An Uplifting Hymn

For Peter, Patrick and Mary:

Samuel J. Stone (1839-1900) wrote the following well-known hymn, which interestingly enough formed part of his Lyra Fidelium; Twelve Hymns of the Twelve Articles of the Apostles’ Creed (1866).   

Given this fact, "The Church's One Foundation" is pretty obviously the hymn meant to correspond to the 9th article of the Apostles' Creed – "[I believe in] the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints" ([Credo in] sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem) – where "communion of saints" can be understood in two ways, since sanctorum in the Latin can mean both "holy people" and "holy things":

1. as referring to the fellowship we have with each other here and throughout the earth, and with the saints above, and with the faithful departed, "all the whole Church", the Body of Christ; 
2. and as our communion in Holy Things, that is, in the Holy Gifts of the Eucharist, "which makes the Church" as the saying is, since in receiving the Body we are knit together as Christ's Body.

The many Scriptural references in the hymn I will not pick out at this time; I will note the seldom-sung 3rd stanza (marked with asterisks) of the original, which in many ways even more starkly insists on the message of the 4th.  So, too, what is normally sung as the last stanza is in reality but the first half of the 6th joined to the first half of the 7th – again, I've marked the lines usually omitted with asterisks, and put a mark of juncture between the two stanzas.

The Church’s one foundation

Is Jesus Christ her Lord,

She is His new creation

By water and the Word.

From Heav’n He came and sought her

To be His holy bride;

With His own blood He bought her

And for her life He died.

Elect from every nation,

Yet one o’er all the earth;

Her charter of salvation,

One Lord, one faith, one birth;

One holy Name she blesses,

Partakes one holy food,

And to one hope she presses,

With every grace endued.

*The Church shall never perish!

*Her dear Lord to defend,

*To guide, sustain, and cherish,

*Is with her to the end:

*Though there be those who hate her,

*And false sons in her pale,

*Against both foe or traitor

*She ever shall prevail.

Though with a scornful wonder

Men see her sore oppressed,

By schisms rent asunder,

By heresies distressed:

Yet saints their watch are keeping,

Their cry goes up, “How long?”

And soon the night of weeping

Shall be the morn of song!

’Mid toil and tribulation,

And tumult of her war,

She waits the consummation

Of peace forevermore;

Till, with the vision glorious,

Her longing eyes are blest,

And the great Church victorious

Shall be the Church at rest.

Yet she on earth hath union

With God the Three in One,

And mystic sweet communion

With those whose rest is won,

*With all her sons and daughters

*Who, by the Master’s hand

*Led through the deathly waters,

*Repose in Eden land.

(

O happy ones and holy!

Lord, give us grace that we

Like them, the meek and lowly,

On high may dwell with Thee:

*There, past the border mountains,

*Where in sweet vales the Bride

*With Thee by living fountains

*Forever shall abide!

(The tune for this is of course "Aurelia" (76.76.D), by Samuel Sebastian Wesley.)

Chanting is Good for the Soul

Again deputizing for Father, who had a prior commitment, I led our little Gregorian chant group this evening for our fortnightly singalong.  Being in church, a prayer to Our Lord in the Sacrament started us off, then an English hymn, marking the feast day of the holy martyrs John Fisher and Thomas More.  

For the chant itself, we first ran through the Kyrie, Sanctus and Agnus Dei from Mass XVIII, marking those tiny liquescent notes; then had a good stab at Credo III; and ended with the Agnus Dei, Ite missa est and Kyrie from the Missa de Angelis – observing the lateness of these chants and thus their more "modern" sound, talking a little as we went about the old tropes or farcings of the Kyries that gave de Angelis its name, and looking at the Latin, translating and discussing.  Most enjoyable.

But soft!  A note from Father led us to a thoughtfully-secreted bottle of wine, plus nibbles, in the adjoining parish room... we nattered away till late, when our priest, at last returning from a meeting, caught us still gossiping: "Time, gentlemen, please."

Singing well is praying twice, Augustine says.  What a good pleasure it is.

Resolution: must spend more time in good company.  God grant it!

