Signs and Wonders.

It’s just over a month since the Reverend Career Blind-Alley (or whatever his name was) of St Stephen’s Bellevue Hill hit the spotlight after sending a couple of very childish (not to mention downright nasty) letters to Justice Kirby, one of Australia’s most respected public figures.

Since then Rev. Blind-Alley has been an obedient Matthian, and lain low without making a sound until all the fuss dies down. Rumours that this was influenced by coadjutant Bishop Falstaff are completely unfounded, as is the report that Bishop Falstaff was seen carrying 50 feet of rope and several roles of duct tape into the St. Stephen’s manse.

So, as is the usual means of dealing with hiccups on the path to world evangelical domination, all reference to the event has now been removed from the official histories. All that remains is an unwritten (and oh-so softly voiced) warning for Sydney clergy to in future ignore powerful and popular persons of alternate sexuality, and simply continue picking on their traditional target: the vulnerable and easily intimidated. Consequently I was deleting my unused pictures of St. Stephen’s, since the story has no further mileage and they won't be needed any more, when when I noticed something...


As you can see, when it comes to noticeboards St. Stephen’s believes more is better. That’s not unusual in these parts: perhaps someone in the Cathedral offices a few years ago had a brother-in-law in the sign business.

Look at the close-up of the left sign above, and you’ll see the Sunday evening “Contemporary Evening Meeting” (no + Iker –your new friends from Sydney never call it “The Eucharist”. Ask them why at GAFCON – they’ll be happy to explain.) is held at 7pm.

Yet the sign on the right says it starts at 6pm. So which is correct? When should anyone interested arrive?


One thing is certain: they don’t run two services. Matthians like their sermons long (anything less than 40 minutes suggests the preacher has liberal tendencies), so there’d be no time for Rev. Blind-Alley to double up. Besides, Bellevue Hill isn’t exactly a hot-bed of revival (bet you’d never guessed, right?), so anything more than a dozen bums on pews for one evening service would be surprising.

This indicative of something you see in churches everywhere: it’s certainly not just a Sydney Anglican thing. Those in the know, the pious insiders, have the correct time, and they undoubtedly show up every week as regular as clockwork. The reason the signs haven’t been fixed is because the people responsible don’t care about those not in their clique. They have more important things to do than worry about signs. It doesn’t matter that outsiders don’t know when to arrive for the evening service, because outsiders aren’t really welcome.

If Sydney’s commitment to mission and growth is anything more than lip-service and a "we can do it too" response to World Youth Day (and they’ve a long way to go before I’ll be convinced it is) the men in charge are going to have to start caring about those who aren't on the inner. Showing they care. Listening even. Actually loving those who have not yet attained the authorised (and self-assessed) degree of sinless righteousness.

And gee, it’d help if they could let people know what time things start.

God spare us all this Mercy.

Since yesterday I've done a little more reading on Mercy Ministries. Ok: so actually I've read a lot about these scum - I use the word 'scum' in its most theologically-considered sense - and please believe me when I say they're a nasty, nasty organisation.

But don't just take my word for it: here's an article from last month's Sydney Morning Herald. Or even better, jump on over to Sean the Blogonaut's place and download a copy of the Mercy Ministries program handbook.

That way you can see for yourself what these psuedo-Christians inflict on the poor, the ill and the insecure. While the handbook is supposed to be 'secret' (you'll understand why they'd be ashamed of it when you see it), Sean, a fellow Aussie who is unquestionably what we call down here "a bloody good bloke", has been doing everything he can to expose this scam, and to provide survivors of Hillsong's abusive scam with somewhere to share their experiences. One of them has passed on this frightening document, which is given to women after they've signed on the dotted line and entered the program. If the rules look more like those of a medium security prison than a supportive and therapeutic environment to you, just imagine how they feel to a mentally ill person who's come hoping to find help, only to be hit with all 16 pages of this.


Click the cover image above to go to Sean's blog and read what Mercy Ministries are really like. While you're at it have a look around at the other stuff there about these pharisees, and let him know what a great job he's doing. While he mightn't share the beliefs that many of us here have, his actions prove him a lot closer to Christ than many folk I've met sitting in pews (and much more than most occupying a pulpit in my part of the world), and he deserves all the support he can get.

The Hills aren't singing, they're crying for justice.

At the start of this month I wrote about Hillsong the local Assemblies of God megachurch run by Brian 'Oedipus' Houston and his irritating wife Barbie Bobbie.

What I didn't mention is that Hillsong also operate the Australian arm of Mercy Ministries, a charity whose stated mission is to provide assistance and treatment for women aged 16 - 28 who are experiencing "issues such as eating disorders, unplanned pregnancy, self-harm, addictions, depression or abuse."

Now obviously these are very serious matters, and I don't know anything of how Mercy Ministries operate elsewhere, but lately Hillsong have been getting a lot of well deserved heat over their Mercy Ministries residential program. To an outsider like me the general philosophy appears to have been "they might think their life's hell now, but we'll show them that they ain't seen nothing yet". Then add a loathsome requirement that these ill and vulnerable women sign over all their welfare payments for the privilege of seeing any remaining shreds of their self esteem destroyed - should I mention the exorcisms now?. Couple this with a healthy injection of corporate sponsorship funds, and the whole moneyspinner helps Barbie pay for the most expensive acrylic nails money can buy. Or perhaps the repayments on Oedipus' Porsche.

