that the bishop floored each of us in turn in our pre-confirmation interviews by asking us to name the Twelve Apostles.  I have to say that this background also tended to support the development of scruples - these were to trouble me for a number of years but may also have helped me to hold on to that thread when it frayed.

After the first term at St Mary’s I flew home to a new home.  Kongwa, in central Tanganyika, was a small dusty town developed solely to support the growing of peanuts.  The scheme failed after less than a year and we left town in the back of a three-ton truck with my mother and three month old sister allowed to travel in the cab.  By various means we got to Nairobi where Dad started job-hunting, I went back to school and the rest of the family left for England while life was sorted out. 

Eventually the family reunited in Kampala, in Uganda.  It remained our family base until 1969 although Mum died when I was 14 after contracting tuberculosis.  A year later my sister started school and I left because there wasn’t enough money to educate three of us.  East Africa was no place for a 15 year old to start a career so I joined the British Royal Navy and only ever returned home for two or three brief visits.  Yet in a way, Africa defined me because if people ask where I came from, I still think ‘East Africa’.  When I went back a few years ago Kampala just felt right despite having changed dramatically in nearly 40 years.   My Swahili started to come back too!

The Navy was not as hard as it might have been as I had been at boarding school for seven years.  With 2,000 boys, training discipline was tight and we were kept fit - fitter than I have ever been since.  A defining moment came during the first big daily parade when it was time for prayers.  ‘Fall Out Roman Catholics” was the cry and you had to make the decision to stand out from your peers to go to pray elsewhere.  Pre Vatican 2 we were not supposed to say the same prayers as Protestants!  The whole parade stood in silence until we left.  It sounds easy but for a 15 year old to be different was hard - there seemed to be very few of us - but it gradually became easier.

Then I went to sea.  Catholic chaplains were scarce yet my habit was ingrained so I took every opportunity to attend Sunday Mass afloat or ashore when in port.  Mass then was in Latin and wherever you went, you knew just what was going on and could follow in your missal.  Except for the sermon when you could take time to look at all these foreign Catholics and wonder about them - particularly the girls (we were sailors after all!).  The thread was tested but it held.

Two years later I was accepted for aircrew training then it was back to sea for the next eleven years.  These were the years of Vatican 2 and change began.  Mass began to be said in the local language - more difficult to follow in foreign ports - then liturgy slowly began to change from country to country and even parish to parish.  The thread held.  Came the day of President Kennedy’s assassination and I was put on the spot - as senior Catholic I was expected to convene a Catholic Prayer Service as we were in the middle of the South Atlantic (Kennedy was a Catholic after all).  For the first time I had to decide what prayers to say and even to prepare and publically offer some myself - a daunting prospect to a ‘Missal Catholic’.  I can still remember the hollow feeling as I, a layperson, began to speak.  But the Holy Spirit held the thread together.

Around this time, the thread gained a new colour and texture.  In May 1964, on leave between trips to the Antarctic, I was in London and I heard of a dance in the crypt of a Catholic church just off Leicester Square.  It seemed a good idea to go.  Among the crowd was a lovely girl in an orange dress and we danced for much of the evening.  After another trip to the Antarctic and her spell as an ‘au pair’ in Paris, Pat and I married in August 1965.  Her strength, courage and love have been a major influence on my faith journey as well as my life.  That dress is still in her wardrobe!

We came to Australia (with three children under five) when I left the Navy in 1971.  After six months in Melbourne we moved to Bacchus Marsh, on the road to Ballarat.  St Bernard’s Parish became a key part of our lives.  In a new town in a new country with no relatives we deliberately plunged into parish life to meet people.  In that small country town the parishioners and the priests welcomed and cared for us.  In three years we felt almost like locals and it was sad to leave when we moved to Canberra.  The thread, with new colours, had strengthened and supported us.

We lived in Ainslie for the next 17 years.  With successive jobs in Marine Search and Rescue, Disaster Management and International Development, my wanderings continued but on a shorter-term basis.  Another son arrived and the four children attended St Brigid’s Primary, Daramalan and Merici Colleges.  We joined St Patrick’s Parish in Braddon and once again plunged into parish life, making many good friends.  For the first time we became involved in the liturgy as Readers, Special Ministers and, in my case, as an Acolyte.  A highlight was being an Acolyte when Pope John Paul II said Mass at the showgrounds.  After Communion, the Acolytes collected on a small mound near the bus park.  It was amazing to watch the white-clad figures drifting across from the crowd.  The bus drivers obviously felt somewhat threatened as our group grew, loudly singing ‘Here I Am, Lord’.  They began to edge back - apparently fearing conversion by association!

The thread now began strengthening.  Participation in the liturgy inspired a desire to learn more about a faith that had not been studied since childhood.  Homilies, particularly by Fathers Brian Maher and Tom Hunt, inspired exploration of what my faith was about.  I began to read more. 

As the children left home, I left the Public Service and established a small consulting business that mostly worked overseas - more wandering.  In  2001 we moved to Dunlop.  As forecast by our previous Parish Priest we ended up in St John’s Parish.

We found it a little hard to enter this close-knit community but once again we could join in parish life.  Faith formation by Fathers Chris McPhee, Jim Fallon, Michael Fallon and Mark Hanns has brought further spiritual growth.  Participation in the RCIA Programme provided my first structured faith development since leaving school all those years ago and was invaluable.  Father Michael’s Tuesday talks have been a particular inspiration.

My journey continues and the road ahead is never easy despite the map provided by Jesus and the saints.  I have always had problems with flowery poetic language with, to quote the Dominican Hubert Van Zeller, ‘wine-presses, turtle doves and gardens of cucumbers’.  I have been more inspired by a childhood tale of a monk who said, when found juggling before the altar, that it was the only thing he could do well so he did it for God.  My patron saint, a carpenter who never speaks in the Gospels yet helped to bring Jesus to manhood, has also been an inspiration.  He probably wasn’t too good with the flowery language either.  My prayers are often actions offered.

Another inspiration has been Mass in thirty or more countries where I have seen people from all sorts of backgrounds on their own faith journeys.  Their welcomes, either verbal, or by smiles when we had no common language, have always been genuine and caring.  Others on the same journey, Christians of all denominations as well as Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and others have also inspired as they live their daily lives - like us seeking a spiritual dimension as well as the earthly needs of food, water, shelter and a better life for their children.  It has always helped to remember that they are as much in God’s eye as we are.  Watching a heavily armed Muslim in Afghanistan lay out his prayer mat in the road to pray to the one God is humbling to a Catholic who rarely shows faith in public..

Father Tom Hunt used to liken our lives to a picture that we will present to God when we die.  It should have bright colours, light and shade.  If it is all one colour, it will not be a picture and if there is no light and shade it will be bland.  We never know how our picture will look when we present it but everyone we have met and everything we have done will appear in it.  Perhaps my picture will be a tapestry made with thread.  Hopefully this will be acceptable to God.

If I may finish the rusty language of my youth - Swahili.  Asante sana rafiki zangu.  Umekwisha angalia mgeni hizi. Thank you my friends - you have welcomed these strangers.  And thank you all for helping with my thread and my picture.

Helen Kennedy - 6.00p.m. Mass - January 31 2009

"The Butterfly"

I have chosen the life cycle of the butterfly to reflect some of the stages of my spiritual journey. Butterflies pass through four distinct stages in their lives: egg, larva, pupa, and adult.

The life cycle commences with the egg. Females lay their very small eggs near plants that will later become their food source. The eggs are of many sizes, shapes and colours. The egg stage I have compared to my infancy and early childhood.

I was born in Ballarat in Victoria in the early 1950s. My parents were Catholic. I was the eldest of three children. My school life commenced at age 4 with the Loreto nuns. I have fond memories of my early Kindergarten and Primary school. It was mainly at school that I learned of God and of Jesus. We attended Sunday Mass as a family, but other than that, religion was not discussed at home.
The butterfly egg hatches into a tiny larva called a caterpillar. At this stage it devours its food source and does all its growing. In order to grow the caterpillar sheds its skin, moulting many times in order to accommodate its larger size.

My growth to adulthood can be compared to this. My early life was lived according to rules, at home, at school and at church. I often accommodated myself to be what I thought others expected me to be. There were many dysfunctional aspects in this period of my growth. I lived in a family environment, a Catholic/Christian atmosphere of ‘the fifties’. Love was discipline, and dialogue wasn’t encouraged. My faith was ‘learned’ at school mostly in the form of memorized Catechism questions. In many ways the rules were easy; everything was black and white. The myth of God as the giant benevolent cop in the sky was strong, and Jesus was presented as all God, barely human at all. A part of my schooling, however, brought me to know a loving Jesus. I still remember the longing to receive my First Holy Communion.
It wasn’t until my last years of school that things became different. Vatican 11 was making changes, the nuns clothing changed! In the churches the altar was moved to face the congregation and the communion rails were taken away. We were encouraged to think more for ourselves. I became sympathetic to the less fortunate. I wanted to change the world – reduce poverty, stop war!

Daily Mass attendance had been part of my youth. It was powerful for me, giving me the graces I required each day. It was a time to just ‘be’ and receive that energy that only God can give.
After 13 years at the same school with the Loreto nuns, I commenced my Nursing Training with the St. John of God Nuns. I was able to continue my practice of daily Mass. There were also regular Masses just for the Nurses in the Convent Chapel– folk Masses with Guitars! We sang different songs like ‘Kumbaya’! I played the guitar. There became opportunities for faith discussion. Later, we participated in Rock masses complete with a full Band, including drums! This was the 60s! Our many young priests were vibrant and energetic but unfortunately our Bishop wasn’t, and many of the Vatican 11 changes were not welcomed. Often the priests would be summoned to the Bishop’s Palace to ‘Explain and Refrain’!
As this caterpillar continued to grow, the food sources of leaves and stems became: a move to Melbourne, marriage, motherhood and the move to Canberra with two young children. We joined St. John’s Parish. I thought that things were pretty good. I had a good husband with a secure job, two beautiful children – a boy and a girl, a lovely home… What more could I want?

I remember Father Harry reminding me at the time, not to forget God ‘in all that’. I became a Catechist and taught Religion in the Higgins Primary School and became involved in a few Parish activities. The next years became a time of many crises and struggles. My daughter, Ruth, was diagnosed as profoundly handicapped with Cerebral Palsy, Epilepsy and Scoliosis. My husband, John and I separated and then divorced.

I had times where I was pretty angry with God!
Why me! Haven’t you given me enough!

I quote a wise lady, Mary d’Apice:

“God provides us with everything we need in life to come to wholeness by living well the lives we have. If there are those who lack the goods of life, it is not because God does not provide them. It is because we do not provide them. God is not a ringmaster. Life, if we allow it, is what grooms us to the point of godliness. God is what waits to fulfill us when we have finally filled ourselves to the ready point.”
Was I ready?

