Dear Inner Circle,

Here’s hoping we don’t get a severe fire season next summer because I fear the response of our government will be to disband the fire brigade. It is true that whenever we have fires, those pesky red trucks show up and I’m pretty sure that if we could stop the trucks, we’d solve the problem of fires. While I’m solving the country’s problems, have you considered how hospitals are a black hole for money? Have you seen the way these things attract sick people? They are a veritable honey pot for the sick and by building them, we’re sending the wrong message to the public. Ambulance drivers are akin to people smugglers, making a living on the back of people’s suffering. Surely if we could stop the ambulances, the sick would think twice before flocking to hospitals. Really it should be we who decides who will be sick and the manner in which they will be treated. I can hear the slogans of our next election, stop the boats, stop the firetrucks, stop the ambulances. OK, I’m being stupid but I’m hoping that by laughing, we might see how pathetic is the behaviour of our country in the face of so many people perishing at sea.

A young man, a warmly dressed and articulate fellow with the loveliest face, told me this week that it was addiction that put him on the street. He’s fighting the addiction and it’s a daily struggle. Last week he took all of his money and gave it to World Vision for their work in Nepal. He’d rather starve himself than throw his money away on his wretched addiction. What a struggle and what a beautiful heart is revealed, fighting for life and survival.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,
Our ambassador, Kylie Kwong, brought her entire team into Wayside yesterday for a talk and walk around Kings Cross with Rob Holt, our Community Educator, who was once on the street. I’m certain the day opened their eyes to a side of this city that could be known no other way, and that I guess would help weld her team together putting most of their problems into a healthy perspective. People who order noodles in our cafe on Friday don’t realise it but they are eating straight from Kylie’s kitchen. We’re a class act here.

Last night getting out of a cab on my way to a speaking engagement, the door flung open quicker than I expected and connected with a flash looking white BMW. It left a mark on the paint but I couldn’t tell if it was a scratch or a mark that might rub off. A woman got out of the flash BMW and I apologised and handed her my card. I told her that if the mark didn’t come off that I’d be glad to get it fixed. She said, “I’ve come here tonight to hear you speak.” I love cars probably more than I should and if I owned a lovely BMW like this one, it would be hard to be gracious about someone damaging it. As the night passed, the BMW owner become more and more gracious. At the end of the night,
I gave her a copy of my book and so from a most awkward beginning we ended the evening in mutual admiration and bucket loads of thanks to each other. It could have been a disaster but grace transforms negatives into positives.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

“Hey, Papa, one of my friends got into a lot of trouble today,” said my 8-year-old granddaughter as I met her at the school gate.

“Really,” I said, “Why did she get into trouble?”

“She was accidentally talking,” she said.

“‘Accidentally’ talking? Baby, you should consider a career in the law.”

“What?” she asked!

“Darling, please say these words for me, ‘Accidentally, Your Honour’”

She repeated the words and I said, “That’s it, I’m saving for a wig and gown”.

My girl looked at me like she recognised this as one of those grandfather moments for which there isn’t an explanation and that it wouldn’t be worth her energy to try and help her old grandfather make any sense.

“Can we get an ice cream?” she asked.

It was my turn to pull a facial expression, waiting for the ‘magic word’ that unlocks the heart and wallet of all grandfathers.

A beautiful little face looked into mine and after pause she said, “Your honour”.

There’s been lots of talk around the SBS program Struggle Street this past week or so. I’m probably not the greatest authority on this subject because most of the people we work with at Wayside, aspire to Struggle Street. The thought of having a roof over your head and the struggle to pay rent and find food and clothing, sounds like luxury to most around here. I saw the program and warmed quickly to each of the characters whom I thought were revealed in their vulnerable but wonderful humanity. I thought SBS made a pretty good job of it however some who had some serious misgivings are far better placed than I to make a judgement and I differ to them. Jon Owen and his wife Lisa choose to live in Mount Druitt where they raise their young family. Jon and Lisa run something that is akin to Wayside but it all happens in their family home. They are inspiring and probably a little crazy. I’m sure they are crazy in the same way that Ghandi or...[read more]

‘Mission’ and ‘vision’ are both words that indicate a forward look. When we talk of our mission, we are looking forward as far as we can see. When we talk of vision, we are looking forward beyond what we can see. Whenever we ask the question, ‘What do we want to do” the discussion that follows will be about ‘mission’. Whenever we ask, “Who do we want to be” the discussion that follows will always be about vision.

