Wednesday in Sydney

It was so nice not to drive at all yester-day; instead, I took the bus into the city and wandered about.  I paid a visit to St Benedict's, Broadway, in the late morning before yum cha for lunch; in the afternoon, I caught up with Fr Terence prior to his weekly 4 pm Mass in the Cathedral, which was followed shortly thereafter by Vespers in Gregorian chant (new rite), sung by twelve choristers.  I must say, the polyphonic Magnificat was magnificent, and the chanting was very impressive.  I ran into no fewer than three other priests whom I know that afternoon, and have resolved to come back up to Sydney for a long weekend in the near future; as was said once of wicked Corinth, "I have many friends in that city".

Tamworth to Sydney

I have been staying with my Sydney mates again – as they don't have wireless internet (!) I haven't been online for a while.  Oh well, the sky didn't fall in.

But how did I get back down to Sydney?  Well, the short answer is that I drove, of course.

Since this succession of posts is doubling as my travel journal, let me just say that I departed Tamworth only a little before eleven o'clock on Tuesday, having made a visit to the attractive church of St Nicholas.  (The usual postconciliar reordering of the sanctuary at least featured marble rather than the stereotypical hideous green carpet.)  Next door, what had once obviously been a large convent is now the local conservatorium of music.

The scenery en route on both sides of the Great Dividing Range was beaut, and much better than that of New England.  I detoured to find the vineyards of the Upper Hunter, which meant that I missed closeup views of the "dark satanic mills" that burn the great coal deposits roundabout to power Sydney.  Sights of opencut mines, great hills of tailings and huge columns of steam going up for ever and ever were quite enough.  Having found some quite decent wine at Yarraman winery (bottles of their 2001 merlot going for $10!), I went on just as far as Denman for lunch: a decent steak and beer (Toohey's Old) at last.

Unfortunately, I still had a long way still to travel, and the highway through the lower Hunter proved slow, windy and congested as it passed through township after township, gradually gathering traffic on the way.  I gave up my idea of going back into Newcastle, and contented myself with a confusing drive round Maitland, trying to find the former cathedral (the see being now relocated to Newcastle).

I think this is the old Cathedral... in fact, it is the old old Cathedral, the nearby Catholic hall having been turned into the Pro-Cathedral in 1933, then itself replaced!

(Like many buildings in the area, it was badly damaged in the 1989 Newcastle earthquake, and is now unsafe, due to the risk of falling masonry.)

It was half four, and I was still over 150 km north of Sydney.  Despite the excellent freeway, I was running late for dinner with John and his friends – a dinner in my honour – and matters were made worse when I decided to turn off the Pacific Highway into the suburbs in the hopes of finding a quicker route: in the end I ended up back on the same, having wasted a good half hour.  Finally crossing the Harbour Bridge after all, I arrived an hour later than expected.

Dinner, it must be said, was excellent, and it was delightful to meet John's beloved, Laura.  I wish them well for the future.

New England

Yester-day I drove up from Lismore into the interior, crossing the Great Dividing Range again via the twisty Bruxner Highway.  It took me far longer than anticipated to get to Tenterfield.  Having crossed the divide, I was now in New England.  (I must say, it didn't look much like England.)  New England, the high northern tablelands and western slopes, was the home of the only serious New State movement during the twentieth century: and as a devotee of lost causes and nostalgia – I am a traddie – it interests me.

The traditional flag of New England - the rampant lion with sword, fighting for freedom

But first, some shots of St Mary's Church at Casino, only 30 km inland from Lismore:

I am told by an authoritative source that the unhappy reordering of the sanctuary is to be reversed and that right soon: the Blessed Sacrament will be returned to the place of honour at the head of the apse for a start!

