5th Bunyip Lecture
Delivered at St Thomas' Bunyip
A certain philosopher questioned the Holy Antony: “How,” he said, “do you content yourself, Father, who is denied the comfort of books?” He answered, “My book, philosopher, is the nature of created things, and as often as I have a mind to read the words of God, it is at my hand.” Sayings of the Desert Fathers Book XXI
Today marks the beginning of Advent.
Many recent spiritual writers when reflecting on this season, offer reflections on the theme of waiting: waiting for the Word made flesh, for the Word to be born, for the coming of the Christ child. (Jane Williams / Malcolm Guite). The call to know ‘waiting’ is a very helpful tool into living these few weeks before Christmas. To consciously experience waiting steers our preoccupations away from the fast paced world of glitz and consumerism, manic busyness; it encourages us to align with something bigger, something which stills us, attunes us to the meaning of Advent.
In the Church cycle, we’re now entering the Year of Luke, and a few Saturdays ago, Melbourne theologian Dorothy Lee reminded us that praise is a keynote here; Luke’s is a ‘Gospel of messianic joy.’ Luke’s emphasis is universal salvation; it is laden with practical ethics and causes us reflection on moral living.
One way we’ve habitually come to express praise is through gift giving. In these few weeks of Advent many of us become preoccupied with ‘presents.’ What gift am I going to give someone - my husband, my daughter, family members on Christmas Day? Customers come into the Bookroom and purchase gifts, and Christmas cards, some look for a Kris Kringle gift under $10- for work breakups. Identifying persons who don’t receive gifts, the homeless, the marginalised, is another important part of our giving at Christmas.
On Christmas Eve at the 6pm St Peter’s Eastern Hill Children’s service, the church is full. There’s tons of children I’ve never seen before, except maybe last Christmas Eve. The late service is also packed with people who come annually to the parish church for that special Christmasy feel: the music and mass, for connection with the ‘real meaning of Christmas.’ Then, after a brief rest, it’s once more off into the busy Christmas Day activities - travelling between different families for dinners and present giving at several different households. The meaning of the gift giving is briefly glimpsed, perhaps idealised, then relinquished in the active festivities of the day.
So what does gift giving mean? As Christians we believe that the real gift on Christmas Day is the birth of Jesus Christ, but what is it that we are being given? And how do we live in response to this gift?
“My book, philosopher, is the nature of created things, and as often as I have a mind to read the words of God, it is at my hand.” For Holy Anthony, ‘the nature of all created things’ are gifted to us from God, and to know God is to live in response to this. We are invited to read the ‘words of God’ in our present lives. And, as another Early Church Father, Gregory of Nyssa tells us, we are free to be fully ourselves as we live in response to the gift of God’s love, because God ‘never enforces anything contrary to its nature.’ (see Celebrating the Seasons, p492). God, gives us capacity to reason, to discern, to imagine, to be living the mystery we call ‘being human.’ God is a life affirming source who offers us a freedom which is wholly non-competitive.
In this talk this afternoon I would like to ponder a little, three of the many gifts given to us in the birth of Christ Jesus. And they are: the gift of relationship, the gift of memory, and the gift of language.
I began as volunteer in St Peter’s Bookroom in 1992. In 1998 I had the privilege of being invited to manage the shop. In these last 20 years of ministry at St Peter’s, the volunteers and I have encountered a great diversity and colourful variety of customers.
Customers sometimes offer more to us than we seem to give to them. Especially the ones who have us feel uncomfortable. 3 customers: There’s Peter, who I suspect now lives in a van, has been an irregular customer and parishioner over a long period. Life has been very challenging for him in the last 5 years as far as I can glean - close family members have died and he is increasingly alone. He comes sporadically, four times this year. During the Book Fair in September he purchased over $100 worth of books, which is not unusual for him. But he told me that he can’t transport them. I wonder if he can’t house them anymore. They still sit on top of some cupboards in the church hall where I put them at the end of the Fair. He came in to the shop two weeks ago but hovered only near the front door; I called out hello Peter, he waved but left within a few minutes. The books remain on top of the cupboards.
