16
Feb
2017
Dear Inner Circle,
Miss four-year-old asked me last week, “So what did you do when you were four?” How lovely to be asked such an unexpected question. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to look for a satisfactory answer, “I think I ate my dinner.” “But did you eat all of it?” she asked in a flash. “I think I did,” I said, beginning now to sound unconvincing. “Well,” she said, “I only like b’skettie”. I treasure such precious conversations.
Rarely have I been accused of being religious and perhaps to protect my reputation, stories from our congregations appear rarely in this note. Last week in the Bondi congregation, there was no sermon but Rev Graham Anson, Wayside’s Executive Minister in Bondi, interviewed a bloke who had spent a third of his life in institutions. All of his jail time was related to addictions to various substances. This healthy-looking fellow hit rock bottom when his addiction lost him his job and his partner. Born outside of Australia, there was no social support available to this fellow and he was reduced literally to begging in order to stay alive. With the help of AA and our staff at Bondi, he is on his road to recovery. He’s working again and keen as mustard to offer help to others through our facility at Bondi.
Keep reading here.
02
Feb
2017
Dear Inner Circle,
A couple came to see me a few months ago. They’d had a stable marriage and seemed to have found a way to work together, maximizing the opportunities life offered and building a successful life. A sudden revelation brought all of this crashing to the ground in the speed of a text message. I’ll never forget the look on their faces in my office as each one looked at the other as if they were alien. I think the problem was that the two had become one. They seemed to know each other so well that each was utterly predictable to the other. Each could count on the other and there was little, if any, mystery. Oh, the joy of not knowing. Oh, the misery of knowing someone so well that they become invisible. They saw me again this week. Again, the look on their faces rendered me speechless. The change is hard to explain. Wonder and not knowing had returned. They each looked at the other as if waiting for a revelation. I asked how they could explain this turnaround; half-hoping I might have said something wise that might have helped. They told me that the only real change they could observe is that they no longer let the television run in the evenings, and at an agreed time, they turn their phones off. For months now, they listen to the news and then for the rest of the evening they talk to one another. This week, neither one offered me any observations to help me understand the other. The only pronouns they used were, “We, us and our”. Talking is a miracle. By talking they had discovered that there was much they didn’t know about the other and each was relieved of the burden of being the “smart” one in the relationship. I could barely believe I was talking with the same couple. Stability is not always a sign of health or life. Many years ago, I did a placement at a psychiatric hospital and I almost worshipped my supervising psychiatrist. In those days, the prevailing language in that world was Freudian and I lapped it up. At the end of the...[read more]
A couple came to see me a few months ago. They’d had a stable marriage and seemed to have found a way to work together, maximizing the opportunities life offered and building a successful life. A sudden revelation brought all of this crashing to the ground in the speed of a text message. I’ll never forget the look on their faces in my office as each one looked at the other as if they were alien. I think the problem was that the two had become one. They seemed to know each other so well that each was utterly predictable to the other. Each could count on the other and there was little, if any, mystery. Oh, the joy of not knowing. Oh, the misery of knowing someone so well that they become invisible. They saw me again this week. Again, the look on their faces rendered me speechless. The change is hard to explain. Wonder and not knowing had returned. They each looked at the other as if waiting for a revelation. I asked how they could explain this turnaround; half-hoping I might have said something wise that might have helped. They told me that the only real change they could observe is that they no longer let the television run in the evenings, and at an agreed time, they turn their phones off. For months now, they listen to the news and then for the rest of the evening they talk to one another. This week, neither one offered me any observations to help me understand the other. The only pronouns they used were, “We, us and our”. Talking is a miracle. By talking they had discovered that there was much they didn’t know about the other and each was relieved of the burden of being the “smart” one in the relationship. I could barely believe I was talking with the same couple. Stability is not always a sign of health or life. Many years ago, I did a placement at a psychiatric hospital and I almost worshipped my supervising psychiatrist. In those days, the prevailing language in that world was Freudian and I lapped it up. At the end of the...[read more]
22
Dec
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
It’s happening! The outpouring of goodwill melts our battle-weary hearts. Young children come through our front door having bought a present to be given to some other child who has less. People stream through the front door with offers of help – undies, socks and razors in the hands of loving people who’ve been saving up in order to make a practical difference for those doing it tough – donations of food for our street party on Christmas Day flood into the place – companies ring and ask what quantities of prawns or other goods we require – we just say a number and it arrives here by truck – no charge. Volunteers overwhelm us with more offers of help than we can possibly use. It’s impossible to witness the sheer volume of goodwill without being moved and inspired.
