Obituary – Mind Journeys

Lamenting Leunig

Michael

It was a cold Melbourne night in the year 2000, but we had left our coats at the door to the warm rooftop restaurant with its stunning view of city lights and the shimmering dark shape of Port Phillip Bay beyond.

Women in their best evening dresses outshone the men in suits and ties, or clergy collars. In the meetings during the day, I had been elected as Secretary of the Australian Association for Religious Education (AARE).

‘You are to sit here now that you are our Secretary,’ the Association President pointed to a seat at the top table.

A man about my age (early fifties) with a smart brown leather jacket, an open-necked shirt and a mop of grey hair was already seated.

‘Ted, meet Michael,’ the President said and rushed away to welcome other members.

In the restaurant, buzzing with the enthusiastic voices of members with a common passion, Michael was an oasis of peace. I greeted him and we shook hands.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked.

‘Perth. I work for the Churches’ Commission on Education there. Like Victoria’s CCES.’

‘Yes, I know CCES.’

‘Have you been to Perth?’ I asked.

‘I was in residence at the Chapel at Christ Church Grammar a couple of years ago,’ he replied.

I told him I had been chaplain there in the 1980s, and we chatted about people he had met, especially the then chaplain, Frank Sheehan.

Michael chuckled, ‘Frank put me up with the Wilsons in Peppy Grove.’ He invested the local name for the exclusive suburb with an ironic smile.

The Wilson family owned multilevel car parks in Perth and most other CBDs. I knew the Wilsons. Picking up on Michael’s irony, I asked,

‘The hospitality adequate?’ I asked.

‘Very,’ Michael smiled again. ‘Very comfortable, very friendly, but I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable.’ He looked down at his dishevelled appearance, which I suspected was a conscious costume. He liked to dress down.

I probed more.

‘Peppy Grove is our wealthiest suburb,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ Michael replied, ‘and I felt sorry for the Christ Church kids. They had drunk the cordial. They believed they merited their privileges. Whether they were from Peppy Grove or Mossie Park or any of the suburbs round about.’

I was intrigued by Michael. Many of the AARE members taught at schools like Christ Church, and if they felt uncomfortable at the privileges of their students, it was impolitic to say so.

I remembered Christ Church kids reporting me to their parents because my views were so left-wing. I think the parents rather expected it of me, so no one criticised me (at least to my face).

I tried to think who this Michael might be. Frank Sheehan invited well-known thinkers to be in his residency program.

‘So I guess you don’t live in central Melbourne,’ I said.

‘I have a studio on my little farm.’ He must have realised he had given me a clue with the word ‘studio’, so he hurried on. ‘Only a few chooks, mind you. And a house. Just enough for me. All pretty rustic.’

I sensed Michael was belittling himself. Meanwhile, the President and other Executive members joined the table. The two of us continued our conversation. We were so deep in talk that others didn’t want to interrupt us.

We talked on about reforming our capitalist society and honouring the poor as Pacific oysters followed by vegetarian linguini and organic boneless chicken were served, paired by Victorian fine wines. Seppelts Riesling or 21 Coldstream Pinot Noir were offered.

‘Revolutions are out,’ he said, ‘but we need a revolution in the way we think about wealth.’ He held up his glass of white ruefully. ‘A gentle revolution,’ he chuckled, ‘just to whittle away at the rotten foundations of capitalism.’

After the main course, the President interrupted us.

‘I need you now, Michael. Ready?’

Michael nodded.

The President called for quiet.

‘Our guest speaker tonight is well known across Australia. Most of us have seen his cartoons and how he insists we think spiritually about our society. This has piqued our interest. He is the inventor of Mr Curly and Vasco Pyjama. Please welcome … Michael Leunig.’

I was dumbfounded. Or plain dumb. Because I was new to the AARE Executive, I had not been party to the planning for the AARE Dinner and I had no idea that I had chatted so earnestly to the celebrity cartoonist for twenty minutes while he had not revealed his identity. That took deep humility on his part.

David Lord, Franciscan priest

David Lord (may he rest in peace and rise in glory) was a Third Order Franciscan. The letters TSSF meant a lot to David. I know he valued Franciscan spirituality and he appreciated being part of our WA Region fellowship.

For various reasons – mainly because David was such a big character, ‘Big David’ as his family nicknamed him – his Franciscan commitment was not mentioned at his funeral.

David was a dear friend, a fellow priest and a fellow Tertiary.

I had the privilege of walking beside David when he was a novice. He told me how his three months at the Franciscan International Study Centre in Canterbury shaped him both spiritually and intellectually as a Franciscan. The inspiring stories of Francis and Clare were unpacked at the FISC in challenging ways. David realised that the question for us Tertiaries is not how to live like Clare and Francis, but how their faith journeys could inspire his.

Like all of us in wealthy Australia, Clare’s utter poverty confronted David. How could Clare’s uncompromising poverty inform our lives? He saw that many decisions that he had made in life were to create and maintain a comfortable life.