I ‘shed many skins’, ‘moulting’ to accommodate change. However, my faith remained. I was able to feel the grace of this Community, the love of friends and came to experience yet another dimension of God.
Ruth, although she was never able to talk, walk or even feed herself, taught me about inner beauty, the God within. Ruth received First Eucharist, and would often come to morning Mass with me. She loved the Wednesday evening Antioch Mass, with all the lovely young people, full of happiness and enthusiasm. Through her I learned to trust. I came to see God in Ruth’s extreme physical and mental handicap, her total dependence, her happy disposition, her many trips to Sydney for Spinal surgery and finally her in dying. These were blessed times!

The last moulting of the butterfly reveals the crystalis or pupa. This is the transformation stage. Some caterpillars spin a cocoon first, but most just fasten themselves to a plant with a silken thread. Although the pupa outwardly looks inert and resting, inside it is a bubbling cauldron of activity as the butterfly is literally liquefied, then reassembled into a very different creature.

This was a dark and painful time for me. I did spin a cocoon and I hid inside it for a while. There were four significant events that impacted very heavily on my life to follow- my second marriage, the death of my mother, the death of my daughter and my decision to move out from my second marriage.
I then experienced Cursillo.

I can still remember the first talk on the first night when I really heard:

God loved me! It became real.

This was a turning point. I had been suffering from something I’ve heard referred to as ‘divine homesickness’. I was searching for a more meaningful spirituality.
Earlier, when many others were involved with Marriage Encounter, I went through the ‘Annulment’ process. That was a fairly confronting experience, but also helped me to heal. The ‘Beginning Experience’ gave me the support and guidance to deal with the ending of my first marriage, and much later, I did Retrovaille. This is for couples with problems. These were all helpful.

I developed trust in myself. I came to a real conviction of my own worth. We all have so many gifts but all too often they are not brought into fruition because of certain family, personality or social limitations. Jesus calls us to a life of wholeness (John 10:10).

I was starting to believe this, to live it.

As a result of my Cursillo experience I joined a Prayer Group. We meet weekly, eight ladies, to pray, share our faith and our life experiences. Tuesday Evening is special. I treasure this time to share my faith with these friends. We even plan and conduct our own retreat every year, something that has bonded us and helped to deepen our spirituality.

My family has life changed. I now live alone. I am concerned with enriching the lives of others and of being a part of this community. My work at Calvary Hospital is also a part of my Spirituality. Each day I work with patients and a team of Specialists in the Operating Theatres. I try to see each person as someone’s mother or father or child, to care for them in a special way; to see Jesus in them. I see God in the birth of a baby, an old person’s smile, the surgeon’s skills.

I can now relate to a human Jesus, a person who experienced the pains and the joys of life, and more particularly, who taught us how to love. My God is a loving God and is present to me in the beautiful people in my life, but very often God is in those that I have the greatest difficulty relating to.
I became a Special Minister and this year Father Michael invited me to become a Senior Server. This ministry gives me an opportunity to show my reverence and respect and my joy in sharing with my community.

I try to take time each day to pray. I’m a morning person and love to get out of bed early and have that time to do a little meditating, although I have a long way to go with that.
I love to read, and have found Michael’s commentaries a great help to understanding my faith. Our priests and many of the community have encouraged, inspired and challenged me, for which I am grateful.
I continue to question a male-dominated Church and the role of women. I do imagine married priests. Before, I would struggle with the who or what is God?; but, as Saint Augustine said:
“If you have understood, then what you have understood is not God”.

Back to the caterpillar! As the pupa splits, the fully-grown insect that emerges is weak, its wings are damp and crumpled, they then expand as blood and air from the body is pumped into them. A little warming in the sun and it is ready to fly away. This is an adult, a butterfly!
***
My damp and crumpled wings were now drying; I had come through my crises; experienced Elizabeth Kubler Ross’ stages of grief, many times over, and come to acceptance of my changed life
Previously I had withdrawn in my cocoon, from acknowledging and sharing the inner me. Now I am flying. But butterflies are not on the go all the time. They frequently stop and rest on flowers. I am learning to stop and smell the roses and to just ‘be’ and to quote the psalmist:
“Be still and know that I am God”. Psalm 46:10

Brian Mahony- 6pm Mass - January 25 2009

Some time ago Fr. Michael asked me to give my witness.

Here I am in the stand. Neither judge nor jurors do I see. So, you, I take as my captured gallery.I take it as being about my reasons why I still come through the portals in our catholic bricks.

Recently I read that a good story is composed and best related, if you know the ending.Well at 74, what I know about the ending is that it is nearer.

My problem with story telling is remembering the punch-line!So I’ll put the punch-line out there now.

It is: ‘THE TABLE’.The one in front of us.

Firstly, a little fast back-tracking. If you have ever done truck driving your vision ahead is assisted by frequent viewing of the rear-vision mirrors. Checking that, ‘that goes with that’ and ‘this goes with this’ – especially if the load is your own luggage or baggage.

My first ‘that’ would be the gift that my parents were to the six of us. My hope is that I was as much of a gift to them as they were to us.

Then later, “‘another that’ I picked up a ‘fear’. Remember those Parish Missions? ‘The Angel of Death’ may bop you on the head and down to Nick you go… for all eternity. Now that’s a helluva long time.

Now a ‘this’, So conform… jump through the hoops… over the bars whenever they are raised… sometimes a Limbo Rock under it – enjoyed it – but paid for it. Keep the LAW. Later on, there must be more to life… living… than conforming to the LAW.

Then a realisation – a change, a movement from LAW to LOVE.

After a period of time, 1 John 4 became vibrant:

            “… this is the love I mean not our love for Godbut God’s love for us…”

Yet another ‘this’ encountered.

Which brings me to my punch line: THE TABLE here before us.

More than the elements that are on the TABLE, more than the words and the actions…The meaning:

Over the TABLE I lay a MAGIC EYE A MAGIC EYE painting: usually pastel shaded curved strokes, uniformly brushed across a 2D surface. Then once your viewing faculties relax you see the painter’s real expertise: there is a porpoise gambolling over the surface. Whenever your eyes are relaxed on each return to the painting the same 3D image is there for you and whomsoever.

Another MAGIC EYE may be the Endeavour sighting Cape Hicks for the first time.

Over THE TABLE: The bread and wine; fruit of the earth, fruit of the vine,the work of human hands representing me, each of us and as the priest prays when accepting the gifts (us)… that we may share in the divinity of Christ

What an offer! This is powerfully energising, yes – extraordinary!

I recall Meister Eckhart (13th Century): “Our Lord says to every living soul, I became human for you. If you do not become God for me, you do me wrong.” That bread is me - you – US“Take this all of you and eat it. This is my body, which will be given up for you” Personally I add, “Father”. Recently at a Eucharist the priest’s hands indicated those present then focused on the bread …

St Augustine came to mind …“Thou shall not change ME into yourself, as food of yourself but you shall be changed into ME.” What is on offer to each of us! Remember Jesus was a Jew and celebrating the Passover Meal. ‘after they had supped he took the cup’ ‘the cup’ not his not Peter not Judas’ (left behind) but ‘the cup’. I like to think of ‘the cup’ as that cup of the third toast of the ritual …

It was poured for Elijah (the fellow whose funeral plan contained a fiery chariot plus ‘fiery horses’ and off he went heavenly. Their legend was that he was to herald the advent of the Messiah – why at this stage a door was opened awaiting his arrival! And, as I like to accept, if this was ‘the cup’ what a powerful message to those present (and to me – us today).

Did the apostles pick up the symbolism there and then? How much got through to them at that time? The whole night was a messy affair:

• Judas was about to sell him off;
• Two were fighting over leadership places;
• Peter refused to have his feet washed – relented and requested a shampoo as well;
• At least three had swords …

Any more messy than tonight – if you accept that we are the bread and wine ?So with the assistance of THE MAGIC EYE there is so much beyond the TABLE’S surface, words and actions.

WE move along at the Eucharist to We, though with in him in union with the Holy Spirit …

A scriptural 3: A trinity of: Movement Relationship Energy. All honour and glory to you, Father…

A scriptural 4: Togetherness, Closeness, Presence, An embrace.

All on offer We are on a roll: Our Father…Got you. Wrong!

The embrace is God’s, my/our Father’s. A telling image from Hosea…

“I was like someone who lifts an infant close against his cheek stooping down to him I gave him his food.” (11.4)

Mums, Dads, Grannies, Pops, all big brothers, big sisters you know that embrace. We are embraced. That’s where the ‘Our’ comes from. We are caught up in Yahweh’s Presence.

Another embrace: Look over there, the crucifix. But why do I nail the embrace back? I’m told,Brian, my yoke is easy and lad, my burden is light.

I’d always considered the yoke as a collar to keep me on track just as the bullocks hauling a rather large load … but as an embrace …Yes the message is getting through.

I’ll conclude with a verse by a friend of mine, a nun on mission in South Korea some years back. She accompanied one of the other nuns, a G.P. to assist with a birth near the DMZ zone. Her verse is colourful, stark, vivid, pithy. The birth was the first she had attended. On arriving home she delivered:

“The Eucharist is like the placenta The food and blood of life

feeding and nourishing embryonic form huddled together in the Womb of God.”

My witness…

Why I continue to come through our catholic bricks.

Thank you.

Rob Caskie - 10.00am Mass - January 18 2009

'My Spiritual Journey'

Thanks so much Father Michael for this opportunity to share my spiritual journey this morning.  I’ve managed to listen to 3 previous reflections from parish members and enjoyed each one very much – it’s a great initiative of the parish.

I’d like to divide this reflection into three parts, not for the obvious Trinitarian symbolism, but because my spiritual journey thus far can be divided into three distinct chapters.  

Chapter One is the only part that has precise start and end points.  The starting point for Chapter One is 4 July 1965, which was the date of my baptism.  I was born in Cootamundra, a country town in NSW about 160km from Canberra.  Its main claim to fame is that it is the birthplace of Sir Donald Bradman – and as I discovered later, the Cootamundra parish is also the twin parish for St John’s.  However, it wasn’t into the Catholic Church that I was baptised; rather, it was the Presbyterian Church.

Baptism into the Christian faith is an immensely important rite for all recipients.  It is irrelevant that most don’t remember their own baptism.  The fact is, I was brought forward in faith by my parents and received into a Christian community.  Although matters of the spirit were virtually never discussed with my parents in my childhood our family nevertheless attended church every Sunday and I developed an awareness of the existence and goodness of God.

