I responded to a version of this question a day or two ago. I would prefer to rephrase it “How do faith and politics mix?” It is being asked of our current Prime Minister and addressed this morning in an article by a previous one.
Most of my three years in retirement has seen me more active politically, out of necessity, as part of a badly regulated and collapsed retirement housing scheme. Together, with over 100 affected households, I have been writing, phoning and pressing the flesh with politicians from both sides of the political divide. Within my cohort, my function as a pastor has not been to the fore, but noted and occasionally drawn on. Yesterday a primary goal was reached, the launch in Federal Parliament of a powerfully appointed Senate Inquiry into the conditions surrounding the housing collapse that includes a focus on the role of the regulator.
Debate, discussion and strategising within the group has been rigorous, intense, and sometimes divisive, as one would expect amongst peers who are stressed, ill and cheated. As a survivor of decades of occasional ructions within faith communities, I trust I was able to bring a calming influence. Some insights into the manipulation and chicanery of the political machine also helped in matters of discernment and consultation with our joint leadership headed by seasoned campaigner and consumer advocate Denise Brailey, who fondly calls us her “generals.”
My answer to the question was “by applying the law of love to the law of the jungle.” It has to begin at a very personal level, and it is captured well in a prayer that came into my feed this morning and that I shared on social media:
May the Christ who walks on wounded feet, walk with you to the end of your road; May the Christ who serves with wounded hands, teach you to serve each other; May the Christ who loves with a wounded heart, help you to love each other; When you go out, may you see the face of Jesus in everyone you meet, and may everyone you meet see the face of Jesus in you. Amen
Whatever one’s faith stance, it will appear in our politics, for we have to live in community and how we live and think and act is our “policy.” The extent of self and other awareness we bring to life reveals how our politics and our faith function together.
Responding to prompts to begin writing down my memoirs, I’ve begun to gather the scattered anecdotes of my forebears’ pedigrees. After all, I carry something of their influence and makeup in my very bones. As I rummage through boxes of diagrams, letters, photos and reference works, what I have been discovering is a theme that was initially unsettling, but now strangely reassuring – the uncanny ability to turn wine into water, or gold into rubble!
One family line emerged from a failed banker at the height of the lucrative Industrial Revolution. Another neglected to patent a device common to flushing toilet systems today (O the irony that would today delight old college colleagues who, after pranking me, had dubbed me with the lasting nickname “Flush!”). Currently we are campaigning and trying to extricate ourselves from a collapsed retirement housing scheme that has become a national scandal.
Is there such a thing as a tribal curse? Are we doomed to play this morose minor key of failure from generation to generation? Framing is so important when assessing such influences.
My line might not be good at business, but we certainly know something about resilience. We know how to make nurturing compost from the dross and ashes of failure. The doomed banking line was the direct cause of the rise of an influential clergyman, a prolific writer whose works are republished over 120 years posthumously to this day. The Australian line of the plumbing enterprise is broad in variety and contribution to the wider community. Dig deeper, and you will find that the traits of generosity, hospitality, and positivity rise above the urge to accumulate. This hidden gold seam runs through all the ancestral stories of my line.
This is why I am reassured, for these are values that my wife and I hold dear, and that will see us through our current housing crisis. It seems to be in our DNA!
I just spent a weekend as a guest of the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart (the Joeys of Mary McKillop fame) at their retreat house in Shoalwater, Western Australia. I was spending time with a peer group that meets for mutual growth and accountability. While there I became aware of the near 30th anniversary of the cruel death of Sr Irene McCormack. She was kidnapped and executed while establishing education programs in remote parts of Peru. The full story and artwork of “Resurrected Irene” is here.
What struck me as a sister was telling this story of her close friend who came originally from the wheatbelt town of Training, WA, was the proximity of the mix of living the life of crucifixion and resurrection to which Christ calls us.
Today’s daily meditation from Richard Rohr addresses the question of “choosing love in an age of evil.”
