Terry Burke's Home on the Web

“We know you would come if you could”

One of the things I do, when in Bali, is to visit the long-term English speaking prisoners in the local jail. I used to say Mass there for the Catholic prisoners and those Protestants, who liked to attend, but that is not allowed now, so I just go to visit. We sit on the floor in the visiting area, under a plastic roof, with crowds of others and we chat about all and sundry, but the hardness of the floor and the heat from the roof means that, after about 45 minutes, my aching bottom and sweat-soaked shirt tells me it is time to go – so the guys help me to my feet and I say goodbye.
I sometimes get a little dissatisfied with this way of doing things and wonder what good I do on such visits, but I get such bright smiles from those I visit - those on death row and those who have life-sentences that I continue to visit regularly. Over the Christmas period, I went to the prison twice and told them I would visit once more before returning to Sarawak, but I was so lacking in energy, due to my recent bout of bronchitis, that I did not get to do it. Then, four nights ago, I received a message from one of the Australians, a young man serving a life sentence, (I will not tell you how he managed to communicate with me!) asking me when I would be next going to see them. This made me feel rather ashamed, so I wrote back apologising and also explaining and said that I would be back in April. The next day, he replied saying,”That’s OK, Father; we know you would have come if you could and I hope you will be feeling better soon. And it’s good to know we shall see you again in April – we will be here, we are not going anywhere!” I was very moved by this – for it not only showed they looked forward to my visits but also, even though I might think I don’t do much while there – they obviously thought differently.
I was in Cambodia for New Year and on the Feast of Epiphany – the Coming of the three kings to Bethlehem - I went to Mass in the local Catholic Church. The priest gave a great little homily on the “giving of gifts” and the place it needs to hold in the Christian life. He gave, as an analogy, the two Seas there are in the Holy Land – the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea. Both of these, he said, have rivers flowing into them, but whereas the Sea of Galilee has rivers that also flow out, the Dead Sea has none – it only receives, it does not give. This, he said, is why the Sea of Galilee is full of life – plenty of fish and much fertile land around its shores, watered by the Sea. The Dead Sea, on the other hand, is lifeless – it gives nothing away, keeping all its water to itself, and the resulting intensity of salt kills any chance of anything living either in its waters, or on its surrounding shores.
He made his point most powerfully and it began me thinking about the abundance of gifts I have received and the need to share with others – something I don’t always do. However, behind these thoughts was the unexamined idea that it was the well-endowed, who were called to share and this idea was given a nasty jolt, when I received that message from that young man in prison. He is probably one of the poorest men I know. He is about 27 years old and will probably spend, if not all, then at least most of his life in prison. He is locked up, for much of the time, in a small cell and when he does get out, he cannot go very far. He has no income and no job prospects, is not married and has very little likelihood of ever having a family of his own and yet this young man, from the little he has, reached out and gave this aging priest the courage to go on doing what he doubted was of any value and gave him also the greatest gift of all – that of knowing he was wanted and valued. From his sea of life, which seems to be fed by so little – he sent out a stream of life - when most of us would have thought there was nothing to spare!
Diary
Before I left Bali, we managed to get Danny into a safe place. We sold his furniture, paid off his debts to his landlord and also to his visa agent, thus getting his passport back. He is now staying in a small boarding house, run by Sisters, not too far from the Church and while it is only bed and breakfast, there are cafes nearby where he can eat. His pension cheque is now sent to the American Consulate and this is enough to pay for his lodgings and enable him to save a little week by week for his ticket home and his brother in America says that he is ready to receive him when he comes. He is a little bored, I know, for there is no television, but the Sisters are kind to him, even though only one can speak English. And the most important of all – the terrible worry of mounting debt is no longer there.
I left Bali on January 29th and arrived here at the seminary late that evening. There used to be a direct flight from Kuching to Bali, which took just 2 hours, but sadly, that was discontinued last year and now the journey takes 8 hours, via KL. However, the students only arrived back the following Monday, so I had a few days to recuperate. I shall be here now until the end of term in April and so have got myself a permanent Malaysian mobile number: +60194823496. This replaces the one I have been using on my previous visits here.
My teaching visits here over the last five years, have only been for six weeks at a time, so I stayed in one of the guest rooms, a comfortable room, but not really home. So, as I shall now be here more permanently – I am trying to make my rooms more homely. I have some of my books here now and have two pictures for the walls of my room – and my crucifix, which has travelled with me ever since my seminary days. I have decorated the bathroom, and am pondering getting a comfortable armchair. However, this will be done slowly as I go along. But there was one matter I had to deal with immediately and that was to repair the door to my room. Let me explain!
On my first Sunday back here, I was due to say 7.30am Mass in a neighbouring parish. So, I got up at 6am, washed and dressed, I went to the dining room in the next building for breakfast. I placed my keys on the table next to me, as I ate, and inadvertently put a food cover on top of them. When I finished breakfast, I felt for my keys and on not finding them in my pocket, I assumed I had left them in my room – not realising that I must have had them to get into the dining room! So, I left the room, locking the door behind me as I usually do, and went back to my room, only to find it also locked. So, there I was - standing in the rain, with bare feet, trousers, but only an under vest, unable to get back into the dining room to get my keys and also unable to get back into my room to use the telephone to call for help. I knew that the Sisters, our cooks, had a spare set of keys, but they were both at first Mass in the Cathedral; my only chance was to rouse the Rector, who lived in the block where the dining room was, so I went and rang and rang on the bell to waken him – but unsuccessfully. So, I stopped and pondered and saw I was faced with three choices: I could wait there, barefoot and in the rain, until the Sisters came back from Mass – but by that time I would have missed Mass in the local parish and moreover had no way of telephoning to say I would not be there; the second choice would be to go down to the Cathedral to get the Sisters to come and open the door for me – but I chose against this, thinking of the consternation I would cause arriving in the Cathedral soaking wet, bare foot and in my under vest; the third choice was to break in the door of my room to get to the telephone and call the Rector to open the dining room door – and that is what I decided on – and was surprised how easily the door could be broken in. Thus, I spent Monday putting the door of my room back together!
God bless,
Terry

