Augustine 1

'CONFESSIONS' OF ST. AUGUSTINE

Augustine's Spiritual Journey

According to E. B. Pusey (a translator), the Confessions are an account of "the way in which the hand of God led . . . the most powerful mind of Christan antiquity out of darkness to light." Augustine's spiritual journey is characterised by a conflict of wills: his own preference, the search for happiness in "created things"; or follow his God-given yearning for Truth which he ultimately understands can only be discovered within himself. The pursuit of "transient things" only leads up blind alleys, whereas the yearning for wisdom and Truth leads to God, which he describes as "that other happiness".


What Augustine needed to do was to face up to the truth, the reality of his spiritual exile: "I had know it all along, but I had always pretended it was something different", he wrote. It was the chance meeting in Milan with a fellow-countryman in the Emperor's household, Ponticianus, that finally changed his outlook: "while he was speaking, O Lord, you were turning me around to look at myself". Not that there hadn't been opportunities for such self-examination before: reading Cicero at the age of nineteen had inspired him to study philosophy, but "I still postponed my renunciation of this world's joys, which would have left me free to look for that other happiness, the very search for which, let alone its discovery, I ought to have prized above the discovery of all human treasures . . . or the ability to enjoy all the pleasures of the body." Augustine would never forget his meeting with Ponticianus.


Augustine's search "for that other happiness" had its genesis in a restless seeking after pleasure, beauty and truth. According to Peter Brown, "the Confessions are a manifesto of the inner world," or as Augustine himself would later observe, wherein "'Men go to gape at mountain peaks, at the boundless tides of the sea, the broad sweep of rivers, the encircling ocean and the motions of the stars and yet they leave themselves unnoticed; they do not marvel at themselves'. It was the realisation that man cannot hope to find God unless he first finds himself, for this God is 'deeper than my inmost being".


Augustine's inner conflict was, ultimately, the outcome of his determination to please himself rather than God. He tolerated the superstition of the Manichees "not because I had thought it was right, but because I preferred it to the Christian belief." It seems he knew where to find truth and happiness, but only on his own terms: "Give me chastity and continence", he had once prayed, "but not yet."

Through all this Augustine nevertheless sensed of the omnipresence of God. Clearly, God had his own plans for the life of this self-confessed sensualist. Like a steady stream the love of God preserved him, and had drawn him, even before he knew it: "But in my mother's heart, you had already begun to build your temple, and laid the foundations of your holy dwelling." Augustine could reflect upon his 'misspent' youth in terms of self-love and self-seeking, but with its counterpoint in God's abiding love and providential care: "we had destroyed ourselves, and who made, re-made us."

The course of this spiritual journey, developed in the first five books of the Confessions, is a story of great expectations and great promise, but not fulfillment or happiness. Although gifted by God in so many ways, Prodigal-like, Augustine was blind to the real source of his unhappiness, and the search for it only led "to pain, confusion and error." Instead of seeking the source of everything, including his true "inner" self, in God alone, Augustine preoccupied himself with externals, in his desires and pleasures, and in other creatures: "I turned away from you, and lost myself on many a different quest", in "a surfeit of hell's pleasures."

In so many ways a man of his times, Augustine was also a product of self-will and "sordid ambitions". His parents had given him a better start in life than their station demanded, or their means allowed, but Augustine regretfully looked back on his boyhood in the family home and early education as being more hindrance than help; it certainly hadn't provided him with the happiest of memories! For all that, his Christian mother, Monica, was still the the most abiding influence in his life. He said that while he may have consistenly ignored her admonitions, he could never avoid her prayers. "Like an oracle of God", he eventually idealized her as such.

Whilst the Manichees' promise of "Truth and truth alone" had once been a magnet to the young Augustine, it was the study of philosophy in Cicero that first awakened his "bewildering passion for the wisdom of eternal truth." This brought about a significant change in his attitude to spiritual things, a positive side to a particularly dark and perilous period in Carthage wherein, he wrote, the God of mercy "mixed much bitterness in that cup of pleasure!" Reading Cicero's Hortensius "changed my prayers to you, O Lord, and provided me with new hope and aspirations."


It was through this "great ardour for the pursuit of truth" that Augustine eventually rejected Manichaeanism and embraced the tenets of the Sceptics. Paradoxically, it was only then that his mind was opened to listen and absorb the teaching of the influential bishop Ambrose! Augustine had been blind to the Truth and pride had been the real barrier to friendship with God. Human friendship which he always craved was all too easily satisfied, yet it only led him into blind alleys and on more than one occasion into spiritual crisis. When grief-stricken by the death of his friend of Thagaste, he had found himself "obsessed by a strange feeling . . . tired of living yet afraid to die." Such experiences led him to look deep within himself.