While most wind down for Christmas, we wind up. Yesterday there must have been a couple of hundred people in our building at various levels, engaged in community celebrations or end of year functions. As I walked into one of the functions an Aboriginal man embraced me and said with tone I’d not heard in his gravelly voice before, “My family is here”. Suddenly I noticed that there were quite a few younger people and a handful of young children in the room. With every passing second, the look on the old man’s face glowed with intensity and pride. I complemented him on having such a fine collection of young children that clearly reverenced him as a relative and senior person in the family and a big singular tear ran down his lovely face. It’s a rough time of year for many but at the same time and without denying any of the toughness, there is a wave of well-wishing that gathers up many to lift and inspire.
Keep reading here.
It’s happening! The outpouring of goodwill melts our battle-weary hearts. Young children come through our front door having bought a present to be given to some other child who has less. People stream through the front door with offers of help – undies, socks and razors in the hands of loving people who’ve been saving up in order to make a practical difference for those doing it tough – donations of food for our street party on Christmas Day flood into the place – companies ring and ask what quantities of prawns or other goods we require – we just say a number and it arrives here by truck – no charge. Volunteers overwhelm us with more offers of help than we can possibly use. It’s impossible to witness the sheer volume of goodwill without being moved and inspired.
While most wind down for Christmas, we wind up. Yesterday there must have been a couple of hundred people in our building at various levels, engaged in community celebrations or end of year functions. As I walked into one of the functions an Aboriginal man embraced me and said with tone I’d not heard in his gravelly voice before, “My family is here”. Suddenly I noticed that there were quite a few younger people and a handful of young children in the room. With every passing second, the look on the old man’s face glowed with intensity and pride. I complemented him on having such a fine collection of young children that clearly reverenced him as a relative and senior person in the family and a big singular tear ran down his lovely face. It’s a rough time of year for many but at the same time and without denying any of the toughness, there is a wave of well-wishing that gathers up many to lift and inspire.
Keep reading here.
13
Oct
2016
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.
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.
28
Jul
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
A huddle of three men in our café invited me to join their table while they solved all the world’s problems in thirty minutes. Each of these fellows were either sleeping rough or in a less than ideal boarding house. Each had more than their fair share of issues coming from difficult histories. I stepped into a discussion about the American presidential race. We were four old wise men who really knew that our opinion counted for nothing but who never-the-less were genuinely concerned. Two of the three were surprisingly well informed. All three thought that Donald Trump was a buffoon and yet all three were convinced that he will be elected to the high office. One fellow could articulate a sense of “ordinary people don’t trust government any more”. I think it is the heart of the issue.
In 1247 an English noble established a priory (a place of prayer) and called it Saint Mary’s of Bethlehem. The idea was that someone would be praying for the nobleman while he was off fighting battles. Over a couple of hundred years, the priory became a place that cared for the mentally ill. In all of London there were never more than about 20 people who were mentally ill to the extent of needing residential care. When Henry VIII declared himself to be the head of the church and abolished all the monasteries around England, a deep cultural shake took place. It was said in those days that a peasant could walk a day in any direction and find a monastery that would give them shelter and minister to them some soup (hence ‘minestrone soup’). Within just a few years, all the monasteries were gone, sold to the English rich and making Henry the wealthiest monarch in Europe. Saint Mary’s of Bethlehem started to burst at the seams as hundreds of people could no longer cope in a world where the foundations had eroded. Saint Mary’s of Bethlehem became, “Bethlehem”, which became “Bethlem”, which finally became “Bedlam”, which is where this word...[read more]
A huddle of three men in our café invited me to join their table while they solved all the world’s problems in thirty minutes. Each of these fellows were either sleeping rough or in a less than ideal boarding house. Each had more than their fair share of issues coming from difficult histories. I stepped into a discussion about the American presidential race. We were four old wise men who really knew that our opinion counted for nothing but who never-the-less were genuinely concerned. Two of the three were surprisingly well informed. All three thought that Donald Trump was a buffoon and yet all three were convinced that he will be elected to the high office. One fellow could articulate a sense of “ordinary people don’t trust government any more”. I think it is the heart of the issue.