You are only part of the story

Last week, I was in a bad place. I had just finished two courses of antibiotics and was feeling low – no energy and very little interest in anything, but nagging at me was the thought that I had just over a week before returning to Malaysia and in that time I had to do something about Danny – try to sell up his furniture, help pay his debts and get him back to America. But, each way I turned, I seemed to find difficulties – new creditors appeared – problems about his furniture – and where in America was he to go. I was feeling very alone and out of my depth and although I handed over the problem to the Lord each day – it still seemed to me that if anything was to be done, I would have to be the one to do it. But a voice began to sound at the back of my mind, saying over and over again, “You are only part of the story!”
I wrote to you at Christmas, about the small, Mexican crib set I have and how, during Mass, I set out the pieces and spoke a little about each – including the ass – and asked those present “Which figure do you feel drawn to?” We understand Christmas as the coming of God, but we cannot understand the “coming” without including those he came to – they are not merely bystanders, but give understanding to the story. The question, “Which figure do you feel drawn to?” was to help myself and those at Mass to allow the Holy Spirit to draw us into finding our place in the story of Christmas – for Christmas is not just a memory of the past, but a “happening” each time we celebrate it.
A week or so later, I found myself reading the Gospel of the wedding feast of Cana in the same way. Like most people, I have always thought of it as the story of Jesus changing water into wine, but as I read it I began to see it as a story of compassion – and how all in that story are drawn into the compassion of God for that newly married couple: Mary, who noticed the problem; the servants, who poured the water; the disciple, who saw, remembered and wrote about it; all have their part to play in this miracle story.
One of the dangers of proclaiming that “Jesus is Saviour” is that when we read the Gospel, we see only him and relegate all others to being mere “bystanders”. Thus, we can overlook that Jesus came not only to save me, but to gather all to himself and to associate us all with him in his work of salvation – and although I may have an important role to play in a particular scene, it is always only a part, not the whole. I may feel responsible, in a certain situation – as I did with Danny - and pray for strength to do what is right, but in the overall story, it is always God drawing me into the story – not the other way round.
So, what has happened about Danny? He is now in a safe place for the time being and the story has moved on; others are being drawn into the story and are playing a more important role than mine; some ways of solving the problems have proved a blank, but other possibilities are opening up. Danny will not have gone back to America, before I leave for Sarawak in two days time – but he now has a place to go in America and the Lord seems to be touching hearts so that he will have the means to go, for he hasn’t as yet. And I am realising that it never was my story, it was always bigger than I. I was only a part of the story – but I was a part!


Diary
I don’t think I have ever had such a bad reaction to antibiotics as I have had to these two courses recently. I have spent most of the past ten days lying down, but maybe that was not such a bad thing for I am told that it is rest that helps get you over bronchitis. Fortunately, I was in Bali and so was able to rest and I hope to be ready when I begin the next stage of my journey, when I return to Kuching. I have also had some good ideas about the courses I will be teaching in Kuching this year.
The paint in various parts of my house seems to have caught a disease. It is becoming brown and blotchy in places. I am sure that it is due to the rain, but why it should appear in some parts and not others, remains a mystery, especially because some of the blotchy parts seem to be in places difficult for dampness to reach.
I have started to send my books to Kuching and decided that the cheapest way to do so was by mail. So, I packed a box of books and took it to the post office, only to be told that the maximum weight for mail to Malaysia is 10kgs, whereas my box weighed 15kgs. So, I took it home again and repacked it into a smaller parcel and added three other parcels. It cost me about 100 pounds sterling to send them – 40kgs. However, when I look around at my study – it still seems full of books!
I leave for Kuching on Friday and the first term will be three months. I have really enjoyed being home in Bali, and hope to manage a short visit about Easter, but I will be visiting my family in England in the April/May break, so if get to Bali during Easter it will only be short. It will probably be September before I am back in Bali for a longer period.
God bless,
Terry