He says: “The Divine Mind transforms all human suffering by identifying completely with the human predicament and standing in full solidarity with it from beginning to end. This is the real meaning of the crucifixion. The cross is not just a singular event. It’s a statement from God that reality has a cruciform pattern. Jesus was killed in a collision of cross-purposes, conflicting interests, and half-truths, caught between the demands of an empire and the religious establishment of his day. The cross was the price Jesus paid for living in a “mixed” world, which is both human and divine, simultaneously broken and utterly whole.”
As I reflect on particular challenges that call us to engage in a world that is struggling on so many levels to survive and that sees many resorting to “me first” practices, the summons to love in a way that both embraces sacrifice, yet at the same time, releases new life is particularly poignant.
The story of Sr Irene inspires me to continue to embrace the pain and struggle of helping others blossom and righting wrongs in order to bring fulness of life with the courage and poise that is committed to the joyful outcome, no matter what.
It’s the last day of the year that everyone wants to forget, looking with rationally unsubstantiated optimism to 2021. But anxious questions linger.
Will the vaccine work?
Will the economy recover?
Will the populations of new unemployed survive?
What is the final but still evolving shape of the “new normal?”
It is also the seventh day of Christmas. Apparently it was usual in ancient Celtic culture to gather mistletoe to drape over the entrances to homes at this time. Mistletoe was deemed to have mystical healing properties that absorbed and dissipated the negative and exuded positive properties as a blessing. When Christianity appeared, this practice was absorbed into prayers and house blessings for the new year to come.
These prayers were simple, spontaneous and warmly lyrical. Here is one sample, easily adaptable to modern living:
Bless this house, O Lord, we pray. Make it safe by night and day. Bless these walls so firm and stout, Keeping want and trouble out. Bless the roof and chimney tall, Let thy peace lie over all. Bless the doors that they may prove Ever open to joy and love. Bless the windows shining bright, Letting in God’s heavenly light. Bless the hearth a-blazing there, With smoke ascending like a prayer. Bless the people here within… Keep them pure and free from sin. Bless us all, that one day, we May be fit, O Lord, to dwell with Thee.
Nevertheless, such a prayer is a challenge in these uncertain times. My wife and I are part of a failed “rent-for-life” scheme that is in liquidation. Since June 2019, the several hundred affected folk have been running an exhaustive and exhausting campaign for redress against criminal fraud and regulatory negligence. Many have lost their life savings. It has been all-consuming of time and energy and led to much desolation and despair.
Yet such a prayer invites us to anoint the very abode which is under dispute – our home – with the eternal covering of grace and protection that emerges from faith in the Most High.
It’s a Seventh Day of Christmas prayer. It’s a threshold prayer as we step from a tumultuous 2020 that overused the word “unprecedented” into a 2021 that is unknown, yet covered by all who live out a practiced faith.
This is a sermon requested by a church following the collapse of a rent-for-life scheme that targeted senior citizens, mostly in Western Australia. A public eighteen month long campaign for redress continues. As participants in this struggle, Jenny and I shared these reflections today at the Mount Hawthorn Community Church.It is but one of many stories emerging from the Sterling New Life housing disaster.
Fence pillars depict Advent gifts of hope, peace, joy and love on author’s failed “Lease for Life” home.
A couple of days ago I saw this Tweet from @Fred_Buechner
“Listen to your lives for the sound of him. Search even in the darkness for the light and the love and the life because they are there also, and we are known, each one, by name.”
Some time ago in a small regional town a young girl received some troubling news that would change her life forever. She was pregnant through no act of her own. Although exposed to future gossip, scandal, ostracism and the possible loss of her betrothal – even her life, she accepted and eventually welcomed her circumstances. The messenger had cast a light on the way forward for her. Luke’s written down account tell us…
Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)
What do we hear in these words? Resignation? Fatalism? Passive acceptance? Or, rather – resolution, purpose or response to a calling?
Mary was bearing within her the Christ, the Word that was in the beginning, the Word through which all things, indeed that which is beyond what we can know, came into being, the Word that is from God and is indeed God. Planted within her as a zygote, growing into the embryo, foetus and neonate that would be known to us as the human being, Jesus of Nazareth.
The Christ who in Creation gave birth to us all was also, at a time in our history, our story, birthed from a young peasant girl from the backblocks of Galilee.
