Just call me St Francis...

It seems there is no limit to my attractant powers over our furry and feathered friends.

I have already banged on incessantly about my 'possum whisperer' status, when my Brunswick bathroom became something of a right-of-way to local possums seeking to get from the trees and rooftops back down to the ground again.

Well, now it seems the birds are starting to feel strangely called into my orbit. First, I have been woken up at obscenely early hours (well, before 7am!) by a bird that I suspect must be nesting in the eaves just outside my bedroom window. At the appointed time each morning for a couple of weeks, I was woken up by the sounds of scratching, scraping and flapping of wings that sounded, to my half asleep brain, to be disturbingly close. Fortunately, this unique alarm clock seems to have desisted, but last night marked the latest in my adventures in animal husbandry.

There was an Elders' meeting in my lounge room, and as we were spending some time in prayer at the start of the meeting, we were confronted with a loud scruffling noise, coming from the fire place. "Sounds like Santa is coming early!" I quipped.

More scruffling, and a few puffs of soot emanating from the vent of the wood heater firebox indicated that there was indeed some poor critter trapped in the flue of the wood heater.

Being a group of 4 women, we discussed our options- call the local shire ranger to deal with it? No way they'd come out at night... a chimney sweep? (who just happened to be the former tenant of this house)- didn't answer his phone... well, maybe we'll just continue with the meeting, and see what happens.

By the end of the meeting, and after a few more instances of fluttering and puffs of soot out of the vents, it became evident that it was indeed a bird that had managed to get into this sticky situation, and that it had actually managed to free itself from the flue, and was now happily perched on the piece of wood inside the wood heater.

So, our intrepid group sprung into action, closing off all doors, so that the only way was out, and armed with a towel, to humanely try to grab the bird, we opened the door of the wood heater. The bird didn't come quietly, and rather than allowing us to gently capture it in the towel, it flew out of the firebox, and floundered sootily around the loungeroom for a bit, perching first on the blade of the ceiling fan (and was I glad that we thought to turn the fan off first!), then on top of the curtains... and finally managed to find the door to the hallway, and then the open front door to safety.

I think it will be an Elders' meeting that will be remembered for a long time (for the entertainment value, if nothing else)!

Feeling rich

With this week's Gospel reading about the widow's mite (I grew up with the KJV, so sue me!), it got some of the members of a liturgy email list I'm on asking questions about good illustrations about money or giving to use in this week's children's talk in their churches.

The discussion then led to poverty, and the idea of how privileged we in the west really are. One member of the list shared a link to a website called the Global Rich List, where you enter your annual wage, and it tells you where you stand in the world's economy.

Now I know lots of people seem to think that a ministry stipend is not the most glamorous income in the world, but when I entered the figures (converted from AUD to USD), the Global Rich List told me that I come in the richest 2% in the world.

Makes you think really, doesn't it?

I'm loaded. It's official. I'm the 129,565,218 richest person on earth! How rich are you? >>

In the hot seat

A few months ago, as a bit of a lark, I filled in an online application to become a contestant on Channel 9's Millionaire Hotseat quiz show.

A couple of weeks later, I received an email, congratulating me that I had passed that first stage and was invited to attend an audition in Melbourne a week or so later.

So I did.
And I got through to the final stage, where I had my photo taken, and a video interview with the contestant coordinator was taped.

Some time passed, and then I received a call to say they wanted me on the show!

So on Monday this week, I found myself again in Melbourne, this time at the studios of Channel 9, for the taping of the show.

The process took all day, from 8:30am till about 5pm (the original wrap time was supposed to be 6:30, but we were let go early). I got the full treatment, with hair and makeup, wardrobe had to approve my clothing choice (which took two goes to get right, the first top I wore had too many small dots on it and would strobe on camera, so I had to change), and a rehearsal, to get us used to the set and what would happen on the show.

Finally, after lunch, we began taping the shows. Five shows were taped on Monday, so there was a group of 30 contestants (6 per show) that formed a bit of a community as we watched each show being taped, and cheered on as people won, and gasped when they came close, but not quite there.