Meanwhile, there’s also James who purchases armloads of carefully chosen books every Friday from the .50cent table. Sometimes he also asks me to hold on to them for him because there’s too many for him to take away at one time. I try to be patient, but I’m often not, because once more I’m having to find room to house books I’m trying to move on. James tells me that he builds tables with the books, and some stools to sit on in his flat. A volunteer in the shop wonders if he is selling them on.
And then there’s John. Or was John. About 5 years ago, this customer with a cultured English accent, but a quick violent temper, came regularly over a period of short time. He once purchased over $60 worth of books from the second-hand section. He talked to me about the authors of the books he was choosing - he clearly knew the works. Although he had some money, John was homeless. It was winter. His clothes were dirty, he smelled, and his feet were itching and swollen red with chilblains he complained as he took his shoes and socks off to rub them. His purchased load of books was bundled into a shopping trolley.
Of course, I’ve changed the names of these three customers. I’ve given them here the names of 3 of the disciples. This is because as I was writing this talk, I reflected on how they remind me about something to do with being a disciple of Jesus Christ. If we believe that to be a disciple means a vocation and a calling from God, and that the body of Christ really does include everybody, then Peter, James and John confront me. Here are three customers who make me feel uncomfortable because they remind me of an uncomfortable truth about myself. Their desire to purchase so many Christian books in one go despite not be able to house them, transport them, or properly read them, reveals to me the face of my own need. I see in their actions my own susceptibility to becoming terribly stuck at some point in my own quest for the Word made flesh. The Word when acquired only as the bounded black letters contained in the pages of a book, is a very poor substitute for the living relationship they hunger for. Peter, James and John reveal to me my own need for the gift of relationship.
Spiritual and religious books are never an end in themselves - they only ever point the way towards. They point the way toward the ‘Word made flesh’, it’s up to the reader to live from the meaning discovered in the book with courage, with a willingness to risk embodying the Word in themselves. Good religious and spiritual writers, and booksellers, know this truth about their books.
When we are born, we are born into relationship. The primary relationship we are born into is with God. Our first human relationship is with the person or persons who are our primary care givers. Ideally they are figures of love. To grow and flourish through childhood we need the other - the one who loves us. The network extends outwards into community, between cultures. ‘We go to heaven in one another’s pockets,’ is a phrase quoted by Rowan Williams.
A book I have found resonance with recently is Outspoken by Rod Bower, the Anglican priest from Gosford whose post on social media, and on the sign board outside his church in 2013: Some people are gay. Get over it. Love God. caused an overwhelmingly mixed response. Until then he had a Facebook following of 150, but this post came to be viewed over 70 million times, and had1,000s of shares. With his wife Kerry, he’s gone to post many other social justice statements: Islamophobia, we must be better than this; Boat number ‘ZEB037’ is no name for a child. His posts have come at a cost, with death threats and hate mail, and at times the protection of the police with a personal body guard.
But it is another story of Rod Bower’s that captured my attention in contemplating the challenge of living relationally. In 2001, as Archdeacon of the Central Coast, he was working long hours and felt his ‘career was definitely on its way.’ One night he received a call from the Assistant Bishop: he was to meet with senior staff, 9am the next day at Bishopscourt. It transpired that the Registrar of the Diocese who was responsible for finances, had stolen a large sum of money. ‘This man had been my friend and colleague for 20 years, best man at our wedding. I really did not know how to respond,’ he writes. (p109). But he did respond. When at Diocesan Council the following week the Bishop instructed no-one on the council to have anything more to do with the Registrar, and if they thought they would they must leave the meeting: Rod Bower, in a state of terrible inner conflict and turmoil, left the meeting. He writes, ‘I knew if I walked out of the meeting it would the the end of my career, but what was the point of being a priest if I couldn’t well, actually be a priest?’ (p109). This was an action which led to a period of great anxiety and depression, in which he confesses without his wife and family he felt he would have suicided.
Loving God; being in relationship; living the Word made Fl