My strongest images of God from childhood were formulated from a bible I was given by my grandparents – “The Illustrated Children’s Bible”.  One particular image showed Noah in his ark with the floodwaters rising, with a few poor souls reaching out to the ark with pleading arms from the tops of rocks and trees.  I remember thinking that if I had lived at that time, I’d really, really like to be on that ark and not clinging to a rock with no hope of survival.  I guess it confirmed my general perception that God was on the side of good – but He was someone not to be messed with, less I suffer death or at best, great misfortune.  

In any case, I loved growing up in Cootamundra and I am extraordinarily grateful to my parents for introducing me to the Christian community and encouraging the development of an understanding of God.

The end date for Chapter One of my spiritual journey (and the start point for Chapter Two) was 4 April 1984.  I was by now a first year University student at ANU in Canberra and was introduced to a small Christian evangelical group on campus known as the “Navigators”.  In many ways I was “ready to be harvested” as a disciple, and it was a fairly simple matter of agreeing to accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour, which I did alone in my room on campus one evening.  For me, this moment of revelation and acceptance was accompanied by an incredible, physical feeling of joy, which lasted for close to an hour.  I haven’t experienced a feeling quite like it since, and I believe that this was a manifestation of the Holy Spirit awakening within me.

It was a brilliant time to be a new believer – as a pre-HECS tertiary student, I had no financial concerns (holiday jobs paid my way through University), and as an Arts student, I had lots of spare time!  I eagerly read the scriptures, bible commentaries and Christian literature, and attended bible studies, prayer groups and retreats.  And as so happens with young, zealous converts, I couldn’t understand why everyone else couldn’t see the truth like I did!  Looking back, I am grateful for my friends and family, who put up with my at-times “spiritual over-enthusiasm” with commendable patience.

Post-graduation I moved to Sydney, where God led me to a happy and spirit-filled church at Maroubra Baptist.  I was also introduced to Jacquie, and two years after meeting we married and moved to Canberra.  We found our Christian community at North Belconnen Baptist Church.  We were very happy there; indeed, we met people there who remain amongst our closest friends today.

Life moved ahead as many here would be familiar with – work, mortgage and children (3 to be exact – children, not mortgages).  It was some time at the end of 1996 that Chapter Two grew fainter and Chapter Three emerged.

The time came for Joel, our eldest child, to commence his primary schooling.  We decided to educate Joel in the Catholic system, because we were impressed by the fact that the Christian faith was a natural part of the curriculum and school life.

A Catholic friend then encouraged me to find out for myself the religious education Joel would be taught the following year, and he forwarded me some Catholic literature and audiotapes.

I was quite unprepared for what was to follow.

In all my time as a protestant Christian, I had never taken the time to seriously investigate the Catholic position.  I believed that the Catholic Church had served God’s purpose for 1500 years but had of necessity gone through the so-called Great Reformation.  In my view, protestant evangelical Christianity was the “true faith” – other Christian belief was well intentioned but ultimately missed the mark.

I began to understand Catholic doctrine and found myself agreeing with its logic and firm root in the Scriptures.  I also realised how the traditions of the Catholic Church added greatly to the understanding of doctrinal issues and that “Scripture alone” was indeed not wholly sufficient.  It was truly an unexpected revelation.

Whilst I continued in my pursuit of faith within the Catholic Church, the idea was not quite so appealing to Jacquie.  In fact, Jacquie was suffering from post-natal depression at this time after the birth of our third child, Lauren, and the “Catholic issue” caused strain in our relationship.

In 1999, God answered our prayers for a job transfer to Perth, where Jacquie could receive additional family support from her parents.

I was confirmed a Catholic in June 2000.  Later that month our children Joel, Emma and Lauren were baptised at St Thomas More’s, Bateman.  Bateman Parish was our first Catholic parish as a family, and I thank God for leading us there.  With the wonderful Father Michael Keating at the helm and support from gifted assistant priests, it showed us that the Catholic Church could be a truly vibrant, faith-filled place of worship and community.

Through all this time, Jacquie supported me in my faith journey, and I thank God for her.  It was not an easy thing for her to do, as her faith experience was travelling at a different pace, and on a slightly different tangent, to my own.  Her desire to see our family united in faith was a driving influence and the more I reflect on this, the greater is my respect and love for her.

As I look back on this time, I realise that my great desire to learn about the Catholic faith meant that I was sometimes blind to the needs of Jacquie.  My focus was so strong and I wanted it all to happen sooner rather than later.  Certainly a more patient and considerate approach would have been desirable.  My biggest problem was that I wanted to embrace EVERYTHING in the literal, traditional Catholic sense – and I thought Jacquie would just naturally agree that this would be the best way to go.  I’ve thankfully moved on from this understanding of Catholic theology, and I will expand on this at the end of this reflection.

At the start of 2006, our family returned to Canberra and we are now here at St John’s.  Again, I am blessed with a lively, welcoming church where the Holy Spirit is truly active.  We are fortunate to have Fathers Michael and Mark to guide us – Father Michael’s teaching in particular is a true gift to this parish and one that I have personally relished enormously.

So, what has nine years as a Catholic taught me?

Firstly, whilst I have embraced the Catholic understanding of the Christian faith, some Catholic practices are harder to adapt to than others.  In particular, reconciliation is one church practice that has been more difficult to come to terms with than most.  Being so used to a private confession of sin as a Protestant, this was a bit of a culture shock.  I’m still working on this one………

However, one practice, which I believe gives the church great depth and richness is the veneration of its saints.  It is a wonderful expression of the universality of the church through time, in that we can embrace the lives of women and men of faith that have come before us, and petition them to pray on our behalf to God.  And forget about contemporary actors, musicians and sportspeople – saints are the real role models.

My own confirmation saint is St Thomas More, a martyr of the church in 16th century England.  His integrity and steadfastness is truly inspiring and helps to motivate me to try to emulate these attributes in my own life.

I’d like to finish this reflection with a few thoughts on perhaps the most important aspect of Chapter 3 of my spiritual journey – that of moving away from a “traditional” view of Catholicism.  I need to stress here that this does not mean a rejection of Catholic orthodoxy, or any radical change in how I view the church.  I have embraced Catholicism and have no desire to belong to any other Christian church.  Its teachings are sound and are based on 2,000 years of collective wisdom.  Yet church doctrine is an evolving process and is necessarily adjusted to advances in science and our increasing understanding of our world.  The essentials will always remain the same – the Trinity, Christ’s atonement for our sin and so forth – but some matters are not quite so cut and dried.  Issues such as homosexuality and contraception are NOT black and white and I don’t think that anyone can state with any authority or certainty what Christians should believe on all issues.

In the past, I had the belief that God had revealed to us all we needed to know on every issue, and that this could be explained through either examining the Scriptures (when I was a Protestant) or by referring to the Catholic Catechism.  This is how I used to live my faith – well-intentioned and with a great desire to serve God – but really, I have come to see that this way of life ends up stifling spiritual growth.  We simply don’t have an answer for every issue – and God wants it that way.  Only by wrestling with issues can we grow, even if we ultimately never know the answer.  The journey is really more important than the outcome (although our common destination should always be salvation!)

It’s taken a while for me to realise a truth probably obviously to most, and I have been blessed that the two Catholic parishes to which I have belonged have helped greatly to assist in my journey.

One last thought (I promise) – whenever you can, read the gospels.  It helps to remind us of who Jesus is and what he thought about power, money and what real love is.  And really, this radical Christian love should be the cornerstone of our lives.

John Hogan - 8.30am Mass - January 4 2009

A Story from the Book of “John” – A Journey of Faith Spanning Three Score Years

The Human Race is a relay marathon, not a sprint, in which each generation participates for only a short period of time before handing on the baton to the next generation.  The duration of each participant’s race is a period of time known in advance, only by the Father, for the skin that you’re in, is a skin that God chose and your Spirit a breath from God!   Neil Diamond suggests – There are “No Words” that can solve life’s mystery or explain God’s eternal plan. We only know enough to ask the questions, not enough to understand!

The journey so far - “It all began when I was a lad!”

I entered the race on the 6th March 1948, in the Mercy Hospital in East Melbourne.  The middle child of three sons to Denis and Kathleen

Both of my parents were products of traditional Irish Catholic heritage and grew up in the Melbourne suburb of Brunswick ~ 4 miles north of the City.  My maternal grandfather was a grocer, who owner a store on the corner of Barrow and Donald Streets, Brunswick and much of my early childhood was focused around that area.

As a little fella, I was emersed in Catholic culture and tradition - the crucifix, the sign of the cross, grace before meals, a simple prayer each night before going to bed, Sunday Mass, holy pictures – the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, - Uncles, Aunties and Cousins with the same beliefs, practices and customs, were all part of my world.

In May 1954 we moved into our new home in Ashwood 8 miles south east of the city, complete with crepe paper curtains and polished wooden floors.  Being on the eastern side of Warrigal Road, in those days the area was classified as “Country”.  We had electricity and reticulated water, but no made road, curb or guttering, telephone, or sewerage.  Those municipal services were slowly provided over the next decade and it was a big deal each time one of them was connected.

From a very early age we were taught – “your brothers are your best friends” – they still are – and it is something that we have passed on to the next generation.  Those early years were a time for billycarts, crystal sets, backyard cricket and football and stringing homemade telephone sets between the neighbouring kids’ houses.

Because we were on the eastern side of Warrigal Road, we belonged to St Benedict’ Parish, Burwood, where I was enrolled in the Primary School run by the Blue & White Marist Nuns – Sisters Placid, de Montfort, Angelis & Salonge were truly Angels on earth – the kindest and gentlest women you could ever be blessed to meet.

With the aid of butchers paper and pastel crayon drawings, they would recount to us the bible stories and they taught us about Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  We would start the day with a prayer, at midday the school bell would toll and we would stand and recite the Angelus.  Grace before lunch, Grace after lunch and a prayer before going home.  We were also taught and encouraged to say the Rosary.

In Grade 4, Fr Bernie Dillon recruited us to be Altar Boys, resplendent in white Surplice (three of which Mum would wash, starch and iron every week) and black Soutane.  My Dad, having been an altar boy himself, taught us the Latin and would drill us with the responses until we knew them by rote.  We learned when to move the missal on the polished brass book stand, from side to side, bring up the cruets and then the water and cloth for the Priest to wash his fingers, when and how to ring the bells, flip the communion cloth over the communion rails and hold the communion plate.

The large highly reflective gold plated communion plate was placed under the chin of each communicant to catch the Host, should it be accidentally dropped.   The plate tended to magnify the images it reflected.  As a nine year old, I saw a collection of some pretty ordinary tongues.

On the first Friday of each month we had Benediction at 7 pm.  This was a chance to carry the Brass Cross, exercise the Thurible, carry the Incense Boat and place the Cope on the Priest’s shoulders.  The Organ would play and the congregation would sing those beautiful hymns – Sweet Sacrament Divine, Faith of Our Fathers and Hail Queen of Heaven.  The whole family used to attend Benediction and would go home feeling uplifted.