The scene that followed Augustine's meeting with Ponticianus in the garden in Milan was the climax of his spiritual journey, an end to the pursuit of "transient things" and the discovery of "the Word"; the end of exile and discovery of "that other happiness" which had proved so illusive, so demanding, yet so earnestly desired. It was, as Helen Waddell put it, Augustine's "ultimate agony of will."

Augustine: 2

'CONFESSIONS' OF ST. AUGUSTINE

Augustine's Spiritual Journey

The story related by Augustine concerning his conversion to the Christian Faith is the subject of the Confessions. In Book Eight Augustine records the climax of events that occurred in the year 386 CE: they are not the end, but a new beginning in his spiritual journey to God. It is the outcome of his search for "that other happiness" which for so long eluded him, the thing from which he had fled for the past twelve years: "that, whereof not the finding only, but the very search, was to be preferred to the treasuries and kingdoms of the world . . . and to the pleasures of the body". (Pusey translation).

There had been many barriers to Augustine's conversion to the Church, and although few doubts remained to trouble him, he was still unhappy: the Scriptures "were planted firmly in my heart"; he was certain in hope of eternal life, and was "rid of all my doubts about an incorruptible substance"; his perception of God, firmly a matter of faith. For all that there was an absence of joy, because "in my worldly life all was confusion". Where he felt he "he should have been glad to follow the right road . . . but I still could not make up my mind to "venture along the narrow path".

With hope of honour and wealth gone, Augustine had abandoned his ambitions in the world; "such things now held no attractions for me in comparison with your sweetness", yet one worldly pleasure remained: "I was still held firmly in the bonds of woman's love". His dilemma consisted in a conflict of desires, for "I had already found the pearl of great value and I ought to have sold all that I had and bought it. But I still held back". It would take the wisdom and patience of a man of God, Simplicianus, and the stories of some notable conversions, to help Augustine comprehend the full measure of his spiritual condition, and point him in the right direction.

Simplicianus, careful not to undermine Ambrose's preparatory work, or to insult Augustine's intelligence, first affirms his fortuitous reading of the Platonist's books, rather than other philosophic writings "full of fallacies and misrepresentations", before introducing the need for humility by telling him about Victorinus, who was "not ashamed to be the child of Christ . . . submitting his neck to the yoke of humility and bowing his head before the ignominy of the Cross." The wisdom of telling Augustine about such a man was profound, for in Victorinus, Augustine would see himself: "I began to glow with fervour to imitate him". As also by Sergius Paulus, Augustine is guided to salvation by the example of well know converts, brought to Christ through similar trials: status in the world and reputation, fear of offending friends, the vanity that had to be repudiated, and making an open confession "in full sight of the assembled faithful".

What Victorinus and Sergius Paulus can do, so can Augustine: "I longed to do the same, but I was held fast . . . by my own will." His mind ever alert and questioning, Augustine is drawn a step closer to breaking free when he comes to understand that the pain of "progress and retreat, of hurt and reconciliation" is all part of the journey: "You never depart from us, yet is hard for us to return to you." His longing for God intensifies with the recognition that the pain of his perverse will is legitimate, and he must come to terms with himself.

What is becoming clear to Augustine is the existence of two conflicting wills, "and between them they tore my soul apart". From the old "perverse" will had grown lust, from which habit was born, "and when I did not resist the habit it became necessity." The new will inspired love of God and desire to serve him, but lacked the strength to break the chain of habit that held him captive. Nor was there any easy way to resolve the warfare raging within; he had previously postponed his renunciation of the world for lack of clear perception of the truth, but certainty was no longer wanting. The desire was there, but the will to act eluded him.

The drama that unfolds in that garden in Milan follows yet another conversion story concerning two of the narrator's friends, both officials in the service of the Emperor who had been inspired by the example of the desert solitary, St Antony of Egypt, to renounce their careers and serve God: having torn themselves free from all their ambitions . . . "these two built their tower at the cost which had to be paid . . . giving up all they possessed and following (God)." It was a turning point for Augustine, as he listened: "it was not the inhuman austerities that moved him: it was the secret renunciation, the doctrine of the power of the will."

Ironically, Augustine remembers finding himself at similar cross-roads some twelve years earlier, when "I still postponed my renunciation of this world's joys"; but now it was different because through Ponticianus' story God was "turning me around to look at myself . . . so that I should see my wickedness and loathe it." Overcome by burning shame he was forced to face the truth about himself: "all (his soul's) old arguments were exhausted and had been shown to be false." The intensity of conviction brought him to the brink of resolution: "Let it be now, let it be now!" However, there would be no easy resolution of Augustine's agony.

Knowing that "to will it was to do it", hesitancy still clawed at Augustine's heart as "old attachments . . . plucked at my garment of flesh"; and the voice of habit persisted: "Do you think you can live without these things?" Into this mental condition, where "my inner self was a house divided against itself", came the moment when grace intervened: "Cast yourself upon God and have no fear."

