Words From The Edge

As a young adult I lived in areas of Australia that geographically are defined as desert. The memory of that time colours my understanding of the words that every year lead us into the first Sunday of Lent: “The Spirit drove Jesus out unto the wilderness and he remained there forty days . . .”

Moses, a desert dweller in a place we now call Saudi Arabia, would have been at home in the interior of our country, though I’m not sure how successful he would have been herding sheep there. You’re probably familiar with that famous bit in the Book of Exodus where a voice says to Moses, ‘Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground’. Overcome by the wondrous sight of a bush burning but not burning, of a voice that was probably God, but then again might have been an illusion, he did as he was told. So Moses was faced with the mystery that is God at the same time as he hopped unshod from foot to foot. God does have a sense of humour.

It’s hard to imagine desert country, which looks so barren, so disturbingly other, can be holy ground. Mostly we assume the ground we stand on is holy if life is easy and exciting, things panning out the way we plan them, those times when the pesky questions and fears that challenge our complacency are tucked away out of sight and feeling.

Like Moses, Jesus spent time in the desert. And also like Moses, he was confronted by all kinds of fears during his time there. He was facing a life-changing time in his life, leaving behind the safe and settled life of a village where he known as a carpenter. Decisions, even the ones we know are right, never come easy, practicalities get in the way.

How would he support himself?
What would happen to his mother?
If he went against accepted religious expectations would it put him in danger, or would God protect him?
Or, if his mission was a wonderful success, would he get caught up in the trappings of power?
Would the simple beginnings get tangled up in property and bureaucracy?
(Is that what has happened to the Church over the last two millennium?)

Fears morph into temptation. The Gospel writer embroidered Jesus’ natural fears with images of angels as well as devils, with great heights and wonderful visions of the future. Like all of us, Jesus was tempted by the security that comes with a minimum of risk. We flippantly say ‘No pain, no gain’ as we choose the pain we are most comfortable with. We acknowledge our materialistic lifestyle as we put more goodies on to our credit cards.

The desert is religious shorthand for those mysterious inner places that we keep hidden behind the edges of the secure and structured world in which we live. The prophet Hosea experienced his desert something like this: “I will lead you into the desert, and there I will speak to your heart” (Hosea 2:14). On the wall of the Our Lady of the Desert church in New Mexico there is a saying that paraphrases those words. “The desert will lead you to your heart where I will speak.”

The early Australian explorers entered the desert lands at their own peril, fearful of what lay there. Maybe that is the whole point of Lent: to move into the desert places in our lives – and find Life.

Judith Scully

 

This week the Catholic Church in Australia is in the headlines and already I’ve heard a mixture of people express their opinions about the court’s decision to jail Cardinal Pell. I wonder how many of them are aware that this same church is a third of the way through a process known as Plenary Council 2020. Come to think of it, I wonder how many women and men who identify as catholic know anything about it.

A Plenary Council is a formal gathering of all local churches in a country. Plenary Council 2020 is being held so that clergy and laity can dialogue about the future of the Catholic Church in Australia. The 2020 has a certain ring to it, but Plenary Council is not exactly a catchy title for something so important and widespread.

Such Councils are not new in the Australian catholic world, but they are rare. Since the first one in 1844 there have been five more, the last one in 1937, the year I was born. As far as I can ascertain no lay people were present and definitely no women. Hopefully the 2020 one will reflect today’s society!

Like the Council in 1937, the 2020 Council is looking to the future. Last year, in my book A Gentle Unfolding – Circling and Spiralling into Meaning, I wrote about the way my religious faith, coupled with changes in society, has influenced my life choices. There are things I’d like to say about that, things that I’ve learnt, things I believe. . .

That WE are the Church – not the hierarchy. They’re 1% of it, the other 99% is us.

That the family is the foundational Christian community and the Catholic Church should help parents to educate in faith, not the reverse.

That God is answering all those fervent prayer for vocations to the priesthood. The trouble is, the answer is not the one the leadership want to hear.

If Jesus turned up for Sunday Mass one weekend I’m not sure how much of it he would recognise as “do this in remembrance of me”.

That our Australian way of being Church is a rich mix of European, Celtic, Asian, and Aboriginal cultures. Practices such as religious processions, dragons and statues with little artistic merit but a lot of glitter can help to retain the deep Christian truths each holds, and may suggest new ways of expressing it. Growing and nurturing the church of the future will take time and courage, but out of it will come a uniquely Australian way of celebrating our Catholic faith.

Something the martyred San Salvador Bishop Oscar Romero once said speaks to me of the Church in Australia today. “We plant seeds that will one day grow, we water seeds that are already planted. We are laying foundations that will need development and providing yeast that will produce effects far beyond our present capabilities.”

So I keep colouring outside the lines, and the words I use originate from the centre, but somehow always seem to stray over the edge.

Judith Scully