Remembrance Day 2008: Lest We Forget.

The Pelicans and I were in a shopping centre at 11am this morning: I’d hoped to be somewhere a little more respectful by then, but getting anything done with two small children and two crazy dogs always takes three times as long as you expect. which is why we found ourselves walking through the foodcourt when a voice came over the public address system calling for one minute’s silence.

It was wonderful to see how everyone stopped what they were doing, and turned their thoughts to that day 90 years ago when the war to end wars itself ended. I’ve no doubt each one of the more than 60,000 Australians killed would have been more than a little touched to see a world that they couldn’t have imagined stop in their honour – but I’m also pretty certain they’d rather have lived to grow old; to take their own children and grandchildren shopping.

To put the carnage in perspective: about 1 in 80 Australians was killed. Another 270,000 were injured: that’s about one for every eighteen men, women and children living here in 1914. By the end of the war it was impossible to walk more than 100 metres along any street of any town in country and not pass a home struck by tragedy.

Miss Madam was intrigued by the silence, which was followed by the Last Post and the Ode. Toddlers have never been famous for their discretion, but she managed to not ask the inevitable questions too loudly. I explained about the daddies and uncles who never came home, and how their one comfort had been the hope that they were making the world a better place for children like her.


Later in the afternoon we went to a memorial on the edge of the bushland not far from our home. It’s a 1/8th size carving of the Sphinx made in the 1920’s by a patient of the returned servicemen’s convalescent hospital which was once nearby.


A relatively isolated place, there’s a strange spirituality that probably means it isn’t somewhere parents normally take children as young as ours – but I think the diggers would have enjoyed the sound of their laughter.


And together we said "thank you", and remembered what they fought to achieve for us all...

Fr. John Hope

In the comments of a recent post Brian mentioned the late Fr. John Hope of Christ Church St. Laurence, one of my greatest heroes. Under his leadership from 1926 to 1964 his church - one of Sydney’s few Anglo-Catholic parishes, and probably the best known - grew spectacularly, despite blatant attempts by the diocesan hierarchy to close it and distribute the assets to congregations toeing the party line. At a time when indigenous Australians were not even entitled to citizenship, and most church leaders were actively participating in the genocidal Stolen Generation policies, he donated property for the foundation of Australia’s first self-managed Aboriginal educational facility. There’s a great little biography of him on the Christ Church web site here, but my favorite anecdote about him comes from L. C. Rodd’s John Hope of Christ Church St Laurence.

Determined to do something once and for all about the “Popish superstition” at Railway Square, the belligerent Archbishop Mowll decided during a meeting in the 1940’s to attack Fr. Hope directly by asking if he was aware that “certain types” of men comprised a significant part of his congregation. “Most certainly” growled Fr. Hope in reply while looking the Archbishop directly in the eyes, “And is it not a good thing that these people so dear to our Lord have somewhere they can go?”

Priests don’t come much tougher than that. God bless him.

Forward in Faith: Bringing the World Lay Presidency.

Perhaps the most shocked in the Australian church by the Sydney synod’s overwhelming support for lay/diaconal presidency should be the über-Catholic Diocese of Ballarat: the person bringing the motion was none other than their very own Canon Theologian Bishop Glenn Davies of North Sydney.

As part of the strange coalition formed to block people from following God’s to ministry in 2000 the former Bishop of Ballarat, +David Silk, made the unusual appointment of (then) Dr. Davies to this role: given Davies’ allegiance to hyper-Calvinists like the World Reformed Fellowship as well as his post-graduate qualification from Westminster, one might have thought +Silk could have found a more suitable candidate for the deeply Tractarian Ballarat. Still, bigotry makes for odd bedfellows, and the lecturer once known to a small group of ne’er-do-wells as “Dr. Bean” became Ballarat’s man. And anyone not understanding the nickname should take a close look at +Davies’ picture on the left before clicking here. Meanwhile anyone who does understand how the man who insisted his students believe turning one’s back to the congregation while presiding, or referring to the communion table as an altar are examples of “wicked superstitious popery” could proudly advertise his seat in a Cathedral so Catholic it makes the Vatican look moderate should only drop me an explanatory note if they can do so without using the word “hypocrite”.

