Like many people, I’ve had more than a passing interest in the public dialogue on same-sex marriage as it has increased in the last few months. Most of us will have at least a few family members, friends or colleagues who feel differently, and the attempt to keep the conversation moderate and respectful is a noble one. But I’m yet to hear an argument from those opposed to same-sex marriage that doesn’t begin in ignorance or paranoia, and some of their rhetoric of late has been unbelievably insulting, so I think I’d rather call it for the nonsense it is.

Marriage now looks nothing like marriage as it was first instituted. Original rules as follows: wealthy tribal leader paid so many camels for pretty daughter of other wealthy guy of approved tribe. In fact, wealthy guy had loads of wives. Wives he could treat like hell, because they were considered property, like the family slaves and the tent by the fire. Over the centuries we’ve drastically changed the definition of marriage as we’ve woken up to how extraordinarily bad that was for everyone involved. You want traditional marriage in Australia? Then bring back the following ‘traditions’: whites cannot marry blacks, wives have no right to financial independence, but their husbands can legally beat/rape them, children born outside of wedlock have no right to inherit, divorce is not allowed. Sounds like a dream, right? Not so much. It’s a pretty sorry state of things if we don’t want something a whole lot better than that for each other.

An obvious caveat before I go any further – I’m not married, but I have taken more than a few weddings, so I’m going to start there. It’s an extraordinary privilege to share such a significant occasion with two people who are so in love. Weddings are every kind of wonderfulness – a celebration of having found what is for many people the greatest search of their lifetime – the match to their own self. Human beings are designed for this – we are supposed to love. It’s innate – from the day we are born we come to know ourselves only by who we are in relation to other people – in fact, we have no other way of knowing. We inherit some of the people we love and choose others… And among all of the people we elect to surround ourselves with, for many of us there will be one, above all the others, who captures our whole heart. It is lovely and terrifying and risky and entirely beyond reason, but it has ever been thus. Having found it, we want it to last forever, hence why weddings involve vows – promises made with a lifetime in mind. Vows are the intrinsic protection of that depth of love. It is not a piece of paper that makes a marriage – it is those words. They carry so much weight that they create a centre of gravity which pulls that couple together. I promise you, the biology of the two people involved doesn’t matter. And that’s all we are trifling over here.

If you think that finding the sort of love that lasts forever has anything to do with X/Y chromosomes, I feel really, really, sorry for you. You cannot possibly have found your soul mate, because if you had, you would understand that other things matter far more… You will notice whether their smile reaches their eyes when they laugh, you will never run out of things to talk about, you will share the same plans for old age. They will be your first thought in the morning and the last before you fall asleep; their happiness will mean far more to you than your own. You do not know yet that the simple act of holding hands can turn more than one world upside down. These are not gender-exclusive experiences.

So back to that piece of paper… Who is it for? I think it’s mostly for the rest of us. It’s the mechanism we have as a society for honouring the deep and enduring nature of that commitment. We are compelled to cherish and safeguard it within something – hence we have developed the legal institution of marriage. It is the extrinsic protection that we as a community add to the intrinsic protection of the vows made by a couple on their wedding day. It’s our way of saying, ‘We are with you, we value what you are together, we will support you through whatever is ahead of you’. Allowing same-sex couples to marry isn’t a revolution that will tear apart the very fabric of society, it’s an affirmation that their love is not inferior, that it is equal in quality. It’s as simple and significant as that. So just to be very clear – opposing same-sex marriage doesn’t alter the nature of that relationship – it is unchanged by prejudice. It loses none of its loveliness through the stubborn refusal of acceptance from anyone else, it just makes them ignorant. It’s about as useful as looking at a northern constellation and suggesting that it is not made of stars, just because it is not the same as the ones in the south.

Love is an art. Very unfortunately, we aren’t born knowing how to do it perfectly. We have to practice and make mistakes and learn from others. I am extraordinarily fortunate to have among my friends some truly wonderful couples, some of whom are same-sex partners who have committed their lives to one another. They have taught me things about love, perseverance, graciousness and generosity that I could not have hoped to understand without them. I am a slow learner, but I am made better just by knowing them.