Finally the time came for my show to be taped. My friend and former neighbour, Alan, was my 'friend in the audience', and we were set. It was a lot of fun, and as much as I have never really been a big fan of Eddie Maguire, I have to say that in person he really is a nice guy, and very good at what he does.

Did I win a million dollars? Well, I signed a piece of paper that says I won't disclose that till after the episode goes to air. So if you want to know how I went, you'll have to watch the show on Friday 6th November.

*sigh*

Friday is the 2-year anniversary of Dad's death. It's been interesting to monitor my feelings as this date approaches, and I was particularly surprised by my very negative reaction to the whole Fathers' Day palaver this year.

As the TV ads, junkmail and various email promotions bombarded me with the "perfect gift for Dad!" messages in the lead up to September, I became more and more agitated and likely to burst into tears for no apparent reason.

I was in New Norcia on study leave on that particular day, and remember a woman who was a fellow participant in the weekend retreat making a scathing comment about how the priest who presided at Mass on that Sunday prayed for "the fathers" but not for mothers. Someone else pointed out, "that's probably because today is Fathers' Day," and that almost subliminal mention of fathers in the prayer of intercession was the only reference to Fathers' Day in the Mass.

My response to hearing that comment (as I hadn't quite realised the significance of the date) was, "Finally... thank God it's finally come, now the advertising will stop".

It's not as if Fathers' Day was anything special when Dad was alive- we never made much of a deal of Mothers' or Fathers' Days. My usual filial duty consisted of a phone call on the day, and maybe a card, if they were really lucky (and I remembered to send it... they often would have arrived after the fact, as I'm a bit vague about such dates). But for some reason, this year, even more than last year, the fact that I was fatherless on Fathers' Day hit me.

This year, I won't have the opportunity to do anything particular to mark the date, as I will be spending Friday travelling to Canberra, and participating in a seminar on music and liturgy. (Last year, I watched the DVD recording of Dad's funeral, and then rang Mum and we cried together over the phone). This year, Mum will be in Newcastle, with my aunt and cousin, so at least she won't be alone, which is a good thing. I imagine we'll cry at each other over the phone once we both get back home and have the chance to catch up with each other.

It's hard to believe it's been two years. I still miss you Dad.

Floral update

I realise that in being such a slack blogger in recent times, I have neglected to share the progress of my potted bulbs.

I enjoyed a lovely crop of daffodils and jonquils (the last of which are now in a vase on my dining table), and also some delightful tulips, including some dark purply-black blooms which were pretty spectacular.

These have all now pretty much finished blooming, and in their place, the rinunculi and anemones are taking over, and looking lovely, with the freesias also starting to bloom. Just gorgeous!

Here are some pics of the early jonquils, some tulips and the early stage of the rinunculi and anemones.





I'm also discovering lots of flowers popping up all over the place in the manse garden. In addition to some amazing daffs and jonquils, there have been bluebells irises, winter roses, and now some freesias, and some rather colourful things that I have no idea what they are, but they look pretty.

The heavens are telling the glory of God

This afternoon I had a "Life is Beautiful" moment.

I was driving home from Beechworth, on the Buckland Gap Road, listening to Classic FM on the car radio. Geoffery Lancaster (amazingly talented harpsichord/fortepiano etc player and musicologist) was being interviewed, and was asked what was the most memorable or favourite of all the recordings he had made.

He nominated a performance of Haydn's The Creation, in a restored rococo church somewhere in Europe (can't remember where), with an orchestra and chorus whose members read like the most talented musicians in the world. He cited a particular moment in this performance when they were performing the chorus The heavens are telling, and he looked up from his fortepiano to the paintings on the ceiling of the church, and was so moved by the combined beauty of the art, the amazingness of the music (so perfectly performed) that he was overcome with emotion, and was literally crying his eyes out as he played.