Tenterfield, just south of the Queensland border, was the venue of the famous 1889 Federation Oration of Sir Henry Parkes, five times Premier of New South Wales, and a leading agitant for federation of the Australian colonies – "a nation for a continent and a continent for a nation" as Sir Edmund Barton, first Prime Minister of Australia, put it.  In a flag-draped room one could picture the scene, for it was in that very chamber that Parkes delivered his speech.  Sadly, he died five years before Federation was achieved, the Imperial Parliament enacting our Constitution prepared by various Federation Conventions of Australian politicians.  Good old Queen Victoria!

The Catholic church in Tenterfield:

As I drove on – and on – down the New England Highway, I was quite surprised at the altitudes reached; Bolivia Hill at 1031 m, and the town of Guyra, surely one of the highest in Australia at 1330 m!

As the twilight drew near I reached Armidale, putative capital of New England, and home to many fine schools and New England University, not to mention two cathedrals (ours and a false one!) – I made a visit to the Cathedral of SS Mary and Joseph:

(That's not my car, but a close likeness.)

A rather poor shot of the interior; the sanctuary, hard to make out, is quite decent, still retaining the high altar and altar rails:

His Lordship Luc Matthys, Bishop of Armidale, complete with ferraiola:

The end of a very long day's drive (from before ten till after six) brought me to Tamworth; let's just say I'm not that interested in its being the country music capital of Australia!

Lord let me know mine end

How Anglicans learnt the Scriptures – an elegaic full anthem by Maurice Greene (1696-1755), complete with its "walking" bass, on the text of Psalm 39:5-8,13,15 (or Psalm 38 in the Vulgate) in the Prayer Book Version (which, as I quote it from the Book of Divine Worship, is ipso facto an approved Catholic version of the Psalms):

Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live. 

Behold, thou hast made my days as it were a span long, and mine age is even as nothing in respect of thee; and verily every man living is altogether vanity. 

For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them. 

And now, Lord, what is my hope? truly my hope is even in thee. 

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with thine ears consider my calling; hold not thy peace at my tears; 

O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen.

In Lismore for Corpus Christi

His Lordship (wearing a cope by reason of the Eucharistic Devotions after Mass).

It was a great joy to spend the weekend in Lismore, and while there to visit my former parish priest, now the Lord Bishop of that city.  Bp Jarrett was kind enough to let me serve his Mass on Saturday and Monday – on Sunday, of course, I went to St Carthage's Cathedral where he pontificated at Mass followed by Exposition, Procession, and Benediction.  

Obviously I couldn't take photographs during all that, but snapped this one hurriedly once the Sanctissimum was returned to the tabernacle and the altar party was turning to leave:

Some further images, taken once all the morning's rites and ceremonies were over (including the blessing of a new stone cross for the cathedral roof):

Throne and altar

The Lady Chapel

St Patrick's advice! 

"Be ye such Christians as to be also Romans"

The Wallace Window (left and right lights, featuring male and female Dominican saints) – I know this family; one brother is a Dominican priest, the other is a deacon and the chancellor of Lismore Diocese.  This window is a memorial to their late mother, Veronica: may she rest in peace.

St Carthage's Cathedral

(Note the scaffolding: restoration works began in 2009 and will conclude in 2012.)

Grafton Anglican Cathedral

Amongst other methods of wasting time, I decided to visit cathedrals while driving through Victoria and New South Wales: if a city has a Catholic one, I'll go there of course, but if – as in Wangaratta or Grafton there is only an Anglican one, I'll go see what those folks have.  

Crossing the mighty Clarence River, I drove into Grafton on Friday afternoon, and took these snaps in "Christ Church Cathedral", which appears to be reasonably high, but not so much as at Wangaratta.  To my signal displeasure, I noted that the local Anglican newspaper was crowing about their bishop ordaining the first Aboriginal woman to be a deacon.

On the columns flanking the nave are modernistic paintings of the Stations of the Cross, something I've not previously seen in Anglican churches.

The chancel: note the reversion to a Cranmer table, after the initial building of an altar in imitation of Catholic practice.