Once a month we had a Solemn High Mass – with lots of singing, lots of prayers, lots of smoke and a big procession around the church – with a full sermon – at least a one and a half hour session.

Although we were in St Benedict’s Parish, St Michael’s Church was closer so on occasions we would attend Mass at St Michael’s where in those days Fr Bob McGuire was a young curate. His sermons were always straight from the heart, full of passion, no prisoners taken and if you didn’t like what he was preaching, a dare to report him to the Archbishop!

Friday was Fish and Chips day, something to look forward to at the end of each week.  

Mum and Dad were always very hospitable - Priests, Brothers, Monks from Tarrawarra, Nuns and Irishmen were all regular visitors to our homes, so were our 18 first cousins who would visit regularly and were always warmly received.

Sunday afternoon was the time to do the baking, Mum would crank up the Rayburn slow combustion stove and produce a feast of goodies for the coming week.   A particular favourite was the large round but fairly flat fruit scone cake, baked until it was an even golden brown colour.  Uncle Dick christened it “Cow Cake” – but it still tasted good!

In those days, Our Lady was particularly active promoting Her Son’s work.  Her statue constantly moved around the parish and every few months would reside in our house or a house nearby, so for that week, after dinner all the neighbouring Catholics would assemble at that house and would recite the Rosary.  We especially prayed for an end to Communism and the conversion of Russia.

At the end of grade 4 it was time to leave the Nuns and move onto the Brothers.

De La Salle College Malvern, - Mighty men doing ordinary things extraordinarily well.

Just like a champion football team, from 1958 to 1962 De La had a champion community of Brothers and I was privileged to attend the college during those years.

I still retain the image of these tall young men suddenly appearing out of a thick Melbourne fog, dressed in black robes with black mantles (we called them Bat Man Capes) and black skull caps, moving swiftly yet silently in single file.

There was one very pious, studious but extremely shy Brother, who was tall but of slender build.  The kids sized him up and down and quickly gave him the nickname “Friday” – Being pre Vatican 2 - They reckoned there was No Meat on Friday!

Apart from the academic pursuits, there were also the extra curricular activities of handball, football, cricket, swimming, choir and cadets.  The Brothers would take an active role in supervising and participating in these activities and in this way interact with the boys in a less formal setting.  The relationship was not so much master – pupil but rather older brother mentoring a younger sibling.

In those days, the strap was used as a means of discipline and control but seldom as a first line of defence, the knowledge that it was there was usually deterrent enough

Religious education was paramount and the Brothers built on the solid foundations laid down by the Nuns.  First Friday Masses at St Joseph’s Church were something to behold when 800+ students all in school uniform would pack the church.  The large pipe organ would play, the Matric & Treble choirs would lead the singing and the rest of the school would be encouraged to join in.

Piety and reverence were strongly encouraged, either kneel up straight or sit up straight, no slouching and no 3 point landings!  Regular confession and visits to the chapel were also encouraged. 

Life long friendships developed during this period and 50 years on are still strong and vibrant.  They remain an affirmation of the values learned half a century ago.  Television was still new and most homes only had radios, so we developed an interest in crystal set and transistors.  One of our friends was particularly gifted in this area and as a 14 year old, constructed a diorama of the Christmas scene using plaster, cement, paint, tape recorders, micro-switches and with a myriad of low voltage globes, wires and transformers would graphically recreate the gospel story of the birth of Jesus, complete with moving star and a twinkling night sky accurately formatted to present the night sky as it would have appeared in Bethlehem on 25th December.

From the mid 1960’s for almost a decade, Vianney’s nativity scene was a regular feature at St Francis Church, Melbourne, during the months of December and January.

This was also the time of the big blockbuster biblical movies - The Ten Commandments (1956), Ben Hur (1959) and Spartacus (1960) which brought to life and reinforced the bible stories with which we were already familiar.  There was also a black & white ethnic language film with sub titles that ran too fast, in which a little kid who was living at a monastery was bitten by a scorpion and suffered a terrible agony – that one gave me the creeps!

During the Christmas school holidays, my older brother and I spent a week with the Cistercian Monks at Tarrawarra.  We stayed in the guest cottage and during the day we worked on the farm, helped in the construction of the chook sheds, swam in the Yarra River, went to Mass in the Abby church and learned rudimentary sign language

In 1963 I left home and entered the De La Salle Brothers Junior Novitiate at Burradoo, just outside of Bowral, where I completed my secondary education.  Weekday Mass was celebrated by an MSC Priest from Chevalier College and on weekends the Blessed Sacrament Fathers from Mt Eymard would do the honours.  Br Xavier Johansen was our Brother Director.  He was a very kind, thoughtful man with a keen sense of fun always ready to encourage and provide wise counsel and I am sure is looking down and smiling at this very moment.

In January 1966 I entered the Brother’s Novitiate at Castle Hill.  Towards the end of that year I discerned that God had other plans for me and I returned to my family in Melbourne, where I joined the Commonwealth Public Service.

There is a special bond of fraternal friendship that still exits between the Burradoo boys and the Brothers and when ever a reunion is organised it is always eagerly anticipated and well attended by both Brothers and old boys.  There is also an annual DLS Canberra reunion open to any former DLS students.

In January1968 the family moved from Melbourne to Canberra as part of the Dept of Supply move.  We settled in Garran and were members of Fr John Kelly’s parish of St Peter and Paul’s.

“This was the 60’s Man” –  long hair, Beetles records, purple flared pants and now post Vatican 2 - traditional values were being turned on their head – but having a strong faith background, we knew what was important and where our guiding reference star was.  The Mass and the sacraments remained central to our way of life.

In July 1969 I started work in the administration office of Canberra Airport.   The following day I met a Flight Instructor and after he coaxed me to part with $15.00 for a Trial Instructional Flight, my direction in life changed forever.  For the past four decades aviation has presented me with many challenging, exciting and truly awe inspiring moments.

In August 1970 I took a beautiful young nurse to the Airmen’s Mid Winter Ball at RAAF Base Fairbairn and in December 1972, 4 days after her 21st birthday we were married at St Thomas Moore’s Catholic Church in Campbell.  That night we moved into our new home in Holt and 36 years later it remains our family home.

It wasn’t long before Fr Harry came a knocking on the door and we were quickly signed up as members of the new Kippax community of St John the Apostle. 

In the mid 70 my parents bought a townhouse in O’Dea Place.  The trees were all still small and there weren’t many street lights.  From the front bedroom windows, of a night time you could look across to St John’s and see the red Sanctuary lamp burning.  Our little blokes would go around to stay the night at Gran’s place and as long as they could see Jesus’ red light, their world was good, they would settle and go to sleep.

Since its inception there has been something special and extraordinary about our parish of St John the Apostle.  At the beginning, we were fortunate to have a large core group of young committed catholic families many of whom contributed and continue to contribute to the life and well being of our parish and it is wonderful to see that tradition continuing in the next generation.  Guiding the parish we have been especially blessed to have had such a tremendous community of MSC priests and brothers and I would like to particularly remind you of our own two MSC Saints, Br Bernie Macdonald and Fr Jim Fallon who I am sure are helping to keep the Spirit alive in our community.

From my own perspective I think the most challenging yet rewarding parish program I have had the honour of being associated with is the RCIA Program.  Travelling the journey with the Catechumens and then at the Easter Vigil Mass, to see the expressions of delight and sheer bliss on the faces of these newly Baptised and Confirmed Catholics is something special to behold.

The privilege of Eucharistic Minister is also a special blessing.  Being able to present the Blessed Eucharist to Communicants by raising the Host and saying the words “The Body of Christ” – while looking through the eyes into the Soul and hearing it affirm “Amen” is a truly wonderful expression of faith.

God blessed Cathy and myself with 5 sons, the youngest of whom is now 26 and we have also been blessed with 5 grandchildren – 3 boys and 2 girls

So where to from here?  How many more spins of the earth or how many orbits of the sun remain?  At what point am I scheduled to retire from this Human Race? - Only the Father knows the answer to that question – but I recon it’s a fairly safe bet that I have entered the final third of the race.  I was talking to one of the young fellas a while ago about the meaning of life and he complained to me that when he went to weddings, the old maiden aunts would come up to him, poke him in the ribs and cackle – You’ll be next, You’ll be next. He said he soon put a stop to that when he started doing the same thing to them at funerals!

What’s left to do? – Pass on to the children the faith that has been handed on to us down through the generations.  Be interested in the things of the next generation and interact with the young ones.  What I have observed with the grandchildren is that although they are small and may not articulate much, they are in reality little knowledge sponges.  Their receptors are soaking up everything, laying it down in memory tracks ready to be recalled in minute detail, often years later.

A final question from a five year old for you to ponder:  - The scene is the quite period of reflection just after Holy Communion – a whispering voice and a little hand pointing to the Tabernacle – “Grandad, How does Big God fit in that little box?”

You have rested long enough, while I have recounted to you the story of my faith journey, there is much more to tell for it is difficult to compress the experiences of three score years into a few minutes.  Together our journeys must now continue.  It is time to whistle up Tobias’s dog and for us to be on our way.

Before the Mass continues, I would ask you to take a moment to refocus your attention by remembering that we are in the Holy Presence of God.

Links and further inspiration:

www.cistercian.org.au

www.stfrancismelbourne.org.au

www.delasalle.org.au

www.casalasalle.com

Monty Python Sings:

Just re-member that your standing on a planet that's evolving,

and revolving at nine hundred miles an hour...

That's orbiting at ninety miles a second, so it's reckoned,

the sun that is the source of all our power.

The sun and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,

are moving at a million miles a day.

in an outer spiral-arm at forty thousand miles an hour

of the galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars,

it's a hundred thousand lightyears side to side.

It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand lightyears thick,

but out by us it's just three thousand lightyears wide.

We're thirty thousand lightyears from galactic central point,

we go 'round every two hundred million years.

And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions,

in this amazing and expanding universe.

THE ALTAR-BOY by John O'Brien (1878 – 1952)

Now McEvoy was altar-boy as long as I remember;
He was, bedad, a crabbéd lad, and sixty come December.
Faith, no one dared to "interfere" in things the which concernin
''Twas right and just to him to trust who had the bit o' learnin'

To serve the priest; and here at least he never proved defaulter;
So, wet or dry, you could rely to find him on the Altar.
The acolyte in surplice white some admiration rouses:
But McEvoy was altar-boy in "Sund'y coat-'n-trouses."

And out he'd steer, the eye severe the depths behind him plumbin
"In dread, I wot (he once was "cot"), the priest might, not be comin':
Then, stepping slow on heel and toe, no more he'd fail or falter,
But set likewise with hands and eyes he'd move about the Altar.

