Imagine the irony of this!  St Vincent’s Redfern is a small Catholic Church in the heartland of the Archdiocese of Sydney, which is in the control of Cardinal George Pell.   For years the loyal parishioners have been running a ‘Sharing the Meal ‘ Program which provides cooked, fresh and delicious meals for hundreds of marginalised people each week.  For over six years they have been asking the Parish Priests of the church for running water, maybe a toilet and even perhaps a sink.  Alas to no avail.

This week work began, without notice to the parishioners, the erection of four toilets for WYD pilgrims. The Parish Priest told parishioners that they have been erected because the Church has been in need of toilets for years.  The builder informed some parishioners that they are temporary in nature and are for WYD activities within the Church.

When the parishioners asked the Parish Priests and some members of the Neo Catechumenal Way what activities where to be held in the Church they said that there was either nothing going on, or there were none planned, or they just did not know what the plans were.  Despite this the toilets were still in construction and many non-English speaking young people where seen coming out of the Church several nights ago.

The recent display by Cardinal George Pell of clerical power and abuse and an inability to listen to members of the faithful reflects on the behaviour of some priests who will use their power not for the love of God, but for the manipulative and controlling powers of fulfilling their own, selfish, egotistical needs.

Is the Cardinal such an innocent man?  To this day he still takes the words of his priests as sacrosanct in times of dispute between clerics and the faithful.  Not only does he take side of a ‘supposed to be’ celibate Priest who performs supposedly consensual sexual acts but he also takes the side of priests who for years continue to lie, bully, threaten, assault, insult, and preach hate to most of its congregation. Women have been yelled at to ‘consume’, ‘to swallow’ the Eucharist, the congregation have been called murders and traitors, only this Friday the Priest told the mass goers that the pilgrims for WYD would be persecuted by the people of Sydney.  Who will be persecuted?

The Cardinal still refuses, after years of attempts, to apologise to the volunteers of ‘Sharing the Meal’ for suggesting that they were handing out condoms and syringes to the people who they shared food with weekly.  This has never been the case yet the Cardinal expressed this view in a National newspaper, which was grossly inflammatory to the good people of St Vincent’s. This is the Cardinal’s way of attempting to demonise a people and to perpetuate his lies.  Bishop Fisher also has refused to apologise, after years of attempts, for a letter he wrote to the parishioners of St Vincent’s, one week after the funeral of its much beloved Priest Fr Ted Kennedy, instructing the Parish Priests to call the police if any more liturgical disturbances occurred in the church.  The letter was read aloud at mass by a priest, Fr Denis Sudla, who has since been found guilty and fined by canon law for defaming a long-term parishioner publicly during mass.   It would appear that the Cardinal and the Bishop continue to listen to their protected Clergy and have failed to listen to the faithful. The faithful of St Vincent’s have tried to be heard but are continually ignored and most likely disregarded or not believed, just like the brave sexual abuse victim Anthony Jones.

The priests at Redfern follow the Neocatecumenate Way, although they will openly deny this, they preach a God of fear and not of this World and exclude the entire human race, including orthodox Catholics who do not support their theology, for want of a better word.  To be blunt, they suggest that we are all sinners and we will all go to hell unless you follow the secret methods and teachings of the Way. 

The Neocatecumenate is a sect like organisation who prey on the vulnerable and misguided and set out to destroy the person to their core and then use techniques to rebuild that person into their warped sense of being.  They call it a kind of rebaptising.  They are misogynists and anti inculturation.  They practise exclusive liturgies that have been disallowed by the Pope himself.  They preach a heresy that uses and perverts systems of Catholicism to push their catechises and distorted view of the World and God.  They try and find legitimacy through the church by their Catholic pretence. The Church Hierarchy are being fooled by their perverse modes operandi because they seem to be good at getting the numbers, resources and clergy into the church.  They are clearly a dangerous mob, with disturbing intentions.

Some would say why make this made public now.  It is because the faithful of St Vincent’s and beyond are desperate for justice and have been ignored deliberately for many years, and the only way the make the Hierarchy accountable is to embarrass them into action, particularly the Cardinal.  Many of the churchs’ faithful now refuse to collude in the abuse of power that ultimately leads to the most unmentionable of horrors, the sexual abuse of children, women and men.  Many faithful will not tolerate being ignored anymore to the satisfaction of the unaccountable and dysfunctional whims of those in power .

It took WYD to get toilets and washbasins at St Vincent’s, all be it temporary.  Thousands in the past years have been fed without running water, no sinks, no basins, no toilets, this, in an inner suburb of Sydney.  To this day many of the people from St Vincent’s continue to be abused, ignored, ostracised by the Parish Priests and their Neocatecumenate members.  The exclusion of most parishioners on all fronts is profoundly uncatholic.  The power of abuse is alive and well and fiercely supported by the Cardinal and his Bishop. 

