Circumstances in my life bring me back today to an old post from March of 2005. It is helpful for me, in times of discernment, to remind myself of what this is all about.

Sunday Morning, 9 AM

In order for the reader to fully appreciate the frustration I am feeling right now you need to have a better idea of where I am staying while in Sydney.

My hotel is in an area called Kings Cross. It is the red light district for Sydney and has been, so I am told, since the second world war. Mostly live-and let-live stuff, pretty seedy, but nothing that would make the average Joe feel unsafe (truth be told, there are streets within blocks of where I live where I wouldn't go at night but I get no feeling like that around here).

I have discovered that, if one is walking, the easiest and often most direct way to get to where you are going is to walk down Darlinghurst Rd from KC to Oxford Avenue (the predominantly gay area).

At the corner of Darlinghurst and Oxford is an old Catholic Church. A rather simple structure and pleasant but not well maintained. It is exactly what you would expect to find in the heart of the city including seemingly inviting steps that lead from the front door right down to the sidewalk and street.

During the day you will find, again as one might expect, skateboarding males who range in age from about 13 to 24. At night you will find some of these same young males trying to sell themselves in order to pay for shelter and food.

Walking back from the concert last night I heard many of these calling out- "Need some company mate. Take me home, mate. Worth your while, mate" or "let me take care of you mate" or "do anything for ya, mate?" In many ways it was all the same, and altogether too sad.

Being an observer of the human condition, I watched this parade go on for a bit last night.
I considered how it is that these, roughly the same age as Chris and Brad from before, could have ended up resorting to such behavior. If I had more time- this would be a story worth pursuing, I think.

By contrast, the Cathedral of St. Mary, a bit further from my hotel, is the jewel of the city. Very attractive on all sides and picturesque inside. There is a book and gift store inside that is open at all hours and I understand it is quite difficult to book weddings there (I thought it odd that the curator of the gift store would see fit to share that piece of trivia).

Based on my experiences of both of these places I was more interested in seeing how Jesus resides in the less flashy part of town.

As I entered St James I was greeted by large black partitions (think of office cubicle walls). They were covered with large bold set printing which I determined to be copies of a letter the Parish Council had forwarded to their bishop. It appears there is some dispute about the use of the campus of a dying inner-city parish for development of a local Catholic University.

I might have been more interested as the woman greeter proceded to give me the details but it quickly started to sound like the whininess that can be all to prevalent in church people.

There was no talk of what they could be doing with the space, simply that they did not want the college with all "those kids" and the parking concerns. She was really upset that the worship space would be reduced to about half the space that existed now.

Just perhaps, the bishop who they were trying to rally against had visited them on a Sunday and observed what I did. And just maybe, having observed, decided that Jesus had moved on (or at least was on vacation).

The church itself seats about 400 people. Pews on either side seat ten people and they extend back 20 rows. Half-way back there is a cross aisle for traffic from the side doors. It is in this area where the music ministers stood.

At the back of the church ( the area inside the front door) there was a statue of the Blessed Mother with votive candles surrounding at her feet. Most Catholics know that these prayer candles are there to light for your particular needs. They become a visible reminder to others that there exist people in the world who need our prayers and those faithful in turn can offer prayers on your behalf, even with no awareness of what your particular need is. There is almost always a cash box for freewill donations to offset the cost of the candles.

I sat in front of the cross aisle on the right hand side. This happened to be in front also of the overly ampliphied music leaders.I must confess that as the Mass was about to begin I wondered if there would be music at all since the music ministers were nowhere to be found.

At about 9 AM a nun dressed in white with a brown veil, possibly a benedictine (the order of hospitality) which makes the rest of this story more ironic.

There were 46 of us present for the Mass. We were spread throughout the large church (about 1/10 of the capacity). The nun, after lighting the candles on the altar (six of them, purple in color) moved to the music area and introduced our opening song (Hosea):

"Come back to me

with all youir heart.

Don't let fear,

keep us apart...

The amplification of the thrill canary-esque voices of this nun and the guitar accompanist was deafening (this from a guy who was in third row at a Neil Diamond concert the night before).

The presider, probably a decent enough sort, processed in from the side of the sanctuary. He gave a few opening comments about next Sunday being "Palm" or "Passion Sunday" and proceeded with the opening prayers of Mass.

As father moved forward to read the gospel I noticed a young man entering the side of the church to my left quietly so as not to draw attention to himself. He was carrying a skateboard and looked pretty rugged.

He genuflected and worked his way to the back of the church to the statue of Mary and the candles.

At the same time, the nun who was leading music moved from her spot and walked toward the back of the church as well. Anyone who has had the privilege of Catholic education can imagine vividly the demeanor she took on during this time. Sister Mary Nazi was on the prowl.

It is important to note that the Gospel Reading taking place at this time was the story of the raising of Lazerus.

This particular story, in the context of Lent and in preparation for the remembrance of the passion next weekend has two of the most profound statements of faith that exist in the whole of the Gospel. There is Thomas the Apostle's "let us also go to die with him." and Martha's "Lord I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Holy One of God."

So as the 40- some of us are having the Gospel opened for us the nun found her way to the young man, who after lighting his candles took a spot in one of the back pews kneeling in prayer. She said something to him that was audible (halfway across the church) but not understandable to my ear.

He tried to slide down the pew from her and continue his prayer. I had since changed my posture because I wanted to observe this spectacle better.

She followed after him now and was asking him to empty his pockets and in the background at this exact moment I could hear the priest recalling the words of Jesus to Martha "your brother shall rise again".

He took two of the votives out of his pocket and started to cry as she called him a thief and told him that people pay for those candles that he used and tried now to steal. She pointed to the front door and he left. His sobs were so strong that his chest was heaving.

The rugged hard shell that exists when one is forced into selling their own body was gone.

This woman used the capacity that God gives us all to reach within another human being and instead of showing him the face of Christ, or better still letting the face of Christ come forth from him, shamed him and made him feel like a defenseless weeping little boy.

"The Gospel of The Lord" could be heard in its overampliphied tones along with the response "thanks be to God".

I decided that the mood for worship was gone for me and departed from the church. I am not sure if I will be able to find another opportunity this Sunday but couldn't stay after having witnessed this debacle.

As I went out the front steps of the church I noticed that this young man was the same one that had called out the night before, "Need some company, mate. Take me home, mate. Worth your while, mate."

He was crying on the front steps of the same church where he had been the night before. When I asked if he was okay, between his sobs, he offered this sponteneous confession of sorts.

"I got nothing, mate. I am worthless and homeless.

I wanted to pray. I needed to go to church.

I stole candles to try to get some food.

I've been selling my bum trying to get some money for food and a roof.

I got no where to go."

I gave him the $10 intended for the collection basket.

While I have no doubt this boy will be out on the streets again tonight I still felt it was better used then it would have been by this particular church. I also have no doubt that the nun who seemed a bit too satisfied with herself will be telling a whole different account of this story.

Would this parish in one of the seediest parts of town be struggling for its life if the people represented by the woman who greeted me, the nun and the over ampliphied self-important musician actually put into practice the messages of the lenten gospels?

I am not surprised that places like the Cathedral of St Mary exist. In fact, you can pretty much count on it in every city in the world, whatever the religion. But when the church of our Lord exists in an area where his love is clearly needed we all-to-often blunder at letting him work in us.

Whatever your faith, look for the opportunity to offer God's love to others. Even if they don't see it in themselves, each and every one is worthy of God's goodness- reach out and say to the most desperate ones you can find - rise, see, believe, live.