This notice (apologies for the bad reproduction, but it was very dark inside) I found concealed on a small bookcase for hymnals as one passes from the choir into the side chapel, where there was an aumbry flanked by a light, presumably for reservation.  This notice appears to teach the doctrine of the real presence, of adoration of Christ in the reserved sacrament, and of prayer for the dead.  Next to it were cards giving the texts for the Angelus and Regina cæli.

This attractive image of Christ the Priest (note maniple) reigning from the Cross was above the pulpit.

I found Our Lady making an appearance... and also St Cecilia, in naive style, playing on the organ:

St Agnes, Port Macquarie

To deconstruct a high altar "in the spirit of Vatican II"... let me count the ways:

1.  On the Epistle Side:

On the right as one looks from the body of St Agnes' Church, Port Macquarie, one finds what I suspect is a reworking of the exposition throne from the former high altar, turned into a not unfitting tabernacle.  Pretty obviously – and old photographs I'm told confirm it – time was there was a pretty side altar here.  The altar rails have become the edge of the raised and extended sanctuary: at least they weren't junked.

(Note the tasteful banner, a leftover from Trinity Sunday.)

2.  In the apse:

The mensa is retained, or a passable copy substituted; but, there being no footpace (predella), it just sits in the sanctuary, a stone holy table, indeed above the steps leading from the nave level, yet below the steps leading up to, not the bishop's throne (though that is the impression I had, I was wrong) but to the priest's chair, from which he must preside over the sacred synaxis.

The lectern would also be part of the former marble high altar reworked.

In an unconsciously Anglican or rather Sarum manner, there are no candlesticks on the altar (in any case covered with a Vesper cloth to keep the dust off), but two standard (or standing) candles flank the steps leading up to the chancel.

While a good large crucifix now takes the place once filled by the high altar, a giant flower arrangement (perhaps in honour of St Agnes, flower of virgin-martyrs) dominates, and would appear as a floral aureole about the celebrant's head...

(One can just see the arch on the left leading through into a side chapel – a small statue of St Agnes can be seen there.  Strangely, this is the only reminder of her in the church, aside from a learnèd wall-mounted tablet hidden by the doorway halfway down the nave on the left, giving the verses Pope Damasus wrote in her honour, in the Latin, and with an English version also)

3.  On the Gospel side:

Behold the fruits of an access of baptismal devotion!  The font, bizarrely, now occupies the space once kept for an altar, and keeps the Paschal candle company in the sanctuary all the year round.

One may wonder whether this could occasion the simple faithful, noting the equal honour given the tabernacle and font (one each side of the altar where sacrifice is offered to God the Father) to surmise that, as Christ in His Sacrament abides in the tabernacle on the right, perhaps the Holy Ghost imbues the mystic laver with His secret Presence on the left.  All hail, adorèd Trinity! 

An appropriate bas relief of Christ baptized by St John has been put in below that acme of modern worship, the overhead projector screen.  No doubt the words of the new revised English Mass will be put up there once Lismore officially brings these into use...

(I took these images before settling down to the Breviary on Friday morning.)

Shrine of Blessed Mary MacKillop

Daughter of Scottish Catholic migrants, daughter of colonial Australia, daughter of the Church, mother of a religious family, and now forever reigning as a saint of God and Christ – Mary of the Cross MacKillop, about to be canonized on the 17th of October this year: it was her shrine that I visited in North Sydney, just after I crossed the Harbour Bridge, and I knelt and kissed her tomb, praying that Australia be blessed with many zealous and holy priests.  God grant it!

It is, after all, the end of the Year for Priests.  Having one friend a seminarian in Rome, another in Wagga Wagga, and a third preparing to join the F.S.S.P., plus many among the clergy, not to mention those truly concerned to train up much-needed vocations, I feel it only right to intercede for their good estate: God knows His people desperately need good priests, and how much Australia is in need of such.  I also knew a man who, after he became a priest, grievously dishonoured his sacred calling, doing terrible things and being a living scandal: for him, and his victims, pray.