Ken's Evening Hymn

Thomas Ken was one of those devout Anglican divines (a Nonjuror, in fact, who resigned his bishopric at the usurpation) who, dying outside the fold, may be thought to have gone to the Limbus Anglicanorum.  I rather like his pious style; as I've been using it in my prayers again, here is his Evening Hymn, somewhat modified by deleting three stanzas about sleep (rather odd in their philosophy) and inserting several more from his otherwise unused Midnight Hymn:

Glory to thee, my God, this night
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath thy own almighty wings.


Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done,
That with the world, myself, and thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.


Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed;
Teach me to die, that so I may
Rise glorious at the awful day.


O may my soul on thee repose,
And with sweet sleep mine eyelids close,
Sleep that may me more vigorous make
To serve my God when I awake. 

When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply;
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness me molest. 


Lord! lest the tempter me surprise,
Watch over thine own sacrifice;
All loose, all idle, thoughts cast out,
And make my very dreams devout.


My soul! – how canst thou weary grow
Of antedating bliss, below,
In sacred hymns and heavenly love,
Which will eternal be above?


O when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away,
And hymns with the supernal choir
Incessant sing, and never tire?

Blest Angels! while we silent lie,
Your Hallelujahs sing on high;
You, ever wakeful near the Throne,
Prostrate adore the Three in One.


I with your choir celestial join,
In offering up a hymn divine:
With you in heaven I hope to dwell,
And bid the night and world farewell. 


You, my blest guardian, whilst I sleep
Close to my bed your vigils keep;
Divine love into me instil,
Stop all the avenues of ill.


Thought to thought with my soul converse,
Celestial joys to me rehearse,
Or in my stead, all the night long,
Sing to my God a grateful song.


Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,
Praise him, all creatures here below,
Praise him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.  
Amen.

A good meditation, in thirteen stanzas (two pairs of six, plus the doxology).  This may be sung to Tallis' Canon.

Shortest Day

This year, the shortest day falls to-day, the 21st of June: the sun rose here in Launceston this morning at 7:38 am, and will soon set, at only 4:48 pm – only just over nine hours of daylight.  To-day's weather: partly cloudy, 0 to 13 degrees.  I am minded to see what my friend up in Edinburgh is experiencing, since for him this is the summer solstice, and so I'll quickly look up details (pause for googling): it appears he can expect some showers, and a range from 11 to 19 degrees (sounds like spring weather here).  Scotland's capital being further north than Launceston is south, the sun will rise there at 4:26 am and set very late, at 10:06 pm – imagine that! nearly eighteen hours' daylight, twice what we have now.  Given the lengthy twilight also, Edinburgh (were it not for cloud) would presumably have the "White Nights" of St Petersburg...

As good Christian folk will recall, the nearness of this event – the winter solstice in the Southern, but the summer solstice in the Northern Hemisphere – to the feast of the Nativity of the Baptist, and therefore the truth that from this feast onward, for those north of the equator, the days shorten, is considered significant by such worthies as St Augustine, mindful of St John's own words to Christ, the true Sun Who enlightens all men born into this world: "He must increase, I must decrease" – the lesson being that the Baptist came to herald Christ, Who must grow in us evermore.  Our Lord's Nativity, occurring in the North in darkest winter drear, thus symbolizes Christ coming "to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death", enlightening hearts more and more, just as, after Christmas in northern climes, the days grow longer daily thereafter.

Back to the T.A.C.

Having assisted at Mass last night, Sunday was free (Dominica vacat), and so, having promised Bp Robarts of the T.A.C. to pay him a visit, I betook myself to the temporary temple of the Parish of the Annunciation...

After divine service, we had a good chat: I had perforce to detail poor Dad's ongoing illness, and to add to that my Mum and sister are both laid up in bed with gastroenteritis (there has been an outbreak at the hospital, and they caught it while visiting Dad), so I'm the only one standing.

His Lordship celebrated in a green Roman chasuble over a plain alb; no maniple, but purple zucchetto, Episcopal cross and ring.  The temporary altar had a green frontal and white altar cloth, with six candles lit (up from two on my last visit!), the missal on its stand, plus a hymnbook and various papers with sundry prayers upon them placed on the mensa (though no altar cards).  The altar cross bore a sculpted image of Christ the Priest in vestments; above the altar, upon the cloth that served as a reredos, hung an icon of Virgin and Child.  The chalice and paten were veiled, and a burse was used.