Wayside’s mission is to “Create Community with no Us and Them”. That’s what we aim for in everything we do. Sometimes we hit mission and a phenomenal burst of life and transformation takes place; sometimes we are miles away from mission and simply in a state of “wishin”. We’ve learned that mature leaders are those who don’t panic in the wishin stage but rather use it to sort our stuff and look to be captured by our mission again.

The phrase, “Love over Hate” describes our vision. We want to be an organization that lives on the intersection of love and hate. Often enough, it’s a dangerous intersection. We want to find our place in the intersection between the haves and have-nots; between the Christians and the Muslims; the theists and the atheists; the in and the out; the sick and the well. We want to be a people who live in this dangerous intersection in a way that maximizes the chances of love prevailing.

We don’t own our vision. We can’t franchise our vision. Our vision is always out there, always ahead, always calling us to be more. If we could be experts in our own vision and seek to proselytize, we would have destroyed our vision. Our vision admits no experts. No formula leads us to our vision and when we really get it, we emerge with no formula. We do not go to people and say, “Believe the following propositions and you’ll get it”, instead we say, “Walk with us and you’ll get it”. Or allow us to walk with you and we’ll get it.

Our mission is our boat, our sails and our rigging....[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

On my way in this morning I noticed the children's playground was busier than usual and memories of the days when my children were little and such parks had a gravitational pull for them came back to me. I was running late this morning and content to walk past quickly but a little boy recognised me and came over to me at the fence. He had news that I needed to hear. His jeans had nine pockets! He knew this news was probably beyond my capacity to believe so I had to carefully count each pocket and confirm the total of nine. My day is off to such a great start because I’ve counted nine pockets. How often is the awesome wrapped in the ordinary?

Our most valuable assets are not in bank vaults and showroom windows but within us and all around us. Kings Cross is an awesome place with an awesome history and Wayside is inviting everyone from all walks of life to pause and ponder how awesome are the people in our community. We’re putting on a photographic exhibition that highlights how awesome is the ordinary. Join us if you can on Tuesday 12th May at 6pm.

He is a little sample of the astonishing ordinary.

“I have created a life of dust, grit, thirst and itch. Every trace of beauty and freshness had to be excluded. It has had the effect of smothering me, before I am done. I’ve got a grudge against my life for not having been a different life.”

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

Walking in our front door and heading in for choir practice, a young woman struck up a conversation with a homeless person. It was an interesting, easy flowing exchange that ended when the man said, “I’m not really homeless, I’m just outdoorsy”.

At the door this morning a young fellow stopped me to announce that he had a new girlfriend. “I’m happy for you” I said. He told me that his secret was that he’d told the young woman that he was me! He said she was chuffed to be keeping company with Rev Graham Long, Pastor and CEO of The Wayside Chapel. “Gosh” I said, “So you’re not planning for this to be a long term relationship then?” This poor young bloke is very unwell and didn’t understand how I could foresee a problem. “Well” I said, “She might find out you’re lying to her and I doubt that she’ll take it well, or, she might meet me and see that you’re impersonating a poor old burnt-out has been.” I went on to ask the fellow why he wasn’t happy or content to be himself and claim to be only himself when meeting a young woman. Unfortunately the man is unwell and he slipped into gobbledygook.

Keep reading here.

When I was sixteen and just beginning my school certificate, Australia hung Ronald Ryan. Australia’s longest serving Premier, Henry Bolte of Victoria was facing re-election. The case against Ryan was weak by any measure and yet Bolte refused clemency.

I was old enough to take an interest in this case. A prison guard had been shot and killed. Although Ryan carried a rifle at the time of his escape, there was never any evidence that he’d fired a shot. There was no spent cartridge found. There was strong evidence to suggest that another prison guard fired a shot, but his rifle was never examined. In due course the guard, who was alleged to have taken a shot, took his own life.