A master-stroke of other folk might start the opposition,
And some, mebbe, in jealousy bedoubt their erudition;
But McEvoy was altar-boy and, spite of all their chattin',
It "put the stuns" on lesser ones to hear him run the Latin.

And faith, he knew the business through, the rubrics and the psalter;
You never met his "aikals" yet when servin' on the Altar.
The priest, indeed, might take the lead by right of Holy Orders,
But McEvoy was altar-boy, and just upon the borders.

So sermons dry he'd signify with puckered brows behoovin',
An', if you please, at homilies he'd nod the head approvin';
And all the while a cute old smile picked out the chief defaulter;
Faith, wet or dry, the crabbéd eye would "vet" you from the Altar.

Janelle Brice - 6.00pm Mass - January 3 2009

"Journey of Faith"

      During April, 1998, I had an opportunity to visit Turkey with a pilgrimage tour that followed the footsteps of St Paul and included the Holy places of Israel. We also went to Rome for 2 days. This was a faith journey in a physical sense but really didn’t have much to do with my heart. I certainly enjoyed the experience and shared much with my fellow travellers while participating in the activities, times of prayer and just being together. It was good fun. The buildings, the places were historically and culturally interesting but tourism was the emphasis more than the religious significance. Also, particularly in Jerusalem, the territorial divisions of the various faiths made me feel a little uncomfortable. There are many differing ideas of what happened where, when, eg, I visited 3 different sites where Mary apparently ascended to heaven.

When I returned home I realised that Christianity, its meaning and relevance in our post- modern world had many different aspects. I thought about the experience of Catholicism in Australia, and in our own community here in St. John’s.

My personal faith journey starts with being raised in a home that practised and lived a Catholic life. Sunday Mass, family rosary, morning and night prayers. My parents participated in the adult societies of Holy Name Society for Dad and Sacred Heart Sodality for my mother. I seriously avoided the Children of Mary, much to my mother’s annoyance. I have a wonderful memory of my tall, dignified Father kneeling every night beside the bed saying his night prayers which were probably taught to him at school. Religion was never really discussed, other than on a fairly superficial level as one did not question the teachings of the Catholic Church. The Church at that time looked after education, care of the sick and there were the guidelines of how one lived. There was security and knowledge and confidence. I went to a Catholic school and when I chose my career to train as a nurse it was unthinkable that I would choose anything other than a Catholic hospital.

In the sixties, the world was changing. My world certainly was as I met people who lived very differently to me and even challenged my Catholicism. I was working at SVH in Sydney and nursed some of the wealthiest people I had ever met and some of the poorest and destitute that lived around Darlinghurst and Kings Cross. I tried not to think too much at that time as it was the way to close off much of the trauma I witnessed and experienced. I was aware that the Church was changing and continued with my practise of the faith as I had been taught. Mass was always a comfort, and prayer, though irregular, and often overlooked, still important.

Fast forward to meeting Derick, Marriage, children and family life. I was about 30, a member of this parish and was being asked through literature, homilies and discussions just what I really believed. Fortunately the Church was responding to change and made available many avenues for renewal such as Cursillo, Marriage Encounter, Teams of Our Lady, Charismatic Renewal to name but a few. A multitude of books appeared and I now owned a Bible for the first time in my life. This was my time of conversion and I consciously chose my Catholic faith, more aware of the history, the traditions and deeper meaning in the various teachings. I embraced my doubts and started a search to know more. I went on retreat on occasions. I came to realise I really didn’t need to know more and more facts.  I certainly am not dismissing study and learning, but connection with the heart places simplicity into the faith journey.                     

I started to really hear about our God of Love who loves me as I am. God knows all about me. I need not dwell on the past, nor fret about the future. Right now is the sacred moment. God is present and is holding me in the palm of His hand.

 Psalm 139 says:

Yahweh, you examine me and know me,

You know if I am standing or sitting,

You read my thoughts from far away,

Whether I walk or lie down, you are watching,

You know every detail of my conduct.

I began to think about being really loved, accepted as I am by a patient faithful creator who teaches so much through the gospels and the lessons of Jesus. Every day is a new day, a fresh go at loving ourselves and loving each other as we welcome the Living god into our life. It is great to have new insights and a clearer picture of what our Christian faith is about but I wasn’t expecting the challenges that were about to be thrust upon me…….

In 2003, I was working but anticipating retirement. The family were moving on and life settling down. All manner of plans were opening up for the future. Then a bombshell hit: I was diagnosed with a life threatening illness. The impact was tremendous on me, on Derick, and of course on our family and friends. As a result of medical treatment in the last six years I have had my right leg amputated, part of my lung removed, left hip replaced (that is just 4 months ago). I have had radiation, chemotherapy and yet to face further chemotherapy. But, as you can see, I am still here!

Also, within days of this diagnosis, in April 2003, 2  precious grand-daughters only survived for 48 hours after the premature birth of triplets to our eldest son Duncan and his wife Elizabeth.  Happily, the third baby, Samuel, held on after a very shaky start. But that is another story.

To talk about the emotional and physical darkness and pain that ensued over the months and now years that followed could not possibly be fully described. It has been a long journey but there is an entirely different side of the whole series of events and that is where I continue.

Devastation brings new insights and revelations. After the Crucifixion, there is the Resurrection. The first impact of this life- changing episode was the response of those around me. The continuing generosity of our family and friends, as well as members of this community with offers of help, words of support and comfort, and prayers, and more prayers, became part of my life. At first, I thought I would be dead within months and then the over whelming thought of how I would be able to cope if I survived. Just where was my faith and trust?

About this time I began to seriously look at meditation, but more importantly, began to actually meditate. Everyday, half an hour. It is now part of my life. I am not going to talk about technique, method or style, just to say that I use meditation as a tool and it has made a significant difference to how I see my world. I am not transformed, I am very much the same personality, with strengths and failings but my view and attitude has changed from with in. I have a sense of strength, courage and peace that stays with me. This state shatters from time to time, and often unexpectedly, and without warning but the pieces come back together eventually. There is a sense of trust that enfolds me and hopefully will hold good while I live one day at a time. The present moment is sacred ground.

So the pilgrimage of life continues, waiting, hoping, working on acceptance of that which is not in my control and following the path that unfolds.

I finish with a prayer of a loving God who speaks within my heart and I am sure within your hearts as well…..

LET YOUR GOD LOVE YOU

Be silent,

Be still,

Alone.

Empty.

Before your God.

Say nothing.

Be silent

Let your God look upon you.

That is all.

God knows, understands, and loves you with an enormous love.

God only wants to look upon you with love.

Quiet, still, be.

Let your god love you. 

Edwhin Gately v.m.m.

Jock McLean - 6.00pm Mass - December 28 2008.

“The Boy and the Book”

Thanks Father Michael, for giving me this privilege to speak to you all this evening.

Dear friends, this occasion is a nerve-wracking one for me because although as a teacher I am used to public speaking in a variety of contexts and audiences, to be asked to share one’s spiritual journey with a congregation in a church is not a normal task for any speaker, whatever his or her experience, but I’ll have a go.

I’ve entitled this talk “The Boy and the Book” because although the boy is now in his sixties and much has changed in my life, the Book, the Bible, is timeless and still central to my faith in the Holy Trinity and in Christianity.

Let me set the scene quite clearly: there will be no cosy stories of morning masses, stern but kindly nuns, strong but inspiring brothers, first Holy Communions or Confirmations, the remembrances of beautiful Benedictions, holy cards, parish picnics, or feast day holidays from school: mine was not a Catholic Boyhood, though I had a Catholic Granny and many Catholic aunts, uncles and cousins.

I grew up as a child of the Protestant Church of Scotland, the issue of a mixed-faith marriage; a Northern Irish-Scots Protestant father and a mother whose Southern Irish-Scots roots were Roman Catholic. My home town, Glasgow, was like a Scottish Belfast (not surprising since many of the workers in the big shipyards had come from there at the turn of the 20th century and had brought their anti-Catholicism with them), 50% Protestant and 50% Roman Catholic with all the ignorance and prejudice, bigotry and hatred that went with it. Given the rules of the Church in those days, because my father would not convert to Catholicism (he considered it, as did most of his fellow Protestants, a superstitious faith) the Catholic Church would not sanction the union. This left my mother, who could not now receive communion and was very hurt, but who believed that children should be brought up in some faith, to become a member of her local church, which happened to be the Church of Scotland, a type of Presbyterianism.

That’s where the Bible came in. My Church’s main source of faith, like all other mainstream Protestant denominations, was the “Word of God” as revealed to his followers, through the utterly inerrant writings of the Old and the New Testaments. So the highlight of the service was the readings from the Bible and the preaching of a “Sermon” or Homily based on one of the readings, not necessarily the Gospel one. Believe me, if you think Father Michael can be a little on the long side with his reflections of about ten minutes, it was nothing for me as a boy to sit through a closely reasoned reflection on a particular text for about half an hour!

The teaching of young children of about 4-7 years of age took place during the morning service, rather like our children’s liturgy but older children had their own Sunday School for an hour after church, so it was usual to enter church at 11.00 am and leave for lunch about 1.30pm after Sunday School!

With regular Bible quizzes and examinations on learning passages by heart, this little black duck had a lot of this book under his belt and knew his way around it pretty well by the time he was in High School.

At 13 or 14, you attended Bible Groups which met after Sunday Evening services at 7.30 for about an hour and a half. This led to my attending the evening service rather than the morning one, and I grew to love this type of worship; no crying children, few adults in the congregation, dim lights, soft organ music and quiet time for prayer and reflection. So now we have a young adolescent, full of Bible knowledge and sure of the historical, cultural and theological supremacy of the Reformed Presbyterian Church of Scotland. All in the mind, but unfortunately, as it happened, there was no insight or real faith.

My break from the church of my youth came when I was about 16. There were two stumbling blocks to my acceptance of this type of Christianity; the first was the Church’s belief in Predestination, that is, since God obviously knows everything, past present and future, he knew whether one was saved or not, and therefore it was already decided whether you were going to Heaven or Hell and there wasn’t much you could do about it. This offended my ideas of free will and I couldn’t accept it.

The other was the idea that the Bible was literally true in every word, since it was the revealed word of God; and a scientifically educated young man of the 20th century was certainly not going to believe in the literal truth of Adam and Eve, Noah’s Ark, Samson killing a thousand men with the jawbone of an ass or any other of the Old testament myths.

So I continued to attend church but accepting the truth as pronounced by someone else left me unsatisfied, and although my belief in God and Jesus never wavered, this church did not satisfy all my needs and led me to a gradual cessation of membership of this particular denomination.

I became essentially a church of one; still praying to God and still reading my New Testament, especially the Gospels, but not attending any services.

