Dear Inner Circle,

Yesterday, a lovely young woman approached me and, with some embarrassment, passed me a note. The note said that she had wanted to say “hello” to me all year but that every time I came close, her anxiety levels went through the roof, leaving her paralysed and feeling rather silly. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her that her note meant more to me than if she had given me a bag full of cash. We made our first resolution for 2017. Every time we see each other, we’ll take a second to step into each other’s face, and say, “Hi”.

The most surprising thing about this time of year is that it actually surprises me. This past week or so has been as tough as we ever see it. For people who are lonely and struggling with demons, the Christmas season is the hardest time of the year. It’s a season of screaming. It's the season of overdose and psychosis. It’s bizarre because it comes in the context of well-wishing and exchanging of gifts. Raised voices have been a constant accompaniment to life at Wayside this week. I’ve seen fist fights. I’ve seen arguments between a person and a power pole. I’ve seen someone trying to make love to a tree. I know I’m a Christian minister and that I ought to be towing the company line at this time of year but honestly, I could do without all the heartache.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

Walking out of the building late this week, a young bloke yelled out, “Where you off to now Rev?” Feeling a bit overloaded, I yelled, “I’m off to drown my sorrows in alcohol!” “Aww good plan Rev,” he said. I turned back and said, “Seriously, I’m just off to another meeting.” He said, “Seriously, the first plan is better!”

Gold beyond calculation is deposited in the people on the Wayside team. The unromantic work of sitting alongside people in their worst moment is the kind of thing that most people would engage in perhaps just a few times in their life. But it is a part of our every day, every hour, every moment. Working at Wayside isn’t for everyone but we can be thankful for the living treasures that do work here on behalf of everyone. As we approach the end of another year, my voice chokes and my fingers stop over the keyboard as I ponder the unmeasurable kindness delivered in countless small acts. The staff and volunteers in our café and on the front desk. Angels all. Our staff and volunteers in the Aboriginal community who will be marching this weekend as their hearts burn about the issue of black deaths in custody. I’m in awe. The Twilight team who have turned our most difficult times into our most effective. Amazing. The people who work in our mental health program; so careful, so sensitive, so purposeful. Our ‘pathways’ people who achieve miracles in helping people’s feet to move. Our facilities team in the never ending job of cleaning and maintenance; some of these folks are human wonders who have stepped out of the deepest hole to find their way to proper employment. For those who have pioneered new services at Bondi, including those working in a cutting-edge way on physical health issues such as exercise and diet. You should be the talk of the health system as you show how effective healthcare can be delivered from the footpath. Our youth workers who walk the street at night and intervene to get...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

A face that could melt any heart met me at Wayside this morning. I love this bloke. I could take him home. Many times over the years we’ve found accommodation for him but his mental health occasionally causes uproar that sees him on the streets again. The last time we met, he raved about the kindness of those who ran the aged care facility in which he was placed. Today’s news however is that he is sleeping at Central Station. An outburst last week caused staff to draw a line that excluded him. His outlook is positive already and we clinked our coffee cups to toast four years since he drank any alcohol. We clinked our cups again and toasted 11 years since he’s been to jail. We clinked our cups one more time when he said, in spite of this recent set back, he didn’t self-harm. His arms show evidence of many hundreds of scars and it’s clear today at least, that he’s not bashing himself up for his failures which is a wonderful and significant achievement. I’m cheering for him.

In the café this morning a young person looked across from the other side of the room in a way that made me think they were aching to say something. I acknowledged the face which responded with a beam. “I’m off to work,” the young woman said. “I didn’t know you had employment,” I said. It suddenly became rather obvious that she was wearing a Woolworths shirt with prominent logo. “I just started. Our Pathways Worker Mandy got the job for me.” I said, “I bet she lined up the right things and then you got the job for yourself”. “Yeah,” she said with a sudden look of shyness. She told me that it wasn’t just about money but that she felt like a productive member of the community because of her job. “Do you stack shelves?” I asked. “No,” she said, “I’m a product replenishment officer… so I suppose the answer is ‘yes’ but I like the way I say it better than the way you say it.” “Any way you say it,” I said, “I...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

None of us ever, “arrive”. Life is fluid and we either grow or diminish. Our lives are either opening up or closing down. At Wayside, we recognise a life closing down when the driving question is, “What can you give me?” There is a closely related question, “How much can I get for the least?” and you don’t have to be homeless to be driven by that question. At times for all of us, life is closing down, small things seem to loom large while important issues become invisible. At times, hopefully for all of us, our lives open up. It’s always a surprise and eventually a delight. At Wayside, we can’t make anyone suddenly want to live. The best we can do is to be awake so that we see what we’ve been looking at all day. We have no secret and we are suspicious of all who claim simple answers or any kind of magic. We know however that when a life begins to open up, the driving question shifts to become, “How can I help?” One of the special honours about working at Wayside is the number of people we meet, some rough sleepers, some volunteers, some staff, some donors, who all come to us asking the question, “How can I help?”