Nor are Ballarat hard-liners trying to comfort themselves by claiming the appointment no longer stands; despite diocesan legislation specifying the appointment of Canon Theologian is for at most 3 years plus one further 3 year term, and thus should have by now expired, a call this morning to Ballarat diocesan offices resulted in the chirpy voice answering the phone informing me that +Davies does indeed still hold the post, as his own web site states. It’s worth noting, however, that the voice became considerably less chirpy when I explained my reason for calling… ;-)

Now I know this sounds like something from Father Christian Troll, but I can’t be the only one who finds it hilarious that lay presidency was introduced to the Anglican Communion by the Canon Theologian of one of the most loyal Forward in Faith dioceses in the world!

Disconnect '09

Just spotted this on the Sydney Anglican website and I couldn't help myself: it seems a Rector in Sydney's far west can't find clergy willing to help start a congregation in a new neighboring satellite suburb.

If he's interested I'll be more than happy to provide him with a list of people who'd jump at the chance, and who are all currently doing fantastic work in churches that exist under the official Matthian party-line radar - although since most of the names are people who happen to be gay/female/divorced/remarried/not bigots/moderate Catholics means I won't hold my breath waiting for his call...

Wonder if the fact that this particular area is a world away from the comfortable tertiary-educated "areas of strategic ministry" much loved by the Jensens has anything to do with the bright young evangelical things' reticence to stick their hands up? Surely not.

…. I’m Back. (Sorry!)

It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve posted anything here, and the first thing I have to do is thank everyone who’s left notes asking if everything is ok. When I started this thing I never imagined there was such a great community of people out there who really do care about each other – including some semi-sane mischief-maker on what is for most of you the other side of the world. I’ll try and email all of you who’ve written personally as time permits – till then please accept my thanks here as an indication of how much your thoughts have been appreciated.

The truth is life in the Duck Noodle Gang has been about as wonderful as I think things can get: hectic and chaotic (I’m typing this with my left hand while feeding apple, banana & berries mush to a tired &teething Mr. Eight-Month-Old with the right, while Miss Two-and-a-Half is teaching our dogs the Alphabet Song), but magic.

As part of a DNG family decision I’ve become a full-time housedad; juggling bottles, nappies, and toddler-tantrums with programming work during the kid’s nap-times (I’ve taught myself php over the past 4 weeks, and a major new project is just about completed!) – but I’m afraid Caliban’s Dream has become a temporary casualty of all this activity.

Which doesn’t mean I haven’t been following everyone else’s blogs, just that I’ve lacked the brain-power to comment in any meaningful way. What little energy I’ve had free to spare on the ‘net has been absorbed by “interacting” (let the reader understand ;-) with a wicked old “uncle” (ditto) of mine whose blog has been generating an unbelievable amount of traffic – and that’s the most I’ll say on that particular subject, but anyone feeling confused (and I know I would be ;-) is welcome to email…

Of a much more interesting (to us, at any rate) note is that we’ve moved house again. After living in the inner-city for eighteen years it seemed time for a shift to the ‘burbs in preparation for a much bigger move in the new year (of which I’ll say more when it gets nearer). Much to my own bemusement we’re now living on the leafy North Shore, on the edge of the Protestant bible belt and surrounded by bushland. The whole thing feels kind of weird, but fun. Instead of a tiny courtyard we’ve now got a large backyard in which the dogs have turned semi-feral, and kookaburras are laughing raucously in the trees as I write this. Somehow I think they’re making a better comment on the current Sydney Anglican debacle than I’ll ever mange to post…

So instead of diving straight into that particularly ugly evangelical pissing contest, I think it’s better to first play a bit of music to give an idea of life on Planet Caliban:

First up is 90’s Oz band Frente - “Accidentally Kelly Street”. Yeah – I know it’s hopelessly twee, but Missy Two and I love dancing to it (no: I won’t post a video of me doing that) and us house-daddies know better than to argue music with a toddler. Especially not when the song says more about life than I’d have dreamt possible.



The second is a classic piece of Brit-pop, but the feeling’s the same. And when we start jumping around to this one even Blackstar and Fiver want to join in. Which is no mean feat: it takes a lot to drag them away from the important work of digging up lizards and barking at the sulphur-crested cockatoos partying on the roof…



God bless the lot of ya!

They've started up again...

For the past few weeks things have been pretty quite on the Sydney Anglican diocese front: it's been as if they've been letting the world catch up to them in the pompous hypocrite stakes.

Unfortunately the calm has well and truly ended: Archbishop Jensen has issued a statement so breath-taking that I can't even bring myself to link to it. Off-Topic Allowed provide a link and a critique that helps fend off the inevitable depression which follows reading it. Personally I don't know which is more disturbing: that someone proclaiming themselves to be a Christian can come out with such idiocy - or that he obviously actually believes his own drivel.

