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Tuesday 8:30am - 5pm Wednesday 8:30am - 5pm Thursday 8:30am - 5pm Friday 8:30am - 5pm Saturday 8:30am - 5pm Sunday 8:30am - 12pm

Anglican Parish of Hamilton, 22 Gray Street, Hamilton (2026)

31/05/2026

The parable of the archer’s target.
Far too often I have found myself distracted by ‘other’ things that I thought were absolutely vital and essential to the church of God. The sad reality is that they were not. They were petty distractions and to my shame I wasted far too much time and energy flirting, dancing and wrestling with them.
I had forgotten about the main thing. And the main thing to remember is that The Main Thing is The Main Thing and The Main Thing is always… ‘Him’.
I console myself a little because Mother Church has sometimes been distracted and some of my most admired colleagues have also fallen for this trap.
One of them once came to my aid by telling me a mini parable about an archer’s target. You always aim straight for the centre, the bulls eye. Don’t be distracted by the outer rings which while they are necessary, are not the most important thing. The out circles are not what you are aiming for. What you are aiming for is the bull’s eye. Plump and centre.
Archery like relationships takes time, practice and an unceasing willingness to persevere. Focus only on the bulls eye and the outer rings fall into their proper perspective. They enhance and complete the target. They are not THE target. Only the bulls eye is.
The finest archers, the most athletic runners, the most convivial people are those who actually enjoy what they are doing. Whether it’s high jumping, leapfrogging, cooking lamb roasts or engaging in witty conversation, they are admirable because they are simply enjoying themselves. We will have consistently hit the bulls eye when we can breathe, allow the distractions to dissolve, and let the arrow fly. It will find its home when we know we have always been at home.

31/05/2026

7/6/26

In praise of the God who prods us.

In today’s readings we have God giving two people a bit of prod. Abraham and Matthew are nudged out of their comfort zones and asked to go somewhere else, do something else and BE someone else. To take up new tasks and different work. The Almighty is really good at this nudging business. When this happens the prompted ones are often given a new name to signify new responsibilities and a fresh start. Think of Saul becoming Paul.
Today we have Abram who becomes Abraham. When you read over his call carefully you begin to understand that this nudging and prodding business often does not seem very fair. In fact God seems more like a friendly irritant than a gooey comforting God.
There’s Abram quietly minding his own business, he’s now 75 years old, so he’s of pensionable age, he has built up his superannuation with a wise and diverse portfolio of sheep, goats, cattle, oxen and maybe a few doves for good measure. He’s been in the same country all his life, the country of Haran and it was his dad’s country before him, so he knows how it all ticks. As well as his lovely wife Sarai and his nephew Lot he has probably built up a goodly number of friends and relationships over the decades.

It all seems pretty tickety boo, snug and delicious.
Then God, seemingly uninvited, says Go, leave your country, your fathers country and depart to a new land that you haven’t seen, but I’ll show it to you and give you the 3 point sales pitch. It’s called Cannan, don’t worry about the stinky Canaanites, you’re going to love it and we’ll throw in the lands of Bethel and Ai as well.
In all of this Abraham doesn’t seem to say much. He just calls on the name of the Lord and builds a couple of altars for good measure. I think Sarai and Lot might have had something to say… but we are not told.
Matthew’s call seems equally abrupt and disconcerting. It’s just another quiet day at the office, The Master comes along and says just two words and Matthew gets up and follows him.
It immediately gets him into trouble when he throws
a late night dinner party at his house. Jesus, some of Matthews tax collector work colleagues and some sinners are having a great time when some Pharisees challenge the guest list and the security arrangements. This riff raff shouldn’t be socialising with your teacher. And if we think about it the challenge is not agin the tax collectors and sinners, the barb is against The Master Himself. What sort of Teacher can he be if this is the sort of company he keeps?
Matthews’ new job, working alongside Jesus, will not be as easy as collecting tax and getting rich on the profits. Living out mercy as a compassionate way of life is much harder than ticking the boxes on your spiritual wellness list. Mercy is an inner attitude that finds expression in every action and word. It requires the constant perception of what the other needs. It is not necessarily something you do, it is something you are. To be mercy full.
The good news. It is sinners that the Master calls and we rejoice that even when we are a bit grubby you and I are the ones he wants on his team. The soiled and squalid perfectly fit the key selection criteria to be a disciple.
The teacher looks to our future and potential, not back at our troubled and murky history. Like Matthew we have to get up from our past, stand tall, leave our comfortableness and walk with Him to a new land and a new way of living.
When we are gallant and gutsy enough; two things happen.
First we are blessed out of our sox. In ways that we sometimes know and often we are unaware of and frequently we don’t realise until much later. Both Abraham and Matthew were blessed in their own space, in their own time and we still read about them and are inspired by them today.
But something else really important and exciting happens. When God shoves God into a different parish he says
I will make your name great,
and you will be a blessing.