I have previously described, in extreme detail! what liturgy I observed offered, so I note only any differences seen to-day.  I will offer one correction: after the Prayer of Humble Access, then he read the Secret, and then turned to say the Orate fratres, straightway leading into the Dominus vobiscum and Sursum corda.  This time round, moreover, he read the traditional Embolism after the Lord's Prayer, complete with performing the fraction during its doxology, more Romano.  Strangely, he didn't move the missal back to the Epistle side after communion.

Of notable Anglican prayers, the only ones missing were the Summary of the Law and the Comfortable Words; of Catholic, the Canon (since an Anglican version was used instead) and the Last Gospel.

The three attractive, doctrinal and very loudly sung out hymns were:

• “Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart” (NEH 339; E. Hull; Irish, 8th C.)
• “Lord enthroned in heavenly splendour” (NEH 296; G.H. Bourne; to the tune "St Helen")
• “Ye watchers and ye holy ones” (NEH 478; A. Riley)

It is obvious that a high doctrine of the Real Presence and Sacrifice, as of the Saints, is held.

As never happens when with Catholics, mine was not the loudest voice!

As last time, it proved difficult to ascertain which Sunday was being celebrated: the three readings were taken from the modern Roman Lectionary (Zacharias xii, 10-11 & xiii, 1; Galatians iii, 26-29; St Luke ix, 18-24) for the 12th Sunday per annum, Year C.  In consonance with this, the Introit was pretty obviously Dominus fortitudo plebis suæ – which is that for this Sunday in the modern Roman Rite (while in the Traditional, it is the Introit for the 6th Sunday after Pentecost).  However, the Gradual and Alleluia I cannot now with certainty identify; and the Offertory and Communion seemed to quote from the Gospel pericope.

Furthermore, and in agreement with the Collect – which was that for the 3rd Sunday after Trinity (which equates to the 4th after Pentecost) in the B.C.P., and in turn is not the same as the Roman, but comes from the Sarum Proper for the 3rd after Trinity – the Secret definitely and the Postcommunion probably (I recall it speaking of the "holy gifts", as below) were non-Roman but came instead from that Sarum Proper.  They are quite interesting and worth attention:

O Lord, we beseech thee mercifully to hear us; and grant that we, to whom thou hast given an hearty desire to pray, may by thy mighty aid be defended and comforted in all dangers and adversities; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  (BCP)

O Lord, we beseech thee, mercifully to hear our supplications; and grant that we, to whom thou hast given an hearty desire to pray, may by thy aid be defended.  Through... (Warren's translation of the Sarum Missal)

Deprecationem nostram, quæsumus, Domine, benignus exaudi; et quibus supplicandi præstas affectum, tribue defensionis auxilium.  Per...  (Sarum Missal)

I particularly like the phrase "an hearty desire to pray" – how comforting to think that the Lord has thus disposed our hearts.

The Secret and Postcommunion, in Warren's version (and, thanks to a commenter on Fr Hunwicke's blog, in the original mediæval Latin):

We beseech thee, O Lord, to sanctify the gifts now offered unto thee, that they may become the body and blood of thy Only-begotten One, for our healing.  Who liveth...

Munera tibi quesumus domine oblata sanctificata: ut tui nobis unigeniti corpus et sanguis fiant ad medelam, qui tecum. 

Having received the holy gifts, we beseech thee, O Lord, that by their virtue thou wouldest purify us from all vices, and fill us abundantly with the gifts of thy grace.  Through...

Sacris domine muneribus perceptis: quesumus, ut nos eorum virtute et a vitiis omnibus expies, et donis gratie tue jugiter repleas, per. 

Note that this Secret is a directly epicletic prayer!  It is precise and Catholic, and more than makes up for the Cranmerian anti-epiclesis that still disfigures the "Interim Rite", the version of the Consecratory Prayer used, which Rome would surely correct (this deficiency in the Prayer of Consecration is, upon reflection, really the only doctrinally objectionable part of the entire service I attended).

For those interested in such things as the manner in which the Lord is served in the T.A.C., Bp Robarts explained to me afterward that matters liturgical are still being worked out with reference to Rome; and that when the time comes he will of course do as will be determined.  In the meanwhile, he explained that he celebrated in a Catholic manner (using his English Missal), while retaining the various Anglican prayers beloved of his people.

I must say, I found it a decent and reverent service; as I reiterated, once all differences are composed, I look forward to worshipping with him more regularly, and to share in the one communion from the one altar.  Eastward facing worship!  Dignified prayers!  Very nice; just what the Pope desires: "O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness".

