Over this last week, each evening, a number of us have had the opportunity to come together online and reflect on the seven sorrows of Our Lady – the seven moments that our Tradition gives us by which to consider the part Mary, the Mother of Jesus, plays in his life – and not only in the life of Jesus, but in our own lives as we struggle with the reality of suffering in our own experience.  We have explored in different ways the mystery of suffering, love, and hope, all embodied in the figure of Our Lady of Sorrows, the woman who stands steadfastly at the foot of Jesus’ Cross.…

The American writer, Robert Fulgham once told of a story of Frank Marshall, an international chess player. During a competition many years ago, Marshall made what is often called the most beautiful move ever made on a chessboard. In a crucial game in which he was evenly matched with a Russian master player, Marshall found his queen under serious attack.  There were several avenues of escape, and since the queen is the most important offensive player, spectators assumed Marshall would observe convention and move his queen to safety.  Deep in thought, Marshall used all the time available to him to consider the board options.  He picked up his queen –…

We have a natural instinct for stories. As Pope Francis once wrote: “From childhood we hunger for stories just as we hunger for food. Stories influence our lives, whether in the form of fairy tales, novels, films, songs, news, even if we do not always realise it . . . Stories leave their mark on us; they shape our convictions and our behaviours. They can help us understand and communicate who we are.” [1] We delight in weaving stories. For this reason, there is a link, as Francis identifies, between the words, ‘textile’ and ‘text’. Both come from the Latin word, ‘to weave’ (texere). Yet we know the capacity we have…

We gather this evening again as we have for the past 7 years to demonstrate our shame at the hurt inflicted in our community of faith by those in positions of leadership and trust. We express our sorrow, and we renew our commitment to foster communities known for their accountability, safety and care.  Just as the project of national Reconciliation which takes its own turn this Saturday is not an occasional matter that once achieved can be put aside and relegated to the archives, so too our Lament for the crime of sexual abuse within our Church.  It is not something expressed and moved on from: it is our way of being…

In Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings, one of the main characters, Sam, says at one stage, “We shouldn’t be here at all, if we’d known more about it before we started. But I suppose it’s often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered,…

There is always discussion about the date of Australia Day.  Is the 26th January the most appropriate day to celebrate our national identity?  One imagines that every year, the discussion will re-ignite, and only time will tell how the question is resolved. However, it strikes me that the very question itself highlights an essential element of our identity as Australians. Perhaps, our identity itself is marked by a question. It is a question that is inevitable given that we are people who live in the intersection between two perspectives. And we live, unsure of how to resolve these two perspectives.  In the Australian experience, the most ancient of peoples intersect with the most modern,…

At any funeral, one of the most remarkable experiences is listening to the eulogy of the one whose life is celebrated.  For a few brief moments it is like being at the window of the person’s life; something of the radical uniqueness of the person’s life, their story and their journey are glimpsed, how their life was inter-woven into the stories and journeys of others.   Yet, even when we hear a eulogy, we realise that the memories being shared cannot fully capture the person who is mourned.  Indeed, even our own most special memories of the one we love are but glimpses of the mystery of who they are.  Yes, our memories hold…

The conclusion to the Ode we recite on this day each year has become etched in our minds: “Lest we forget.” The problem is, of course, that we do forget, and that we forget all too easily. The horror of war, its senseless brutality, and its needless destruction are never too far from eruption. The criminal tragedy of Ukraine is played out daily before us. However, let us not forget those other theatres of violence – Afghanistan, Myanmar, South Sudan, Syria – to name just several. And in each situation, we are left with the hauntingly relentless question of “Why?” Why does it have to be this way? Why are otherwise…

On this day each year, the Church celebrates the memory of the Vietnamese martyrs. Though the first Christian missionaries arrived in Vietnam in 1533, it was not until 1615 that the Jesuits were able to establish a permanent mission in the central region of the country, around Vinh. In 1627, a Jesuit went north to establish another mission, the same year the first martyr was beheaded. More were executed in 1644 and 1645. The persecution of Christians followed for another 150 years or so. However, it was in the first half of the 19th century, in 1833, that all Christians were ordered to renounce the faith, and to trample crucifixes…

The late Irish writer, John O’Donuhue who was sent to a parish in London as a deacon to train for a summer.  During his first week working in the parish, he found an old down-and-out man at the back of the church one evening.  He was eating a burger and drinking a bottle of Guinness.  The correct young priest-to-be went up to him and informed him that this was a church not a restaurant and asked him to leave.  The old man took no notice of him and just continued to babble away to himself.  The deacon went later in exasperation to the parish priest.  He smiled and said, “Ah…