Some final words on a few of the more ridiculous arguments that have surfaced lately. A postscript of sorts, because that is all they deserve.

‘Someone think of the children.’ There are very few things making me so angry in this whole debate as the suggestion that the children of same-sex marriages are somehow at a disadvantage. It’s incredibly offensive. Children need love, security, boundaries, affection, education, space to make mistakes, someone to pick them back up when they do. They do not need a mother and father at home, mostly because that idea assumes a bunch of gender stereotypes that I hope we’ve long since given up on. When I was growing up, the workbench in our shed was my mum’s, not my dad’s. Mum is also pretty good in the kitchen. Dad helped with homework, taught me to iron, gave me my first driving lesson. The lines in our family tree don’t all meet where the first did, but we get on ok. I didn’t go without strong male role models when I lived with my mum, or female ones when I lived with my dad. Plenty of single parents have done a wonderful job of raising fantastic kids. It also bears pointing out that heterosexuality is no guarantee of parenting ability. Again, let’s not get so caught up on X/Y and focus on being worthy adult role models. This is the 21st century. Honestly.

‘We can’t because no other Asian country has.’ This one smells strongly of picking battles of convenience. Not so long ago, when there were Australians on Death Row in Indonesia, we heard strong moral opposition to the death penalty from every level of our elected representation, and they are our closest neighbour. No individual, much less a free society, should base their ethical framework on what is ok with the guys next door. We’d normally call that schoolyard peer pressure, and encourage a bit more maturity and integrity.

(This last one is aimed specifically at the church…) ‘Same-sex marriage is unbiblical.’

If you are a Christian who is opposed to same-sex marriage, at least have the good grace to acknowledge that your view is based at least a bit on fear of change and a bit on your own self-righteousness, and not on any ancient and unchanging commandment. Don’t you dare defend your prejudice on the basis of a ‘biblical’ sexual ethic that ‘unites one man and one woman for life’. It’s crap, and you know it. Read it again. Polygamy and the keeping of concubines was a societal norm. Lot’s answer to the abomination of sodomy was to offer his daughter for pack rape. David declared Jonathan’s love for him as ‘more wonderful than that of a woman’. Jesus said plenty about divorce. Nothing about same-sex marriage. Any right-thinking person of faith in this day and age is sensible to the fact that our understanding of the world around us is drastically different to that of our biblical forebears. Of course they didn’t imagine marriage equality for same-sex couples – they didn’t imagine an equal partnership between a woman and a man either. Context is not just significant, it’s central to identifying the true intention of the Scriptures. Pretending otherwise is beneath the intelligence with which you have been gifted, so for God’s sake, wise up.

Marriage in a Christian context cannot be defined by the biological facts of the people entering into it, but by the character of the relationship – if it is a relationship that is shaped in relation to God and which seeks in vowed commitment to continue in that life, then it is ‘the thing that is marriage’. People in same-sex relationships who seek to belong to the community of faith can most certainly be damaged by the rejection of the church, but the church is as much, if not more damaged, by that act of rejection. Wherever a boundary is drawn by the church, and blessing is offered to those ‘in’, and withheld from those ‘out’, the blessing that rests on the ‘in’ is also diminished. We do violence to the very nature of a sacrament when we use it as a tool of exclusion. So ironically, a Christian heterosexual married couple who enjoy the gifts of married life but choose to withhold recognition and celebration from loving, committed, gracious homosexual relationships and judge them as invalid are threatening the sacramental foundation of their own relationship all by themselves, they don’t need any help from anyone else.

To those Christians, especially those in positions of leadership, who have done your theological and pastoral homework and are actively supporting some-sex marriage – thank you. Those who aren’t yet – get off the damn fence. If the church you belong to does not affirm same-sex couples and intend to recognise their right to marry as soon as it is legally possible, but you do, then say so. Have the courage to engage in difficult conversations. The pathological niceness that avoids the issue for fear of conflict is completely inexcusable in any community that should be defined by the pursuit of truth. The ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ approach to LGBTI people in your midst is almost worst than outright condemnation – secrets have never led us anywhere good.

Read 1 Corinthians 13 again:

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

It is not male or female. It is just love.