Churches, journalists and academics were all outraged that the State should take a life especially when the case against the man was so weak. The Premier was a shrewd politician who judged the mood of the public to be insecure in the context of all the changes that the 1960’s created. He knew an irrational fear created a thirst for strong leadership that would assert its authority against all who wanted to abolish the death penalty. Bolte was re-elected with an increased majority.

A sheltered childhood was eroded somewhat as I reluctantly realised that an elected official would find a man’s death useful for his personal and political ambitions.

Two young Australians are about to lose their lives at the hand of the Indonesian government! An elected official is shrewdly reading the mood of his people and resisting calls for clemency. Just like Bolte, I believe the Indonesian President is reading the mood of his people accurately.

The Indonesians have demonstrated a culture that has careful regard for the rule of law. They did prove the guilt, beyond doubt of Andrew and Myuran. Now they are enforcing the law.

The public mood for “strong leadership” in any culture should cause us concern. In an atmosphere of fear or in a history where resentment has been allowed to...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

Dreadful weather didn’t stop about 40 people from attending our Slam Poetry session last night. Such rare and priceless gifts were generously offered by a range of poets. Some people with whom I’d only exchanged brief greetings suddenly revealed themselves as masters of technique in the delivery of their poems. Some stood before us, spiritually naked, sharing their deepest struggles in poetry form. I was often on the edge of my seat as someone opened their heart, not in the safety of counselling, but in the safety of an audience who listened and affirmed every offering. At Wayside I sometimes think the greatest riches in life are freely given, never more so than last night.

Do you think we might have overdone the ANZAC thing this year? I’m sure it's true that WWI did wake up a sense among us of being Australian. Before that war, we thought of ourselves as British. My Dad was an army nurse in Darwin when it
was being bombed. Dad didn’t talk about his war, not because he was traumatised but I suspect because he regarded his role as insignificant. Yet, he and I loved to discuss the battles of WWI and the strengths and weaknesses of various Generals. Dad sometimes went to ANZAC services but always in emotional turmoil. Dad hated anything that glorified war. His favourite ANZAC Day story was when in Sydney, after speeches by high ranking people in uniforms, a moment of wreath-laying took place. It was solemn. The silence was broken by an old drunk who sang at top note, “Hallelujah I’m a bum”. Police ran to shut the man up. Dad loved the outburst. He liked to think that the drunk was an old soldier who had the courage to protest against all the fine speeches that tried to convince the crowd that all the death, particularly that of Gallipoli and the Western front, was anything other than an unspeakable waste of life.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

First thing in the morning a man was playing a fiddle out the front of our building. I wish there were words that could deliver the shock contained in that sentence. This man didn’t just play; he played in a way that caused everyone – staff, volunteers and visitors – to dance with delight. The power of music is not often witnessed in such raw form. There were no backing tracks and no other instruments involved, just the fiddle and the sound of the man’s foot thumping on the ground. For a while I sat next to him, mesmerised by his skill and enthralled by the transformation he brought to people who had every intention of getting on with their day until they were arrested by joy. After playing one piece I told him that I wished I could pay him to sit and work his magic all day, every day. He said, “I’d be happy if you could give me a free meal”.

Keep reading here.

Dear Inner Circle,

With my coffee in hand this morning I was confronted by a large man wearing a football jumper and shorts with a kindly, beautiful face, blocking my way. He took off his bracelet and said, “Can you bless this Father?”

When I was younger, requests like this caused me the greatest discomfort because it came close to the superstitious hocus-pocus that I thought it was my duty to blow away rather than create. I remember the moment when I learned that objects can take on a sense of the sacred. Years ago late one night, I sat with a couple who agonised their way through a story of unfaithfulness. The man had slept with the woman’s best friend. It was betrayal on a grand scale. The most painful moment of the night was when the husband confessed to sleeping with the wife’s friend in their own bed. I was puzzled that the betrayal seemed worse because it took place on the marital bed. The bed was an object of special, even sacred, significance. I began to understand that things and places can be made sacred by human acts.

Keep reading here.