He also explained what is only reasonable: that, for the good of the greater number of souls, and to help ease the painful transition, he and his Catholic opposite number wish to make haste slowly with setting up the Australian Ordinariate - it appears that some want it running by Advent this year, others by Advent next year, and that a suitable via media would be Pentecost 2011 (as would be most fitting when one considers it).  

Many T.A.C. laymen remain quite understandably troubled by the stumbling-block of being confirmed "again", after being taught all their lives by their High Church clergy that confirmation was both a sacrament and unrepeatable; it must gently be explained to all so concerned that, as with T.A.C. clergy and their Orders, Rome requires certainty, and rather than go through everything case-by-case, it will be understood that conditionality is an unspoken presupposition for those worried about this.

Robarts left me with some sterling if wry advice: Keep trying to keep the Faith, without being trying!

Sacri Corporis et Sanguinis Pretiosi

I was forcibly struck by the words of the prayer after Communion this evening, at the Vigil Mass for the 12th Sunday of Ordinary Time (honestly, I had to look up which it was – I rather like not knowing where the poor Church is, lost in Boring Time):

Sacri Corporis et Sanguinis pretiosi alimonia renovati, quæsumus, Domine, clementiam tuam, ut quod gerimus devotione frequenti, certa redemptione capiamus.  Per...

This stems from the Veronese or Leonine Sacramentary, where it appears in the 19th Mass formulary, with one word different (libamine not alimonia), and placed after renovati, and three in a different order (frequenti devotione gerimus) – minute variations only.  The opening phrase, be it noted, is unusual, in that "sacred" is not the usual adjective applied to Christ's Body – rather, "(most) holy" would be the expected.

Strangely, the great Fr Z doesn't seem to offer a translation of this postcommunion, but luckily the good fathers of the Birmingham Oratory do (I correct "Thy" to "the" before "Sacred"):

Renewed by the nourishment of the Sacred Body and Precious Blood, we beseech Thy mercy, O Lord, that what we do here with constant devotion, may win for us our eternal redemption.  Through...

Of course, the lame-duck ICEL version we'll be well rid of by next year impertinently mistranslates this, rewriting it as a completely different prayer; still, its rendering is by no means their worst paraphrase, since at least it still has some meat to it:

Lord, you give us the body and blood of your Son to renew your life within us. In your mercy, assure our redemption and bring us to the eternal life we celebrate in this eucharist. 

We are indeed renewed, renovated, repristinated, made new in the deep sense of being conformed to the New Adam, Christ, by the nourishment of His Sacred Body and Precious Blood; though sons of the Old Adam in his fallenness, like him weighed down and made old by sin, the sacred Food and Drink, the Flesh and Blood that saves, renews us as Christians.  

Mirabile dictu, this Sacrament was instituted ut sumatur, that It be consumed: what a marvel that we should tremble at!  God gives His very Body most sacred, His Blood beyond all price, to be our nourishment.  Had He not directly commanded us to thus eat and drink, never would anyone dare imagine such a thing.

Having thus been fed by such sacred and precious Gifts, thus assured of God's mercy, we confidently beg that Mercy.  What we do here constantly – as Dix put it so well in his magnum opus, what we ever do in memory of Christ, celebrating His Sacrifice and Sacrament – we pray may win eternal redemption for us: His Death once for all on Calvary, we hope to grasp ahold of, that that great act of Redeeming Love may prove for us eternal in its effect.

In reflecting on this, I was mindful of Neale's great englishing of that ancient hymn Sancti venite (at least as old as the 7th century, and traditionally attributed to St Sechnall or Secundius, nephew of St Patrick, who are together said to have heard the angels singing thus at Mass):

Draw nigh and take the body of the Lord;

And drink the holy blood for you outpoured.

Saved by that body and that holy blood,

With souls refreshed, we render thanks to God.

Update

My father has been in hospital since Monday; he is lucid now, but frail, bed-bound, and so forth: the medical advice is that he go into a nursing home, since he cannot be looked after by one person at home any longer.  In a strange way, now the difficult decision is taken out of our hands, this comes as a certain relief from worry: he will be cared for and kept safe from harm.

It has been a tiring and trying week.

(Many, many thanks for the kind emails sent me about this family crisis.)