This was the situation when I emigrated to Australia as a young high school teacher in 1970. With no parental guidance or the need to satisfy anyone’s approval, life was pretty secular in tone and custom. No church anywhere and not much reflection on religion either.

Life was very pleasant in Australia in those days; good weather, good wages, plenty of sport and fun, good friends, but something was missing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was lacking in my life. I remember about 3 years after arriving in the country talking to another young teacher, my flatmate at the time, and finding out that he also felt the same way. “Why don’t we try going to church?” he said, and funnily enough that was all it took.

We went to church the next Sunday; the local church was Anglican, the vicar was a parent of one of our students, and the service struck a deep chord within me.

The order of service was very similar to the modern Mass. Remember, that up till then I had never been to this kind of church service. I enjoyed the hymns, the readings, the fact that there were responses (which there had not been in my Presbyterian church), the fact that there was physical participation by kneeling for prayer, standing for the Gospel and Hymns and sitting for the readings and the Homily. I felt as if I was contributing to the whole occasion of worship and that others were too. I guess you could say that for the first time I felt a sense of communion and community in my worship, something that had very rarely happened to me before. The Bible and Christ’s teachings were there; still central and still important to me. But now it wasn’t just an intellectual or “head knowledge” thing, the heart and soul were involved also.

A year later I married my wife Margaret. She was a Catholic and the wedding involved a Nuptial Mass. Now remember my upbringing; Catholicism was a foreign and potentially suspicious religion to me and although Vatican II had happened, and the Church had changed, there was still no place for me at the altar to receive Communion, even at my own wedding.

So began another mixed-faith marriage in another generation. There were many discussions between us now on religion; I really wanted to know more about this religion I was close to but certainly not part of, but Margaret could not fully satisfy my need to understand. The involvement in an Ecumenical Teams programme for over 3 years helped but left me wishing for more.

It was not till we moved to Orange in the early 80’s and joined a Team of Catholic couples that much of the Church’s beliefs and teachings started to make sense. Here were young couples with growing families meeting under the mentoring of a young priest, learning about their faith by Bible study (a new undertaking for most of them) and discussion, working out God’s place in their lives without the trappings of dogma and blind belief. Very refreshing to one who had been brought up to believe that Catholics had no right to question the church; the priest had to be on his toes each week in this group! They wouldn’t stand for “Father or Sister says”!

From these meetings and further reading and research, I began to realise that I could become a Catholic, both from an emotional and spiritual standpoint and from an intellectual basis as well; and I was received into the Church on 18 October 1982, the feast day of St Luke.

Having been appointed as the Head of English at a Senior Catholic High School in Orange, my involvement in the life of the local parish developed steadily, and Margaret and I took part in RCIA programmes, Children’s Liturgy groups and Pre-Marriage programmes for engaged couples which were all very satisfying and enriching. Study for a Diploma in Religious Education helped me to deepen my understanding of not only the Bible and the fact that it was not literally true in every respect, but that it in fact contained much deeper truths about God’s love for his people and his plan for the salvation of the world through the death and Resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ. I also learned a great deal about the Church itself; its history, the teachings of the Fathers such as St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas and the faith of people like St. Francis, St. Ignatius Loyola, St. Teresa of Avila and St. John Baptist de La Salle, whose order ran the school in which I taught.

Life in Canberra since the beginning of the 90’s has been a little different. I have been employed as a teacher at Canberra Grammar School, an independent boy’s school, whose religious beginnings were in the Anglican Church. Having no connection with the Catholic Church through my employment, my involvement with the church consisted of merely weekly attendance at Mass, and my teaching of Religion became part of a much wider programme of what the school terms Religious and Values Education, whereby boys of many faiths and none are introduced to the idea of religion through studies in world religions, ethics, philosophy, stillness and reflection and Bible study. So my understanding of God, as seen through the prism of many different beliefs, has continued to widen, and I hope, deepen.

And finally we came to St. John’s Kippax four years ago. We had worshipped here early on in our life in Canberra, when we lived for a time in Melba and our children had attended Daramalan. We had found in it a positive atmosphere and the MSc priests’ teaching coincided with our faith. But we had not set down any roots, for some reason. Looking back, God had other plans for us. We moved south of the lake and attended St. Peter Chanel’s in Yarralumla. Still there was no involvement with the parish.

Then we moved north once more and came back to St. John’s. The Parish priest was Father Chris McPhee, soon to be followed by Father Michael. I volunteered to read at Mass, Father Michael had me in the cross-hairs of his gun sights, and the rest, as they say, is history. Once this good man gets you to do something, you’re caught!

Seriously, I now feel that I am finally at home. My need to worship is fulfilled, my sense of being taught my faith is very satisfactory, and my sense of being part of this community grows stronger each day.

Thank you for sharing my rather erratic journey back to God my father’s house, thank you for listening so patiently and thank you, Father Michael, for giving me the opportunity and privilege to tell the story of “The Boy and the Book”.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

  Inerrant: - seen to be absolutely true; without the flexibility of interpretation.

Peter Duck - 8.30am Mass - December 14 2008

"My Faith Journey"

When Father Michael called me and asked if I would talk to you today about my faith journey he did say I could refuse – I didn’t dare as my early childhood experiences taught me that Priests were infallible, God like and must be obeyed so here I am.

I have had the privilege of listening to a couple of people talk about their faith journey, it is reasonable to say they are two different paths but they have a common thread – this place – our church.

I was born in 1953, the eldest child of Leo, known as Joseph and his young wife Mary – so you can imagine what sort of pressure that put on me. I grew up in Sydney, three brothers followed in quick succession. Dad worked, mum stayed at home, there was never a lot of money but a constant in our early life was their religion. We went to mass every Sunday, when the time came to start school it was a convent school. My only real memories of that time was what appeared to me to be an inbuilt capacity in most nuns I met to inflict pain, either a piece of chalk between the eyes or a good cut of the cane. Then, on to a Marist Brothers High School.

Again my recollection of this time is that religion was central in my upbringing but not in my inner self. At that time being Catholic meant being involved in a continuous fight with the devil to remain in a state of faith – mortal sins abounded and almost everything I did or thought probably resulted in a corporal sin and an extended sentence in Purgatory should I be fortunate enough to avoid an eternity in Hell.

Something however did play at me as in the latter years of High School I did spend some time at the Marist school in Mittagong, about 8 months I think before deciding the religious life was not for me and after rejoining the world I finished my higher school certificate at Marist Brothers in Kogarah.

A scholarship to teachers college at the end of Year 12 marked a turning point for me. I was living away from home – here was the opportunity to break the shackles of a religion that by that time was seen by me as outdated, not cool and totally to hard to fit into my busy life.

I was, for the next 12 years a lapsed Catholic, I did not attend the sacraments’ or overtly practice my religion in any way. It is reasonable to say however that deep inside me my conscience, perhaps the guardian angle that I had learned about all those years ago was ever present – making statement’s about behaviours that were not acceptable.

My life changed in the early 80’s when I started talking to a lady in Canberra who worked for the same organisation as me. Eventually we met and inevitably we married and started a life together. At first we lived in Sydney and my religion was still absent from my life. Too many things to do, chase the good things of life, socialise and make a good life for us.

I mentioned earlier I was the eldest of 4 boys; a fifth brother was born some seven years after the youngest of the four ducklings. John was now eighteen and working. He was a passenger in a motor vehicle heading home, the driver fell asleep and John was killed. This was another turning point in my life.

During the week that followed I watched our family grieve but what struck me the most was the inner strength my parents displayed, drawing on their religion to help them through this tragedy. It struck me square in the face when they greeted John’s mate, the driver of the car, at his funeral – they embraced him, told him they forgave him and welcomed him into the family. What had happened to the religion of fear I had abandoned many years ago – I was witnessing a faith of love and compassion.

Lyn and I moved to Canberra to be near Lyn’s family and set up house. Joseph and Georgia were born and our life seemed to be moving toward completeness. We enrolled Joseph at St John’s and so our connection with this Church began. Lyn and I made a decision that if our children were going to attend a catholic school we should not just pay lip service to our faith, we should be positive roll models and be seen to live it. This decision represented another turning point in my life and is essentially what brings me here today.

Saint John’s, here in Kippax is a special place for many reasons. We are fortunate to have the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart as our ministers. Fathers John, Chris, Dom, Chris, Peter, Jim, Michael and Mark have all had influences on my life. I treasure the times I got to spend with Father Jim both in the confessional and at other times, he like all the others I have mentioned are very special people.

Saint Johns is a community of faith – the people like me who come here to practice their faith. Again, so many special people who have been a positive influence in my life. Sadly some of their numbers are longer with us but I know they are part of that vanguard of guardian angles that watch over and guide us.

So, where am I now? I sit and listen to the homilies delivered by our priests each Sunday and wonder how they worked out that what they are telling me is exactly what I needed to hear.

A couple of weeks ago Father Mark was talking to us about being a Christian in modern day society – living simply and honestly, having integrity in all our actions – recognising Jesus in the poor and disenfranchised in our community and in the wider world. Am I at that point in my life? Is this how I am perceived by my family, my work colleagues and you, members of the community of faith here at St John’s? Clearly I have a long way to go but I am on the journey.

Judy Kenny - 6.00pm Mass - December 6 2008

"FAITH OF THE HEARTH"

As I began this reflection on my faith journey, three treasured images of the faith of others came to mind.

One day my car gave up the ghost half way out of the garage. A cheerful young NRMA operative was having a meaningful interface with my truculent engine. He lifted up his head and said, "Are you a believer?' I said 'Why, yes.' 'Oh,' he said, 'I thought you looked like a good Christian lady.' I was rather enjoying this bit of flattery when up came his head again, 'Can you explain to me the Book of Revelation.' (Where is Father Michael when you need him!) I admitted I did not find it an easy book. He agreed. We chatted a bit further about seeking Jesus in the Word of God, the car was fixed and the cheerful seeker went about his business.

The second memory was of a nun friend who was challenged in the playground by an 8-year-old Muslim child. 'Sister, do you really believe in God?' 'Yes, of course,' my friend replied. 'I don't think you do,' said the child, 'because sometimes I see you looking sad during the day.'

The third person was a beautiful 82-year-old lady whom I met some years ago in Pastoral Care. She knew she was dying and was troubled because she was angry with God - and this over the cot death of her 6-week-old daughter some 58 years before. The anger, which I am sure was deep sadness, (and grief submerged as was the custom of the time) had resurfaced because of the recent death of her young grandson in an accident.

She and her husband were devout members of the Uniting Church and it was moving to see the way they participated in a bedside prayer service, where bit by bit the wounds of the past were met by the strength of their love for each other, their family and their God. The wounds began to heal in that love and the scars were a sacred part of it. The lady died, very peacefully, a few weeks later.