Richard Rohr recently published a list of reflections on how we too bear the timeless Christ within us, by virtue of his first coming in all of Creation, bearing the divine DNA of God’s intention and purpose, then sealed by his incarnation through the service of Mary that enabled this Word to become flesh to dwell amongst us.
Great church pioneer of the early centuries, Irenaeus said, “Christ became as us that we might become as Christ.”
Mary has become an icon of all who carry the Christ within them. Truly, we are Christophers – Christ-bearers!
This is why Fred Buechner urges us to “Listen to your lives for the sound of him.”
This is the setting for a story that some have asked me to share with you today.
It is the story of an arduous journey that Jenny and I have travelled over the last 18 months.
In June last year we were drawing to the anniversary of our first year in retirement from salaried work in ministry. We had enjoyed making our new home in a property for which we had arranged a life-long lease. The community in the northern suburbs was developing, neighbours were moving in and we had enjoyed being part of it all. This was also the month marking 40 years of our marriage and we were preparing for our first short trip overseas together – six days exploring Singapore.
We sat down to watch the news on the Sunday night of the week of our departure and couldn’t believe our ears when we heard the announcement that the company that managed the trust fund for our lease had gone into liquidation and that the funds of 105 couples, along with our own, had disappeared and rendered us all technically homeless.
The news item was already showing vision of an elderly couple packing their effects and moving into a caravan in their daughter’s backyard!
Frantic phone calls over the next few days confirmed the bad tidings. We had lost the funds assuring our living arrangements and we were now living in something the liquidators were calling an “onerous property.” It was not the first time in our lives that we had experienced that sinking feeling. It was the first time we realised how deep that elevator in your stomach can descend.
We did manage to act swiftly enough to find and contact our property owner who was servicing the mortgage from our lease payments. We mae some temporary arrangements that enabled us to stay on while we explored possible avenues for a more lasting solution. Jenny and I flew out to Singapore that Friday and celebrated our Ruby Wedding Anniversary in style.
On our return we learned of the mobilisation of all the affected tenants and a few property owners. They had engaged a campaign leader, Denise Brailey of the Banking and Finance Consumer Support Association, to address the matter of reclaiming our lost funds in order to ensure home security. Many were pensioners who had no other equity and their needs were urgent. Some were of advanced age and living with co-morbidities.
We soon became involved in discovery of what had gone wrong, uncovering a sorry litany of fraud, corporate crime, failing regulation, political negligence and media compliance.
The group of affected tenants has become close knit and, under Denise’s guidance, has written thousands of letters to Federal Cabinet, met with local members of parliament, held rallies to draw public attention to regulatory failure, spoken to TV and newspaper reporters and engaged in social media warfare. In the meantime 16 of our number have died, many deaths hastened by stress related illness.
Behind it all is the demand for immediate restitution of lost moneys, a call for a full Royal Commission with wide terms of reference into Australia’s financial regulatory systems, and justice for the perpetrators of fraudulent activity.
This remains the current status as together we head into our second Christmas under the swinging blade of Damocles’ sword.
So how do we reflect on all this as Christ-bearers, heeding Buechner’s call “to listen to our lives for the sound of him?” How do I reflect on the “spiritual journey?” of it all?
Several classic frameworks commend themselves.
Can we look at this through the prism of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey?
We could certainly write our own Odyssey of how the Common Person of no account (how most of us see ourselves) have our ordinary lives interrupted, finding ourselves stepping over a threshold into a strange and unfamiliar landscape. Here we find allies and adversaries; and they are sometimes interchangeable. There are all sorts of strange encounters, a meeting with a wise mentor who gives us a quest which carries a boon, a life changing reward, a final nail-biting struggle which enables the journey back to where we started from, but never the same.
Many rich possibilities there – but difficult for reflection until the journey is complete.
I like to look at such journeys as the one with which we are engaged through the lens of Alexander Shaia’s four questions:
how do I move through change?
How do I handle pain and suffering?
How do I recognise joy and union?
How does all this deepen mature service of others?
These are all questions that invite me to “listen to my life for the sound of him.”