Sufficient for the Day is the Evil Thereof

After consolation, tribulation: I have but returned home, and crisis strikes – my father, who is elderly and suffering from Parkinson's dementia, has had another fall, his fifth, hitting his head again, and being no longer in his right mind, has had to be admitted to hospital.

Our family gathered at his bedside for most of the day; it is likely he will have to go into a nursing home, since it is no longer safe for him to be by himself, nor can we care for him adequately.  Mum was talking of how, when he and she bought the family home and moved in some 39 years ago, they little imagined that this would be their parting, to-day, the 14th of June.

It was awful to see him raving and lost, not knowing where he was and hallucinating, having to be restrained.

Of your charity, please pray for my father, for my family, and for the doctors and nurses treating him – not least for the paramedics, who had to come and take him to hospital at 2am this morning.

4457.8

4457.8 km was the reading on the dial when I pulled into the garage at home at last – having got up at 5.40 am (ouch! and after a restless night), driven off the ferry into the pre-dawn darkness, eaten breakfast and then driven back to Launceston through frost-white fields (such is Tasmania in winter), going to Mass before finally reached my driveway.

I think I have driven enough for the moment.

These travel journal entries over, I will return to matters euchological, theological and liturgical in due course...

Ultraslow Internet on board Ship

Having had a fine dinner on board the overnight ferry back to Tasmania - don't make the mistake of feeding from the trough in the cafeteria, pay for the a la carte menu in the restaurant - I thought to blog a bit before settling down to read for the night...

Bairnsdale was worth visiting for the sight of St Mary's church, with its murals over the apse and ceiling, painted by an expatriate Italian artist during the Great Depression.  (I will upload my photos in due course.)

The fine marble altars have been preserved, but - poverty in the midst of riches! what Philistines we've become - half the pews have been removed (no one to fill them any more, funny, that), and a brutishly ugly chopping-block altar, with matching furniture, has been erected atop a carpeted dais between the splendours of the old sanctuary and what remains of the nave seating.  When will the Church repent for all the iconoclasm and ugliness forced upon us in the name of the Council?

At Sale (originally named Flooding Creek), I stopt in at the Cathedral, which, while not renovated in the best way, at least preserves a Catholic ambience.  Holy Mary, Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, is Patroness of the Diocese: may she, Queen of Gippsland, intercede for all Christian people there, and their good bishop, Christopher Prowse (who taught me once, when he was still a priest in Melbourne).

Lunch was at Yarragon, a pleasant little township where my maternal grandparents married and where my maternal great-grandparents lived.  (Nearby is Gentle Annie hill, with a steep road running up it: Great-grandfather was a poor driver, and my Mum vividly recalls being a passenger in his car when he completely stuffed up the needed gear-shift, and, giving up, let the car slide backwards all the way to the bottom of the hill!)

Finally, about a quarter to four, I parked in marvellous Melbourne again. I had just enough time to meet up with my old mate Scott for a coffee, and to buy a few books at the Central Catholic Bookshop, before I had to head down to Station Pier for to drive my car onto the ferry, bidding the Mainland farewell.

Early to-morrow we dock in Devonport, and I expect to be back along the highway to home in time for Mass.

It's been a good trip.

Sweet Heart of Jesus

Unhappily, I wasn't able to make it to Mass to-day, being out in remote parts of Australia – passing from the extreme south coast of New South Wales around to easternmost Gippsland in Victoria.  I did see some curious things, however.

Eden has, not a whaling museum, but a killer whale museum – because the pod of killer whales that lived in the bay there, from the second half of the nineteenth century until 1930, were uniquely beloved of the locals, who were whalers, in that the orcas would obligingly herd other whales, their prey, close into shore, coöperating with the harpooners in their whaleboats to slay the beasts: first they would feast, and then leave the remainder for the men to harvest the valuable blubber and so forth.  The largest whale harpooned off Eden was a blue whale some 97 feet (30 metres) long, thanks to those friendly killers.

All good things must come to an end: in 1930, as the Great Depression struck, Old Tom, last of the orcas to assist the whalers, himself died, he who had been so remarkably helpful as to warn the whalers when good prey approached, and who in his doglike eagerness even caught the ropes of the whaling boats to drag them at speed to the combat; thereafter (perhaps because the hunting had petered out, a victim of the joint efforts of man and killer whale) the hitherto resident pods moved off in search of food elsewhere.  