I will bless those who bless you,
and all peoples on earth
will be blessed through you.
So we are not only called to be blessed, but to be a source of blessing to others.
Sounds terrifying and unachievable, but it is true.
Part of our vocation when we are nudged from our happy place is to be a source of blessing for others and I can speak from personal experience that you are just that. You have been and continue to be a bubbly fountain of blessing for me.
And for that undeserved and thrilling blessing, I kneel with you before the throne of grace today and give you and our prodding God magnificent thanks.
In praise of the God who prods us.

24/05/2026

What’s a LIG?
Last time I went to confession it was just before Christmass. To my great comfort and joy I discovered not a squeaky clean plaster saint, but a shabby sinner just like myself. Fancy that! Someone who had faced the same delectable tempting scenarios and made the same mistakes as I had. Who’d a thought?
“We are tempted by lovely looking things" he said. And he was right of course. We are so easily seduced by that which looks glamorous and glitzy. The mundane and challenging things are not nearly as appealing but they are essential. Like discipline and forgiveness.
The other takeaway he offered was a simple three word phrase. ‘Let it go’. I’ve often shortened it to LIG so that I can remember it more easily. As you get older, your memory becomes a little more unreliable.
At one level the wise old priest was telling me to let my sin go. The Almighty has already done away with it. Why was I still hanging onto this muck? Because they are entertaining and addictive, but sadly like last year’s Christmas tinsel they have lost their glitz and must always disappoint.
But there is another LIG. There are things in our life that we should let go. The things that weigh us down and hold us back. The time when old so and so… and the person on the TV who gave / gives us the screaming heebbies. The energy we waste in looking back to when I could have, I should have.
I suspect LIG explains why some use doves and helium balloons at funerals and weddings. The past is set free and let go. And while we might yearn and squint to see them in the sky ultimately we must LIG. Only then, with verve and joy, are we free to begin afresh. Let it Go. Now.