CHANGE Victims of this Ponzi scheme were certainly thrust into the experience of overwhelming change. We were no longer securely housed senior denizens in our respected communities but shamed pariahs scammed by the unscrupulous. Initially some politicians and regulatory bureaucrats sought to dismiss us as “silly old fools” who should have known better than to fall for such a scheme. My habitually compliant, self-doubting and self-critical nature might have been inclined to agree, but “listening to my life for the sound of him” encouraged us to find strength in our numbers who were finding enough voice to push back and say “we all did our due diligence – the regulator got it wrong and here’s the evidence.” We changed from victims, to survivors, to fighters.
For eighteen months now the core group has maintained a vocal and determined focus on redressing the wrong that has grown from being merely personal but collective as we care for each other, and systemic as we have learned of repeating patterns in the ideology and practice of financial regulation in this country. Ask any of the group now to give an economic dissertation and they could tell you things they didn’t even know this time last year. This has been like climbing a mountain and seeing things that we never saw down on the plain. It is Moses’ Mount Sinai where he chiseled out the law that set the course for the lost and wandering tribe of Israel. It is Mount Horeb from which he viewed the Promised Land. It is the Mount of Transfiguration where we heard anew the Voice that said “Listen to Him/” It is the Mount of Matthew where Jesus outlined a fresh and deep blueprint for living.
SUFFERING
The group has certainly had opportunity to learn to live with the pain and suffering of this momentous housing security collapse. Some have endured district court appearances and now face having their lease’s validity tested in the Supreme Court. This includes a couple in their 80s. Others, unable to sustain the stress of uncertainty, have abandoned their leases. Still others are keeping equilibrium in the face of harassment from predatory real estate agents. Some have walked away from the group to attempt their own path. Property owners whose tenants are unable to pay rent (and who argue they are not liable for the 40 years upfront lease they paid for anyway) are contemplating handing their keys to the banks and walking away As news of another death reaches the group the clouds of despair grow heavy. Exhaustion, despair, depression and feelings of excruciating hopelessness have been owned and articulated within the group. All this is part of the journey. We embrace it and own it. We steer through it because we can’t go around it. On this pathway it is hard to listen to our lives and hear his voice. These are the terrified disciples trying to awaken a sleeping Jesus while the stormy waves threaten to swamp and sink the boat. It is Elijah sitting in despair in the desert wilderness, not even noticing the ravens that have come to feed him. It is Mark’s panicked women fleeing the empty tomb and saying nothing to anyone.
UNION
On the flip side, the shared journey of change and suffering is bonding the group. The camaraderie and joy that has grown in the delight of each other’s company at rallies and picnics knows no bounds. Whether it’s marching through Perth’s financial district to deliver a parcel of letters to a recalcitrant Minister for Finance, greeting the grinning Federal police he sent to intercept us, or riding the trains as either the Mandurah or the Joondalup faction and meeting up as one, we have discovered the unique personality of our collective cause. We listen to our lives and hear his voice calling us to live abundantly even in the midst of a crisis that seems to go on and on. It is in the songs and poetry that emerge from within. It is in the passion and ardour of the Song of Songs. It is John’s heavenly banquet where all are equal and all are fed to fulness. It is in the flashes of insight where we not only know, but feel our Oneness.
MATURE SERVICE
There is a marked difference between the first rally that gathered 18 months ago and the most recent get togethers. The shared pathways of change, suffering and union have seen the development of a body that is more mature, savvy and compassionate in the honouring of self and one another.
Each has discovered their role of service. Led by a campaigner who has the runs on the board, who has come out of retirement and often works eighteen hour days on our behalf. A true leader she is firm and direct and knows how to delegate. Others assist her in dealing with media, finding a voice they didn’t know they had. Delegations have visited politicians and armed with some hard won facts, entered some respectful and meaningful conversations. Preparing placards, researching Freedom of Information documents and minutes of meetings, engaging social media. All have played their role. And yes old dogs cam learn new tricks. They said they would never use Twitter. Having had thousands of letters ignored the grey army is now learning and employing hashtags and handles to create the perfect Twitter storm. The hiatus of Federal Parliament recess is being put to good use by the grey power fighters who are creating a Twitter trend that the minders will catch and take to their political masters. Listening to our lives for his voice inevitably takes us on Luke’s road to service for the greater good. It is a pathway of focus and purpose.