On climbing hills

I went to Cambodia, for a few days, over the New Year. I have always wanted to see Angkor Wat – and it is stunning! However, Angkor Wat is not the only temple there; the countryside is studded with such-like monuments and on visits to these, the guides usually add on side-trips to see natural sights, such as the waterfall my friend and I were taken to see on one such tour. We went by “tuk-tuk”, a motor bike, which has a kind of two-seater chariot attached to the back – at least it is a two-seater, if you are a man of my size! This was a pleasant way to see the countryside, for it was the dry season and the open carriage kept us cool as well as bringing us safely to the site of the waterfall, but we were then told that it was situated 1500 metres up the hill in front of us and that we had to walk it. At first, the path was not too difficult, a fairly gentle upward slope, but then we came to a steep climb among rocks, after which there was another gentle slope and then boulders again. The authorities had thoughtfully put up signs at every 100 metres, telling us how far we had walked, which I found helpful, but I had a touch of congestion, caught on the flight to Cambodia, and my breathing crackled and popped, especially among the rock climbing sections – much to the amusement of my companion, a younger and more agile man than I. He teased me about the sounds I was making, but this actually helped take my mind off of the steeper parts of the climb, and away from the thought, “I hope this waterfall is worth seeing”. It wasn’t! It was the middle of the dry season, and although you could see that in the wet season, it would probably be quite spectacular, at the time we were there it was not and I thought to myself, “Is this what I have climbed 1.5kms to see?”
However, for some reason, I did not get grumpy; it was very pleasant sitting there in the cool breeze, looking at the ancient carvings, for the artists of the old Khmer Kingdom had even reached that spot. But, when it was time to come down, things got a little difficult, for it is always more difficult climbing down a hill than going up it. However, my friend was a great help, going on a little ahead of me so as to point out the easier track through the boulders, offering his hand on the steeper parts and also suggesting we stop and look at the scenery at certain points on the way. His companionship made the journey enjoyable, despite the wheeziness of my breathing and the weakness I was feeling due to it. When we got back, we sat down and I had two large drinks of sprite, ice and squeezed lime – made wonderful by a thirst I would not have swapped for a ten pound note!
Later, I sat back and asked myself, “Was the climb worth it?” and I realised it was – not so much for the sight, but for the companionship on the way. Reflecting further on this, I realised that the same is true of everything we do in life: we struggle for certain goals, go after things we want, but whatever is it we strive for, will eventually disappear and pass away. The only thing that remains is the friendship and love that we build up with those we journey with.
Last Sunday’s Feast – the Baptism of the Lord – was always a puzzle to me, because I could not understand why the Lord needed to be baptised – as he told John he did. But, I was looking at baptism as a ritual which frees us from the chains of sin that bind us and could not understand why the Lord needed to be freed. He didn’t, of course, but as I changed my way of looking at baptism and began to see it as the outward sign the journey I was being taken on – a journey of growth and change – then I began to see that the Lord had to enter the waters of baptism because that was where I was - waiting for him to accompany me on that journey. He came into the waters because we need him as our companion on the journey.
Baptism is a life-long experience – or better, is my life-long experience of becoming - and not just something that happened when the waters were poured on my forehead. An essential part of baptism is that I have a companion for that journey – if I choose to accept him as such. I cannot travel that road alone – although, at times, I tend to forget that. I need to look for him on my journey, need to hear him gently teasing me when my spiritual breathing gets a bit wheezy. I need to let him point out to me the easier paths to follow and to take my hand to help me over the difficult bits. I need to trust him, when he suggests we stop for a while to enjoy the quiet and the scenery about us. I need to realise that the journey is not what is important, but the friendship that is growing between us. I need to realise that heaven is not a place I journey to, but the love which is growing between me and my friend – my companion journeying with me.
Diary
Since coming back to Bali, my wheeziness has developed into bronchitis. I bought some medicine in Cambodia, but, by the time I returned to Bali, my chest was sounding like a full orchestra, so I went to see my two kind Catholic doctors, at the top of my road, who run St Mary’s Pharmacy, and they gave me a thorough examination and put me on a breathing machine to ease the congestion and then gave me all sorts of medicine. It has certainly helped and I sleep quietly at night, but I am still without much energy, but given time that too will pass – I hope!
We are full in the rainy season now, which cools the air, but it also shows how one wall of my house needs water-proofing. I have had a builder come and see it, but he said that he needed to see it when it rains – but I have not been able to get through to him to show him where the water is coming in. However, I am sure that I shall be able to get the two together before I return to Sarawak at the end of the month.
I have started packing up some of my books to send to Sarawak. I packed one box, weighing about 15kgs, to send by post. At the Post Office, I was told that would cost $45 dollars, but then was told that it was too large, for parcels for Malaysia could not be larger than 10kgs. So, I have brought it home, but shall ask about other ways of sending them before re-packing for I have another 50kgs to send. Books are so heavy!