One of our staff members told me how he’d been through a chapter of his life where small things were beginning to dominate his thinking and life. I first met this bloke as a rough sleeper. He’s a big bloke and when he was in the grip of alcohol, he was one of our more dangerous visitors. We’ve travelled together for a few years now and we’ve witnessed both amazing growth and, from time to time, a relapse into old habits. He’s doing so well; he’s doing a fantastic job and living in his precious little unit near Wayside. Recently he told me of growing tension with a neighbour. His neighbour objected to his use of his small BBQ on his balcony. Tension has been building and complaints have been made. Recently, every time he cooks, his neighbour has been taking photos and videos as evidence of the...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

“Hey Rev, I haven’t used a needle in four days!” We were standing on the main drag of Kings Cross. “Wow”, I said, “Congratulations! It must be an hour-by-hour battle.” “More like, minute-by-minute,” he said. He told me that Wayside was the only place he felt safe because everywhere he was surrounded by people who look like friends but who only use him for their own purposes. “My goal is to become a volunteer at Wayside and one day maybe, find myself on staff.” We hugged in the middle of the street and as I hailed a cab he said, “Rob was a drunk and he’s dry and alive and on your team. Andrew was helpless with heroin but he’s clean and on your team. If they did it, I can do it!” As I shut the door on the cab, I just said, “I’m cheering for you.”

Today, just a few minutes ago, the Hon Malcolm Turnbull MP, Prime Minister of Australia, officially launched our iconic new book, Wayside. A crowd of 100 people gathered on the Wayside rooftop to get their first peak at a book which reaches right into the soul of Sydney and celebrates the diverse characters that call Kings Cross home. Media mingled with rough sleepers and Wayside donors in a community event that couldn’t capture the essence of Wayside more. Few have the capacity or stamina to be a PM but most in the country think they could do a better job. The PM’s love and passion for our vision and our work is 100% real. There are not many books launched by a PM and there have not been many PM’s who would launch such a book. We’re proud of how much love, sweat and tears have gone into making this book what it is, and we hope that you will love it too. You can get your copy here. The official launch will be followed by a party for all comers. Every street person who appears in the book will be given a framed, individual portrait, David Wenham will cut a cake and there...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

It is a great honour to announce that Monday marked the official release of Wayside – our iconic new coffee-table book that reaches into the soul of Sydney and showcases the depth and diversity of the people who call this city home. Wayside is a beautifully curated portrait of our community; it’s a book where everyone is a person to be met, not a problem to be solved. The stunning photography is by Gary Heery and the book is lovingly designed by Andrew Henderson. It features stories from the streets of Kings Cross, along with four letters I’ve written to people who have transformed in front of my eyes. Wayside has long been a place where love famously meets hate. We operate at the pointy end of humanity with some of the most difficult souls in the world but there is beauty to be found if you have the eyes to see it. Buy this book and drink it in. It is kindness, captured in a book and it shows on every page that there is a better way. We have a special offer for our dear Inner Circle readers - the first 100 copies ordered online here will be signed by yours truly. The book is also available in our Wayside Op Shops in Kings Cross and North Bondi and would make the perfect gift for Christmas.