In 1247 an English noble established a priory (a place of prayer) and called it Saint Mary’s of Bethlehem. The idea was that someone would be praying for the nobleman while he was off fighting battles. Over a couple of hundred years, the priory became a place that cared for the mentally ill. In all of London there were never more than about 20 people who were mentally ill to the extent of needing residential care. When Henry VIII declared himself to be the head of the church and abolished all the monasteries around England, a deep cultural shake took place. It was said in those days that a peasant could walk a day in any direction and find a monastery that would give them shelter and minister to them some soup (hence ‘minestrone soup’). Within just a few years, all the monasteries were gone, sold to the English rich and making Henry the wealthiest monarch in Europe. Saint Mary’s of Bethlehem started to burst at the seams as hundreds of people could no longer cope in a world where the foundations had eroded. Saint Mary’s of Bethlehem became, “Bethlehem”, which became “Bethlem”, which finally became “Bedlam”, which is where this word...[read more]
21
Jul
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Time for some straight talking. Some religions have demonstrated a propensity for violence. All religions long for peace but some have a history, so consistently violent, that it’s hard to deny an inboard inclination to torture and slaughter. In most cases, the fiercest violence was inflicted not upon other religions but upon sects and groups of people from within their own religion. I speak of course, of Christianity.
For three hundred years, Christianity had no power to persecute anyone. They were an irritant around the Roman Empire and were themselves the object of persecution. Everything changed when the Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity, believing this God had delivered for him victory in a battle at Milvian Bridge. Suddenly it was cool to be Christian if you wanted to do business in the Roman Empire. In due course it was not just cool, but compulsory. From this moment on, the Church showed great interest in correcting those with flawed understanding. Enthusiasm for the correcting process may have been fuelled by the constant confiscation of the land and goods of the “corrected”.
Keep reading here.
Time for some straight talking. Some religions have demonstrated a propensity for violence. All religions long for peace but some have a history, so consistently violent, that it’s hard to deny an inboard inclination to torture and slaughter. In most cases, the fiercest violence was inflicted not upon other religions but upon sects and groups of people from within their own religion. I speak of course, of Christianity.
For three hundred years, Christianity had no power to persecute anyone. They were an irritant around the Roman Empire and were themselves the object of persecution. Everything changed when the Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity, believing this God had delivered for him victory in a battle at Milvian Bridge. Suddenly it was cool to be Christian if you wanted to do business in the Roman Empire. In due course it was not just cool, but compulsory. From this moment on, the Church showed great interest in correcting those with flawed understanding. Enthusiasm for the correcting process may have been fuelled by the constant confiscation of the land and goods of the “corrected”.
Keep reading here.
30
Jun
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
Surprises abound at Wayside. Some of the loveliest things happen in a way that is quite out of order. Luckily people are generally not problems to be solved but people to be met and so often the least likely turns out to be the wisest. It’s why at our little Sunday morning church service we adore the little lady we call, Saint Interruptus. She and I have become something of a double act. Once I noticed that we were running a little over time and so I said, “I’ll pick up the pace here, I don’t want to bore you.” “Bore us!” she said, “That’s your job!” Sunday just gone a dark-skinned Aboriginal man decided unannounced to play us his didgeridoo. He stepped up to the altar and rested his didge near a microphone. It was an incredibly beautiful and moving gift he made for us. The dear Uncle however, had some time ago, had his own precious didge stolen, so on Sunday he played on a pipe from a vacuum cleaner. It may have been the first retractable didgeridoo in 40,000 years to be played in this country. A couple who had been with us that day, showed up on Tuesday this week with a brand new didgeridoo. When I gave it to our dear Uncle he melted in my arms and wept for some time. There is a good chance this Sunday that the happiest Aborigine in Australia will lead us in devotion with his beautiful new didgeridoo. We’re not much like a church but it works for those who are not much like Christians.