The smell of burnt toast

Last week, I took part in the ordination ceremony of a new priest, here in Kuching. Such occasions are always a good opportunity to reflect on my own life as a priest and as I sat listening to the bishop read out to the candidate the instruction on priesthood, I was struck by the phrase: “Let the holiness of your life be a delicious fragrance for the people of God.” “Hmm!” I thought, “my life often seems to smell more like a piece of burnt toast”. And as I sat musing on this, I was reminded of a song my father used to sing: “I’m farther now from heaven than when I was a boy”, which is not true, of course, but it does sometimes feel like that.
This idea arises because many of us think that we become sinners by committing sins – but a short reflection shows that this cannot be so, for if I do a selfish act, where did that selfishness come from? It must have come from inside me, which means that my sin did not cause my selfishness, but showed me that what was already there – as the Lord said, “by their fruits you will know them.” Sin, just like an act of love, shows me what I am like inside and by so doing gives me the chance to do something about it.
It always hurts to recognise that I have sinned, but this pain can take two forms: shame or guilt. The first, shame, is unhealthy, but the second, guilt, is a part, an essential part of my spiritual growth. Shame is where I look at my sins in horror, not wanting to believe that I could have done something like that – something which can never be changed or altered – and I turn away from those memories, maybe trying to repress them, maybe trying to excuse them to myself – but always keeping quiet about them. Guilt, on the other hand, is where I dare to look at them and own that that is what I am like. Guilt, like shame, is always painful, but when I accept myself as I am, I can turn to the Lord and ask him for healing, because change is not about will-power, it is about “becoming”, about letting the Holy Spirit mould me interiorly as I try to put right exteriorly the damage I have done by my sin.
As I watched the young man lying prostrate before the altar and we all sang the litany of the saints, asking the whole of heaven to pray for him, I remembered the moment when I lay in that same position and also the heartfelt prayer I made as I lay there: “O Lord, if I cannot be a good priest, then don’t let me be a priest at all”. Sometimes I am tempted to think, “It was a bit late to say that, just a few minutes before the bishop laid his hands on my head and ordained me!” But, in fact, it was not the timing that was wrong, rather the wording of the prayer. To say, “If I cannot be a good priest...” assumes the goodness was already in me and all I needed was the will-power to bring it out. What I should have prayed was, “If I cannot become good priest”, which also recognises that the power to” become” belongs not to me, but to God - for I am not the Creator.
This does not mean that I have no part to play – I do – but my part lies mainly in what I do with the guilt I experience after doing something wrong. I need to give it to God and the only way I can do that is by being honest about it – for as the Lord said, “the truth will set you free”. However, there is only one way to be honest – I must admit the fault to myself, to God and to at least one other person. For Catholics, that is usually the priest in confession, but it may be that I find I can open up more fully to someone who is not a priest, if that is so, then that is what I should do. But, including “one other person” is vital in this process of becoming honest. If I confine my “honesty” just to myself and to a prayer to God, and leave out the other person, then I am probably in shame and am really hiding away from the truth about myself.
We Catholics are sometimes accused of being “guilt-ridden” and maybe some do go over the top, but, nevertheless, guilt has a vital part to play a part in the journey of our “becoming”. One of the sayings of the 12 step groups is: “you are as sick as your deepest secret”. Our guilt has to be revealed if we are to “become”. So, there will be many delicious fragrances in our lives, but we should never run away from the smell of burnt toast!
Diary
There were nearly nine hundred sitting down to the celebration meal on the evening of the ordination and I was at a table with an Indian parishioner from West Malaysia. There are very few Indians in Sarawak and he was almost the only one at the meal and this prompted him to comment that he felt like one of the threatened species. I then realised that I was the only Caucasian - something which I sometimes forget - and said, “not as much as I do!”
Last week, I visited friends in Brunei, an independent Islamic Sultanate in Borneo. It was my first visit and I enjoyed my two days with my friends. We went on a boat tour of “Kampong Ayer”, which means “water village” and that is exactly what it is – a huge village built on stilts in the river. We also visited the beautiful Mosque, the construction of which was amusingly written about by Anthony Burgess in his book “Devil of a State”. Then, we went to the State museum, where we saw an exhibition of the life and history of Brunei, but what struck me, in the presentation, was that the wonderfully rich and varied cultures of Borneo, seemed to be valued only insofar as they were islamic.
Having begun my priesthood here in Sarawak, nearly forty years ago, my visits here can remind me of my age. At the end of Mass last week, a grandmother came up to me and asked me if I remembered her – which I didn’t. She then told me that I had taught her her prayers when she was a girl! I’m sure she must be confusing me with someone else!!!
God bless,
Terry