Mary MacKillop's memorial chapel is a moving place of prayer; I stayed awhile, and read part of the Office of Corpus Christi, very appropriately given what God through His saint moved me to pray for:

Sic sacrificium istud instituit,
Cujus officium committi voluit
Solis Presbyteris, quibus sic congruit
Ut sumant, et dent ceteris.

(So He this Sacrifice to institute did will,
and charged His priests alone that office to fulfill:
in them He did confide: to whom it pertains still
to take, and the rest divide.)

— Hymn Sacris solemniis at Matins, 5th stanza

Finally getting out of Sydney, I drove on, and on, and on, along excellent roads through many forested hills... as I pressed north I ran into more and more heavy rain, and finally reached Port Macquarie at six o'clock.  Not leaving Sydney till after midday was a bit tardy of me.

BB Sadoc and Companions, Martyrs

Mass yester-day was of the feria; the celebrant had decided against keeping the memory of SS Marcellinus and Peter.  But as I told him, it was – in the Dominican Breviary at least – also the memorial of Blessed Sadoc and Companions, who were Dominicans martyred in Poland by the Tartars.  

The day before their martyrdom in the year 1260, when (as is the liturgical rule) the Martyrology for the succeeding day was read before the assembled brethren in choir, at the end of the entry the reader found – in letters of gold – an added entry for the 2nd of June: "In Poland, SS Sadoc and companions, martyrs of the Order of Friars Preachers, slain by the Tartars" or words to that effect.  God had deigned to reveal their predestined crown, that they might fitly prepare by godly works, prayer and confession.

On the morrow, as the brethren sang the Salve Regina, the Tartars irrupted into their priory and slew them, hewing them and shooting them with arrows.  Thus many holy martyrs went to heaven.

The Collect is singularly beautiful, lovingly reëchoing the words of the Salve:

Ostendat te nobis, Domine Jesu, post hoc exsilium clemens et pia Virgo Maria Mater tua: quam beati Sadocus et socii inter hostiles infidelium impetus incessanti voce salutantes, præoptatam martyrii palmam a te recipere meruerunt: Qui vivis et regnas...

(May the clement and sweet Virgin Mary Thy Mother, show Thee unto us, Lord Jesus, after this exile: who with unceasing voice blessed Sadoc and companions hailing amidst the onrush of infidel enemies, merited from Thee to receive the most desired palm of martyrdom: Who livest and reignest...)

The modern Dominican books still contain this prayer; here is the suggested translation for liturgical use, slightly paraphrasing rather than producing a stilted crib like my own; oddly, it inverts te nobis to become "show us to you", and seems to oversimplify "deserved to receive from thee" into just "received":

Lord Jesus, in the midst of fierce attacks of the foe Blessed Sadoc and his companions greeted the Virgin Mary in song and received the longed-for palm of martyrdom.  After this exile may your merciful and loving Mother show us to you, who live and reign in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Bathurst to Sydney

It was a special privilege on Wednesday to attend the Mass of an old friend of mine – especially as he used the new translation of the Eucharistic Prayer.  Despite alerting me to this forward-thinking move (quite licit, of course, and happening more and more in anticipation of the official changeover), I managed to momentarily surprise him by replying "And with your spirit" at the outset of the Preface dialogue.  Unfortunately I couldn't remember the rest of the changes in wording of the people's parts...

Earlier that day, I visited Bathurst Cathedral.  Apparently it bears the unusual joint dedication of St Michael Archangel and St John Baptist because the two pioneer priests in Bathurst had each named an earlier church there after their respective name-saints Michael and John, and when the decision was made to build a larger, finer edifice, to be the Cathedral of the new diocese, the only alternative to a feud or duel was to re-use both names!

Most regrettably, the place of reservation of the Blessed Sacrament (off in the north transept, in what was once the nuns' chapel) is scarcely fitting, and ought be improved upon pronto: it looks like Granny's antique dresser or meatsafe.

I eventually realized, given the kneeler and chairs before it, the corporal in front of the curtains, and the lamp (way over to the right, out of shot), that this odd thing was the tabernacle....