They then went on to play that particular chorus (The Heavens are Telling the Glory of God- in German this time) from that particular performance. As the chorus started up on the radio, I began my descent into Buckland Gap.

As I started down the rather steep and winding road, through the black and brown trees (as the Gap was burnt out during the Feb bushfires) I caught a glimpse of a low-slung and somewhat elusive rainbow through the trees.

I caught only a fleeting glimpse, and as I tried again to see it (looking back once I'd turned a bend was not advisable on that road), I couldn't, and was left with a bit of a "did I see that, or just imagine it?" kind of feeling.

The whole scene moved me- the Haydn on the radio, and the elusive rainbow peeking through the desolate trees. The heavens were indeed telling the glory of God at that moment.

Interesting that this morning in church I preached on God's revelation through creation, and I have just started reading a book which explores the concept of theophany (God visiting, or manifesting himself to humans), which has so far been quite intriguing. I think this moment today was my own personal theophany.

It’s interesting what makes you snap

During the week, I received a mail out from the Synod, which contained a poster advertising an event on “Global Warming and the Love of God”, with John Bell as the keynote speaker. Now I have nothing against the church running events to raise awareness and discuss such issues, in fact, I think it's part of our prophetic role to keep such issues in the minds of everyone (and this is especially timely, given my current focus on the Season of Creation in worship over the next few weeks), and I have the utmost respect for John Bell, who is a fantastic speaker and faithful minister in the church.

However, what made me snap was reading the ‘biographical’ details about John Bell, which included the line: “He does not have a mobile phone, driving licence, camera, i-pod or wife”. Wife?... WIFE?!! I was gobsmacked. The inclusion of ‘wife’ in this list of what appears to be gadgets of the current age that one can be seen as noble for doing without, is surely indicating that whoever wrote this considers a wife to be a chattel.

As a single person, I will be one of the first to advocate that it is not necessary to be married in order to have a good and fulfilling life, (and yes, I confess to occasionally joking about the fact that I need my own wife to do all my domestic chores for me) but there is something about this casual disregard for the value, dignity and humanity of wives that is just plain wrong.

Because I’ve been preparing worship based on the Season of Creation theme, I didn’t pay much attention to the regular lectionary readings for this week, until a colleague mentioned that the Old Testament reading is from Proverbs 31, the “Ode to a capable wife”. At this point, I think I laughed hysterically at the timing of my little snap, and the irony of stumbling across these two, seemingly diametrically opposed views of a wife in the same week.

Perhaps it would be helpful for whoever wrote that biog for John Bell to read Proverbs 31:10-31, “A capable wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels…” (or mobile phones, or cameras, or i-pods).

Selfless spirit

This morning I had a call from a lady asking me to visit her husband who is receiving palliative care in the local hospital. When the lady told me the name of her husband, I remembered I had actually visited this gentleman once before, not long after I arrived here. During that visit, I had left one of my business cards with him, and it was upon discovery of my card that his wife called me today.

He has had a long struggle with cancer, and is rapidly approaching the end of that struggle. In the course of my conversation with his wife, (who sounded quite distressed on the phone), she explained to me that they were "amicably separated". On my last visit, this man told me that he had chosen to live apart from his wife, in supported accommodation, as he wanted her to be free to live her life, and not to be tied to his illness. I remember thinking at the time that this was a rather selfless gesture on his part, and one that not many people would make.

When I visited him today, he asked me about my conversation with his wife, and if she'd mentioned anything about funeral arrangements. I commented that she sounded understandably upset, and he winced, as if even at this advanced stage of his illness, he was still seeking to protect her.

He said to me, "your job must be taxing, having to have these kinds of conversations with people," but I reassured him that I consider it a privilege to be able to travel with people at such significant times in their lives, when they are often hurting and vulnerable.

It was certainly a privilege to share some conversation and prayer with this gentleman, and I hope I get to see him again.

Vale Keith (25.12.1905 - 20.7.2009)

This morning I am sad, after receiving word that a dear friend in Hobart died last week.