Where is Jesus in WYD08?  Not at Randwick, not at St Mary’s Cathedral or the merchandise store across the road.  You will find Jesus at ‘Sharing the Meal’, without the running water, but with plenty of love with those excluded and those who refuse to collude in the abuse of clerical power.  Jesus will be with the least of his brothers and sisters.

I wonder if we can use the dunnies??

The following was received today from "Concern lot of students at University of Sydney & UTS"

Just in case you were succumbing to the Cardinal's line that the St Vincent's Community is a ratbag group of ageing, stick-in-the-mud Vatican IIers, the Mouse would like to boast about a couple of our younger members.

Sophia Thibaudeau was one of 21 high school students awarded a Certificate of Commendation and an inscribed medallion for Community Service from the New South Wales branch of the Order of Australia on the 22nd of November 2006. The award was created in 1992 by Dr John Lincoln AM, on behalf of the NSW Branch to reward youth from secondary schools for the positive and meaningful work that they have been doing and to encourage them to continue on to broader horizons. More here.

Sophie thanked the St. Vincent's Redfern community for providing an environment where social justice matters and an experience where the strengths of the community empower the individual as much as the achievement of one can enrich the group.

Jonathan Hill submitted two essays to win the 2006 Margaret Dooley Young Writers Award. His essays — "Reclaiming our imagination" and "Why reconciliation matters" — are published in Eureka Street, and on this website with Johnathan's permission.

In a statement released last week, the Eureka Street publishers said they were very pleased to present the $2000 prize to Jonathan, who has spent the past two years travelling between Darwin and Sydney, working with Aboriginal kids and volunteering with homeless people.

Congratulations Sophie and Jonathan!

Postscript:

2006 Margaret Dooley Young Writers Award-winning long essay

Visiting Arnhem Land changes a person’s life. The land is rich with spirit, the rivers tell stories from centuries past, the birds fly with unrestrained grace, and the sunsets powerfully whisper the promise of peace. Earlier this year I had the privilege of spending a week in Ngukurr—a remote Aboriginal community in southeast Arnhem Land situated beside the spectacular Roper River. My friend had been appointed acting principal of the local school, and I decided to visit him as well as get a brief insight into community life.

Several months have passed since my visit but the images from that week are fresh and vibrant in my mind: the innocence and enthusiasm that shone in the eyes of the year four class I helped teach; the melancholic confusion from the movements of teenagers who wandered the streets; the compassion, love and respect of older members in the community; dilapidated houses, weary roads, abused cars and a football field void of grass.

The central image however that still haunts me is that of a grieving woman who began to smash a brick against her head during a ceremony for the return of the body of a deceased young man. Her helplessness, sadness and despair entered me as I watched her wail and mourn.

Shortly after my stay in Ngukurr I found myself back in Sydney trying to get on with life. Returning to such a spiritually destructive place was highly traumatic. I had been removed from one world and placed in another. My new reality was a man made environment consisting of cars, pollution, advertising, skyscrapers and mobile phones. There was no sense of community, as all the people walked to the oppressive rhythm of selfishness and fear.

My experiences in these contrasting milieus revealed a poignant truth: Australia exists on Aboriginal land, and all Australians must embrace Aboriginality if they are to have any sense of who they are and where they belong. All Aboriginal Australians deserve the same chance at life as anyone else. The oppression they endure is a burden carried by the whole nation. Their salvation is directly intertwined with ours.

This essay will comprise three parts. Part one will entail my recollection of the ceremony at Ngukurr. Part two will entail my reaction to returning to Sydney. Part three will expand on the significance of these events in relation to Australia’s desperate need to address Aboriginal disadvantage, and rediscover its intrinsic Aboriginality. By connecting with our past we will restore some much needed vigour to our imagination, and thereby rediscover the beauty and sacredness of life.

Part One: Ceremony at Ngukurr

The boat carrying the body arrived at midday. The sun’s rays were hot, dry and soothing. A gentle wind dishevelled the red dirt and contemptuously tossed discarded litter into the bush.

The coffin was transported from the boat ramp to the house in the back of a four-wheel drive. In front of the car the male relatives marched in a scattered formation whilst moving to the penetrating sounds of the didgeridoo and clap sticks. Further behind were members of the community who wanted to pay their respects.

Once at the house the female relatives were seated cross-legged on the ground, beside a mattress on which the coffin would be placed. They wore differently coloured clothes and were painted with markings on their faces and legs.

Opposite the women on the other side of the yard were more men and boys. They were huddled together rehearsing movements and ceremonial rhythms. Their legs and faces were also painted, but with a different pattern to that of the women.

As the car pulled into the driveway a cloud of grief descended upon the space. In unison the women burst into tears. Their cries were loud and painful and increased with intensity as the body was removed from the car and placed before them.