As Bp Elliott remarks in one of his works, it is quite wrong to separate the Sacrament from the Altar – if (as is the norm in cathedrals) there is to be a separate Blessed Sacrament chapel, it should have its own altar; the Sacrament could be reserved on or near it, in a fitting tabernacle or Sacrament House.  This would also make for a smaller and more convenient venue for weekday Mass. 

The sanctuary was re-ordered, in what by Australian standards is a fairly conservative way, at the time of the Council, by moving the table of the high altar forward.  The carpet is, well, typical for the era...  I wonder what happened to the old episcopal throne?

Most bizarrely, the deceased bishops of Bathurst are accommodated, not in a crypt (for Bathurst is criss-crossed by underground streams, even under the Cathedral, rendering excavations impractical), but in a room in the steeple!  Talk about bats in the belfry.  Apparently their charnel house resembles a walk-in luggage locker, with the caskets each on a shelf.  Bishops and priests do make very strange decisions sometimes.

Before leaving the Cathedral, I prayed before Our Lady of the Central West at her altar just off the nave midway down its length.  May she intercede for the good of this diocese!

Later in the day in Bathurst, I had the pleasure of an excellent lunch in good company: it's always most enjoyable to engage in conversation with a well-read, cultured person, while partaking of the best of the local gourmet produce.  Moreover, thanks to his extensive knowledge of wines, we shared a smooth and most drinkable bottle of petit verdot grown near Canowindra (close to Cowra).  It was hard to drag myself away in mid-afternoon; I do hope I'll be back from time to time.

On to Sydney!  The drive through Lithgow was easy, but the steep Victoria Pass caught me unawares – quite luckily, since I have a fear of heights, and would have brooded on its approach overmuch, instead of just driving it.  It brought me up to the first of the Blue Mountains townships, Mt Victoria, over a kilometre about sea level.  First, a meander through various other of these settlements, including a detour through Katoomba (where for lack of time I had to forego visiting the lookout overlooking the Three Sisters that I remember from a visit as a child); then, the long, slow descent toward Sydney, as the shadows lengthened.  By the time I was down to Penrith and onto the freeway, it was dark – for a long way, the traffic shot along, but then there was a real snarl once Homebush was passed.

I was very impressed with myself for finally getting out of the heavy traffic and correctly turning off Paramatta Road just two blocks from my friend's place.  It's only 205 km from Bathurst to Sydney, but it was a tough and wearing drive I found.

John was a very gracious host, and it was good to meet his flatmate, Sydney (yes, that's right).  We all talked away till the midnight hour...

I twitted John about his peculiar taste in sacred art: what do readers make of this shrine to St Sebastian that graces his library?

The painting is an original artwork by an inmate of Pentridge Prison

Cootamundra, Young & Cowra

As I wound my way through parts of New South Wales new to me, I stopt off at three shrines of different sorts...

The first, a very Australian shrine: the very room in which that unsurpassable sporting hero, our Don Bradman (Sir Donald, formally speaking), was born over a hundred years ago, in Cootamundra!  Let Bowral have the fame of his youth, and all Australia pride in his success, but his birth was there.  The volunteer guide was very helpful, and the amount of cricketing memorabilia on display was immense.  (Unfortunately, there are two exceptions – not mentioned at his natal shrine, naturally! – to the virtue of the Don: he was quite anti-Catholic, and was suspected of shonky dealings in his career as a stockbroker.)

The second, a shrine of a peculiar and shamefaced sort: as I drove into Young, I saw and followed the sign leading out to the "Lambing Flat Chinese Tribute Gardens".  This sent a chill down my spine.  I hadn't known that Young was originally named Lambing Flat, and then renamed.  It was even weirder to visit the Gardens, a decent attempt at a Chinese garden... because, despite the name referring to that place, there was no notice anywhere of what happened there, and why a memorial was deserved: even the odd name of "Tribute" seemed very euphemistic.