24/05/2026

What’s a ‘Synod?’
At our Parish Annual Meeting this year we will be required to elect 4 Synod representatives and 2 supplementaries.
A Synod only meets once a year on a Friday night and Saturday, usually in late October. The people go once a year for three years. So time wise it’s not a huge commitment. Less than 24 hours in a year.
We usually meet in Ballarat and so part of the catch is that if you are elected to this very esteemed role, there is a nights accomodation involved. For some this will mean paid accomodation and for others it's a great opportunity to catch up with friends.
On the Friday night and Saturday lunch time generous proportions of delicious food are offered and this is a splendid time to meet people from all parts of the diocese. It is one of my favourite ‘spaces’ in the time away. They are a splendid group of people who are faithful, engaging and a joy to be with. Morning and afternoon tea are also to a very high standard.
One of my favourite parts of synod is the worship, especially the Eucharist. About 100 of us gather together with some of the finest voices and musos we have in the diocese. To sing lustily as a group of faithful people is a profoundly moving and utterly enjoyable experience.
So what actually happens in the business part.
It begins with The Bishop, (and it will be a new Bishop this year) offering an address, sometimes called their charge. I’ve always tried to bring copies back to the parish as it gives a broad and overarching perspective of the diocese.
The roll is then called and the bishop usually gives some very helpful housekeeping hints.
Questions, motions and petitions are asked for at the beginning of each session. It helps if you write these down beforehand so they can be printed out for all to see. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a petition tabled but there are always a very healthy number of questions and motions which is as it should be.
We then deal with any legislation which the Anglican Church of Australia hands down for our consideration. This is a cinch because we either adopt it or we toss it out. We can’t cherry pick the bits we like. Simple really.
Then our own legislation, reports by diocesan groups, the financial report of the diocese. The head of our Ballarat Grammar school always gives a classy, on the screen presentation of our fantastic school and what it is doing which is a not so subtle but informative way of advertising our school.
Motions are dealt with towards the end of Saturday and whilst there is always a healthy difference of opinion by some, in my forty plus years there has always been a dignified respect and collegiality in the sometimes robust debate. We are a mature lot of Christians who genuinely seek to discern God’s will as we sail on into the future. It is a privilege and joy to be part of this discussion even though Fr. David is very shy and doesn’t actually say a lot.
Over the past few years there have been some significant changes in our legislation. These may have escaped your notice but here’s some examples as voted on by our synod reps.
The length of time a priest can stay in a parish used to be limitless, just ask Canon Julien. But now it is capped at 10 years with the possibility of extensions being sought every three years.
The Bishop of the diocese can now have a ‘captains pick’ of which cleric goes to a parish every third time the parish falls vacant.
The percentage of the funds from the sale of Church property used for the redress scheme, has changed from 25% to 50%.
The ceiling age for a priest or a bishop to retire is set at 70. Forty years ago I thought that anyone who was 70 would be mouldering away and well past their use by date. However, now that I am much closer to this magical age I am beginning to reason thus.
Is it not possible that Reverend what’s their name who is 71.5 might have a wealth of life and parish experience which would enhance the church of God. What if it is God’s will that a person should stay in active stipendiary ministry beyond the arbitrary 70 years old? Bishop Gary who will have retired by the time this Synod comes around will be over 70. However his pastoral heart and his incisive mind are still as beautiful and quick as they were when I first met him at college.
One other really important thing that happens at Synod. We laugh a lot.
Please consider whether you might like to be one of our Synod representatives. Feel free to ask anyone who has been to synod for more information and their perspective. The nomination forms will be coming out with all the other forms for our Parish AGM. Each and every one of you have great gifts and much to offer. In return I know that you would come away enriched and smiling.

17/05/2026

Patients are not always patient
Some of you are aware that I had some surgery earlier this year.
I went in absolutely determined that I was going to be the most courteous and thankful patient that they had ever encountered. I tried really hard and for the 24 hours that I was there I think I succeeded. I mean it’s easy when you're on a truck load of really good drugs and feeling very happy and floaty.
The process of what happened after I was discharged from the cocoon of the medicos and machines was a whole lot more confronting. As you come down from the placid euphoria of medication and pain management becomes your own responsibility, the control begins to unravel. When I combined this with some discourteous and belligerent side effects then I discovered that actually… I am not the model patient after all. In fact there are times when I was impatient and more than a little tetchy. A few things to come out of all of this.
First, I consider it a source of great blessing that I live in this part of the world and in this point of history. We have access to great medical expertise and resources. These are not always available to many of my brothers and sisters around the globe and certainly weren’t accessible to my forebears.
Secondly, spare a thought for those who work tirelessly and compassionately with the ill, all day every day and around the clock. The nurse who tended me overnight was going home at the end of her shift to take her children to swimming lessons!
Finally, my feeble hope is that my experience might make me more understanding and sympathetic to those who I find in my ‘priesty travels’. The comforter who also needs comforting. A wounded healer.

17/05/2026

This is not what we were expecting
Often I have tried to imagine myself as one of those frightened disciples locked up in that upper room. Where not much is said but simply being together and wanting to be together says it all. What is the next move? What do we do now? Go back to fishing… leave the country? Fly to Port Douglas for the winter? And what of the news from the women at the tomb. Tales and gossip surely. Did we get it all wrong? Were our loyalty and hopes so misguided?
The doors bolted, hearts pounding, shame and fear swirling after the chaos of the cross. The disciples have every reason to shrink back, unsure if they even belong in the presence of their Lord. And then, suddenly, Jesus is there. Not with words of blame, but with a message that lands like a soft comforting doona: “Peace be with you.”
This is new and radical. It’s outside the box and boggles our expectations. Anyone else would have visited with an accusing eye, the pointed finger of blame and the question ‘Why? How come you nicked off?
But instead, we simply get ‘Peace be with you. .
And even Him being here is not what we expected.
The Master doesn’t ask for explanations or apologies and what we would say anyway. Ummm sorry… but you do understand we were fear filled and you always wanted what was best for us … right. To stay alive.
And He shows them no magic trick, no healing, no stilling of storm. Instead he shows them… He shows them his wounds; proof that love has survived hate, retribution and the grave. Our fear melts into joy, because in that moment, forgiveness is not just a concept. It’s a person. It’s Jesus, alive and loving them as fiercely as ever.
This is not what we were expecting

