11th November has, come and gone without incident. I say that because I’m slowly learning, with age and experience, that not everyone ranks as important what one does oneself.
Because, besides the traditional events associated in the public mind with November 11th, I’ve tried to keep alive, so to speak, on that very date annually, the memories of forty local young people who died in the drug wars of the 1980’s.
I’ve even installed in the parish garden a plaque. Their first names are on it. I knew them all by name. So did the parish administration of the time. It was a pastoral relationship, without fear or favour.
This 11th November I decided to remember alone. It’s been a year of warnings to separate the parish from its past, especially the past involving me.
So, this 11th, in this heat, after noon Mass I blessed with words of apology, and with the holy water the plaque with the 40 names and the cryptic message from them to us.
I was tempted to ceremoniously take down the plague and store it until other times and places could do it justice.
I’ll leave it, however, for the edification of passersby who just might ask “Who were these 40 x 20 year olds who died in the 80’s?” Lest I forget.
Just a few paces from that plaque stands the mighty bluestone fortress known as Sts. Peter and Paul church.
I’ve read that these catholic churches were built as imposing assertions that Catholicism may be suspect (we’re talking middle/late 1800’s) of unaustralian opinions and attitudes, but we were big enough and strong enough to look after ourselves.
That view of ourselves as outsiders (“job vacant – catholics need not apply”) surely explains the almost kneejerk reaction of catholics to support asylum seekers.
Of course, we’re caught in a bind. We’ve, many of us, achieved upward social mobility in spite of dungeon, fire and sword.
We’re afraid to champion such a social justice hot potato cause as relief for boat people, here, amongst us, on dry land.
We pray about refugees. We contribute money to church collections for their support. In principle we would take their places in detention so they could be free to enjoy peace and prosperity.
In practice we don’t know what side we’re on. We’re disturbed enough as it is what with global warning, bushfires and floods and the tantalising two facedness of the global economic downturn.
Now we have to worry about whether to welcome or not a horde of “foreigners” invading our home.
At least, that’s what the isolationists would have us believe! In fact, there’s very few refugees risking life and limb by fragile boat.
Catholics know what it’s like, as do all faith groups in the days of their suppression, to be on the run. “Who will open the door to us?” – that’s the prayer common to all refugees.
The clincher is the voice of the founder of the firm: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me”.
RJM
Perhaps we need a return to the times and values within the Church that casued a priest to write ‘Around The Boree Log’
PS: Hello Fr Bob. Just thought I’d that for no reason because I bet you don’t get many people just calling by for no other reason than to say hello. So this note is for all the times you might have liked someone to knock on the Door to see how YOU are. Cheers.
(PPS There is supposed to be a ’say’ in between I’d and that)
From what I’ve heard, it’s Anglicans who are the refugees now – spiritual refugees that is. Like you say, the clincher is: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me”.