Alone, and shamed to tears, the voice of a child breaks through the din of his own heart's wrangling, in words that arrest him: " . . . telling myself that this could only be a divine command to open my book of Scripture", he hurries to obey, and reads " . . . arm yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ; spend no more thought on nature and nature's appetites"; and then we Augustine again: "the light of confidence flooded into my heart and all the darkness of doubt was dispelled."

One is reminded of the Psalmist's words, "at night there are tears, but joy comes with the dawn", as first Alypius is told (and makes his own commitment), and then Augustine's mother, Monica. Her jubilation was for answered prayers "far more than she used to ask . . . you turned her sadness into rejoicing". For Augustine it was the God of grace who "converted me to yourself, so that I no longer desired a wife or placed any hope in this world but stood firmly upon the rule of faith".

One for the Road: "Viaticum" and War

The death of Boromir is a poignant moment in one of the most ‘Catholic’ scenes in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. “He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spake again. ‘Farewell, Aragorn. Go . . . . and save my people. I have failed.”

Elements of Viaticum (Last Rites in the Catholic Church) are identified in Boromir’s confession, absolution, penance; only the Eucharist is absent. Boromir was beyond any physical healing, however. So we see instead Aragorn’s most priestly function: a vessel of grace in the sacraments. Aragorn, true king and priest, was present and able to send Boromir on his journey with a clean heart and beautiful words . . . “you have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace!”

Serving with Australian Forces in Vietnam in 1967, a Protestant Padre* recollected the moment he went to the aid of a dying Digger during an assault (Operation Bribie); the soldier was one of eight who died in the five hours of fighting on that occasion. The Padre remembers his personal sense of “uselessness” holding the young National Serviceman in his arms, his frustration not being able to find suitable words of comfort. Retelling the story to his sons later, he still wondered at the value of the priestly function in the circumstances of war, or at all.

Tolkien’s fable is of course no match for the reality of actual war. That moment in Vietnam was a very different experience for the Padre without formulaic expressions at his disposal such as the ‘Last Rite’. The point is that some sort of assurance of eternal values is the ‘bottom line’, the best that can be offered to a dying person, and the only source of spiritual comfort; the lack of appropriate words being merely symptomatic of the deeper spiritual lack.

However, it is not hard to envisage a ‘de facto’ priestly function, words or no words: feeding the hungry, satisfying the thirsty, taking in the stranger, regardless of who such might happen to be, “the least of these my brethren” (referring to the words of Jesus in Matthew 25). The Gospel’s “in as much” principle leaves open the possibility of an inclusive, non-judgmental interpretation. Who are these “least brethren”? It is not for us to judge, but only to allow ourselves to become “vessels of grace”, priests in a practical, everyday sense.

“Hope” is the Scripture’s – and therefore Christian – key answer to the riddle of death. The martyrdom of Saint Polycarp (early 2^nd Century, Bishop of Smyrna) is described in a letter from the Church at Smyrna: “When he had said ‘Amen’, and finished the prayer, the officials at the pyre lit it. Surrounded by fire, his body was like bread that was baked or gold or silver white-hot in a furnace . . . a fragrance came to us like that of burning incense”.

At every moment of our lives, in all of life as in death, we are at the mercy of the hand of Almighty God. In the Roman Catholic Church the ‘Last Rite’ is known as the Viaticum, literally, "provision for a journey". Significantly, the holy Eucharist includes bread, food for a journey. Since what lies ahead is only known to God words alone are not enough, but a Christian theology/philosophy of death is not without a certain shape, certainly not without a hope in the providential gift of all that is necessary for the road ahead. In another scene from Tolkien there is an exchange between Pippin and Gandalf. Pippin says, “I didn’t think it would end this way.” “End?” replies Gandalf, “No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take.”

All this to an unbeliever is most likely complete nonsense, or “foolishness”, just as the Apostle wrote to the Corinthians (1:18). It is true that “Religion” may not always appear to make sense or offer much by way of practical help in life’s crises. It was not so for the Apostle Paul as for many millions of believers over the centuries: elsewhere in his writings (Romans 8: 38-39), and faced with his own martyrdom in Rome, Paul was able to say,  “For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Regardless of who we are or our status in society, we all stand in need from time to time for the comfort of someone able to share our “moments”; as written in the Book of the prophet Jeremiah (10: 23): “I know the way of man is not in himself. It is not in man who walks to direct himself.” We need all the help we can get!

Perhaps we need also to accept that the hand of God is everywhere present, for it was God alone who knew in that moment during Operation Bribie what “food” the Padre’s presence alone might have had for the wounded Digger.

Geoff Wellings.

* The ‘Padre’ happens to be my brother, by the way.

Religion - Bad Ideology?