Keith Welsh died in his sleep in the early hours of last Monday morning, aged 103.

A member of my home congregation in Sandy Bay, I have many fond memories of Keith. In the early days, he would always sit with his mate Jim in church, and being two elderly, and rather deaf gentlemen, their running commentary of the service was rarely as sotto voce as I'm sure they thought it was. (The pair reminded me of Statler and Waldorf, the two old guys who contributed comments from the peanut gallery in the Muppet Show).

When Keith was in his late 90s, I asked him if he was excited about the prospect of reaching 100, and his response was pretty typical:

"You know Caro, I'm not all that fussed about it, but so many other people think it's important, so I suppose I should make an effort!"

When he did indeed reach the ton, his daughter and son-in-law threw a huge and joyful party to celebrate. There were many people there from various eras of his life, and numerous speeches paid tribute to the different aspects of his life: the footballer, the serviceman, the journalist and the churchman.

When I was about to leave for Melbourne, just after he turned 100, I gave Keith another challenge. Since he had made it to his century, I told him his next goal was to aim to be around for my ordination, in 4 years' time. He chuckled, and said,

"I think that might be a bit optimistic Caro".

Nevertheless, every time I have seen him since then, we have continued the countdown.

The last time I saw him was in February this year, and as we realised it was only a year to go, and that he might actually make it, we gleefully started making plans to book a maxi taxi to get him from the nursing home to the church for the ordination service.

Well, it's now three and a half years since I issued him with that challenge, and although he didn't quite make the distance, he came so close- so maybe there's something to be said for optimism after all.

Vale, old friend, enjoy your rest, you deserve it.

woo-hoo! we have shoots!

This past week or two I have been very excited to see some luscious little green shoots poking their tentative tips up from my pots. Of course, I was so enthusiastic when I planted the bulbs that I forgot to label the pots, so I have no idea what flowers are in what pots... so I guess that will be a surprise to come when the shoots become fully formed plants and then flower.

Can't wait to see how they all look. :-)

We plant the seed, nature grows the seed..

Well, I may not be quite as bad as the Young Ones (extra points to those of you who picked up the reference in the heading)... but I am relieved to say that I have finally gotten around to planting my bulbs in the pots that have been sitting on my back porch since mid-March.

In a fit of energy and enthusiasm, yesterday afternoon I went to Dahlsens' and bought some potting mix (after carefully consulting with a staff member, who gave me some very helpful advice) and came home to plant the bulbs.

I discovered that I had far too many bulbs for the pots, so I went out today and bought more pots and potting mix, so will have a total of 8 large pots and two smaller, hanging pots, that will hopefully be a wonderful show of colour come springtime.

I will still have some left over bulbs, but will plant these in the front garden bed, which I have been told is quite shallow (created over the concrete of the old church tennis court), but that the anemones and ranunculi should cope there quite nicely, as long as I don't let them get too dry.

I'll have to remember to take photos when they flower, and post them here.

You know you live in a small town when...

I have run into (figuratively, not literally) my old car not once, but twice around town in the past little while. The first time was in the Myrtleford hospital car park, when I was there to conduct a worship service, and the second was today, when it was parked across the road from my manse.

I suspect the new owner must be a nurse or other staff member at the hospital, who also does some work for the Ovens and King Community Health Centre (which is next door to the manse, in what used to be the old Presy church building).

It's kind of strange to keep encountering the little white Festiva, and having to remind myself that it's not my car any more (even though it still proudly sports my Friends of New Norcia sticker on the back window. I wonder if the new owner has any idea what that means? :-). It's also reassuring to see that it's still going strong, and I hope the new owner is enjoying it.

Warning: I feel a Julie Andrews moment coming on

The hills are alive with the sound of music!
(ahh- ah-ah-aaahhhh ;-)

As I have been driving around the countryside these past few days, I have so felt like breaking out into song as the beauty of my locale has overwhelmed me.

