Richard's Ramblings

  It’s not enough nowadays that we hand over our hard-earned to Coles, or Bunnings, or Australia Post, or (I don’t know anything about this one 😉 ) Dan Murphy for products or service. We’ve hardly unpacked the shopping before email goes ‘ping’ and there’s a survey for us to answer. The first question is always along the lines of “Would you recommend Coles/Bunnings/whoever to your friends and family?” A sliding scale response from 1, No way José, to 10, Bet your life I would. This Sunday’s Psalm 78 goes straight for the 10 response: “We will tell the next generation about the Lord ’ s praiseworthy acts, about his strength and the amazing things he has done …” Those surveys follow up with “ Why did you say that you would recommend Coles/Bunnings/whoever?” The psalmist is ready for that, not for some marketer’s gratification, but “so that the next generation, children yet to be born, might know about them. They will grow up and tell their descendants about them. Then they will ...

  I can tap a few bars of the 1812 overture on a piano, but otherwise the only musical instruments which I can play are a comb-and-tissue-paper-kazoo and a harmonica. Forget the kazoo, I don’t have enough hair for a comb. That leaves a harmonica, a mouth organ. My pièce de résistance is When The Saints Come Marching In. Which is appropriate for this Sunday, All Saints Day. Traditionally, we remember loved ones who have died, whom we miss very much. Like the Thessalonian believers, we long for reassurance that they are safe in God’s keeping, redeemed, pain and sorrow free. The Revised Common Lectionary replaces the usual Old Testament reading with Revelation 7:9-17 “After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language,” (don’t tell Pauline) “standing before the throne and before the Lamb.” and “ … he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence. Never again will they hunger; never ag...

 When we lived in Melbourne, we worshipped at St Mark’s Camberwell. The minister was a mad keen Hawthorn AFL supporter. A (probably apocryphal) story was that when he was a Ridley ordinand in the 1970s, his field placement was that church, and when the then priest put up an evangelical poster, “What would you do if Jesus Christ came to Hawthorn?”, he scribbled on it “Move Peter Hudson to Centre-Half Forward.” So, a second connection for us, Hudson owned a bar in Lygon St which we might have accidentally entered 🏉  😇 The same minister once announced (again, apocryphally) that there would be an all-night prayer meeting for the outcome of the next weekend’s AFL qualifying finals. The following evening, if the Hawks won, the processional hymn would be “Now thank we All our God”. If Essendon, “Oh God, our help in ages past”. If Fitzroy (before the Brisbane merger), then “God moves in a mysterious way”. “Oh God, our help in ages past” is Isaac Watts’ paraphrase of this Sunday’s l...

 You must have tried to buy something from a café or store, only to learn that the eftpos terminal is down. But many of us don’t carry cash these days, we rely on our touch cards or mobile phones. So we can’t pay for our coffee or petrol. And some places, even now, don’t accept cards, they have a sign saying “Cash Only”. My favourite shoe repairer, in Flinders Arcade, is like that. It’s only in the last few years that Frosty Mango has started accepting cards. It’s a hassle, but not a disaster. What was a disaster was in the days when you had to have a penny, a big round old penny (Boy, am I giving my age away now 🫩 ) to go to a public toilet, they were quaintly termed public conveniences, but you didn’t have a penny. Decidedly inconvenient. A sadder instance is that of the frazzled young mother, children in tow, at a supermarket checkout, counting out coins to make up payment for the food her family desperately needs. She doesn’t have quite enough, and adds shame to desperation a...

This used to be my busiest time of year. In London, Christmas was busier, but in Queensland it’s always been Easter. Now, of course, I’m a gentleman of leisure. Except that I notice that I’m taking services in one place or another for four weeks on the trot, plus a wedding, plus upcoming ANZAC Day.  It is a great privilege for a pom soldier and sailor (I was both, long story) to be able to honour Australian and New Zealand sailors, soldiers and airmen. A piper’s lament followed by the bugle’s haunting Last Post sends shivers down my spine. And then, after a silence of sadness, comes ebullient, joyful Reveille - Rouse. For a moment we grieve death, and then the bugle sounds again. To the victories commemorated on battle ensigns, is added the final victory over what St Paul calls the Last Enemy. First Corinthians 15: “Death has been swallowed up in victory” “Where, O Death, is your victory?” It’s a coincidence that Easter Sunday on its varying dates between late March and late April ...

Genesis 1:1-5 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning — the first day. Revelation 22:1-5 Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name ...