You’ve heard me talk about Wayside’s expansion to Bondi Beach a few times over the past year and I’m happy to tell you that from 1 July 2016, this will officially become a permanent arrangement. Chapel by the Sea in Bondi Beach will come under the governance and management of The Wayside Chapel and as of tomorrow, we are one strong organisation serving the community in multiple locations. This means that Wayside has full governance and management responsibility of the Community Services Centre at Norman Andrews House and the...[read more]
Surprises abound at Wayside. Some of the loveliest things happen in a way that is quite out of order. Luckily people are generally not problems to be solved but people to be met and so often the least likely turns out to be the wisest. It’s why at our little Sunday morning church service we adore the little lady we call, Saint Interruptus. She and I have become something of a double act. Once I noticed that we were running a little over time and so I said, “I’ll pick up the pace here, I don’t want to bore you.” “Bore us!” she said, “That’s your job!” Sunday just gone a dark-skinned Aboriginal man decided unannounced to play us his didgeridoo. He stepped up to the altar and rested his didge near a microphone. It was an incredibly beautiful and moving gift he made for us. The dear Uncle however, had some time ago, had his own precious didge stolen, so on Sunday he played on a pipe from a vacuum cleaner. It may have been the first retractable didgeridoo in 40,000 years to be played in this country. A couple who had been with us that day, showed up on Tuesday this week with a brand new didgeridoo. When I gave it to our dear Uncle he melted in my arms and wept for some time. There is a good chance this Sunday that the happiest Aborigine in Australia will lead us in devotion with his beautiful new didgeridoo. We’re not much like a church but it works for those who are not much like Christians.
You’ve heard me talk about Wayside’s expansion to Bondi Beach a few times over the past year and I’m happy to tell you that from 1 July 2016, this will officially become a permanent arrangement. Chapel by the Sea in Bondi Beach will come under the governance and management of The Wayside Chapel and as of tomorrow, we are one strong organisation serving the community in multiple locations. This means that Wayside has full governance and management responsibility of the Community Services Centre at Norman Andrews House and the...[read more]
02
Jun
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
A good mate sent me a text this morning to say that he’d found a homeless man near where he lives and offered him a perfectly good doona so that he could be warm at night. The homeless man refused the offer by saying, “Sorry mate. I’m downsizing!”
First thing yesterday I spoke to a hundred or so Year 12 boys at a large Catholic school. I don’t normally do this kind of thing because there are others here at Wayside that would do a much better job. The teacher who invited me could ask me to speak at the South Pole and I’d grab a jumper and be off. I first met her when she was the eldest of five children, homeless because of unthinkable domestic violence. I found refuge accommodation for the family and in due course assisted in finding public housing. This senior teacher was just 13 years old when we first met. The battle she had just to do her homework would have discouraged anyone. On the day she enrolled in university, I was by her side to support her. On her graduation day, I was there taking the part of a proud father. I performed her wedding ceremony and baptised her child. Is there any man on earth who knows such blessing? She’s now around 40 years old and to see this competent, respected, senior teacher yesterday was such a special thing. She introduced me to the school and I hesitated for a minute, waiting for Jesus to enter the room. What a wonderful day.
Keep reading here.
A good mate sent me a text this morning to say that he’d found a homeless man near where he lives and offered him a perfectly good doona so that he could be warm at night. The homeless man refused the offer by saying, “Sorry mate. I’m downsizing!”
First thing yesterday I spoke to a hundred or so Year 12 boys at a large Catholic school. I don’t normally do this kind of thing because there are others here at Wayside that would do a much better job. The teacher who invited me could ask me to speak at the South Pole and I’d grab a jumper and be off. I first met her when she was the eldest of five children, homeless because of unthinkable domestic violence. I found refuge accommodation for the family and in due course assisted in finding public housing. This senior teacher was just 13 years old when we first met. The battle she had just to do her homework would have discouraged anyone. On the day she enrolled in university, I was by her side to support her. On her graduation day, I was there taking the part of a proud father. I performed her wedding ceremony and baptised her child. Is there any man on earth who knows such blessing? She’s now around 40 years old and to see this competent, respected, senior teacher yesterday was such a special thing. She introduced me to the school and I hesitated for a minute, waiting for Jesus to enter the room. What a wonderful day.
Keep reading here.