What is wasn't doing was helping anyone recover - or any of the other promises made to those seeking professional care and treatment. Read this eye-witness account written someone who survived the Hillsong Mercy Ministries program. And afterwards please take a moment to let her know she's a hero for surviving to speak out against this evil.

Just a fisher of men.

"Would you believe it was this big?"

This week's anthem contender.

Looking over the last few things here has left me worried that I've been coming across rather gloomy, which is really not what I'm like. Absurdly busy: yes (hence the absence of any new posts this past week), chaotic: probably, and sleep-deprived; absolutely, which is perfectly normal when you're a parent. But depressed? Not any more. Pessimistic? No way.

So correcting this glaring inaccuracy is this week's anthem, from the one and only Ian Dury. God bless 'im - one of the Britain's finest. Ever.

A cold autumn.

Driving home from church this morning we came upon a young man laying screaming on the ground next to his crashed motorbike. A car had just knocked him down and fled the scene, leaving him for dead.

We pulled over, and I ran to help. Having studied a bit of first aid (and even written a first aid course two years ago as part of a contract for a merchant bank – itself a long story: large sections needed revision to cover their executive staff; turned out the classes on CPR were irrelevant since none of them had hearts ;-) it was a relief to discover how much I could remember: if you’d asked me any questions ten minutes earlier I’d have known nothing. Emergency (it’s 000 in Australia, not 911) dispatched an ambulance and began going through the DR ABC checklist (if you don’t know what that is you should: knowing could save someone’s life - why schools seem to think it’s more important to teach algebra than first aid is completely beyond me) and it was reassuring to be able to confirm each step had already been taken.

The rider began to settle: his left arm, leg and collarbone were in pretty bad way, but he had movement and feeling in his fingertips and toes, no significant bleeding, and no head injury – helmets are compulsory for a reason. A passing fireman stopped to take care of the fire hazard: fuel from the bike had splashed everywhere, and then the emergency services arrived.

The police explained that an off-duty officer travelling in the opposite direction had seen everything and given chase, arresting the hit-and-run driver at the next intersection. She (the police officer) returned while I was giving my details, and looked every bit as proud as she deserved to feel: the driver was a tall and angry man easily three times her size, and confronting him would have taken considerable courage.

I’ll drop over to the hospital to visit the rider later today and see how he’s going: in parish I used to do a lot of hospital work, and it still feels like one of the most rewarding ways possible of spending a Sunday afternoon.

***

All of which brings to an end what has been very dark week. On Thursday a close friend’s ex-wife lost her son in an accident on Sydney Harbour: their daughter was tragically killed about 10 years before, and the grief into which they have been plunged is more than anyone can even begin to comprehend. While at the same time this weekend, which is for us late autumn with high clear skies and cold afternoons, marks 20 years since another dear friend developed tertiary aids.

In those days, which were long before the appearance of antiretrovirals, his future was so much of a forgone conclusion that everyone went into a kind of denial. Quasi-fundamentalist and strangely bohemian at the same time, we were all about as functional as an acupuncturist with Parkinsons. A close-knit community for whom the years have not been equally kind, we’ve long gone our separate ways, and for some those days are only a vaguely remembered science-fiction.

But I know each of us remembers Dusan, and the months following this weekend, which lead to that awful August-September of 1988. I’ll post more in his memory as the anniversary of his death draws nearer, and I promise that it shan’t be too bleak. To write of Dusan in any way other than with laughter and energy would be to deny the life that he brought to everyone around him. This is a song from “back-in-the-day” local band Died Pretty called D.C. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I found it on YouTube, and who knows: it might even be about him...

Oedipus Houston wants a palace.

Sydney’s largest Assemblies of God congregation is Hillsong, a mega-church run by Oedipus Houston, and his wife Barbie. Together they make all Australians proud by proving our most expensive dentists are every bit as good as any Hollywood can offer.

Lately Pastor Oedipus and his happy-clappy revenue sources revolving door congregation have come in for a bit of criticism, since local residents are strenuously objecting to plans to build a 2,700 seat “worship & ministry complex” and seven-storey administrative tower in the middle of Roseberry, a residential community about 20 minutes walk from the Casa del Caliban.

One of the key problems is that Hillsong’s development application (allegedly based on a design directly from God) fails to include anywhere near enough parking spaces. Naturally the prosperity-focussed “kids of the King” who attend Hillsong’s 4+ services every Sunday (not to mention the dozens of mid-week meetings) wouldn’t dream of demonstrating their lack of faith by catching public transport, and since the area already has a shortage of parking the enourmous traffic pressures which will be caused by Oedipus’ tacky Taj Mahal are naturally causing everyone great concern. Not to mention the noise; can anyone begin to imagine how loud almost three thousand donors to the Pastor's Porsche Fund can get when they all start braying at God together?

In an attempt to persuade Sydney City Council to permit the development, Hillsong presented a petition from whom they claimed were locals supporting the project. However when the Roseberry Residents Action Group reviewed this list, they found just 29 of the 4000 addresses provided were valid! In one stunning example of clerical integrity an assistant pastor’s name and signature appeared in four separate entries. Elsewhere the former high ranking Hillsong employee, Leigh Coleman and his wife Vera had signed the petition twice, listing two different addresses. This great cartoon from our local paper Central says it all:



Anyone interested can find out more about Oedipus Houston’s grubby plans, and how a community has come together to resist them here.

But on the bright side, isn’t it refreshing to see someone in Sydney other than the Matthians act as if their claim to have a monopoly on God gives them the right to do and say whatever they want?