Bad Ideology

“Most religion is just bad ideology”, so writes Richard King (Weekend Australian 15-16 July), reviewer of Terry Eagleton’s “Materialism” and Roger Scruton’s “On Human Nature”. My immediate reaction to this opinion is to ask, what lasting values are found in ideology, per se, and how does one know good from bad? Shakespeare’s Hamlet declared “there is nothing good or bad”, its all in the mind, as this reviewer seems to confirm.

One a conservative and the other a Marxist, Scruton and Eagleton are sharply divided in their respective ideologies, although there are areas of overlap in the two political systems they represent. Both have an interest in questioning the veracity of religion from an atheistic point of view, and this leads to the observation: “(the new atheist's) . . . criticism of religion is motivated by the enormous claims it makes for itself and the damage it inflicts as a consequence”.

Ultimately, is "religion" about itself, or about God? about who/what this God is? about a  transcendence that defies definition? about the intuitions that have asked these questions since time immemorial? The real damage comes when men want to play God (“mouths set in the heavens, their tongues dictate to the earth”) and to take control over the affairs of others in the name of religion. The reality is God alone controls the universe with inexorable patience and infinite tolerance. Unconstrained by time (chronos) since existing in all time (kairos), not limited in space as men are, spirit permeates everything: a mere “moment”, God’s time, is immeasurable; just a moment is all 'time'. (2 Peter 3.8).

The gulf that separates believers who hesitate to make claims for themselves and the institutions that carry the banner is the other reality, overlooked by secularists: faith is beyond categories of interpretation. Hope is not denied, whether flight into the unknown or just a dream of completeness. No wonder the “new atheists” (a semi-official new religion) cannot cope with the fact that the old religion's - Christianity - veracity is founded in something more than a thought, more than just an intuition, but in a person worthy of trust. Faith is a gift available to every human being without discrimination or favor; so too the thought, so too the dream. That most choose to reject it, or at least ignore it, preferring to muddle through life without a guide, is hardly the fault of a religion that strives for understanding.

King’s assertion that its the thought that counts - mere opinion - does little more than affirm the tenet that relational grace is “given, not achieved”, mediated to the world by those prepared to wait (“the voice of prayer is never silent, nor do the praises die away”). Ultimately this waiting spirituality is not about us or about time/space phenomena, but about that “most ancient of mysteries”, Life itself. Wounded like the Patriarch Jacob, at the Jabbock, we may not ask its name, but the struggle is still ours. “Writing a life is another story. Incompletion” (Paul Ricouer: “Memory, History, Forgetting”). If this is confusing “a metaphorical view of the world with . . . how it really is”, just another “category mistake”, is there a better redemption in secularism’s hubris, its idiosyncratic pretentions, dreams of universal freedom and happiness? If religion were indeed the opiate of the masses, as Marx claimed, then so be it.   But, wait, there is more!

Life, as in love, is a battlefield and useless denying the casualties because the collateral damage is palpable, as human vulnerability deems it so ("who would survive", asks the Psalmist, "if you should mark our errors?"). “Damage”, as Proust implied, is written into the nature of things, however Proust also inserted an important caveat: “of love”, he said, “we can speak and behave (with) indifference only if we are not in it”. To think otherwise is to “condemn ourselves to a dream world . . . the real world is a battlefield”. (Clive James, “Gate of Lilacs”). 

Authors such as Eagleton and Scruton make their indifferent judgments of religion as outsiders, they are are not in it. What they miss is the "logic of superabundance": under the sign of forgiveness, "release from the imprisonments of mammonism, eye-for-an-eye morality, and blame; restoration to a capacity for acting . . . you are better than your actions" (Paul Ricouer). Here is Christ's new commandment to love in the economy of superabundance; in contrast to the "logic of equivalence" - the golden rule "do unto others . . . ".

Pelman School of Memory

Pelman School of Memory -The Pelman Institute and Pelmanism.

One of the relics in my possession of my father’s experience as a member of the AIF in the Great War of (1914-18) is the correspondence course he undertook whilst awaiting repatriation. This was the Pelman Institute system of mind and memory training, made available free of charge to servicemen, recommended by leading figures of the day.

The system, invented by William Joseph Ennever, was promoted as the “Secret of Certainty in Recollection . . . for strengthening and developing the mind . . . expand mental powers in every direction”. My father’s course consisted of ten lessons, of which the first four “Lesson Sheets” were submitted, scored and returned between May 1918 and February 1919. His imminent return to Australia and subsequent demobilization put the project in abeyance and was never resumed.

Published in London and popular in the first half of the twentieth century, Pelmanism eventually came to be regarded by some as “a faddish prototype of positive thinking” (Juliet Nicolson: “The Great Silence 1918-1920 – Living in the shadow of the Great War”)

Given the current level of academic interest in memory and forgetting in relation to history/historicity of commemorated events, Pelmanism represents something of a “blast from the past”, but no doubt still has its place in the pantheon of self-help authorship.