“Isn’t it odd how much fatter a book gets when you’ve read it several times?”… “As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells…and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower…both strange and familiar.”

Cornelia FunkeInkspell


Today was one of those good days that starts with a perfect quartet: good brunch and good coffee in the home of good family who have good bookshelves. Perfection, right there. So, as one can when she is in entirely comfortable territory and the conversation is easy, I began to browse the bookshelves. A few things occurred to me.

Firstly… Bookshelves tell you a lot about someone. They are maps, or maybe artworks, that collect together the circumstances under which each book came to be there, whether they were gifts, or deliberate choices, or are ‘borrowed’ books that are still making their way home. They came from this airport newsagency, or that birthday, this lover, or that rainy day in an unfamiliar city where getting lost ended up on a street with a bookstore. Thank God. So all this made me realise how very personal bookshelves are. They’re almost intimate! If you take a look at my bookshelf, you may as well pick up my soul and have a good look through while you’re there, because there won’t be a lot of secrets left. The chapters of my life are very clearly there, just in separate volumes. If I’ve read it, something about it (however small), stayed with me. If I haven’t read it yet, it’s there because I really want to – I’m trying to grow into the person who will have read that book one day. As future considerations go, it got me to thinking about where I will put the library in the home I will have one day. I always thought it would be right by the front door, so visitors know exactly where it is. That way they will know where to seek solitude in a comfy chair with a cuppa when needing to escape company (which will always be perfectly acceptable at my place). But now I’m not sure! Perhaps a little more reserve and privacy. Perhaps in the back room (much more relaxed), where family and close friends are welcome. If you don’t mind me being in my PJs when you arrive and you feel comfortable making your own tea, you are welcome to browse and take from the bookshelf.

Secondly… I don’t just look at nice covers and interesting titles when I’m browsing a bookshelf… I wonder about the authors. Was this their first book? Where did they write it? What are they doing now? I have wondered out loud before about how the authors on my bookshelf felt about the neighbourhood in which I had put them. Of course, this is less of a hassle when one doesn’t bother ordering their bookshelves at all (ahem, DAD*), but it occurs to me – incontrovertible proof that I am an excruciating overthinker. Perhaps it is the consequence of having quite a few history and theology texts on my shelf – whole wars have been fought over the contents, so perhaps those two might not like to live next door to each other. But perhaps novelists deserve the same consideration. He wouldn’t get her sense of humour at all and she won’t understand why he is taking so long to get to the point.

Thirdly… Books are my greatest weakness. I have been given many lovely gifts in my life, but books have almost always been my most treasured (with a couple of exceptions). I have been won over instantly by that little leap that comes of recognising one, two, three books on their shelf that are also on mine. I would forgive just about anything if the offender had a good enough bookshelf. This lovely piece, on why you should fall in love with a girl who reads, is just about spot on. When life gets tough, make tea. When it gets really bad, go for a walk, preferably up a mountain. When it’s heading toward unbearable territory, lose yourself in a bookstore.

* Dad – at least put all the Margaret Atwood in the same room, if not next to each other. Honestly!


Last year, I came across this picture – or I guess I came across this idea. I thought about it a lot, and I still do, which is why there’s a copy in my office now. I don’t have very many conversations about what to do when life is going really well, people don’t pop in to chat quite as often when their relationships are new and exciting  and wonderful. People know what to do with that – admire it, hold it, love it, keep it safe. We work tremendously hard to do that. But the world is not perfect, and we are not perfect, and sometimes our very best intentions are not enough to prevent the occasional chip or crack.

In my experience, very few of us ever intend the damage we cause to others. The bowl wasn’t hurled deliberately at a wall, it just slipped through our fingers faster than we could close them. Careless actions and thoughtless words that got away in the heat of the moment. Even when our tempers flare, and we know our words will hurt, very rarely do we intend the harm they cause.

That gold, though, that precious line of repair – it is very deliberate. When we are suddenly faced with the reality of pieces that we never meant to break, we gather them up and begin the work of carefully and gently repairing them. Those gold lines are the attentive, thoughtful acts, the kind and gracious words, the gentle and patient touch that we invest into restoring what matters to us, because it is far too valuable to let go. They are a far more honest reflection of our love than the unbroken or the breaking ever was.