The heart of the matter

The heart of the matter
For some years now, I have been involved with the 12 step groups of Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous. They are places of miracles. You see people coming in through the doors, broken and defeated; their lives and relationships in tatters – and you watch them, over the months and years, growing into confident, caring people; people who have found a new way of living, a way which brings hope and peace, a way begun and guided by God – a Power greater than themselves.
There are two parts in this journey into newness: the first is daring to be honest – daring to look at what they are really like. The second is to reach out to others in service and care – and so move away from the self-centredness, which trapped them in their addictive behaviour. This is done very simply in the 12 step groups. The newcomer is first told to sit and listen as others speak about themselves and their journeys and, if they have the capacity to be honest, they will hear similarities to their own journey. The second begins, when after attending the group for a while, the newcomer is invited to take on little acts of service, such as arranging the chairs at the meetings, making the tea or helping to wash up afterwards. This again is a movement out of self-centredness and into service and care for others – a movement which brings new life and a new way of living.
I realised the other day, that you can see this same journey in that famous Christmas story by Charles Dickens: “A Christmas Carol”. Ebenezer Scrooge is locked up in his addiction to money, put in Christian terms – he is locked into sin and cannot get out. The Spirit comes to him and leads him to see the love that he lost or rejected and so slowly causes his heart to melt with sorrow at his wasted life. However, the Spirit does not just show us the damage we has done, but in so doing also inspires and enables us to break out. Scrooge wakes up and realises that he has not missed Christmas after all and throwing open the window of his room, the door of his life, he begins to use his money to break out of his prison. He asks a boy to go and buy a turkey for the poor man, who works for him, and begins many other acts of service. In the Christmas Carol, we are watching a narrative of how the Spirit of God works among us – drawing us into life through truth and service.
To find life in this way, we need to use the gifts God gives us. Scrooge used his money, we must use whatever gifts we have. One of the most famous examples of how to do this is the story of the Good Thief. He was probably the poorest man written of in the Gospels. He had almost nothing: no possessions, no power of movement, nailed as he was to the cross, and only an hour or so to live. All he had was his voice, but he used that to own the truth about himself and then to try to comfort Jesus in his last moments of life, by rebuking the other thief who was taunting him. But his small act of service was enough - and he is the only person, whom, on the authority of Scripture, we know went to heaven. “Today, you will be with me in Paradise”. If we want to enter into life, then service and care lie at the heart of the matter.
But, you may object, where does prayer come into this? Prayer is there in these stories – although maybe not in the form we usually associate with prayer. Prayer is recognising and admitting our need of God. Prayer is owning that we have got the direction of our lives wrong. Prayer is letting the Spirit lead us into a new way of living. Our difficulty in seeing this in prayer often arises, because we misunderstand the heart of the Christian Faith. God does not want me to be virtuous; he wants me as his companion as he reaches out in love and compassion to others. In that reaching out, no matter how small or apparently insignificant the act may seem – the buying of a turkey, or a word in support of someone – I am drawn into one-ness with God and his is the life I begin to live.
We often tend to think that new life comes when God comes into me and so I pray: “Holy Spirit come into me and heal me”, but the Spirit does not and, indeed, cannot work that way. God does not give me life by moving into me, but by moving up through my heart, taking my hand and leading me out of myself in care for others. We see this movement in the story of Pentecost, when the Spirit, appears as fire, and draws them out from behind locked doors to begin their mission of care. We see this movement of God in the stories of Scrooge and the Good Thief. We also see it in the stories of the many people who walk into the rooms of AA. But do I see it in me?
Diary
When I have finished this blog, I shall begin packing my bags to go home to Bali. I have been away for nearly three months and I have enjoyed the time. I have enjoyed being more deeply a part of the Church here in Kuching and look forward to coming back here. But it is also nice to be going home.
I was away, last week, in Sibu, a town about 230 miles from here. I was at a meeting of the Mill Hill Missionaries, the Society I belong to. We discussed the General Chapter of our Society, which is to take place here in Kuching next year. A Chapter is a meeting of the Society, which takes place every five years and when the delegates – from all over the world – choose the Superior for the next five years. This will be the first time that it has taken place in Asia – so it will be very special.
During the visit to Sibu, we were taken out for a meal by a local businessman – and it was quite a meal (that is a very British expression, meaning “approval”!). Among the many dishes, was a huge dish of large freshwater prawns. They looked wonderful, but, remembering my gout of last week, I just sat and watched the others enjoy them.
In the airport on the way back, I sat in the cafeteria having a cup of coffee and watched one or two sparrows flying in through a gap in the door to scavenge for crumbs. I wondered at how adaptable those little birds are in their effort to live. O that I was that inventive in trying for the things I need!

The Christmas Story

Christmas is one of the Feasts I have great difficulty preaching about. This may be because the thought of God being born among us is so stupendous that whatever I think of to say just seems inadequate. This year, as I was praying over the Scriptures, it struck me that, although the Christmas story centres on Jesus, it is not only about Jesus. The story also includes Mary and Joseph – and the donkey which carried Mary – as well as the innkeeper and the person who pointed out the stable. Then, other parts are played by angels, shepherds and kings – one with gold, one with frankincense and one with myrrh. All of these are part of the story, but can so easily be sidelined and overlooked, if we only see Christmas as God’s coming among us. All these others are important, because they are a real part of the story and God never uses people to make a point – people are the point! Maybe this is why we tend to have Nativity plays at this time of the year – and maybe this is the Holy Spirit prompting us to notice these other people, for unless we see who the Christ-Child came to, and how he came, then we will not really understand, who He is.
Such thoughts lead us to see that the story is not just about the past, but also concerns the now – and looks towards the future. The coming of the Emmanuel – “God-with-us” happened at a particular point in time, but he also comes to me, drawing me into a future with him. I am also a part of the story of his coming into this world and maybe this is why it is so difficult to talk about Christmas in a sermon – it is rather like trying to catch a handful of beans, which have been thrown up in the air.
So, what I did for the Midnight Mass sermon was to take out a small Christmas crib, made of tin, which I had been given years ago by a Mexican friend and set out the figures, one by one, on a small table. As I did so, I spoke a little about each one: the bravery of Mary in accepting being an unmarried mother; the forgiveness of Joseph, without which Mary would have been stoned; the legendary stubbornness of the donkey, who nevertheless “had his day”, as Chesterton put it; the angels who brought the news; the poor and despised shepherds who received it; the kings who came with their gifts etc. - and I, then, asked those present, which character in they felt drawn to? I said that in the character they were attracted to, the Spirit was moving them into the Christmas story and that they should take that character home with them and ponder on it – “nurse” it and see where it leads, but not to be too quick in deciding what the Spirit is saying.
The overriding message of Christmas is that Christ lives, Christmas lives, the story of his coming lives through the characters which take part in that story. All those characters were needed for his coming to be real. Likewise, all those characters are needed now. But which one are you?
Diary
We had about 35 people at my house for Mass on Christmas Eve, and this included the parents of one of the lads on death row at the prison. We sang carols, gace each other a joyful kiss of peace and followed it with wonderful turkey supper accompanied by many other foods brought by those attending. It was a lovely and heart-warming gathering.
My tummy felt out of sorts on Christmas Day. I think it may have been that I had been picking at snacks for a couple of days, while trying to get everything ready and had not had a proper meal. I only realised that later in the day, when a friend said that he was coming over for the evening and I realised that I had not cooked for a few days. So, I ordered in a full take-away meal for us, which was very enjoyable, and next day I felt much better.
May I wish you all God’s blessings in the New Year of 2010 that lies ahead of us. May you look back over the last year and see where His Hand led you through some difficult times and in that may you find courage to enter the New Year, with the Lord as your guide.