What do these incidents say about faith - that spiritual yearning, that source of hope and trust in the divine? They speak of the joyful, optimistic search, of the beauty of a child's innocent conviction, and of faith as a lived relationship in our loves and in our wounds. I am very much influenced by the faith of those around me. I see that witness in this community and I am daily strengthened, blessed and challenged by it.

To go back a bit. I'm from an Irish Catholic background where - to paraphrase Robert Hughes - convicts sat like crows on the family tree. Victims of poverty and landlordism, the men had enacted genteel crimes: theft, house-burning and murder; the women were more practical, stealing a cow for milk butter and cream, and an eiderdown for warmth - it was later pawned. The first husband of that woman (who became the Catholic matriarch in Australia) had been hanged for forgery. I am intrigued that these folk brought to Australia not only their criminal baggage but the incredibly strong faith of their fathers and mothers. And that wasn't two lots of baggage. They seemed well aware that their church was a haven for sinners and they were not going to leave it. They lived (in an almost priest-less Sydney) a devout 'faith of the hearth' where the family was the sacred keeper and transmitter of the love of God. This 'faith of the hearth' went with the next generations to the north-eastern corner of Lake George where, at rare priestly visits, the celebration of the Eucharist in their home was noted with reverence and joy.

It was passed down to my childhood home in Bathurst where the rosary, novenas, prayer and religious discussion were a natural. We had examples, too, of gospel caring as the depression lingered and people still came to our door asking for food. There was always friendly provision for them.

On Saturday nights we were scrubbed within an inch of our lives ready for Sunday Mass. I warmed to the mysterious reverence of it all, and we sensed that Sunday was sacred. The 'faith of the hearth' was a touch invaded by my primary schooling with its emphasis on sin, guilt and hellfire - some of which I even now find lurking in my spirit.

Things were not always easy. Our lives were turned upside down by my father's illness and death leaving my mother alone to care for ten children aged between 5 and 18. I recall going into her bedroom to say good-night not long after my father's death and seeing her kneeling beside her bed holding in anguish a little prayer book she had had since she was a child - clinging desperately to the faith that was hers. I crept away.

Secondary schooling with nuns devoted to the Sacred Heart meant more emphasis on love, a 'faith of the hearth' in the school community, and dedication to education - so much so that it seemed fairly natural when I felt called to join that religious order. In the convent there were regular times of prayer, (getting up at 5.30am was a bit rigorous), full days of teaching and caring for boarders, the focused journey through the liturgical year, opportunities for reflection and study. It was in another way 'faith of the hearth' with such a wealth of lived expression of it, and of wisdom particularly in the older nuns who had the light of eternity in their eyes. Sure, I missed my family - and I missed out on having a family - but that was part of the choice, and mostly I was happy.

Came the tornado of the Second Vatican Council and old forms were blown apart. We nearly drowned in fresh ideas, liturgical changes, the plethora of theological reflections. While the whole church was affected, I think the women's orders were particularly challenged as in general women religious were traditionally submissive and subservient. That notion collided harshly with the advent of feminism.

Many of my nun friends chose to walk a different path. I thought I could still save the world, found I couldn't, was hit by the tsunami of change, and washed up like a worn-out beached whale to recover with my sister in Canberra. The wonderful gesture of my God was that I became a member of this community. While my days were soon filled with teaching appointments, it was here that I came to know, paradoxically, that I had needed to leave the convent to be stripped bare of my comfortable faith, to come to much deeper terms with my own humanity and in doing so meet Jesus as I had never known him before.

One of the nun friends with whom I had worked, and who later became a missionary in Uganda, had returned home suffering from terminal cancer. As her illness progressed she told me of all that she still wanted to do for God, and of her sadness at the prospect of dying at 54. She spoke a good deal too about her practice of Christian meditation as taught by Father John Main OSB, how much it meant to her, and I knew she was angling for me to take it up. She didn't succeed - then - but after she died, she got to work on me, I think, and everything fell into place. With the encouragement of Father Chris McPhie, a small group of us began to meet here on Friday nights - part of some 2000 meditation groups who form an open monastery around the world. It is a simple practice, not an easy one, but I cannot tell you the change it has made to my faith perspective. It is a time where for half an hour of silence we are alone in the presence of the God within, of the God within the world. It is a time of prayer that does not hector God, nor tell God how to run the universe. Sure, it means being caught up in distractions, it means letting go and letting God, but you can't take meditation seriously and not be more open to the Word of God in Scripture, to how much you are loved in spite of everything, and how you are strengthened to share the joys and pains of family and friends, and challenged to expand your compassion world-wide.

There are aspects of my church that I am sad about. I love so much about it but not the entrenched patriarchy, the lack of openness to women in ministry, or the repression of creative theological and liturgical thought. There is the challenge of empowering the spirituality of our young people, victims of a church that has largely lost them and of a materially-encrusted society that submerges the divine. Where is the 'faith of the hearth' in our families today? We are in the maelstrom of such globally-troubled times for church and society. If I get too uptight about it I have to recall that I am part of the church and that so often in the gospel Jesus said, 'Why do you doubt?' And he also said, 'Remember, I am with you always.'

In the last few years, three of my siblings have been welcomed to heaven so it is natural at my age to have intimations of joining them. Where am I now in my faith journey? This is advent and we think of the birth of Jesus, and that is fitting. But there are so many advents in the gospels.

I often reflect on the coming of the risen Jesus in the Emmaus story. On what must have been for him a day of enormous resurrection euphoria, what was he doing - (apart from a most wonderful encounter with his mother who was the only one never to doubt him) -drying the tears of a woman in a garden, calming the terror of his barricaded apostles and walking with two disgruntled disciples in their doubts.

I think I would have been one of those kicking stones on the way to Emmaus because sometimes my trust in my God is very, very frail and I need the good shake Jesus gave those two. (I always like to think one was a woman).

He walked with them, showed his concern, and then re-kindled their faith through a lesson they would never forget. He told them how dull they were to doubt him, that the very Word of God would extinguish those doubts and that his recent ordeals (and our painful times too), are an integral part of the pattern of salvation.

I often wonder what would have happened if they'd let slip the chance of offering him hospitality, of sharing the re-invigorated faith of their hearth. And when they recognized him, was it the wounds in his hands they saw first, or that familiar gesture of blessing and breaking bread and sharing it with them? I think it was both, confirming for them visually the faith he had re-ignited in their hearts and sending them in all haste back to their community. That is the great Emmaus gift we have here - Eucharist and community.

I pray to hold on to that gift - in whatever way the frailties of the ageing process take hold of me - and I pray that others will hold on to it with me and for me because we cannot do it alone.

I love those words of Tennyson:

For though from our borne of time and place,

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face,

When I have crossed the bar.

(From Crossing the Bar)

Marian England - 6.00pm Mass - November 23 2008

When I was a child my goal was to get to heaven, I still have the same goal today.

As a child I thought that all I had to do was keep the commandments, avoid the seven deadly sins, go to mass every Sunday, say my morning and night prayers and I had my admission ticket into heaven.

I was born in a small Queensland town the fifth of nine children, eight of us surviving childbirth. In the fifties and sixties our lives revolved around the church along with my family the church shaped and formed me. It was responsible for my spiritual life my social life and my schooling. My world was very small, however, I was sure of my identity, I was an Australian Catholic and I was fiercely proud of it and I felt blessed.

I made my first Holy Communion when I was six - pre Vatican II when the mass was still said in Latin. I made my first confession the Friday before my first Holy Communion. The reason the Nun's gave us for making our first confession two days before our first Communion was to make sure we would be in the state of Grace to receive the Lord. I remember the Saturday in between not being game to say or do anything just in case I committed a sin: I now think what serious sin would a six year old commit.

I couldn't wait to make my first holy communion and still have a clear memory of both of these events in my life and remember the feeling of light and love after my first confession and the feeling of warmth and connectedness after my first holy communion.

As a child I was inspired by the stories of the Saints and I always loved a rainy day because the nun's would often put on a record or tell us a story about a saint. In preparation for our First Holy communion we were told the story of a saint, a young boy, who lived during the middle ages and who had a strong desire to receive the Eucharist. (In Medieval times they didn't make their first Eucharist until they were 12) This young boy would pray fervently that he would be allowed to receive Eucharist before his 12th birthday. Then one day the boy was in the church kneeling in prayer when the Blessed Sacrament came down from the altar and hovered in front of him and so the priest allowed him to receive his First Eucharist there and then. This story filled my imagination I wanted to pray they way that boy had prayed. I wanted the Eucharist to appear in front of me in the same way. It doesn't matter whether this story is true or not what matters is that it awakened in me a desire for Jesus. I wanted what the young boy had, a love of Jesus so strong that it would consume my whole being.

Another Saint who inspired me was St Catherine of Siena. St Catherine loved Jesus with a single minded passion. I would pray that I would love Jesus the same way. Catherine used the image of a candle in describing the dispositions necessary to receive Holy Communion. Catherine points out that the wick must penetrate the core of the entire candle or it will not burn correctly or completely. It will stop where the wick stops, or become deformed if the wick is not straight. So, too, our faith must be straight, steady, consistent, permeating our entire lives. The wick of faith penetrates the candle so it can burn with the fire of love. Catherine's devotion to her prayer life inspires me and challenges me to be faithful in my own prayer life.

When I was about eight one of the nuns told us that you couldn't get to heaven on your own - you had to take someone with you. I thought about this and imagined doing all the hard work, going to mass every Sunday not committing any sins and getting to heaven and being refused entry because I hadn't bought anyone with me. Now in my child brain I thought you had to be Catholic to get to heaven. What was I to do? All of my family were Catholic and went to mass each Sunday so I turned my attentions to Rosie who lived a few doors down from us. Rosie was a year younger than me: she was protestant and didn't attend church, the perfect candidate. Every afternoon after school we would sit outside her house and I would teach her from the penny catechism. Things went along well until I got to the section on the devil and Rosie started having nightmares. One afternoon ready to start our lesson I had a visit for Rosie's older sister Joyce who was about 17 or 18 she told me that I was not allowed to teach Rosie about God or the Devil anymore or I would be in trouble from her. So ended my early attempts at evangelization.

I was strongly influenced by the nun's who taught me through my school years and I often recall scripture passages they quoted one of the passages I often return to is from the prophet Jeremiah. As a child I never realized that this passage was Jeremiah's prophetic call and that God was talking to him I always took this passage personally and imagined God saying the words to me.

?gBefore I formed you in the womb I knew you,
And before you were born I consecrated you?h

To me this passage told me that God loved me so much that even before I was formed in my mother's womb God had thought about me. God loved me so much that God had created me in God's own image. Whenever I sat and thought about this it would blow my mind, if ever I felt lonely or unloved I would turn to this passage. It made me feel special and unique and when reflecting on this passage I would never feel sorry for myself for too long. The knowledge that God loved me so much I thought deserved a reciprocal response. It was the covenant ?gI will be your God and you will be my people?h. But how would I keep my part of the covenant?