For those not up on this matter, in 1860, during the gold rush in that area, the anti-Chinese sentiments of the Australian (i.e. white) miners broke all bounds: at Lambing Flat, a furious mob of thousands assaulted and drove off the Asiatics and Chinamen on the goldfields, burning and looting their camp.  When the police arrested the ringleaders, the miners attacked the police encampment and had to be fought off with guns and drawn sabres!  In the end, justice was done, the offenders gaoled, and order restored...

I was reminded of a notorious cartoon, published a decade ago when a certain female xenophobe, having achieved some transient political success in Queensland, proposed to take her fight into Federal Parliament: it shewed her followers, redneck hicks and rubes, trundling cannon and shouldering pitchforks as they crossed the border south into New South Wales, with Pauline on a white charger – the scandal caused by this image, published in The Australian, was that, in the background, in silhouette, could be seen a Chinese hanging by his pigtail.  

That is how Lambing Flat has been magnified in folk history, into a massacre: until I checked my facts, I honestly believed that murder most foul had been committed there...  This was all quite confronting: all I'd known of Young prior to seeing that sign was that they grow cherries there.  I ate my cherry pie in chastened spirit.

The third shrine was the most formal, and the most moving: at Cowra.  During the Second World War, the Australian Army maintained a P.O.W. camp there for captured Italian and Japanese combatants, amongst other enemy aliens; the Italians were no trouble at all, were quite friendly and helpful, and many settled in Australia after the war; but the Japanese were the opposite – resolved on death to restore their honour (for to be a prisoner was a source of terrible shame), very early on the 5th of August 1944 over eleven hundred Japanese broke through the barbed wire with primitive weapons.  

This was the notorious "Cowra Breakout": 4 Australian soldiers were killed, two of whom won the George Cross posthumously for their courage against overwhelming odds; and 334 Japanese perished, machine-gunned, entangled in barbed wire, or done to death by their own hand.  An Oriental take on Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori!  It was strange and tragic to stand looking at the open field where the P.O.W. camp once stood, and to think that hundreds perished in desperate battle there, within living memory.  Lord, have mercy.

As the years have passed, the town of Cowra has striven to bring good out of evil, striving to reach out in reconciliation.  From the start, the local returned servicemen maintained the Japanese graves; later, all Japanese who died in Australia were relocated to the Japanese War Cemetery, next to the Australian War Cemetery where are buried those who died on our side.

The Australian War Cemetery, and gravestones of two of those slain in the Cowra Breakout – note the fresh-laid wreath left by the Consul-General of Japan.

The Japanese War Cemetery – note the obvious religious significance of the (heathen) altar and memorial stele – with the hundreds of graves of those who perished in the suicidal Breakout.

Corvopolis - II

Some photographs of St Michael's Cathedral, Wagga Wagga:

Mass at St Mary's Chapel (dedicated by Bp William Brennan on the 8th of September 1991, so its patronal feast is Our Lady's Nativity), Vianney College, was quite impressive: all the seminarians in choir, all in cassock and surplice; all and sundry bowing their head at the Holy Name; a sermon on St Justin Martyr, pointing out how the pains of study are necessary, that we be able to give a reason for our hope, and be able to defend the Faith against intolerant secularism; communion administered by intinction to all, on the tongue.

The "low" Mass (all said, no singing) was about as reverent and devout as possible in the modern form, saving only that it was not eastward facing, and communion was received standing.  (Thank God for the communion plate!  I nearly dropt the intincted Host when Fr went to communicate me – it is much harder to give communion on the tongue to people when they are standing than when they are kneeling, especially when the communicant, like myself, is tall.)  

The seminarians start each day with Lauds at 6.20 am, then a half-hour meditation before Mass: very rigorous.  I was edified that after Mass ended, they all knelt to make thanksgiving for about 10 minutes or so.  A nice custom followed at Vianney is that, Mass ended, before the priest genuflects, he leads the seminarians in an Ave, then an invocation of the saint of the day and of the patron of their College, St John Mary Vianney, patron saint of parish priests.  I pray God make them all one day to be holy priests as he was.