This is not just a story for that one locked room. It’s for every one of us. For there are times when we have all felt ashamed, unworthy, or afraid to stand before God. Jesus says, to you and to me. “Peace be with you,” not as a suggestion, but as a gift. He meets us in our fear, whatever monster that might look like, no matter how ferocious or untamed our fears might be. He calls us beloved. “My son, my daughter, I love you so very much and am always with you. Peace be with you”
This is not what we were expecting.
But Jesus doesn’t stop there. He breathes the Holy Spirit into his followers; not only to comfort them, but to send them out. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” We’ve got work to do. The Church’s mission is born right there, in that space between fear and forgiveness. The Holy Spirit fills that room, and suddenly the disciples are changed. They’re no longer hiding. They go out and speak in every tongue, sharing the Good News with the world.
This is not what we were expecting.
You don’t need to be a perfect person for the Spirit to work wonders through you. The disciples were ordinary people: full of doubts, regrets, and rough edges. They were mucky men. But when the Holy Spirit comes, those locked doors open up wide. The Spirit meets us as just as we are, grubby and hopeful. It gives us the courage, the words, and the love we need to build up the Church and the world around us.
The Spirit’s gifts aren’t just for a chosen few. Each of us receives them in unique ways: through our personalities, our strengths, even our weaknesses. Perhaps especially in our weaknesses. Some of us build up the body of Christ with patience, others with kindness or faithfulness, still others with gentleness or self-control. These are the fruits of the Holy Spirit, growing quietly within us, lighting up our hearts so that we can share God’s love with everyone we meet.
This is not what we were expecting
And what is this love? It’s mercy that knows no end. It’s forgiveness that wipes away every sin. And it’s the invitation to join Jesus; not just in his suffering, but in his resurrection, in the joy and hope of new life.
So as we go out today, let’s remember: Jesus is always with us. The Spirit is alive in our hearts. We are called to forgive, to love, and to serve; not because we are perfect, but because we are loved.
Let’s give glory to our Lord God by living this truth. Let’s love our neighbour, forgive as we have been forgiven, and build a community where the light of the Spirit shines bright. And always remember these words: “I love you, my son, my daughter, and am always with you.” Go out with love, give praise and glory to our Father in Heaven, and love those around you as God loves you.
It is not what the world will be expecting. Maybe it is not what we were expecting, but it is everything that we need so desperately in our wonky broken world today.
The things that are not expected.
Peace be with you.

10/05/2026

I believe in the communion of saints.