It is Luke’s road from Nazareth to Bethlehem along which we travel with Mary, carrying the Christ within us, but also serving his daily birthing in our encounters with one another and the events that otherwise may threaten to overwhelm us.
We began our reflection with a troubled Mary abandoning herself to the outcome of the angel’s startling announcement. It’s only a few verses on in the opening chapter of Luke’s gospel that we witness the joyful encounter between the expectant mothers, cousins Elizabeth and Mary, and Mary’s ecstatic hymn that rings down through the millennia.
Luke 1:46b-55 My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.
Fishing, sinking, flailing, drowning Blustering, flustering, arguing, clowning Sometimes trusting, oft with a lurch – On this rock Christ builds his church.
Setting out with Christ to walk his way Recognising that our faith can sway, Devoted to grow and serve and search – On this rock Christ builds his church.
Some keys and a rooster tell Peter’s story Seems stars and mud lead him to glory On all of this does our pilgrimage perch For on this rock Christ builds his church.
She came asking for help, I don’t know why she thought the Boss would turn and meekly comply He needed a break, so we had come far away To this place we could hide and have some rest and some play.
She shouted and clamoured and broke through our line. We’re not really bodyguards and she refused to decline. We plead with the Boss to send her forthwith. He agreed telling her, “I’m not for you; it’s my own that I’m with.”
“Evenso,” cried she, “I’m hanging about. Any leftovers there are, I claim – don’t you doubt!” The Boss looked astounded, and turned with a grin. “Take what you need. And, boys? See how she’s not out, but in!”
My Dad knew a bloke who could teach me to swim My seven year self set off feeling grim This whole new experience filled me with doubt Nevertheless, togs and towel after school I set out.
The Port Canal was the place where we mustered A small group of kids and a bloke where we clustered He had a harness and a long bit of rope One waited one’s turn ‘twixt dread and hope.
My turn came and I stood full of fear “When I say ‘Now’ just jump off the pier.” Counterphobic me, I failed to wait. I jumped right in and encountered my fate.
The rope was slack and I sank right down I spluttered and splashed thinking I might drown The bloke hauled me in saying, “Too quick, young man, Learn to trust directions if you possibly can.”
I read of Peter getting out of the boat Walking on water! Better than afloat! The Christ had summoned him, had called him ahead Peter started out well, then sank full of dread.
Christ hauled him in asking “Where’s your trust?” Your transformation means risks are a must. Risks on your own are a pattern to avoid Keep your focus on me and you’ll always be buoyed.”
The people are hungry; the people are sick Send them away, the numbers are thick They’ve followed you here, its all their fault Something’s got to give, let’s call it a halt.
“Feed them yourselves, you know the way No need to shirk and send them away You’ve been with me now and learned a lot Dig down deep and share what you’ve got.”
Some bread and some fish; that’s all we can spare! “Well, sit them all down and we’ll get them to share. There’ll be plenty to eat and none will be empty The fear of scarcity must bow to the economy of plenty.”
So we did what he asked and all were replete They went home full; and they felt quite complete The “kindom” of God had shown us anew That the resources we have will get us all through.
“Riddle-me riddle-me riddle-me-ree, Perhaps you can tell what this riddle may be: As deep as a house, as round as a cup, And all the king’s horses can’t draw it up.”
These childhood rhymes from long years past Taught by our parents, oh what a blast! Oh what agony, Oh what bliss As we struggled to answer, but only by guess!
So does the Christ with seed and yeast Birds, fields and pearls – to say the least. Fish, angels, fire and gnashings of teeth All in parables for us to bequeath!
“The struggle to know is blessed,” says he The kingdom of heaven is no mystery. Stretch to see treasures both new and old And recognise their value, you don’t have to be told.
Well, what is so deep? Well, what is so round? Well, what is so strong against horses that pound? Well, tell me the answer – stop grinning with glee ‘Tis before your eyes if you’ll but open them and see!
Wondering Pilgrim 