Driving home to Myrtleford after worship in Yackandandah on Sunday morning was an especially fine treat. The rolling hills around the place have all greened up with a lovely lush carpet of grass after the rain we had around ANZAC Day, and driving on a sunny day, with the small, green hills in the foreground, and the bigger, balder mountains in the background, with the sun hitting at just the right angle to make the mountain backdrop almost gleam, is just too much.

I initially kicked myself that I didn't have a camera to capture the view, but then remembered from past experience, that such scenery is best appreciated in person, as photographs always seem unable to capture that special sparkle that makes it so breathtaking.

So, I am continually thankful that I don't need a camera to capture the views, because I live and work in this funky scenery all the time!

Whatever happened to Caro's Nutrimetics thing?

For those of you who have known me for a long time, you will remember that quite a few years ago when I was still living in Hobart, I signed up as a Nutrimetics consultant. I did this primarily because I loved the products, and wanted to be able to access them quickly, easily and cheaply.

Then, I got a bit involved in the business side of the company, going to training, where I learned a lot about getting the most out of the products, and also marketing and promotion. So, for a while there, I was full-on into things, actively seeking customers, doing monthly brochure mailouts, doing Nutrimetics 'shows' for friends, as well as potential customers I met through various marketing ventures. I quite enjoyed it all, and made some friends, but eventually, the reality of having a full-time job and lots of other commitments got the better of me, and I had to pull back a bit.

Then, when I moved to Melbourne, as my life took a different direction, I had to let go completely of the 'business' side of my Nutrimetics involvement (but I still have an active account, as I still like to get products for myself).

In more recent times the Nutrimetics company has introduced a new promotional strategy (which I know other direct marketing companies have also had for a while), so 'consultants' such as myself can have a personal Nutrimetics website. After a bit of uncertainty, today I decided to sign up for one of these sites.

What this means is that my friends and family who may have bought product from me in the past (and cursed me when I moved to Melbourne, or later to Myrtleford, because it all became too hard) can now place orders directly through my personal website, and the product will be sent straight to you, rather than having to get it from me.

My personal Nutrimetics website can be found at: http://www.my.nutrimetics.com.au/carofield

This site will be updated regularly by the company with the latest special offers. I don't plan to promote it vigorously (will probably mention it in my next email newsletter, and place a link on my blog home page, but that's all). As I said, I'm no longer actively pursuing the business, and don't do 'shows' (or 'Spa Experience' as they are now called). But I hope that this site will be useful to my friends and family who really like the products and would like to still access their favourites despite not having a local consultant of their own.

My heart overflows with joy

I have just completed my first Easter as a minister. Having only arrived in my congregations in the middle of Lent, there wasn't a lot of time to plan for Easter worship, look at themes, or arrange anything that I considered particularly creative, but despite that, it's been a wonderful Holy Week and Easter celebration. Because of the number of congregations I have responsibility for, I have been a tad peripatetic during Holy Week, leading Palm Sunday worship at Myrtleford, Maundy Thursday evening at Yackandandah, Good Friday at Myrtleford, and Easter morning at Beechworth and Yackandandah.

On a dark and cold Thursday evening, about 8 of us gathered in the Yackandandah church, to celebrate a simple Maundy Thursday Eucharist and Tenebrae service. It was a special time, as we turned off the lights, and began extinguishing the candles, as we followed the shadows of Jesus' journey to the cross. When the final candle, the Christ candle, was extinguished, the church was in total darkness, and all was utterly silent. It was a confronting and special moment as we sat in silence in the dark together before quietly leaving without the usual social chat that follows Sunday worship. As I was packing up after people had left, one of the congregation leaders told me that as he drove one lady home, she commented that she found the service deeply moving, and wouldn't have missed it.

On Good Friday, we had a number of visitors in Myrtleford, and spent a time of worship slightly more reflective than usual contemplating the cross and what it meant for Jesus to endure it, and die. A slightly "Vicar of Dibley-esque" communication mix up regarding the starting time of this service advertised in different places didn't seem to detract from the worship which was solemn, without being overly dramatic or "slash-your-wrists-depressing".