This homily has been given to me over the years by a number of people. They were unaware of this treasure, but this just makes their gift all the more generous. They did not seek any recompense or reward. This homily is about several people and yet no one in particular.
Frequently it has been my privilege to visit someone in supported care. They have been uncurious, or asleep, or somewhere in between. Certainly a conversation was never going to happen.
I’ve never been completely relaxed about this type of visit. I’ve always gone with my heart way down at the bottom of my gum boots and my heart going pitta patter. It’s confronting to say the least particularly if I have known the person for some time. The difference in how I once knew them and the image before me is brutally different. How did it come to this? Part of my squeamishness is that I know this might be me one day.
So I tip toe in, I say my prayers, sometimes a hand is held and often it is mine. I find myself speaking in hushed reverential tones because instinctively I know that the veil between this life and the next is flimsy and almost transparent .
Around the walls and on the bedside table, there are photographs of family and friends. They are almost surrounding the person in the bed with their image, their love and prayers. All I can see of course is the photo and the person in the bed, but that is not all that is going on here.
The patient was and is clearly loved and held in high esteem. Even though I can’t see it and touch it, that love is not in any way diminished or shrunken. It somehow becomes more real, more potent and more ferocious because of the excruciating circumstances of this illness and nearing death.
The patient in the bed, who is comatose, asleep, unconscious or whatever it is, is blissfully unaware of all of this, although the staff and I will tell you that they somehow always know and that the sense of hearing is the last to leave a person.
So perhaps they are not as oblivious as the outward appearances seem to tell us. Perhaps in their altered state they are actually more alert and more in tune with the invisible than they are with the visible. Perhaps that’s what really going on here. Transitioning from the visible and tangible to the invisible and untouchable, moving from this dimension to the other, they become more aware of and begin to live in a different way as people of that quirky resurrection way. The life that is almost the same … but not quite.
So are my friends in bed oblivious and ignorant to the people in the photos around them or is it as I choose to believe they are somehow already lying in and enveloped in that dimension of love which is stronger than anything we know on this side of the grave?
I come close to this … I think… sometimes… in the chapel at morning or evening prayer. When it’s just me and maybe one other. Am I alone and muttering my questions in the early morning gloom… who will roll away the stone… or am I in fact already surrounded by Our Lady, St. Peter, St. Mark and Him who is always at table with me.
Perhaps this what the authors of our creed meant when they gave us ‘I believe in the communion of saints’; that you and I are already surrounded by a countless host of saints and angels and martyrs. That we are not alone but continuously being loved and prayed for and encouraged and cheered along the way.
I’m pleased that the folk in care have these photos of the people that love them more and more each day. I’m pleased that we have our stained glass windows and icons to remind us not of people of the past but who are part of our very present existence here and now in May 2026.
Because of the timelessness of that other dimension we are already living with those who have gone before us and we are already living in the bright future of heaven.
It’s hard to see, its hard to sense, it’s hard to believe particularly when the husk of the person and a few glossy photos are all we have. But even so I will continue to say.
I believe. I believe in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting amen.

10/05/2026

Our interconnectedness should be our strength.
As I’m writing this, the war in Iran is raging as are the tempers of some world leaders. It’s not pretty, it’s not pleasant and it’s not new.
The war in the middle east has been going on for some time now and someone who is far more cleverer than I would be able to give you the dates, why’s and wherefores.
Once upon a time I would have shrugged my shoulders and said ‘There’s nothing I can do about it’ and ’It’s not my problem’.
This time however it’s different, it’s personal, it does affect me and I know that it is my problem. I feel this pain and connectedness every time I hand over my little bit of square plastic with the 16 magic numbers at petrol station
I am deeply, deeply sorry that this war is happening and while I snore loudly in my comfy bed in Western Victoria, others have their tenuous shelter blasted to bits. They cry themselves to sleep mourning those who they love and miss. They are hungry at night and live in fear each day.
This particular war has taught us that every war is everyone’s problem. We are all interconnected. We are all responsible for each other. It is our problem and while there seems little we can do to extinguish the flames of retribution and revenge on an international scale, back here in our community we can live peaceably in ways of forgiveness and compassion. We can bind up scars with bandages of caring. We can pour the balm of a listening silence onto those whose wounds are hidden from us. We can wipe away tears.. softly. We can be gentle with ourselves. It is our problem after all. We are interconnected and this should be our strength.