Hot on his heels comes the Archbishop's little brother and Dean, Phillip who's been working hard to show the media he's just as crazy: today's Sydney Morning Herald features a front page article detailing his latest efforts at side-lining the Cathedral's internationally recognised choir and organist.

In an attempt to defend the Family Firm, an unnamed Cathedral spokesman is reported as telling the paper "The wide range of music being heard at the cathedral is in keeping with a wider range of people now coming through the cathedral doors." What forgets to mention is that while the range may be wider (something friends of mine who've been involved with the Cathedral congregation for a great many years strongly dispute) it's also smaller. and many of those now attending followed Jensen from his previous parish. Perhaps this isn't mentioned because somewhere in the Bible it says any drop in congregation size is only relevant if it occurs in "liberal" churches?

It's not all bad news, though. The spokesman (it's always a man with these clowns - the sky could fall down if they let a mere woman speak on their behalf) continued by citing as proof of the Jensen regime's relevance "the appointment of the cathedral's first 'jazz catechist'." So despite more than a quarter of Sydney's youth having no dedicated outreach workers, we've now got someone "working to reach out to Sydney's jazz community".

Of course this couldn't have anything to do with fact that most of the kids studying jazz at the conservatorium come from Sydney's white-bread Anglican heartland, could it? And please tell me it's just coincidence that a large part of this "outreach" involves presenting "Bible studies" to that same group of kids? Many of whom also come from some of the diocese's most doctrinaire parishes?

No of course it doesn't. Sure countless more kids are into hip-hop and dance, and we're doing everything in our power to ignore and/or alienate them - but hey: it's not as if they're white or anything. And isn't jazz the first thing that comes to everybody's mind when they think of Sydney?

Excuse me: I've got to go and change my son's nappy. At least what's in there isn't pretending to be something else.

Peter Jensen isn't sleeping with any of my friends.

At the start of August the Sydney Mornig Herald ran a story amusingly headlined ”It’s s PJs at PJ’s as clergy seek to bed down Anglicanism” about Archbishop Jensen inviting Sydney clergy for overnight retreats at Bishopscourt, the spectacular mansion in which Sydney Anglican Archbishops reside, in order to explain his Connect 09 mission strategies.

The article mentioned that “Detractors suggest the visits might be used by the archbishop to micromanage parishes and subtly test the orthodoxy of diocesan rectors.” and it should be no surprise to learn that I was indeed one of those detractors. Yet at the same time part of me really did hope this was a genuine attempt on the archbishop’s part to get to know how clergy on the ground are feeling; to hear their thoughts and ideas, and to gain an understanding of their hopes and needs. I’d intended to blog about it, but as I’m currently at home caring for two small and quite severely asthmatic children, while at the same time trying to complete a programming project on the side, life sort of got in the way. Then when Father David Heron gave the matter his usual brilliant attention there didn’t seem anything more I could add.

Then during the course of lunch last week with a dear friend whom against all odds is still ministering in a Sydney parish (which is growing like gangbusters, although with typical modesty he dismisses this as “just transfers from all the Matthian parishes driving people away with their soul-destroying Gnosticism”), his wife, and another mutual friend, a profoundly wise and much-loved Roman priest. Remembering the Bishopscourt sleepovers, I asked my friend if he’d been on his yet, and how it had gone.

“Me?” he exclaimed. “No, I haven’t had an invite, and nor have any of the people who talk to me. It’s only the party-line guys who are getting invited to that. The idea is that they get hyped up and come back to tell the rest of what to do. The Archbishop isn’t interested in hearing what people like me have to say.”

Our Catholic friend was shocked. He’s got his own problems with his local bishop – Cardinal Pell – but can still never get over the way dissenting Sydney Anglicans are treated as if we simply don’t exist. “What do you mean?” he said. “Neither of you are invited? He doesn’t even want to hear what you have to say?”

My friend’s wife laughed. “You’ll get an invitation before Jensen has the slightest interest in hearing what any of these two have to say.” At which we all laughed until the people at other tables were staring at us, and then ordered more wine.

Unless you’ve lived here it’s impossible to understand how hilarious what she said was; and sometimes if you don’t laugh at life in the world’s most conservative Anglican diocese you could just start crying. And then you'll probably never be able to stop.