Is it more beautiful than it was in the first instance? I think so. Is it stronger? I’d say so. Would it have been better not to break it? Yes, probably, but treasured things shouldn’t be locked away so they can never get hurt – they should be looked at everyday, and enjoyed, and repaired lovingly along the way. Without the gold, it’s just another bowl. Valuable yes, but not so precious, and certainly not unique.

Perhaps the same is true for us personally – most of us don’t learn our most important lessons from our glorious, shining moments. We learn them from our heartbreaking ones, from our failures, from our missed opportunities. Some of my flaws still run very deep and wide, and there is nowhere near enough gold in them yet. But they are mine, and they make me who I am.

A few months ago, I was given quite a remarkable gift – by far the most generous gift I have ever been given by someone I’m not related to, and even then, it may well still be at the top of the list. A friend of mine is an extremely talented artist, and after five happy months of working in the same location, she gave me a matching set of two paintings as a farewell gift. They are stunningly beautiful – like I said, she’s very clever. But the reason I love them so much is not because they are so excellent (they really are), it’s because the content is so significant. They overflow with good memories of important moments, with painstaking care and attention, with steadily devoted attention to imagining for the sake of someone else. They are not the result of overnight effort, but days and weeks. They are incredibly impressive to look at, but perhaps more importantly, deeply moving to feel. I’m pretty lucky to know this girl. Those paintings are hanging on my wall – I see them everyday – and everyday they make me smile. And sometimes I really need that.

In fact, I am only now beginning how much I actually depend on moments like those. I used to think that watching and listening and experiencing the artistic expression of others was an optional extra in life – a luxury to be indulged in when one wished to get cultured and all. It isn’t. It’s life-saving. Sometimes, when all the practical, necessary business of living gets too much, it’s urgent. Breathing in city smog everyday will kill you fairly quickly – every now and then, you need a bit of wide open landscape and some fresh air, or you’ll choke to death. Too much working and being responsible is much the same – suffocating. I forget that sometimes, and find myself needing to correct it, desperately. Late last year, when the candle had been burning too long at both ends, I found myself needing to see something beautiful, like sick people need medicine. So I found myself at the local markets – good food, good coffee, the precious work of gifted artists, set up around the buildings of a school. I remember lying on the oval in the sun, and realising it was the first time I had truly relaxed in about a year. But I know that the gift of that space came at a cost. As I wandered, and chatted with stallholders, I noticed a tension… Their eyes and their words would animate as they explained the story behind their work, and the quirks and particularities that made it theirs. But there was also hesitation in that careful explanation – a modest self-deprecation, in case that labour and love wasn’t recognised or appreciated. Because what if this, the product of my hard work, all I can show on the outside of who I am on the inside, isn’t significant to anyone else? It never occurred to me how costly it must be make good art.

I was reminded of this overwhelmingly again last night, when I saw Missy Higgins in concert at the Enmore. She is a national treasure, in my opinion, and I have made a point of seeing her perform live whenever I can, because she is breathtaking to watch in person. Those few concerts have also uncannily intersected with curious junctions in my own life. These days, mine intersects with all sorts of people in all sorts of places, and mostly we are left with more questions, and less answers. Those things that are bubbling away beneath the surface of my world at the moment – how costly love can be, how physically painful remorse can be, how disorienting and dark uncertainty can be – I don’t have words for them. But you, Missy, you do. And you didn’t find those words living an easy, unreflected life – don’t I know that. Your willingness to share that in the borderlands of private and public life is incredibly generous. Thank you for giving me someone my own age to be in awe of, for being so wise, so cheeky, so honest. You are a master poet, who speaks with words like molten silver that fall from you with such power and such truth. It helped me to hear them. In the middle of those ‘more questions, less answers’ is perhaps the simpler question of ‘What can I not live without?’ Right now, I cannot live without the things that make the world more beautiful.

This time last year, I posted on what had stood out in that year… Good friends, food and wine featured prominently! While there have certainly been plenty of those savouring sorts of things in 2013, it has well and truly been a year more about learning than anything else. I’ve been thinking in the last few days about the lessons that most stand out, in the hope of not having to relearn them too uncomfortably next year! A few stand out.