The locals lost their shore-based whaling industry, which had supported them since after the gold rush, but in gratitude they built a museum as a memorial to their flippered, sharp-toothed allies, and put the bones of Old Tom (suitably flensed) on permanent display, along with some remaining bones of slaughtered whales that they both had hunted.  (I was also able to touch a vertebra of that 97 foot behemoth caught in 1910.)

Old Tom, the whalers' faithful fellow-predator

Eden is also graced with a new Catholic church; what a pity the whaling industry inspired this most bizarre altar:

Our Lady Star of the Sea, Eden: please explain!

The old church is now a museum of local Catholic history; as Bl Mary MacKillop once visited, it is also a memorial to her and her sisters, some of whom are still based in Eden.

Lo! displayed on the old choirloft are the old altar, dressed for Mass, with a dummy priest in Roman vestments and lace alb – to think that was exactly the Mass I assisted at on Wednesday in St Mary's Cathedral, Sydney, with the priest in similar attire.  I doubt the locals would credit that what to them is a pious memory of fifty years ago is still very much alive and kicking!  (And there still remain teaching orders of nuns properly attired, even in Australia, such as the Ganmain Dominicans...)

I recommend this altar be put into the new church, and the rest of it too!

Having reached my destination for to-day, Lakes Entrance, I went over to the local church, St Brendan's, to find if perchance there would be a Mass this evening.  No, apparently there was a morning Mass instead, and no Mass to-morrow morning either.  Well, to be honest I was glad, because the sanctuary at St Brendan's is so revoltingly kitsch and foul I found the only prayer I could make was of apology to the Lord: it repulsed me forcibly.

Unbeatable for kitsch foulness: St Brendan's, Lakes Entrance

Yes, the cabin of the fishing boat – St Brendan's coracle updated – is the tabernacle, and its sail is the overhead projector screen!  The altar is faux stone, with a flat part concealed behind for putting the sacred vessels on; there is even a built-in bookrest.  Note that, behind the table with the holy oils on permanent display, the lectern is also fake rock, with a "streambed" of pebbles running down and across and under the altar, over to... the Paschal candlestick and font (also in fake stone) out of sight to the left.

Who will fix this mess?  Yuck.

Sydney to Eden

One foot in Eden still, I stand

and look across the other land... 

— Edwin Muir

I miscalculated: to-day was my longest drive of all, nearly 500 km, when I'd thought it to be only 400.  I didn't reach Bega till nightfall, and then in Eden I had a devil of a job to find my accommodation, since Google Maps, God bless it, got the location wrong, and the establishment's signage was unilluminated owing to an electrical fault.

This Thursday began very early, arising at 6 am no less in order to drive through a surprisingly quiet and beautiful early morning Sydney to 6.45 am Mass at the Cathedral.  It was impressive how many workers evidently begin each day in so devout a manner, God reward them.

St Mary's Cathedral in the early morning sunlight

And the ibises (a signature bird of Sydney), noisily nesting in the palms

After returning for breakfast, marvelling at what a lovely day it was, I left my friends' place and paid a visit to St Brendan's, the church nearby, to say Prime and Terce before travelling.

St Brendan's, Annandale

It is amusing how to the north and south of Sydney, the road must cut through the solid rock of forested wilderness to reach the next port of call, and likewise to the east must climb right over the Blue Mountains...

Wollongong I reached a bit before midday: then on, and on, and on, till Eden at last.

Lunch in Wollongong, by the way, was Vietnamese: a good bowl of pho (soup).  On a whim I dumped in all the chillies so thoughtfully provided (waste not, want less), and it grew fearsomely hot!  Also, I'd ordered the "special" beef pho – "special" turned out to mean, containing meatballs and... tripe.

While looking unsuccessfully around Wollongong for the Catholic Cathedral, I did drive past the Anglican one (twice), and was shocked by the bizarre notice in front of it, indicative of the infection of ultra-Low-Church Sydneysiders (the Anglican bishop being one of them): rather than listing "Mass" times, or "Holy Communion", or "Eucharist", or "Mattins", or "Evensong", or "Worship", or "Divine Service", it listed – get this – the times for "Public Christian Meetings"!

Public Christian Meetings.  So that is what the Sydney Evangelicals call Sunday service.  It certainly isn't true worship, they got that right.