But of course, the crowning glory was the celebration of the risen Christ this morning. I left home at 6am to arrive on the rock overlooking Beechworth in time for the 6:30 ecumenical dawn service. A group of 50-60 people from the combined churches of Beechworth, and some visitors to the area gathered to proclaim our joy in the risen Christ.

As part of this service, two crepe paper crosses, suspended by helium balloons (see the photos) were released, with a note on them explaining what they were, and inviting whoever found them to contact the churches to let us know where they ended up. One of the crosses released yesterday during the Beechworth Golden Horseshoes festival parade landed about three hours later, in the grounds of an art gallery in Bright.

After this, I celebrated worship and Holy Communion at the Beechworth church, which was interesting. I often find when I'm leading worship that it's hard to gauge how it's going, and whether the worship hits the spot for people in the congregation, but today, after the Beechworth service, I was buzzing. A number of people expressed how much they appreciated the service, which included a visual presence and an explanation of some of the symbols of the resurrection, and I got more and more excited as the service proceeded, as the reality that "Christ has risen, he has risen indeed!" infected me anew.

When I arrived in Yack, to lead worship there (using the same liturgy and sermon; well, as much as any sermon can ever be the same twice), I commented to the church organist that I reckon the Yack folks were pretty lucky today, because after already leading this worship at Beechworth, I was seriously excited and 'pumped' for their service, even more than I was earlier in the morning.

So, despite being now utterly exhausted after a hugely busy week, and day today, I am still excited, and utterly high on the thought of what a privilege it is for me to get to lead this worship with these amazing people on this special day.

Whilst I'm really looking forward to a day off tomorrow, I'm jumping out of my skin with excitement. Have I mentioned before how much I love this job? :-)

more photos

Some more pictures, from my first Sundays at Myrtleford and Beechworth churches


The classic "mother-daughter shot" taken on my first Sunday at Myrtleford.



Arriving at Beechworth to lead worship, with bolt-cutters in hand. No, I didn't need to storm the barricades after resistance from the locals to the new minister, just returning them to a couple from Beechworth who loaned them to someone at Myrtleford last week. (but seriously, shouldn't every girlie minister have a pair of bolt cutters, just in case? :-)


The 'meet and greet' after church. I look like SUCH a minister!


Moment passed... oh well. (The Vicar of Dibley really is my role model :-)

Around Myrtleford

I figured it's about time I posted some pictures of the local scenery. More will come, including some pics of Beechworth and Yack, but this first instalment is around Myrtleford.

Welcome to Myrtleford!
This is the scene that greets you as you enter town, coming from Wangaratta on the Great Alpine Rd.


The Big Smoke!
Tobacco was a major industry in Myrtleford up until Phillip Morris pulled out of the area a number of years ago.



The recent bushfires had a significant effect on the local area. This is a common sight along the Yackandandah Rd at Mudgegonga, where the foreground is untouched and green(ish) and you can see the skeletal remains of the burnt out treeline along the ridge of the hill.



Here are the remains of a house burnt out in Mudgegonga on the Yackandandah Rd.


Already, regeneration is starting, as new life sprouts out of charred, burnt trees.

It's been a great week.. or two

For my morning prayers during Lent this year I have been vascillating between using a daily devotional book written especially for Lent by a Benedictine sister, and the Jesuit Sacred Space prayer book. One of the exercises in Sacred Space this week is to look back over the past 24 hours, and identify things to give thanks for, and things to be sorry for.

I must be having a pretty good week, as I am finding lots of things to be thankful for- so much so that it kind of blows me away- and not much at all to regret or be sad about.

One special moment, not really related to my ministry at all, that I'd like to share happened on Sunday afternoon. After leading worship for the first time at Beechworth and Yackandandah on Sunday morning, I decided to have a wander around the Yackandandah Folk Festival in the afternoon.

I had a pleasant wander around the street stalls, and a lovely lunch with some folk from the Yack congregation, before heading off on my own to take in some of the music.