1. Fail graciously.

There are very few things that I can be absolutely certain about in any given day, but making mistakes is one of them. I have a particular gift for getting things wrong, usually in the most ridiculous way, and like most people, the more I am concerned with someone’s good opinion, the more likely I am to make a spectacular fool of myself in front of them. If I had more sense, I would tread more carefully through life, but in my clumsy, headlong way, I seem to stumble right into the centre of strife before I have even begun to register signs of danger. Fortunately for me, I am generally surrounded by very good people on such occasions. So I am learning, bit by bit, to respond in good humour when I am deservedly (if not mercilessly) teased, the place of a decent apology, and to reflect with a considerable dose of personal honesty, in the hope of avoiding further disasters.

2. ‘This too shall pass’.

Recently I came across two thoughts that have particularly kept my attention. The first was in listening to Barbara Brown Taylor’s ‘An Altar in the World’:

‘It is not the life I planned, nor the life I recommend to others, but it is the life that has turned out to be mine.’

I would not want that quote to indicate that I do not like what I do, and so would not wish it on anyone else, because that is certainly not the case. Still, 2013 has been a very interesting year for me, a very different one to any of the ones before that, and I am beginning to understand what Dr Taylor meant by those words. I am learning to appreciate the tough bits of where I find myself, because I can’t very well be anywhere else!

Before leaving parish ministry and beginning in chaplaincy, one of my colleagues wisely asked me what I found most enriching in that context, and whether I was prepared to give those things up. Caught up as I was in the excitement of a new chapter, I remember responding that I was, because it would be worth it for other reasons. I was right, but I also underestimated the price. I have never been much of a preacher, and it makes me very nervous anyway, but I do miss reflecting on where the ancient stories of faith intersect with what God is doing in our midst now. My hands miss celebrating Mass, in something like the same way that our arms miss the people we love when we are too far away to hold them. That in itself is teaching me something, and it never does a priest any harm to remember what it is like to sit in a pew week in and week out. So, I think it is both tough, and immeasurably worth it, to be sitting in a different place.

It is also a risky thing to be paid to do the thing that is also the wellspring of one’s own life. The cost when things go wrong can’t be left at the office. Every now and then, I get extremely frustrated with the manifold errors of the institutional church, the extreme lack of graciousness of my fellow Christians towards others, and the sense of actual shame I often feel when I consider the damage we have done. Do we deserve most of the bad press we’ve had in recent months/years? Yes. Are we often a self-serving, pretentious, judgmental bunch who get in the way of the goodness of God? Yes. Is it fair that, as a result, I should feel a little uncomfortable in my own skin, given how often the church has made others feel uncomfortable in theirs? Yes.

I don’t want to be unfairly harsh on the church, because I think we also do lots of wonderful things and I love who we can be. It still bears saying that I have found, especially this year, as much grace outside the church as in it. That does not make me anxious about being in the church anymore (it used to), because it is a reminder to me that God is in all places, before and ahead of us… The church does wondrous stuff when it is able to point to that reality. It only goes wrong when it starts trying to contain God, instead of loving God.

This leads me to the second quote that struck me, when I heard Rowan Williams speaking about the task of ‘maturing in steady fidelity‘. There’s a lot to be said for being hopeful – no bad day lasts forever. It’s also worth remembering not to get carried away when things are going well – difficult times have their place, in the midst of celebrations, if only to teach valuable lessons like humility and patience and perseverance! I am learning, again ever so slowly, not to dwell too long on the good or the bad, but to keep moving forward…

3. Invest in wonderful friends – they are also excellent teachers.

I am constantly amazed at the extraordinary people I work alongside. Honestly, most of them don’t have the slightest clue how impressive they are. I sometimes find myself watching from the sidelines, being generally thrilled that I get paid to spend my days with such outstanding people.

To my old friends, thank you for hanging around for another year of adventures and helping me to be me when I am struggling to conceal my anxiety and/or incompetence! I am well aware that I receive far more than I give from you, so thank you especially for your graciousness.