The strongest men carried the coffin. They moved slowly and respectfully, while the other men chanted and danced to the insistent rhythm of the didgeridoo and clap sticks.

They were truly captivating as they shattered society’s fabricated stereotype of an Aboriginal male. Usually we are confronted with images of hopeless alcoholics and low-life lazy criminals. Before me though I saw no such people. These men moved with pride and conviction. They stamped the ground with authority. They knew their place. Each movement exuded confidence and grace. Their eyes were alive with passion and their bodies were governed by a tradition that was in place many centuries before colonisation.

Whilst these dances and chants continued at sporadic intervals, the women sat cross-legged by the body and wept. Never in my life had I heard such anguish. It seemed as if their grief would never end. A symphony of sadness was unfolding before my eyes as these women stayed together and moaned in the merciless heat of the midday sun.

It was at this point that one woman sprung from the ground and grabbed a stray brick and started smashing it into her head. She was soon stopped and controlled by two other women. They tried to comfort her, all three still shedding a constant stream of tears.

Before long the body was then placed inside the back of the car and taken to the morgue. Again the car was led by a small group of men. All relatives followed amidst a haze of lingering grief.

Part Two: Returning to Sydney

It was like some sick nightmare. The moment I got off the plane, I was struck by confused and chaotic energy. My senses were assaulted by the noise, the fumes, the advertising, the unnatural speed at which everything and everyone moved. I was thrown into a severe sense of solitude as I struggled to find understanding in anyone’s eyes. Even my loving family and girlfriend could offer little support because they had not seen what I had seen. They had not heard the cries from the mourning women. Their soul had not been touched by the penetrating perfection of the didgeridoo.

Days turned into weeks and slowly I settled back in. The whole time however my mind was filled with Ngukurr: the wide and wonder-filled eyes of the children at school, the creature-like mountains and escarpments that rested upon the horizon, the languages other than English that were spoken at will and the serene silence that accompanied each breath.

Sydney had none of this. It had replaced nature with the manifestations of its mind. These included loveless freeways, spiritless skyscrapers and a toxic brown haze that hovered above the insanity of city life.

Part Three: Creating a new dreaming

Time has passed and the contrasting nature of these experiences still stirs turmoil in my veins. How is it fair that the people who were here first are sentenced to lives of poverty and despair? Should such a situation exist when Australia’s economy has never been so strong? How on earth did our imagination give birth to such a fatally unjust world?

The fundamental factor that will instil a sense of sanity upon these shores is a renewed spirituality that enlivens our moral imagination thereby uniting us as one. No matter how convincing the media is in insisting that we find self-definition in the endless acquisition of material goods, the truth is that we are all spiritual beings who are connected by the land. With this in mind one begins to realise that all people have an obligation to each other, as well as the natural environment to ensure that justice is served.

A radical change in consciousness is desperately needed as the situation seemingly spirals out of control. All Australians must shoulder the responsibility to break free from the constraints of a society that worships power, and places money high on a pedestal above the inexpressible beauty of nature’s song. We must reclaim our imagination and create a new dreaming that is based on a deep respect for the land, all its people and its eternal rhythms that have been suppressed for far too long.

The women in Ngukurr were not grieving solely for the death of the young man. They were mourning the constant cloud of death that envelops all Aboriginal families nationwide. They were crying for the pain and suffering endured by all Aboriginal cultures since First Settlement. They were wailing for the continued rape and destruction of their sacred land. Each one of their tears was a distilled expression of fear that the death of this young man was one step closer to the extinction of their race.

Sydney’s spiritless environment is a direct manifestation of the distorted imagination that lives in the minds of its citizens. It is fatally ignorant to assume that progress can be measured by the extent to which a group of people can destroy the land but this is Sydney’s reality and shame. For years upon years the senses of its citizens have been starved as they have been markedly disconnected from nature. This has led to a foolish acceptance of mediocrity along with the erosion of any moral sense of what is sacred.

If Australia can create a new dreaming by reconnecting with its Aboriginal past, then it will shape a new generation whose legacy will be an insatiable hunger for justice and fervent desire for peace. Most of us don’t know it but, as a nation, we are only one step away from greatness. We can be the nation who admitted it was wrong. We can be the nation who learnt from its mistakes. We can be the nation who ensured justice for all its citizens and transformed its ways to tread lightly upon the earth.

The birth of each new day is a chance for us to discover the intrinsic Aboriginality that connects us. We must reclaim our imagination and ensure that justice is served because the fate of future generations depends solely on how we currently choose to live. The spirits of this land are alive in each heart. Their stories and histories are the uniting medium that will lead to our salvation.

If you listen carefully the cries of the women in Ngukurr can be heard on the wings of summer’s wind. It is time to listen to the heartbeat of our common soul and liberate humanity from these doldrums of despair.