He and Lyn went to the Philippines and India for several years in a row, and they saw there that their contribution through ‘Pilgrimage’ was to find ways of alleviating the shocking poverty they encountered there. Yet all the while, as they provided loving and educational experiences for the children they met, like those living on rubbish tips at the edges of the large metropolis, David and Lyn claimed that the children enriched them more.

I suspect that this is real poverty – knowing how others enrich us!

David was disappointed that the Study Centre in Canterbury was closed. He was in the last cohort of students. He was angry that the Centre was moving in a new direction which privileged Roman Catholics above students from other denominations. David felt that this was a betrayal of the spirit of St Francis. David always understood God as love; God as embracing all people and creatures. Putting up territorial boundaries always riled David as it did St Francis.

When we began coming to St Brendan’s when David was Rector, we noted how animals, dogs in particular, were always welcome at church. No fuss was made of them; they were just part of the congregation.

When David was interviewed for the role of Rector at Saint Brendan’s, the nominators asked him whether he would be okay with the parish’s Homelessness Respite ministry. Not only did he approve, he said, but it was also one of the main attractions of the role!

He made Homelessness Respite a priority of his week, visiting every Friday and many Fridays even when he was ill. He chatted and laughed with both guests and volunteers. Watching him, I saw how much he enjoyed it: he was enriched by the guests as he was enriched by the children he met on ‘Pilgrimage’. David was a mirror of the joy of St Francis and the joy of Jesus.

May we reflect the same encompassing inclusiveness that David embraced.

Ted Witham tssf
Post updated 30/9/23.

R.I.P. Colin Holden

Saddened today to hear of the death of old friend Colin Holden. I was at theological college at Trinity College in Melbourne with Colin, and then his colleague as a priest in Western Australia. I met him several times after he returned to Melbourne.

Colin was enormously talented as a linguist, historian and writer. He was a generous but fragile friend. One of the remembrances I still have from Colin is this hymn which he translated as a gift for me in 1974. Reading it again, I am impressed by his skill with metre and assonance, reminding me that he was a musician as well as all the other talents.

May he rest in peace and rise in glory!

A votive offering for Easter for Ted

Dawn fires the east with glowing rays
The heavens rejoice in hymns of praise;
While earth exults, Hell’s furious roar
Proclaims his lord can rule no more,

For Jesus, clad in triumph, leads
The Patriarchs, ransomed from the dead;
Hell’s prey, once chained in bonds of night
Christ frees to rise in life & light.

A stone & seal secured the tomb;
For Christ’s new life it forms a womb;
First-fruits of all that sleep in earth,
He bursts the gates, to vanquish death.

Now mourning’s bitterness shall cease;
Christ’s rising tolls the death of grief;
His angels joyously proclaim
“Death’s end has come; new life now reigns.”

From sin’s dark death, O Jesu, free
Them that again are born of Thee;
Be Thou alone out Spirit’s guest
At this time of our Paschal Feast.

We praise the Father, who is one
With Jesus Christ, His only Son,
And laud as is forever meet,
The Holy Ghost & Paraclete.

(Aurora Caelum purpurat, Office hymn at Lauds from Low Sunday till Ascension – translated by Colin Holden, Easter 1974)

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Alan Blackwood: Builder of Men

Alan Blackwood is dead, and I salute my former house-master and colleague.

Boys nicknamed Alan “Hoont”, and it was a sort of joke that we all knew why. I never did. I always spelt it in my mind “Hund”, as in the German for “dog”, but that’s the last thing you’d call Mr Blackwood.

As a figure of authority – he was Deputy Headmaster for over 30 years – Alan Blackwood had an extraordinary sense of justice. He believed in corporal punishment and regularly handed out 4 or 6 lashes of the cane for serious offences, but boys rarely felt treated unfairly.

He was always for me an exemplar of manhood. Alan was a big man who held himself well with practised military bearing. He carried the mystique of having served in Special Forces during the war. He spoke less about this experience than Headmaster Peter Moyes, who was also reticent to describe his time in Z Force.

When I returned to the school, I worried about how he would receive me as a colleague. On my first day as chaplain, I called him “Mr Blackwood.” He surprised me with a warm smile. “It’s Alan,” he said, “now you call me Alan.” He turned out to be the easiest of colleagues, supportive, friendly and helpful. In particular on the five-man School Executive, Alan was the encourager, the man who could see how others’ vision could be put into action.

As his chaplain, I never really found out what Alan believed. I suspect he had seen things so horrible in the war, things that human beings should never see, that he had suspended his belief in God. But he also must have seen some special padres, and he held my office in high respect. He fought against measures to dilute the effects of Chapel-going. On the other hand, he did not disguise his contempt (in private, at least) for a chaplain colleague who was not, in his opinion, up to scratch.

Many Old Boys and staff were closer to Alan than I was. But I knew him as a decent, upright human being who loved Christ Church and showed many boys how to be men.