To the new friends of 2013, thank you for adding all manner of adventure, frivolity, expertise and encouragement to the past year. I am thoroughly and sincerely looking forward to the good times yet to be dreamt up over the next 12 months.

To that handful of you who are especially dear and generous, new and old, you have helped me map out some of undiscovered terrain in my own heart. The best of the lessons of this year have come from you. Thank you for showing me more of what I would like to be. Various of you are woven into the following summary of a fairly epic year:

1. Song I played the most: Never Let Me Go – Florence and the Machine

2. Book that made me cry the most: The Elegance of the Hedgehog – Muriel Barbery

3. Movie that made me laugh the most: The Heat (followed closely by the Sweet Brown remix)

4. Best meal: peanut butter toast, in the middle of nowhere

5. Best drink: Espresso Martini, Heritage, Townsville

6. Best coffee – Juicy Beans, Merewether

7. Words I never want to hear again: Like this, do that.

8. Thought heading into 2014: Look alive.


For those who, like me, are still finalising their Lenten reading:

(With thanks to Andy Goodliff for compiling this list)

1983 The Truce of God by Rowan Williams

1988 Looking Before and After by Helen Oppenheimer

1992 Tested by the Cross – Wesley Carr

1993 Mary’s Story, Mary’s Song by Elaine Storkey

1997 Pilgrims by Stephen Platten

1998 The Shape of Living by David Ford

1999 Living Well by Robert Warren

2000 Following the Way by Gerald O’Collins

2001 Christ on Trial: How the Gospel Unsettles our Judgement by Rowan Williams

2002 Pearl Beyond Price: The Attractive Jesus by David Day

2003 Flame in the Mind by Michael Marshall

2004  I Thirst by Stephen Cottrell

2005 The Wounds of Jesus: A Meditation on the Crucified Saviour by Christina Baxter

2006 Free of Charge: Giving and Forgiving in a Culture Stripped of Grace by Miroslav Volf

2007 Power and Passion: Six Characters in Search of Resurrection by Sam Wells

2008 Life Conquers Death: Meditations on the Garden, the Cross, and the Tree of Life by John Arnold

2009 Why go to church? The Drama of the Eucharist by Timothy Radcliffe

2010 Our Sound is Our Wound: Contemplative Listening to a Noisy World by Lucy Winkett

2011 Barefoot Disciple: Walking the Way of Passionate Humility by Stephen Cherry

2012 Love Unknown by Ruth Burrows

2013 Abiding by Ben Quash:

Thanks to Andrew over at Doohan It This Way for sharing this wonderful clip…

I really do wish I could cook well. Good food is one of my favourite things, especially alongside good wine, a palate for which is a compulsory pursuit of excellence for Anglican clergy, as I understand it. I especially like taking time on holidays to eat in lovely places and attempt to work out the recipe for whatever I’ve ordered (in the ridiculous expectation that I’ll go home and be able to make it. I rarely try. But I persistently hope!). I should say at the outset that Margaret River will feature prominently. I really REALLY do like the little bit of Western Australia that I’ve seen so far. Fantastic place. So here is the second instalment of ‘favourite threes’.



1. The Lanterne Rooms, Canberra ACT (where I had a most amazing meal with my Daddy, his lovely wife & my twin sister)
lanterne rooms

2. Bunkers Beach Cafe, Bunker Bay WA (the honey, vanilla & pomegranate cheesecake was incredible)


3. Indiana, Cottesloe Beach WA (apart from the great food, the building is just gorgeous)



Wines (Obviously I have a second favourite winery now…)

1. Cape Mentelle Cabernet Merlot Trinders 2011


2. Cape Mentelle Zinfandel 2010


3. Cape Mentelle Botrytis Viognier 2011



Recipes I’ve stumbled across that intimidate me very much but that one day I would really like to make:

1. Roast Garlic Sourdough

2. Chocolate Macarons


3. Stuffed Zucchini Flowers



Chocolate (sans pictures – buy some and see for yourself!):

1. Chuao (Venezuela) from Gabriel Chocolate, Margaret River

2. Organic Handmade Dark Chocolate With Rose and Black Pepper from Coco Chocolate, Kirribilli

3. Chilli chocolate macaron from Coco Monde, Darby St, Newcastle NSW


Foodie Shops:

1. Providore, Margaret River WA (I bought the spicy Shiraz sauce and the dark chocolate Sambarino dark chocolate liqueur. Ah-may-zing)


2. The Larder, Margaret River (I wanted to buy EVERYTHING)


3. Sourdough Bakery, Newcastle NSW



And last, but not least, a list of one, because I only tried one new whisky this year, but it was well worth it:

1. Nikka ‘From the Barrel’ (though one could not possibly drink more than a wee dram of it at a time – ’tis potent stuff)


Actually, one more list of one… The best cookbook I’ve read this year:

1. ‘Supper of the Lamb’ by Robert Farrar Capon


This is a marvellous book, beautifully written, inviting the reader to sit at the seasoned table of Fr Robert and receive of his generosity. A must for anyone who cares about hospitality as a mark of faith, savours the variety of creation and believes that we should be diligent and loving in our preparation for great feasts. You will never look at an onion the same way again.

More from the incredibly talented team at St Paul’s Anglican Church, Auckland….

‘Peace. This is the important thing that God told Jesus to tell the people.’

Understandably, there is a lot of commentary at the moment on the very sad news of  the death of Jacintha Saldanha, the nurse at King Edward VII Hospital who answered the prank call made by two DJs from 2DayFM radio station this week. On most levels, I really don’t want to add to the commentary, because I don’t much about what happened, except from what I’ve read and heard from the media. And since the responsible conduct of the media is a key issue here, writing blog posts does seem to touch on hypocrisy, at least to me. But I’m bothered by what I’m hearing, so I’m putting my two cents in.

I have to say that when I first heard about this prank call, I was furious – as a member of the community, but particularly as someone who used to be a nurse. The relationship between a nurse and their patient is very particular. It requires an extremely high degree of trust to care well for people at the most susceptible times in their lives. And yes, there are times when your patient is someone high-profile and you know a bit about them, even if it is only by public reputation (however reliable). They are just as vulnerable, maybe more so, than any other patient, because their privacy is so limited. In my brief experience, that dynamic elicits a certain protectiveness for one’s patient and a genuine effort to give them a safe space which is confidential and discreet. The ideal is to provide an environment that frees the patient to be vulnerable at a basic human level, while at the same time maintaining their dignity. It can be very difficult to do, largely because too many reporters seem to be of the view that public figures are never entitled to be left alone, even when they are in hospital. I would say that the Duchess of Cambridge is absolutely entitled to her privacy, not because of her title, but because she is a human being whose medical treatment is, frankly, none of anyone else’s business. Jacintha Saldanha was also entitled to respect. Interfering with that nurse-patient relationship (which I can only imagine was a little daunting) for the sake of cheap laughs was an incredibly poor move, in my opinion.

That said, I don’t think the two DJs involved are solely to blame, either. Plenty of other people have pointed out that no-one can know what exactly lead to Jacintha Saldanha’s death. But they made that prank call and they will live with that. Partly, I feel incredibly sorry for them. But as has also been pointed out, they don’t run the whole show, as it were – there are lawyers and producers and managers that apparently all thought this was a great idea. As the radio station have said, they could never have predicted such an outcome. But honestly, when will we learn to be more careful? Have we really not figured out that entertaining ourselves at the expense of others does have consequences? I guess disrespecting the Queen, the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cambridge wasn’t seen as an issue. A bit of a giggle. Aussie humour at its larrikin best. Whether that’s the case or not, it was someone else they professionally humiliated – not a member of the Royal Family, who (sadly) are more than accustomed to such behaviour, just a regular member of the public doing her job. And for what?

Apparently, for ratings among people who actually think such things are riotously funny. If the Australian public didn’t love those socially awkward and embarrassing prank calls, no one would make them. As Clementine Ford suggested in the comment that got me writing this, let’s look at our own complicity. The media are only a reflection of the values (or lack thereof) of the community at large. So, a final question: Why is it that we find someone else’s embarrassment funny? Honestly, I don’t get it.

Quote of the Week

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”

Khaled Hosseini - The Kite Runner


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