The Pelman School of Memory . . . was the fore-runner of The Pelmanism Institute and the origin of at least one of its innovations. While correspondence courses were apparently known in the USA the Pelman School was possibly the first to use the technique in the UK.  Their course for memory training is recorded in the form of "The Secret of Certainty in Recollection. The Pelman-Foster System", a book of five correspondence lessons dating from c1905.  Each lesson was accompanied by an "Examination Sheet" for completion and return to the school but no examples of these sheets have yet been found.  These five lessons are a later version of the "Memory Training" booklets.  

The Village Hampden

January 06, 2014

Belluga is Barmedman

by admin

Not everybody in Maher Cup Country loved rugby league.
E.O. Schlunke of Hope Vale, Reefton wrote prolifically about rural life in the Riverina.  The stories are not pastoral in the manner of John O’Brien’s Around the Boree Log. They are usually vignettes with a dark edge.
In 1956 he published a collection called The Village Hampden in which the eponymous story positions the Belluga Rugby League Club as the town’s central institution. Although the Club sees its role to foster community and local pride, it has become menacingly authoritarian, seeking to control many aspects of daily life.   The story goes….
Tom Matheson, a young school teacher, has arrived in town.

“It was a small town of only a thousand or so people. Normally one wouldn’t expect a town of that size to field a first-grade team that could put up a good showing against towns five to ten times its size, and even hold the group’s challenge cup at times for a significant part of the season” (p.203).

The committee has done their homework. They’ve found that Tom had been a useful half-back at teachers’ college. Their hope was that he would play again, or at the very least become a financial member. Now a golfer, and always an obstinate type, he refuses both requests. His stand finds no support among the cowering populace. Opposition proves futile. He eventually joins the Club rather than being sent to Coventry.

“Everybody in Belluga plays football, thinks football, works football”….
“As soon as a new baby is born, before it is even registered with the C.P.S., its parents make it a junior member of the football club. Then, as soon as they are a few years old, we teach them to save their pennies to pay their own subscriptions” (p.211).

Tom takes a interest in farming, befriending a local grazier, McDonald. Old McDonald may be the wealthiest person about, but he’s insecure, threatened by closer settlement whereby large grazing holdings are subdivided into smaller wheat producing farms. McDonald had donated £1000 to build new dressing rooms, as insurance.
Tom also takes an interest in McDonald’s daughter Daphne, the most eligible girl in town. However the Club has plans that Daphne will marry Johnny Payne, their arch-rival’s champion fullback. Belluga will thus have a winning player at no cost. Daphne has shown interest, but Tom starts getting in the way. I let you guess the ending.

Eric Schlunke

Eric Otto Schlunke was primarily a farmer. His great passion was soil conservation for which a cup in his honor sits in the Temora Museum.  He was also a prolific, folksy, writer whose characters were clearly drawn from daily life. Belluga is clearly based on Barmedman. Schlunke’s Road runs from Reefton just 10 miles to the south to nearby Trungley Hall, where the Zion Lutheran Church still remains central to community life.
Barmedman was a village, dwarfed in size by its Maher Cup rivals. But it was never daunted.
Schlunke’s story can be dated to about 1955, when his nephews Clarrie and Noel were members of the ‘Clydesdales’. This was a very good year. Barmedman travelled over to Boorowa and brought back the holy grail. The first defence against Junee produced a score of 72 to 3, the biggest margin ever in Maher Cup football. West Wyalong, Gundagai, Cootamundra and Grenfell all came, and were all thwarted. But arch rivals Temora drove up the straight road past the newly sown wheat fields, through Gidginbung and Reefton, and on to Barmedman. The red and whites, toughed it out, 16-10,  and took the Maher Cup home.Gidginbung and Reefton, and on to Barmedman. The red and whites, toughed it out, 16-10,  and took the Maher Cup home.

With the Cup 1955

Barmedman’s players were mostly local farmers and wheat lumpers.   But the club also attracted legendary players to their team, including Australian representatives Col Donohoe, and Ron Crowe, as well as Billy Bischoff, Keith Gittoes, Tom Kirk and Wally Towers.
Is there any kernel of truth in Schlunke’s story which explains how the village was able to punch above its weight in Maher Cup football for so long?
Perhaps there were special conditions operating in the village? One suspects that the club was in a relatively rare and powerful position where lack of size was overcome by an ability to extract extraordinary resources and commitment from the community.
I’d be most interested in your thoughts.
PS. Why Schlunke named his short story The Village Hampden, is a mystery – Hampden is mentioned nowhere.
Reference:
Schlunke, E.O. (1958). ‘The Village Hampden’, pages 202-240 in the Village Hampden: stories, Sydney, Angus and Robertson. The book contains 16 stories, only this one about football.

Barmedman Hotel, with the Queensland Hotel on the same intersection.  Image Source: Mattinbgn, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

My Year in Belluga

“1956 was a year I shall never forget. If Schlunke’s “Belluga” was in fact Barmedman (who could doubt it?) here was once the centre of my world . . ."