19
May
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
A lovely man who has a bit of a gift for finding the hard way to do anything, really owes his life to Alcoholics Anonymous. The man was born into alcoholism, literally, on a park bench because his mum couldn’t get herself to hospital. All his life, the foetal alcohol spectrum disorder made everything hard. Schooling was impossible and so now as an adult any reading and writing is a major obstacle. Thanks to AA, this fellow has been dry for at least 10 years and he’s undertaken a lot of coaching to try and gain some of the opportunities lost to him because of an alcoholic daze that lasted from birth until about 30 years of age. I’m a big fan of AA because I’ve known many people, like this bloke, for whom it was just the right answer. People who are immersed in it tend to develop a language all of their own. Often in a conversation, this beautiful man will launch into “Rule 5” or some other aspect of AA. He’s inclined to quote “the big book” quite often. Yesterday he was talking about a situation that is really testing him. “Like the big book says,” he told me, “Patience is a virtue”. We talked about what he might do to help move his situation forward a bit and at one point he reminded me about, “A stitch in time… like it says in the big book”. We talked about how so many things lately had not worked out as planned and I chipped in, “Well, like it says in the big book, ‘shit happens.’” He looked a bit surprised and asked me where such a thing was said in the big book. Having misquoted the bible a half dozen times now he asks me for references! “Well,” I said, “I think the big book says that ‘shit happens’ from cover to cover.’” There was an embarrassing pause before a joke was detected.
Walking into the building this morning I recognised a vaguely familiar face. We stood face to face before I realised that I knew the man quite well. “My Lord,” I said. “I couldn’t recognise you...[read more]
A lovely man who has a bit of a gift for finding the hard way to do anything, really owes his life to Alcoholics Anonymous. The man was born into alcoholism, literally, on a park bench because his mum couldn’t get herself to hospital. All his life, the foetal alcohol spectrum disorder made everything hard. Schooling was impossible and so now as an adult any reading and writing is a major obstacle. Thanks to AA, this fellow has been dry for at least 10 years and he’s undertaken a lot of coaching to try and gain some of the opportunities lost to him because of an alcoholic daze that lasted from birth until about 30 years of age. I’m a big fan of AA because I’ve known many people, like this bloke, for whom it was just the right answer. People who are immersed in it tend to develop a language all of their own. Often in a conversation, this beautiful man will launch into “Rule 5” or some other aspect of AA. He’s inclined to quote “the big book” quite often. Yesterday he was talking about a situation that is really testing him. “Like the big book says,” he told me, “Patience is a virtue”. We talked about what he might do to help move his situation forward a bit and at one point he reminded me about, “A stitch in time… like it says in the big book”. We talked about how so many things lately had not worked out as planned and I chipped in, “Well, like it says in the big book, ‘shit happens.’” He looked a bit surprised and asked me where such a thing was said in the big book. Having misquoted the bible a half dozen times now he asks me for references! “Well,” I said, “I think the big book says that ‘shit happens’ from cover to cover.’” There was an embarrassing pause before a joke was detected.
Walking into the building this morning I recognised a vaguely familiar face. We stood face to face before I realised that I knew the man quite well. “My Lord,” I said. “I couldn’t recognise you...[read more]
24
Mar
2016
Dear Inner Circle,
As a young man, I liked to think I was pretty bright. In my mid-twenties my head was awash with Freud, Ellis, Berne and the like. I wanted to serve people well but in the process I ran a solo commentary on how the world worked. I look back in horror and embarrassment at my pretentious twenty-something self. Knowledge comes through books but wisdom comes through pain.
In the little town of Waikerie, South Australia, I ran a visiting service for a government department whose primary responsibility was child protection. The office I used had no receptionist and no telephone; just a sign on the door to say that I’d be there on Fridays. No one had thought of mobile phones in those days. I started each visit with a full waiting room and I’d work until everyone had gone. They were often long days with no way for me to make enquiries for people or ask for help when my way got difficult.
Keep reading here.
As a young man, I liked to think I was pretty bright. In my mid-twenties my head was awash with Freud, Ellis, Berne and the like. I wanted to serve people well but in the process I ran a solo commentary on how the world worked. I look back in horror and embarrassment at my pretentious twenty-something self. Knowledge comes through books but wisdom comes through pain.
In the little town of Waikerie, South Australia, I ran a visiting service for a government department whose primary responsibility was child protection. The office I used had no receptionist and no telephone; just a sign on the door to say that I’d be there on Fridays. No one had thought of mobile phones in those days. I started each visit with a full waiting room and I’d work until everyone had gone. They were often long days with no way for me to make enquiries for people or ask for help when my way got difficult.
Keep reading here.
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