“And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
"Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown!"
And he replied: "Go out into the darkness
and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light
and safer than a known way."
So, I went forth,
and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night
And He led me toward the hills and the breaking of day.”
Minnie Louise Haskins

Do you ask that of your own accord?

Some years ago, I was facing a crisis situation. I prayed a lot about it, asking the Lord for help – and those prayers became more desperate as the situation grew more difficult. However, my prayer also included the proviso – “but don’t do it that way. Please don’t shame me!” Finally, one night, in desperation I left that proviso out and prayed, “Do it whatever way you choose, but please help.” A week or so later, the world collapsed in exactly the way I had dreaded. Sometime later, when the dust had died down, I sat praying one day and I asked the Lord, “Where were you when I begged and begged you for help and you did not answer?” and I heard him reply, “I was on my knees next to you, begging you to let me in, but you did not want me – you just wanted my power so that you could go on running your life in your own way.” In silence and shame, I had to admit that was so.
I was reminded of that, when thinking about the Feast of Christ the King, which we celebrate at the end of the Church’s year, which is today. The title of the Feast comes from that passage in St John’s Gospel (18:30), where Pilate says to Jesus, “So you are a king then?” and Jesus answers, “Yes, I am a King”, but adds – not, however, like the kings of this world.
When I was growing up in England, there was a king, George VI, father of the present Queen Elizabeth, but although the people had an affection for him, he was a remote figure and touched our lives hardly at all, and our day to day living not at all. So, to call Jesus “King” merely seems as if we are giving him an honorific title, one which affects us in only the smallest way. However, in the Old Testament, kings were people of power and knowledge. They were supposed to use their power to protect their people and were also supposed to have the wisdom of how to do this. At least that was the theory – most of them merely used their power and wealth to indulge themselves. Only one, David, is remembered as having a real care for his people – and that was why the people of Israel, who endured crisis after crisis in their history, hoped for a ‘new David”, a “Messiah”, who would really care for them. The first Christians saw these longings as pointing to Christ.
This is the background of Jesus’ words to Pilate that he was a king, but unlike the kings of this world. He is a king who does not impose his authority; he has to be freely accepted to become out king. It is not enough to merely say, “You are my King”, I must let him into my life as King, by not only recognising that he has the power and wisdom to enable me to live fully and richly, but by giving him the opportunity to do so – and here lies the problem. In my own life-story I did not dare do so. Julian of Norwich puts the point very well:
Some of us believe:
- that God has enough power to do anything
- and that he has enough wisdom to do everything,
- but few of us believe that he has enough love to actually do it!

That first time I put myself into the hands of God was a frightening experience and, at first, what happened felt as if I had been betrayed, but from this point in time I see that it was the only way that could have led me to life – and I am profoundly grateful for the love of God, which carried me through. This does not mean, however, that I now have no trouble repeating this – I do. It is still a scary experience, every time I do it, for I do not know how the Lord will move things forward, but because I have experienced his love and care that first time, I now know, that he can be trusted and this gives me the courage to do it again when the need arises.
However, although I can tell you about what happened to me, you cannot really “know” what I am talking about until you have experienced it yourself. When Pilate asked Jesus, “Are you the king of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you say that of your own accord or have others spoken to you about me?” Pilate replied that he was not a Jew – that Jesus was not his King – which meant that he had not made that act of faith which would enable him to experience Jesus as king. That same question of Jesus also comes to us today, if we pray and call him King – “Do you say that of your own accord, or have others told you about me?” We can only answer by a leap of faith.
Diary
The Archbishop of Kuching has invited me to join the Diocese here in Sarawak and I have accepted. However, he has kindly recognised that there are several reasons why I feel the need to keep a connection with Bali. So, I shall teach here in the seminary in Kuching for three terms each year and return to Bali during the seminary holidays. That, roughly, is a turn-about in the previous situation where I was nine months of the year in Bali and three months here in Kuching. He has also asked me to take on the task of adult faith formation for the English speaking community here, of which there are hundreds and to organise it as I see fit. That is quite challenging as there is a hunger here for further, adult education in the faith. However, it also took a leap of faith to say “yes”.
Two weeks ago, I said Mass in one of the Parish churches, here in Kuching – a church which gets very hot, despite the many fans. The sweat was pouring off me during Mass, especially as I gave out communion. As I finished giving communion, I heard a small voice say, “Father!” and looking down, I saw a small Downs Syndrome boy, about seven years old, standing there with a tissue in his out-stretched hand – he wanted to wipe my forehead!
I gave a half day retreat yesterday with the theme that our weaknesses are not things which take us away from God, but things which can be used by God to bring us closer to him and to others. I was looking for a catchy phrase that would sum up that idea and as I drove to the retreat house I heard a song on the radio, one which I had not heard before, sung, I think, by Rod Stewart. It was entitled “You taught me to fly on broken wings”. Interesting that God also uses the radio!
God bless,
Terry