We are witnesses to something of a seismic cultural shift. Overnight, many of you have become prophets. A prophet is a person who fights with a feather, calling things by their real name. Prophets are often seen as odd and even at times, disagreeable. America has declared something of a rebellion against a system that enriches the few and squeezes the many. America has shifted in the attitude that has, for many years, made them something of a global policeman. Given their dismal performance in this role, it might be a good thing. America has a rare opportunity to think and act differently about the biggest issues of our day. Whether the new President is up to this task, no-one knows. What we can say with certainty is that the world has changed,...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

“Hey Rev, I found my Mum.” I was looking into a face that couldn’t have been forty yet. It was what I call a “high mileage” face but with unmistakable beauty and character. Our eyes engaged from the first second of our meeting. This was a man who had looked for his mother for most of his life, having been given for adoption as a baby. Although he’d recently found her, she is dying. He discovered that he had three sisters. “She never gave any of them away. Just me!” he said. Every word seemed to hold both the joy of finding his Mum as well as the pain of her imminent loss. He couldn’t yet begin to understand why he was given up when there were other children who grew up with their mother. He was busting to ask her about how this all happened but instead he just asked if there was anything he could do for her. Her reply was that all she needed was to know that he would always be in the life of his own son. Her greatest fear would be that she’d caused injury that might sustain for generations.

How life is unleashed when we are not central to the story. The young fellow asked me to pray for his Mum. I have no idea what I said nor does it matter. We spent a moment where what mattered was, Mum. He knew I had no magic but he had freedom to be with me in a space without answers. There wasn’t an outcome in sight. I felt no necessity to find a prayer that would, “work” but bare hearts groaned together for life lost, for ground impossible to regain and for a lifetime of longing and love unexpressed and unfulfilled yet alive, fluttering and awake.

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Dear Inner Circle,

More nourishing than a hot plate of food, more refreshing than a dip in the ocean on a sticky day, is a conversation whose theme is, “Wow! Look how far you’ve come!” Every week, perhaps most days, I have a conversation with someone where we look back in wonder in order to appreciate a life now opening up and beginning to bloom.

A gentle, sensitive fellow was sharing something of his present struggle. Unthinkable early damage in his life has left something like a parcel of infection, a bit like a boil that needs to be lanced every now and then. Like many, perhaps most, his radar was permanently on the lookout for wrongdoers. He has a need of enemies. Luckily, when you look for evil, it’s everywhere to be found. So a lifetime of refining his ability to judge and condemn is beginning to look like a wasted life. Many times now we’ve sat together to discover that people are just people. The only way you can hate a person is to take a snap shot and call it the whole movie. I’ve witnessed his need of enemies diminish in recent years and proportionately, I’ve seen him take up new interests, including a love of reading and history in particular. What a joy to be able to say, “Wow! Look how far you’ve come.”

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

Thank you so much for the outpouring of love and support in this past week. I try to respond to most of your emails but this week it was well north of six hundred emails and I need to be content to express my deepest gratitude here. We buried Mum in the same grave as Dad. At the moment of lowering the casket, I asked my siblings to sing an old hymn that we’d heard our parents sing together hundreds of times. When we were young, we sang pretty well together with strong harmonies. Last week we sounded a bit like someone was trying to drown kittens. It was a lovely, even powerful moment and my siblings will forgive me in just a few short years.

If you’ve ever attended our Sunday Church service in Kings Cross, you’ll be aware of a little lady up the front who we’ve lovingly named, Saint Interruptus. Our dear little saint died this week and we’re very sad to part with her. She’s been a regular at Wayside since 1967. She told me how previous ministers would be annoyed by her interruptions and at times, make her sit at the back of the chapel. In this past 12 years, Saint Interruptus and I had become something of a double act. I loved her and she loved me. I’ll have to rely on someone else in the community for Sunday interruptions. I’m pretty confident that our community won’t fail me.

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Dear Inner Circle,

An old lady died this week. She was born into an Australia that knew a lot about economic depression and next to nothing about government support. It was a world of hard work. As the eldest daughter in a large family, her lot was about raising younger children and endless domestic duties. Her education finished at primary school because there were many brothers and they needed to be fed and their clothes washed. An old wood stove seemed to perpetually burn with soup for strangers and a kettle constantly ready for a cup of tea. There was no entertainment in the house except for when the family sang together or laughed together. After the lady got married she was amazed at how her parents could suddenly afford some labour-saving devices like a washing machine.

The lady’s mother had agoraphobia before anyone knew the word and so as a little girl as young as seven years, she would toddle up to the bank to bring home wages for the men in her father’s joinery. Her mother was sharp, all the prices for timber and quotes for building jobs were at the top of her head. Her father was a big burley builder. She adored her father who once every night would walk into a room full of children that ought to be asleep and say a prayer. One night she asked her father to pray for their pet dog who had taken ill. The father hesitated and she knew that he thought perhaps prayers for dogs were not in order. He prayed for the dog.

Keep reading here.