Been a bit slack last two weeks, using other peoples’ writings, adding just an opening sentence of my own.
Don’t know about you, but seems so much more to do, day by day. World’s spinning even faster.
May be my age, of course, catching up with me. Forgot my ATM pin number a few days ago. First time. Stopped trying when ATM took my card.
Negotiated with local bank. Because ATM was inside and not outside bank, got my card back. Also, thanks to Saint Anthony, remembered my pin number.
Too many numbers all at once for the 76 year old brain. Had just been to Vodaphone for new mobile phone card. Lost phone during Age newspaper Run Melbourne 5K walk previous Sunday.
Needed pin number of lost phone account to retain same phone number. Didn’t have that number. Had to buy new sim card and choose new number. It ends with 303, just like the last one, in memory of the Australian army rifle used in WW2 and by CBC St. Kilda cadet corps in which I served 1948-1952.
Too many numbers, obviously for an aging mind to cope with on a Monday morning when I’d hoped to recoup the health benefits of the training for and execution of the 5K walk.
Anyway, all’s well that ends well. No phone numbers were stored by the last phone. No secrets waiting in the grass along the Yarra for someone to discover and reveal just as I’m being feted as a priest survivor of the Vatican2 Council hijack.
The good thing about being 50 years ordained as a catholic priest trained, not as a religious order specialist, but as one embedded in a parish within a neighbourhood, is that memories are constantly flooding the same brain which found it hard to recall a pin number!
I remember the group of men with whom I trained at Corpus Christi College, first at Werribee, then for a year at Glen Waverley (now “Coppers” College!).
There’s still six of us left. Three are retired from parish “embededness”. But in demand as “locums”. Three are still on active service as combined CEO/CFO/COO spiritual and religious community leaders.
My role, sadly, was questioned and curtailed, this time last year, with a letter, signed by me, to that effect, lodged in a Head Office filing cabinet.
This 50th anniversary of ordination isn’t the appropriate time to discuss this grievance further. It does, however, follow me around, like that black cloud in Leunig’s cartoon – black cloud, thank God, there but out of sight, not black dog, forever biting your ankle.
During 1953-1960 and, absolutely, since ordination/commissioning 1960, my colleagues and I have preached and taught that there is a collective priesthood, a communion of saints, the PEOPLE of God, a pilgrim PEOPLE.
We believed then and now, falling short of the mark some of the time, that the Founder of the Firm, Jesus of Nazareth (not Peter not Paul) preferred his followers to be “shepherd” priests embedded with a flock, not “temple” priests, isolated from the flock.
We’re all needed to care, do no harm, do a little good. We’re all “priests”, servants of a commonwealth of communication, care and concern.
A few of us are ordained, commissioned as clerics, commonly called “priests, to live and die at the disposal of church in neighbourhood. Respect to all.
RJM
Been a bit slack last two weeks, using other peoples’ writings, adding just an opening sentence of my own.
Don’t know about you, but seems so much more to do, day by day. World’s spinning even faster.
May be my age, of course, catching up with me. Forgot my ATM pin number a few days ago. First time. Stopped trying when ATM took my card.
Negotiated with local bank. Because ATM was inside and not outside bank, got my card back. Also, thanks to Saint Anthony, remembered my pin number.
Too many numbers all at once for the 76 year old brain. Had just been to Vodaphone for new mobile phone card. Lost phone during Age newspaper Run Melbourne 5K walk previous Sunday.
Needed pin number of lost phone account to retain same phone number. Didn’t have that number. Had to buy new sim card and choose new number. It ends with 303, just like the last one, in memory of the Australian army rifle used in WW2 and by CBC St. Kilda cadet corps in which I served 1948-1952.
Too many numbers, obviously for an aging mind to cope with on a Monday morning when I’d hoped to recoup the health benefits of the training for and execution of the 5K walk.