Saturday, June 13, 2015

"Belluga is almost certainly based on Barmedman"

1956 was a year I shall never forget. If Schlunke's "Belluga" was in fact Barmedman (who could doubt it?) here was once the centre of my world, however briefly. A nineteen-year-old bank officer, I'd arrived in the town the year before but with no intention of playing anything. The football season had all but finished, but somehow this place and this culture just seeped into my veins. I was, one might say, "fast-tracked" into Barmedman's small community as one of only three bank employees in town. "The Barmedman" Hotel directly across the street from the bank's unimposing structure was where I spent my first couple of nights before being invited to board with a local family. It was the beginning of one of the most wonderful 18 months of my life, and I'm proud to say it was spent in Maher Cup Country.

Fortunately, I'd played both codes of Rugby at school and afterwards, and hailing from Balmain territory it was not long before the pressure was on to pull on the old boots and turn up to training. I'd had a slight conflict of interest, as one might say, being a churchy sort of lad with (un)natural inclinations to shun Sunday sports. That inhibition quickly faded as the 1956 season drew closer, and I was soon a regular member of the team, playing on the wing, as I'd always done.

My name might well have been included in the list of Maher Cup players were it not for being absent in Sydney on the weekend of Barmedman's first challenge match against West Wyalong, but I was just as happy to be a spectator at the August rematch and there were all the other regular season games that were simply unforgetable. Tom Kirk was, I think, the referee at one game where I came off second best in an attempted tackle: "don't ever try it that way again, son" was Tom's stern advice as I picked myself up, half stunned, off the turf. It was a particularly wet year, as I seem to recall, and the journey up the track to WW or South to Temora was fraught with flooded creek crossings often necessitating transport by truck. And the early morning coach trip to Murrumburrah-Harden is also hard to forget, the game where necessity brought Jim "Nipper" Lawrence out of retirement to kick a goal? I could be wrong about that. Is it also only my imagination that suggests I might have picked up an end of season award, "Best Improved Back, Reserve Grade"? Hell, it was great fun anyway!

Now approaching 80 years of age, I have few memories as vivid, or enjoyable, as my year in Barmedman nearly sixty years ago. To the wonderful "family" of friends that helped me celebrate my "coming-of-age" (perhaps in more ways than one) I have only the warmest, and deepest, gratitude. Wonderful, unique Barmedman!

Geoff Wellings

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About Me

Geoff Wellings

Retired from Westpac 1991 after 38 years service. Live in Tuggeranong, ACT. Interested in 16-17th century English Literature and Poetry, Church history and writings of Church Fathers. Follow Brumbies Rugby.   

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Faith or Works: 6th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2017

“More to do”

Faith or Works: 6^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Monday 13 February 2017

Readings: Psalm 119:1-8

James 2: 14-26 (alt. 1 Corinthians 2: 6-10)

Matthew 5: 21-26 (17-37)

Two sermons from different sides of the world: from Upper New York East Side (Queens); down-town Canberra, Australia

Canberra chose reading from Epistle of James; NY from the Gospel of Matthew.

But first from the Psalm 119: 1-8.

They are happy whose life is blameless,
who follow God’s law!
They are happy those who do his will,
seeking him with all their hearts.



You have laid down your precepts
to be obeyed with care.
May my footsteps be firm
to obey your statutes.



Bless your servant and I shall live
and obey your word.
Open my eyes that I may consider
the wonders of your law.



Teach me the demands of your statutes
and I will keep them to the end.
Train me to observe your law,
to keep it within my heart.

James 2: 14-26

James was concerned to show that believers should balance the ground of their confession between ‘works’ and ‘faith’, avoiding reliance on one aspect over the other, as if two ways of salvation could exist side by side and choosing optional. But the balancing is fraught, for works (deeds of virtue) without faith lack the necessity of ultimate purpose (other than to do good); however, faith without works is a “dead faith”, according to James. The mean is elusive, because when doing good is a matter of habit only (having the value of embedded virtue) there is likely lack of personal suffering - “schooled by trial” - whereas they who have themselves suffered and seen others suffer, are in no hurry to choose. They do what they have to do.

Matthew 5: 21-26

In Matthew (5:21-26) Jesus’ emphasis is on ‘truth’ in the heart. “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Thou shalt not kill . . . . but I tell you . . . . and again,you have heard . . . anyone who says ‘you fool’, will be in danger of hell fire’.” Obey the holy law, that’s good, but don’t imagine that’s all there is to it, he seems to say. Being obligatory, obedience is just the beginning. More importantly, demeanor of spirit and a genuine intention of heart counts for more than lip-service. Jesus gives us an appreciation of the intrinsic worth of obedience to the law (following the Psalmist) and doing good, but stresses the far more valuable part the spirit has in obeying; not the pretense of observing God’s law (as if that were possible), but its genuine habitation in the character of the person.
Perhaps Jesus’ radicalism is beyond ordinary mortals unless necessity finds room for compromise; but purity of heart is never a bridge too far. There is always more work to do, aided by God’s generous gift of himself.