Why do you do it?

In 1981, a Mill Hill priest stood on the railway station at Hyderabad in India, saying goodbye to some friends who were leaving. As the train pulled away from the station, he felt something tugging at his trousers and looking down he saw a small boy, about five years old, standing there with his hand outstretched asking for money for food. The priest began to talk to him; he asked him his name and then where he lived. The boy answered, “There”, pointing to a corner of the platform. “But where are your parents?” asked the priest. “I don’t think I have any”, said the small boy. The priest pondered for a moment and then said, “I don’t have any money with me at the moment, but would you like to come home with me and have something to eat there?” “Yes”, said the small boy, “and can I bring my friend?” pointing to another little boy standing nearby. “Of course you can”, said the priest, and the three of them walked out of the station hand in hand. That chance meeting was the beginning of Prema Seva Sadan - “the House of mercy” - a hostel for street children in Hyderabad.
15 years later, I was appointed to work in that hostel, by which time there were just under 100 boys in residence, ranging from four years old to about twenty. The boys in the hostel came there voluntarily and we sent the younger ones to school and taught the older ones a trade – either carpentry or tailoring – and when they were ready we gave them a box of tools or a sewing machine and helped set them up in business, back in their own villages, if they knew where that was. I did not work there very long, but thoroughly enjoyed my time there and when I left, I continued to support the hostel by raising money for the further education of some of the boys. Over the years, I have visited Hyderabad several times and was always met by one old boy called Samy, who now runs a small taxi firm and when I am there, he always insists on providing transport for where I want to go –even if this is clinging on to the back of his motorbike as we hurtle along bumpy paths to visit some of the other old boys. The last time I was there, I was sitting down talking with Samy at the end of a long day of visiting, when he said, “Father, can I ask you something?” “Of course you can”, I answered. “Why do you do it?” he asked, “Why do you Fathers leave your country and come and look after us?”
When we think of missionary work, most people usually think of it in terms of talking about Jesus or the Christian belief and way of life. They think of it in terms of religion. But religion is an answer to questions of the human heart and without those questions it doesn’t make sense. There has to be something else before religion can be received in any meaningful way, something that prompts the question, “Why do you do it? Why do you care for us?” – be that addressed to God directly or through a person. Once the question is asked, the person is ready to hear the answer, “Because you are loved by God, because you are special to him –and I am his friend and am learning to see things through his eyes!” That is the Gospel.
Religion without having been loved kills. The Gospel only makes sense when someone has experienced care, compassion and love in some way. Without someone having experienced that, religion becomes merely a set of rules and regulations, which restricts freedom and can be used as a weapon against others. But when someone has known love and asks the question “Why?” religion becomes the doorway to a life worth living, a life where you dare to do reckless things in your service of others, because you know that you are cared for. This is what St Francis meant, when he said – “Go and preach the Gospel with all your might – and if you have to, use words!”
Samy has not become a Catholic, but in his kindness to others he has obviously been touched by God. He is a Hindu, but he goes to Mass sometimes, especially at Christmas, when he collects some of the other old boys and they go together. They go because it helps them know they are loved and it helps them to understand what prompted that priest on Hyderabad station to say, “Would you like to come home with me?”
Diary
Our students, here at Kuching, held a tele-match last Saturday. They do so each year as they come towards the end of the last term. It helps get some of the stress of study out of them and also creates a good bond between them. I was invited to attend so I went with my camera to take some pictures and one team even kindly shouted for me to join them, but it would have been unfair to give them such a handicap! However, I quietly tried one or two of the less energetic games – catapults and darts – while the students were engaged elsewhere – just to see whether I would be of any help to them, but the distance from the board and the lightness of the darts showed that I was being very charitable, when I declined to join as one of the teams. It was a lovely and relaxing morning.
Yesterday, my meditation was on the Book of Jeremiah, where he says, “They went away full of tears, but I shall bring them back with joy” and I realised that that date, 19th October, was the day I left home to go to the missions – 38 years ago. I mentioned that to one of the students here, a very studious lad, who looked at me and said, “Huh! You keep account of things like that?” Some people have no music in their souls and no sense of wonder at what the Lord can do!
I have decided to decorate my bathroom here at the seminary. It is a comfortable size, but the tiles are all white, giving it a rather antiseptic quality. I do not want to take them down, so I went to a tile shop with a friend to ask if they had any patterns that I could stick on the tiles. They did not, but they suggested that I could use mosaic tiles and stick little coloured squares at random on the tiles. So, I bought one large mosaic tile, made up of small pieces, and that will be sufficient for the whole bathroom. I think they will make quite a difference.
God bless,
Terry

“You shouldn’t have to do that!”