Anyway, all’s well that ends well. No phone numbers were stored by the last phone. No secrets waiting in the grass along the Yarra for someone to discover and reveal just as I’m being feted as a priest survivor of the Vatican2 Council hijack.
The good thing about being 50 years ordained as a catholic priest trained, not as a religious order specialist, but as one embedded in a parish within a neighbourhood, is that memories are constantly flooding the same brain which found it hard to recall a pin number!
I remember the group of men with whom I trained at Corpus Christi College, first at Werribee, then for a year at Glen Waverley (now “Coppers” College!).
There’s still six of us left. Three are retired from parish “embededness”. But in demand as “locums”. Three are still on active service as combined CEO/CFO/COO spiritual and religious community leaders.
My role, sadly, was questioned and curtailed, this time last year, with a letter, signed by me, to that effect, lodged in a Head Office filing cabinet.
This 50th anniversary of ordination isn’t the appropriate time to discuss this grievance further. It does, however, follow me around, like that black cloud in Leunig’s cartoon – black cloud, thank God, there but out of sight, not black dog, forever biting your ankle.
During 1953-1960 and, absolutely, since ordination/commissioning 1960, my colleagues and I have preached and taught that there is a collective priesthood, a communion of saints, the PEOPLE of God, a pilgrim PEOPLE.
We believed then and now, falling short of the mark some of the time, that the Founder of the Firm, Jesus of Nazareth (not Peter not Paul) preferred his followers to be “shepherd” priests embedded with a flock, not “temple” priests, isolated from the flock.
We’re all needed to care, do no harm, do a little good. We’re all “priests”, servants of a commonwealth of communication, care and concern.
A few of us are ordained, commissioned as clerics, commonly called “priests, to live and die at the disposal of church in neighbourhood. Respect to all.
RJM
Can I just humbly suggest – and not entirely in jest – that if you find yourself thinking back to much, think a little bit less. No, seriously, perhaps meditation might be of some assistance.
You have always struck me as a bright, quick witted kind of man, and a kind man as well, so forgive me if this sounds unfair, but perhaps try thinking a little less and feeling a little more.
As usual, I give the kind of advice I myself should take.
Bless you Father Bob, you are a
blessing to my ears, and to everyone listening, may your beard grow ever longer!!!
Mike K
I am 67 and just waiting for the day when I forget some important
number. Numbers, all the rage these days with things. Thank
God (yes really!) there are still
pensioner passbook accounts.
(Sorry in advance if this is a bit esoteric for some of your readers.)
Hi FB, I have long been troubled by your term, Futile Care. It bothers me because I don’t know why it bothers me. Futile Care doesn’t make sense, and yet it does. In my literary grazing, I recently came across something which immediately rang a bell, Ah hah, that’s what Futile Care is…
It was through the comparison of the terms, Haecceity and Quiddity
John Duns Scotus (1265-1308) was a medieval Christian theologian and philosopher who wrote of Haecceity, the property in each individual person which makes that person a unique individual. Their ‘thisness/whoness’.
Under Haecceity, it is only about the one, the indivisible oneness of a person. The worth of an individual by identity, not by comparison.
Quiddity refers to the universal qualities of a thing, its “whatness”, or the aspects of a thing which it may share with other things and by which it may form part of a genus of things.
A genus being an ‘unreal’ or artificial artefact rendered out by the application of perceived selection criteria.
Eg. Living in the street = Homeless + …+… +…
Eg. Under the influence = Addict +…. +….. + …
Under Quiddity the application of care/compassion becomes social accounting, a (zero sum) cost/benefit equation. Is he/she worth it? Sacrifice the one to spend more on the many.
Futile Care: Caring for the one, because of their oneness, outside the rational strictures of social accounting principles.
… and respect to you too, Bob.
You came to mind as the Ackermanis saga played out: you too will shortly be cast aside by those-who-can choosing the quick fix, a mentality that might win a battle or two, but never the war.
Cheers, John Warton