1 Corinthians 2: 6-16

(The Apostle has the last word): “Yet among the mature we do impart wisdom, although it is not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are doomed to pass away. But we impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glorification. None of the rulers of this age understood this; for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. But, as it is written, ‘What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him’. But God has revealed it to him by his spirit.”

Old Man's Wisdom - Reading The Psalms

“Old man's wisdom”: A Deeper Appreciation

Literary Critic Clive James claims that Shakespeare in his maturity was anxious to source his verse from “a deeper appreciation”:

“The older and better Shakespeare got the more he was concerned that the verse should spring from what we might call a deeper appreciation.”

I think the older we get and the more we think about things the greater is our desire for a deeper appreciation of all that contributes to our existence. Such 'wisdom', if we can call it that, may equate to what James says was Shakespeare's “old man's wisdom”; but I don't think one can assume such wisdom simply comes with “age”, since our understanding, our appreciation of anything for what its worth, of oneself, of others, and for a believer, one's Christian faith, demands more than mature thinking.

 

As a Christian I am constantly challenged to rethink the value of my faith and more specifically if prayer, the bedrock of the way of faith, has any real contribution to make as I “grow old”. At the heart of one's personal beliefs is an appreciation of what the Word of God says, but how do we interpret the Scriptures we know so well, where is the inspiration, how do we understand what we read in the Bible at all?

The value of the Psalms feature strongly in the basic writings of the Protestant Reformer, Martin Luther (1483-1546). An Augustinian monk, he no doubt lived by the observances of his order which would have involved the sacred reading of the Daily Office, based on systematic meditations on the Psalms. Luther's hermeneutics (interpretations) were the subject of a talk given to an Evangelical Theological Society by Robert L Plummer, a Professor at the Southern BaptistTheological Seminary (USA). The address was re-printed in Tjurunga, “An Australasian Benedictine Review” (May 2006). 

 

Luther had a very simple approach to studying the Bible, believing that it was within the power of anybody to write their own book of theology following “rules” laid down by the psalmist, a method made explicit in Psalm 119 (which he attributed to David): “and it will be your experience that the books of the fathers will taste stale and putrid to you in comparison. You will not only despise the books written by adversaries, but the longer you write and teach the less you will be pleased with yourself. When you have reached this point, then do not be afraid to hope that you have begun to become a real theologian . . .” 
Later, Luther could say, I . . . am deeply indebted to my papists that through the devil's raging they have beaten, oppressed, and distressed me so much. That is to say, they have made a fairly good theologian of me, which I would not have been otherwise.”

Luther wrote a short preface dealing with this topic to the Wittenberg edition of his German writings. In this preface Luther gives a three-part prescription for studying the Bible, summarized as prayer, meditation, and trial. These three, he says, are the sine qua non of true theological study. “If you keep to this method of study, you will become so learned that you yourself could . . . write books just as good as those of the fathers and councils . . .”

Luther can make his audacious claim because he does not believe a human authority stands behind the prescription, but a divine one. In the lengthiest Psalm, 119, David repeatedly mentions three things: (1) understanding of God's word: prayer; (2) ruminating on God's word, as he seeks to understand and apply it: meditation; (3) oppression by enemies and difficulties: trial.

 

In brief, the Psalm models a prayerful approach: 119: v5 “that my ways may be steadfast” (Plummer enumerates more); a meditative approach: 119:v11 “I have stored up your word in my heart”; and trials (difficulties) integrally related to the psalmist's prayers and meditations: 119: vs23-24 “Even though princes sit plotting against me”. Plummer observes that of the psalm's 176 verses he cites from just the first third adding, “even from a superficial analysis, one cannot miss the prominent repetition of prayer, meditation, and trial”. As an aside, he notes that “Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906 – 1945, German Lutheran pastor, theologian, anti-Nazi dissident) had the custom of requiring incoming theological students to memorize Psalm 119”! 
 
David's “rules” which the preface identifies as forming a “method” of interpretation are made explicit in verses 97-100:
“Oh how I love thy law! Thy commandment makes me wiser than my enemies, for it is ever with me. I have more understanding than all my teachers, for thy testimonies are my meditation. I understand more than the aged, for I keep thy precepts”.
Prayer
The essence of prayer, the first component, is “a waiting and dependence upon God”, an idea “that demands more than lip service”. “Jesus' disciples saw the prominence of prayer in his life, and asked, 'Lord, teach us to pray' (Luke 11:1).” In other words, to pray effectively we need help: “is there a place”, Plummer asks, “for God's supernatural aid in understanding, acquired through prayer and God's gracious intervention? It is not that the Spirit provides additional information that is not in the text, but helps us in seeing clearly what is there”.