When I worked as a University Chaplain in England, we used to hold weekly meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous in the Chaplaincy and one day a newcomer, a man in his early thirties began to come to meetings. Through a friend of mine, I discovered that he was having a hard time in the hostel where he was staying, while waiting for his own small apartment to become ready for use. Because of this, I asked him whether he would like to use one of the two rooms as the Chaplaincy which we rented out; he accepted and, with the agreement of the other tenant, he moved in.
Over the months that followed, I slowly discovered his history. He came from Northern Ireland and at the age of 13, his Father, a Catholic, discovered that he was homosexual, whereupon he beat him up and threw him out of the house. The boy made his way to London, where he became a prostitute and in the course of which he also became a drug addict and an alcoholic. He found friendship and affection with an older male prostitute, who said that he loved him, and then infected him with the HIV virus. By the time I knew him, he was into recovery from his drug addiction and alcoholism, and was taking medicine for the HIV, but, as you can imagine, he was not an easy man to live with. He would come and go at the strangest hours; he fancied himself as a musician and an artist and tried to create music on a computer and made “artistic creations”, which he thought he could sell. He lived for himself and did not seem to see the chaos he created about him.
The date for his apartment to be ready was put back and back and, as a new University year approached, I found myself in a quandary, because I had promised the room he was occupying to a young woman. Should I tell him to go or should I let him move into my house with me for the remaining few weeks until his apartment was ready? I was very tempted to tell him to go. It was the thought of a Catholic, his Father, who had betrayed him when he was 13, that prevented me from doing so – but only just.
It was during this time that my mother died. She was 90, and had lived in a nursing home for the last couple of years of her life, but before that she had stayed with me and some of her clothing was still in my house and so, after her death, I had the task of disposing of it. I decided to take it to a charity shop and was just finishing putting it into black plastic bags, ready to take to the shop, when my guest came in and asked what I was doing. I told him and the pain of the task must have shown on my face, for he gently took the bags from me and said, “You shouldn’t have to do that – let me change and I will take them for you”. That was one of the most sensitive and kind actions that anyone has ever done for me and it came from someone I least expected it from.
There is a great danger, with us Christians, that we try to create a way of living where we don’t do anything wrong - and we surround ourselves with rules to ensure that does not happen. Even some of our prayers reinforce this vision of the Christian life, prayers which say “.... and will carefully avoid the occasions of sin.” But, we are not called by God to avoid sin; we are not even called by God to be good, we are called to love – and we cannot love according to rules. It just does not work. Love has to be put into action, into service for it to be real – and such service can only be worked out according to the needs of people at the time and place I reach out to them. Moreover, to love is to cross boundaries, to come out into the open and make yourself vulnerable. Sooner or later, you will be hurt when you love – love and pain go together. In offering to take my Mum’s clothes to the shop, that young man made himself vulnerable. I could have turned on him and said, “You don’t think I am going to entrust my Mum’s clothes to you, do you?” But he took that risk. He showed love.
In the Gospel, a young man runs up to the Lord and asks,”What must I do to inherit eternal life?” The Lord says, “You know the commandments” and the young man answers,”I have kept them from my youth”. Now, most of us would have said to him, “Well done, Lad, you are on the right track”. But the Lord does not say that, instead he says, “You lack one thing – go sell all that you have, give it to the poor and come follow me.” But the young man could not do it. He did not dare give up the safety his money gave him. He did not dare to love.
According to the rules, that young man, who stayed with me, would probably have been condemned as being beyond the pale. But rules have to be left behind if we are to enter the Kingdom – and, I believe, that on the day he said to me, “You shouldn’t have to do that” he took a step into the Kingdom.
Diary
One of the difficulties of coming to the seminary in Kuching is the difference in daily timetable. In Bali, I get up when I want and go to bed when I want. In Kuching, however, we begin daily prayer at 6am, which means I must be awake before 5.30am and this in turn means that come 9.30pm I must begin thinking about going to bed. However, it is not wholesome to feel that you are being made to do something you do not want, so I have decided not to do something I do not want, but instead to change what it is I want to do. That may need some thinking about!!
We have been having a tremendous amount of rain here in Kuching for the last week and last night there was lightning, thunder and rain for most of the night. This may be the tail of the typhoons which have been hitting the Philippines, which are just to the north-east of us – or it may be the result of global warming. Either way, it is reminding me to turn off the electricity and water when I do not need it.
One of the characteristics of Malaysia is the invitations to eat. The people here welcome you by an invitation to a meal, say goodbye to you by an invitation to a meal, try to cheer you up by an invitation to a meal. As a friend of mine said on visiting Malaysia for the first time, “I have never in my life seen so much food”. I am already in the midst of the invitations to eat and as a consequence I had an attack of gout last night – my first for a long time.
God bless,
Terry