An amazing thing happened right at the end of the afternoon. A friend from Melbourne was up for the festival, performing with the Men in Suits choir. They had a gig at the end of the afternoon, as the last act in the Yack Courthouse. Because the choir was too large to fit on the Courthouse stage, it was decided that the performance should move outside, with the audience sitting on the grass slope, and the choir standing near the entrance to the Courthouse.

It was a warm afternoon, and it was very relaxing to sit on the grass with everyone else, and listen to the choir singing (much witty and entertaining material, as well as good singing). At one point, it started to rain. Stephen Taberner (the choir director, so those of you familiar with him and the Spooky Men's Chorus will have an idea of the ilk of Men in Suits) shouted at the audience behind him "don't you dare leave!" and noone did.

There was something very special and relaxing about sitting on the grass, feeling the gentle rain (which didn't last for very long, so we didn't get very wet at all) and listening to the music. People walking past also stopped and listened too.

A lovely way to conclude a great weekend.

I'm now officially here

I'm currently on a high, after having my service of recognition as an intern yesterday afternoon, and celebrating my first service of worship (including my first Eucharist) at Myrtleford church this morning.

Yesterday's service was great. The church was quite full, and in attendance were quite a lot of representatives of the Presbytery, as well as a significant number of friends who had come to celebrate the occasion and support me in the commencement of my ministry. (I calculated that there would have been at least 14 people who came up from Melbourne, and one from my home Presbytery of Tasmania, bringing with her the greetings of the Presbytery, and a tape of recorded messages from friends from the Sandy Bay congregation in Hobart).

It was a very joyful service, and the excitement of the folk from the Myrtleford-Beechworth congregations at finally having me here was palpable (as was my own excitement, but I think you would have already guessed that to be the case).

One friend from Melbourne commented that all the folk from the local congregations who gave speeches of welcome after the service spoke as if they already knew me and were genuinely glad to have me here, knowing all that I could offer, rather than the usual "welcome to the area" kinds of things one would expect.

In fact, one person who spoke on behalf of the Myrtleford congregation (who also happens to be one of the people who lost a home during the bushfires) expressed her thanks for all the support I have already given her and her husband since the fires ... and left me wondering, "what exactly have I done?" Not much, from my reckoning, but whatever it was, she obviously thought it significant. That's the funny thing about pastoral ministry, we can never really tell how significant what we do or say is to people.

After this morning's worship, as I did the 'meet and greet' as people went out to the hall for morning tea, a number of folk commented that they hope I will be around for a long time. So I guess that's encouraging (although I will wait until the 'honeymoon' period is over before I get too excited :-)

But in all, it's been a great start to my ministry in this place, and I'm excited (yes, still excited! :-) And this afternoon also marks the "two down, one to go" point of the three services in three days marathon that marks the start of my ministry (service of recognition yesterday, Sunday worship with Eucharist today and my first funeral tomorrow). I think I'll sleep well tomorrow night.

Typical...

Well, I haven't even officially started work yet (still in the first fortnight of "settling in" time) and I have been asked to conduct a funeral next Monday afternoon.

This will be the first funeral service I have ever led, and the prospect of it, as I listened to the message on my answering machine this afternoon, struck more than a little fear to my heart. I could have gotten out of it, by claiming either that Monday is my day off, or asserting that I am not supposed to be working till after my service of recognition on Saturday, and so could have fobbed off the responsibility to someone else in this strange interim time.

However, when I spoke to the family representative of the deceased man, I agreed to conduct the funeral, as I figured that this time of grief is not a time to be dithering about marking out boundaries. And even though we have been trained to be vigilant about self-care in ministry, and to watch out for things that eat into time off, I reckon that there are some things (and this is one) where a bit of flexibility is called for in the name of compassion.

So, now I find myself with two services of worship to prepare in the next few days, as well as some pastoral visiting of the family requesting the funeral. Such is life in ministry, and you know what? I'm loving it! :-)