Meditation

The Scriptures encourage us to meditate on God's Word, and “yes, we may seek moments of silence and solitude, but those are moments when God tries and tests our hearts – bringing to mind Scriptures, failings, obligations, words of encouragement, or challenges. Not an empty mind, but a mind convicted, filled, focused, and transformed by God is the goal of biblical meditation”.

Trials

Plummer writes: “Much energy in the Western world is directed at avoiding trials. Ironically, the very difficulties we seek to insulate ourselves from are often the means God uses to mature us. They are the means, Luther claimed, of taking our abstract knowledge of what the Bible says and making it experiential and real. The Reformer wrote: “[A trial is] the touchstone which teaches you not only to know and understand, but also to experience how right, how true, how sweet, how lovely, how mighty, how comforting God's word is, wisdom beyond all wisdoms.”
 
Luther's further advice concerns “the devil”, “who . . . by his assaults (you will learn) to seek and love God's Word . . . (for) such trusting and obeying God in the midst of trial leads to a more mature understanding of Christian truth”. The apostle Paul's statement in Romans (5: 3-5) is in agreement: “ . . . but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character; and character hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given to us”. (NIV)
“There now”, Luther concludes, “with that you have David's rules. If you study hard in accord with his example, then you will also sing and boast with him (for) 'the law of thy mouth is better to me than thousands of gold and silver pieces'” (Psalm 119:72).

The Psalms in Translation
Myles Coverdale's Bible of 1535, the first complete translation in English of the Scriptures, provides perhaps the most accessible version of the Psalms for private meditation, the “Psalter”. Continuing the 1662 RevisedBook of Common Prayer (BCP) text, Coverdale's Psalter “remains the authorized standard of worship in the Churches of England and Australia” (*John Bunyan). The King James Authorised Version of 1611, long standard in Protestant Churches, is virtually unknown in traditional Anglican liturgies.

As literature, the psalms are poetry; “Euphony and command of rhythm and felicitous phrase were factors in Coverdale's success, but its essence was his ability to make the psalms his own”. As well as retaining the familiarity of medieval chant, Coverdale's translation draws on the works of Luther, Zwingli, Leo Jud, the Vulgate and a Latin version.* The Psalter's nearness to Benedictine chant guaranteed its continued use for worship in mainly Cathedral (especially choral) services and for the same reason remained a preferred text for devotional reading, as in the Daily (Divine) Office. 
 
John Bunyan (not the Pilgrims Progress author*) writes: “Using the psalms for private daily use is more than a matter of personal devotion; it is rather the joining in the prayer of all God's people, and in the prayer of Jesus, not least in the person of those who may know joy, but also injustice, or isolation, suffering – yet also a sense of the divine.” 

The psalmist is a pilgrim, a “sojourner” (Psalm 39:12); with him, if we wish, we can travel the same road. Yet, not every psalm is likely to prove helpful; the 'cursing' psalms, for example Ps.137:9, may be considered down-right offensive to Christian ears (as John Wesley thought!), but in general these are psalms of minor spiritual value (some churches sanction their omission). Luther would probably disagree on this point, perhaps pointing to the “trials” part of his rule, but throughout all the spirit of prayer and praise is nevertheless a constant: “Extol him with renewed strength, and weary not . . . for it is the Lord who has made all things, and to those who fear him he gives wisdom.” Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 43: 8. 
 
'Healing' psalms form a distinctive sub-set of texts that resonate with the reader's need: Pss 16, 32, 42, 59, 77, 90, 105, 130, 137-139, 150. There are psalms that dispose the reader to restful sleep – or defy panic! - psalms for keeping calm, as in Ps.16: “even at night he directs my heart . . . my body shall rest in safety”. Many such human predicaments resonate in individual psalms: contrition, ridicule, guilt, foolishness, indifference, heartlessness, resentment, treachery, ambiguity, doubt.

For many people, myself included, systematic reading through the Psalms forms part of a devotional practice which can be inspiring, encouraging, comforting, a guide to life, even transformative. In Judaism the slow, meditative reading of a prayer book is known as “davening”, “Lectio Divina” in monastic practice, but in any circumstance something which quickly becomes an indispensable part of devotional exercise. The habit in my own experience over many years has lead to a more satisfying attitude of simply trusting the grace of God, so well expressed in the lines of the 17^th century poet, George Herbert (1593-1633): “To have nothing is ours . . . what Adam relinquished Christ has restored so that all is more ours because his”. The Holdfast.



* John Bunyan - “The Pen of a Ready Writer: The Psalms of Myles Coverdale” - © 2016
(an essay in 'The FreeMind – Essays and Poems in Honour of Barry Spurr' - Edited by Catherine A Runcie © 2016).