03/05/2026

Windows into Motherhood.
Today, in the secular calendar it is Mothers day.
It will come as no surprise to you that I have absolutely no idea what it is like to be a Mother. I have never known and will never know what it is like to sense those first flutterings of movement in the womb. I have never known nor will never know what it is like to physically give birth and bring a child into the world, to say nothing of the whole breast feeding experience.
But from time to time when I look back over the years I glimpse through a window, very dimly, something of what it must be like. I can sympathise and empathise. I can go so far but never be a Mum myself.
I also peek through the windows in some of the stories about Our Lady, Mother Mary. If I reflect on some of those stories I can get a squinty bit of an idea, so today I thought I would just simply reflect on two of those times When Mother Mary is most a Mum.
The first is the annunciation of Our Lady when the Archangel Gabrielle comes and offers this working class teenage peasant lass, in a tiny village a vocation that will change her life, your life and my life forever.
I don’t think Mother Mary could have quite grasped the significance of the role. She had no way of seeing that radical change that would tsunami her life and that she could never be the same again. This would send her on a trajectory that was terrifying, painful, exhilarating and exciting. Can any new, first time mother truly grasp how completely their life will change?
It’s important to understand that Our Lady could have said a polite ‘No Thank you’ and for a little while in her conversation, I suspect that she might have had some doubts. ‘How can this be since I am a virgin?’ She doesn’t say ‘Yes Yippee’ straight away she simply allows God to work in her and through her and we shall always be grateful that she did say ‘Yes’.
Saying Yes to God is a beautiful, scary but wonderful thing. For you are no longer in control. And saying Yes to becoming a mother sure means that your life is changed and in some ways you are never in control the same way you were before.
So through the window of the annunciation I glimpse that Motherhood changes everything. I glimpse that saying Yes to Motherhood changes your life in remarkable, unpredictable ways and but having embarked on this journey, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next window I peek through is when a pregnant Mother Mary goes off to have the world’s first Mothers club meeting with her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. What they talked about for three months I have no idea, and I wonder what Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah thought of such a lengthy sleep over.
But when you read the text very carefully you’ll discover that it is Elizabeth who speaks first. The Blessed Virgin Mary arrives, probably sits down with a cuppa and simply waits for Elizabeth to speak. Mary knows that just simply being there with her cousin says it all and far from telling her own incredulous story simply allows Elizabeth to say everything that is upon her heart and mind. Such is the vocation of being a Mum. Those who listen attentively to what is being said both outwardly and inwardly understand that sometimes the most loving thing to say is nothing at all. To envelop their child in an attentive listening silence is one of the finest things you can do as a Mother.
While we are not told, I reckon that One of the things that Our Lady and Cousin Elizabeth did was laugh a lot. There is a unique and finely distilled joy in being a Mother and every so often it bubbles up and finds expression not in the spoken word, for there are no words, but it comes out as a jolly good giggle. A chortle and a chuckle.
One last thing about being a Mum which I do know. The vocation is unending. I used to think that it finished when you dropped your child off at the school gate on their first day. But no. I was wrong.
Then I thought well it must finish when they leave home. Boy was I really wrong.
Oh well maybe Motherhood finishes with the last breath. But most definitely No! My own Mother is on the other side of the grave and sometimes unannounced and unexpected, I sense her still praying for me and cheering me on. Such is a mothers love that the grave is not the finish line but beyond the grave, love is actually enhanced and made all the more beautiful and exquisite. A flimsy thing like death is never going to stop something as powerful as a Mother’s love.
I thank My Mother, I thank Cousin Elizabeth and I thank the Blessed Virgin Mary for these windows into the vocation of being a Mother. May their loving prayers continue to surround us as we journey on into the people we are called to be. Happy Mothers Day.

02/05/2026

Would it be OK if I said … “ I’m sorry ”
On Anzac day I am always moved. I’m not sure if it's the bugler, the hundreds who turn out, or the minutes silence, but all of it stirs me in ways that are profound and indescribable.
But war must always disappoint us. Retribution, retaliation and revenge must inevitably spiral downwards into the muddy trenches of death and tears. In part the message of the Anzacs should be that the wholesale slaughter of a generation is not the way forward and we should not forget this, lest we forget, if that makes sense.
Yes, it’s all very well for me to sit on my comfy chair in my study and type away, but it wasn’t me that was shot at and killed. It wasn’t my family that received a telegram. It wasn’t me that came home irreparably altered.
I can’t wipe clean the besmirched page of our history book written in blood, but I can try each and every day to walk gently upon the face of this marvellous planet. I can choose to speak gently or less often and listen more. And when I have got it wrong, say a simple ‘I’m sorry’.
My feeble, as yet unfulfilled hope, is that we would learn that while the cost of war is immeasurable, it costs nothing to say ‘I’m sorry’, to make amends and to walk forward. It is OK to say ‘I’m sorry’, in fact it is essential; for until and unless those words are spoken we will always be stuck in the past. Those two words liberate us so that we may embrace a new day where the potential for peace is not just the dream of some old guy on his comfy chair typing in his study, but the living reality for each and every one of us.

Anglican Parish of Hamilton

31/05/2026

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