Today's Gospel has always been a challenge for me. It asks me to step outside my comfort zone. Again in my child's mind I treated this scripture passage as a bit of entry ticket into heaven. If I could tick off on my list that I had: fed the hungry, clothed the naked, visited prisoners and welcomed the stranger then I would be in. As an adult I realize that it is not enough to do these things but to them in genuine love and charity. In that way I am being Christ like.

About 18 years ago one cool autumn morning I was walking to work on London Circuit when suddenly a man who had the appearance of being a homeless man started to walk with me. He was very tall and very skinny. The only article of clothing he was wearing was a pair of trousers that were in danger of falling down and he was keeping them up with a piece of string. These trousers were split down the sides and were flapping in the breeze and so I was seeing far more of his skin then was desirable. He started talking to me and not wanting to be rude I spoke back. My expectation was that he would ask me for money or for help but he did neither of those things I don't remember the conversation now but I think it was probably about the weather. As you can imagine we attracted attention and I remember the people who passed by staring at us and my thinking I wonder if they think I know him. This situation challenged me; I was worrying about what other people would think. Did I look at this stranger and see the face of God? Or more importantly did that man look at me and see Christ's reflection? Are we kingdom people who welcome the stranger? You know it's in the ordinary the every day that we meet people who are different.

Last year I went and saw the film Into Great Silence which is a documentary about the lives of the Carthusian Monks who live in the Grande Chartreuse monastery in the French Alps. In the beginning I had the feeling that what we were seeing was the same day being lived over and over, but as the movie went on I got the feeling of the rhythm of life. This movie is more than a documentary of monastic life. It is a transcendent meditation on the human pursuit of meaning, on man as a religious and social creature; on the form and function of symbols and ritual and tradition; on the rhythm of work and prayer, day and night, winter and spring.

I came away with another view about ordinary time. In the past I had always thought about ordinary time in the liturgical year of the church as a bit boring, I was a feast day girl and loved the celebrations. But after seeing this movie I came to see the beauty of ordinary time and the rhythm of living the same day over and over and each day doing it a little better than I did it the day before. And so ordinary time has been transformed for me and I realize that in is in the ordinary that God's kingdom will come on earth as it is in heaven.

At regular intervals throughout the movie scripture text from Jeremiah would appear on the screen ?gYou have seduced me, Yahweh, and I have let myself be seduced.?h For me this text adds to the sense of the rhythm of life, God is continually calling us into relationship with God and it is the degree to which we respond that contributes to the rhythm of our lives.

I am a very ordinary person but I have come to see the beauty of living an ordinary life well, armed with the knowledge that I am never alone God is always with me.

ERIC FRENCH - 6.00p.m. Mass - November 1 2008:

It's quite a surprise for me to find myself here and I can't really understand why I have been asked to talk to you. It's probably the usual story that I failed to duck when Michael was casting his eye over the heads of the congregation. The topic of this presentation and that of other parishioners is, I believe, not closely defined but might indicate some elements of one's spiritual life and views on related matters.  

Convinced of the existence of God by the order and marvel of creation, may I set the scene by declaring Jesus to be the focal point of my life. He is God, truly man, my saviour, my brother and my best friend, leading us to the Father by the power of the Holy Spirit. I am an old man and to have this commitment now, when at other times in my life I have been much less aligned and walked other paths, is a source of wonder and gratitude. It is overwhelming when you consider this extraordinary gift - the secure knowledge that there is a God who loves us, revealed in Jesus.  

The gratitude for the “pearl of great price” is reflected in other areas of my life, including thanks for life itself. I have been just so blessed and estimate that of all people who have ever lived, I am on the top 1% of those most fortunate, even apart from the spiritual aspect. Born to a stable, nurturing family in Melbourne, too young for war, too old for employment crisis in a free, prosperous country, with strong support from older siblings, good health and secure in the Church, my circumstances were favourable indeed. Even my Australian Rules football career of some hundreds of matches entailed no injury. For the record I played in many positions but never as a rover.  

Youngest in the family, I lived with my widowed mother until her death. Incidentally, what impressed her most about life was its magnificence and its shortness. Of relatively mature years then, and with some shyness and unskilled in romantic pursuits (three brothers, no sisters) it seemed that my opportunity to marry had passed. To find Mary at so late a stage was a blessing beyond expectation due largely, I suspect, to my mother's prayers.  

My children are well and our relationships warm, although the move from a family of four sons to one of four daughters was very much a learning process. Major cancer surgery some eleven years ago suggested a 60% chance of survival for five to seven years. Yet I am still operating a gardening business with thirty five on my books at present. Few people are as lucky as this.  

There is a view that God does not intervene in the daily elements of our lives. It is not mine. Whilst obviously not all my prayers have been answered in the way specified, so many unlikely outcomes have resulted that I do not doubt that at times, God does respond in the way desired. That it doesn't happen always, I accept with trust, just as a child will learn to understand that not everything will be given by a parent, the reasons not realised until later. So answered prayer is a further boost to my faith.  

In addition, the value of the traditional Christian life is essential to the world's survival as we have known it. The materialism of our society saddens me, especially because so many have not thought of finding quality of life elsewhere. Their missing of the peace and hope of Christ is such a pity. But I fear that our unbridled consumption of resources is leading to a rapid climate change with its attendant disasters. We need the simple living emphasised in my youth. My father's advice was - “Just because you can pay for something doesn't mean you can afford it”. The free use of fossil fuels in vehicles and in air travel and overuse of materials in housing needs to be greatly curtailed. In fact we should aim to avoid all non-essential travel. Christ's call to simplicity and concern for others requires a change of life style for many if the planet is to continue as a supporter of human life. We need to be culturally rich but materially meagre.  

My strong belief is bolstered by the awareness of that clear indicator of God's love - his forgiveness. The story of the prodigal son which, I hope, will be part of my requiem Mass, is a source of great consolation and the loveliest word in scripture is the word “ran”. Regardless of the selfishness and debauchery of his son, the father did not wait with the door open. He went much further. He saw him coming and ran to greet him. You can't beat that!  

I am inspired by the goodness of the people of the parish. I'm sure I don't know half of it but the kindness and concern for others here, often in ways quite unobtrusive, is Christlike. Also the many crosses which so many of you have born and still bear with serenity, courage and acceptance are sources of admiration and inspiration to me and make me ashamed that, with all my blessings, I complain when I strike a red light.  

I tend to be an acceptor of authority and I am consoled by my membership of the universal Church which I believe Christ founded and I am reminded that one English convert, G B. Stern, invited to Mass by a friend, was first touched by the words of a priest who asked for prayers for “The Pope and Mrs Harris who are not well”.  

With many commentators, I see the institutional Church as a moral bastion in the world and respect its magisterium. There are strong forces arraigned against the Church and unity among Catholics is needed to defend her moral stand. I am sometimes troubled by ill-judged criticism and even animosity to Rome even by members of this parish where love is our key base. It's a bit like disputing seating arrangements at the Last Supper. May I add that I do not think that one religion is as good as another whilst respecting the goodness and sincerity of other believers. Other sheep I have that are not of this fold. Them also must I bring so that there will be one fold and one shepherd.  

I must confess some nostalgia for the pre-Vatican Council times of my youth. I think there is sometimes unsound criticism of that era by people not then alive. It is said that fear was a factor in our spiritual lives as though that were a bad thing. Yet fear is a key element in the welfare of human society generally. How many more speed limits would be broken with resultant death and injury, how many more thefts, assaults and other offences would occur were not fear of punishment the deterrent? Appropriate fear is an essential ingredient for the good order of society. Of course integrity should not require such penalties but we are all too human.

Also the discipline fostered by the Church when I was young, e.g., lenten fasting, abstinence, and self mortification have helped me greatly in my secular life and, I hope, in the spiritual one.  

The use of the means which the Church provides are essential to my spiritual journey - the Eucharist above all. Belief in the special presence of Christ in the Eucharist is a source of wonder beyond telling. Perhaps I could read the last part of John Betjeman's poem

“Christmas”:-  
And is it true? And is it true?
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Became a Child on earth for me?

And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent,
And hideous tie so kindly meant.  

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was Man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.  

I have a regular prayer life which includes devotion to Mary and the saints. “Holy Family keep us healthy in mind and body” is pretty good value I find. Often during private prayer my mind wanders but at Mass the priest constantly calls us back to the blessed processes at the altar.

Frequent use of this sublime gift of the Eucharist and, finding forgiveness and total love in regular reconciliation and prayer and laughter, fun and kindness will, it seems to me, hold us firm. I am grateful to those MSC priests who have ministered to us for so many years and whose friendship I still cherish. I am fortunate to be associated with many of St John's parishioners in Pastoral Care at Calvary Hospital and the opportunity to bring their Lord to those who suffer is indeed a privilege.  

My concern is that “of him to whom much is given, much will be expected.” This is a sobering thought. But God approaches us with a generosity we cannot comprehend. He will never cease to give. God bless you all. Please pray for me.

Perhaps I may finish with the Epistle which I hope will be in my requiem Mass, from St Paul to the Romans: -  
“If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not, with him, also give us everything else? Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loves us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus Our Lord”.

We are gift to each other in the incidental ways we provide inspiration for faith:

"More profoundly, I find the little instances of openness and sharing that truly connect people that reveal the real inspiration of the place to me. Everyday instances of a greeting, a sign of peace, the exuberance of the singing, a quiet moment, a challenging homily, a baby’s cry…those little instances that create an openness of hearts and let the spirit in." J.C.,

Sophie's Story

When I was in year six I was preparing to be Confirme at St John's Parish in Kippax, Canberra. I had chosen St Francis de Sales as my patron. As part of our preparation my classmates and I had to hand out cards to members of the parish asking them to pray for us. There was a man named Chris whom I'd seen around the church a few times. He was on crutches at the time, so I gave him one of my prayer cards. After that mass he came up to me and asked when I was being Confirmed, and said he'd be there. Sure enough he came, despite the fact that the mass was three hours long and despite the fact that he still needed a walking stick. He gave me a card that said, "You're in Our Prayers" and a necklace with the Christian fish symbol on it. He was a stranger and yet he reached out to me, this is something I've never forgotten. The funny thing is that he kind of looked like St Francis, my patron. I believe that he was St Francis' way of showing me that he was with me during Confirmation. Since then St Francis continues to show me that he is with me; I always seem to run into Chris when I feel that my faith needs a little kick up the behind. I know that St John's Parish Kippax is a true community of God because He has reached out to me through it. SOPHIA DICKINSON