Sex, The Ring and The Eucharist

Jesus answered them, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.”  (John 5:17)

During periods of deep pain everything slows down for me.  Each day seems to last for a week, and each week for about a year. 

My father is in hospital.  He may only have days to live.  I’m also dealing with a court case that the Anglican Diocese of Sydney (my church and my employer) is bringing against my wife.  It may bankrupt us.  I’m not sleeping for more than a few hours each night.  I’m breaking out in pimples on my face like a teenager, and life crawls along, brimming with emotion.

It’s Friday morning, and I’m also coming to the end of a long, hard working week.  I’ve planned a relatively light day, including a relaxing time at the shopping mall with my daughter Veronica in the afternoon.  I’m hoping to deal with all the intense and difficult people in the morning.

There’s that rather grubby and overweight woman who wandered in to our Youth Centre on Wednesday afternoon, wanting to tell me about how all people in her flats were trying to attack her.  I rescheduled her for this morning.

Then there was that young couple I had met the same day who had stumbled in on us very much ‘on the nods’ after a hit.  It had taken me about ten minutes to get their story.  They had been stopped by police earlier that day and searched for drugs.  None were found, so they were released.  Then DOCS (the Department of Community Services) had turned up at their flat and had taken away their four-month-old baby.  They were devastated of course, so they did what any junkie couple would do in such a situation.  They got hold of some hammer and had a good hit.

‘Do you want to get into detox?’  I had asked.  Within about five minutes I had drawn up for them a plan for detox, rehab, and had thrown in a free wedding as a sweetener!   I was feeling like a real pro at the moment, having organised a fairy-tale future for these two in five minutes flat while minding a Youth Centre full of kids at the same time.  Of course, chances were that I’d never see them again, but we had scheduled in a time to meet for the Friday morning and I was quietly hopeful.

The couple doesn’t show up but, to my surprise, the woman from the flats does, albeit an hour early.  I am just getting into the car to take the girls to school.  Thankfully she’s willing to wait until I return.  By the time I get back though she is one of three people waiting for me.

The other thing I’d had planned for the morning was zipping down to Veronica’s school to see her receive her prefect’s badge.  This would require spending an awkward hour with my former wife and her new husband, but it would be worth it.  I finish with my visitors, make it to the school on time, see the award and get it on video, and still return home in time for my lunch appointment with Jared.  I’m going full tilt, but handling it well!

Jared was one of those guys who would pop up at Trinitys every year or two, and would then disappear again as quickly as he came.  He had reappeared only yesterday, and had waited for me through a whole wrestling class just to get the opportunity to talk.  We had set aside Friday lunch to have a serious chat.

My most vivid memory of Jared involved sneaking him and his mates out of a shopping mall about three years earlier.  Jared had been hanging around the mall with a handful of his mates on the same day I was there doing the shopping.  They were each about 15 years old at the time.  They were a rowdy bunch, but good hearted.

‘We need your help Father Dave’ he’d pleaded.  ‘There’s a gang of guys waiting for us at the entrance.  They are going to smash us’.  I had my daughter with me, and did certainly not want to get into any fight.  ‘No, no’ says Jared, ‘we’d never make it out through the front entrance even if you were with us.  We need you to drive us out.’  So sure enough, with my Veronica alongside me in the front seat, and a back seat crowded with cowering youths trying to stay out of sight, we quietly exited the car park.

‘You each owe me one Sunday in church and a week’s fight training’ I had said to the boys.  They had all readily agreed.  No one showed up for church, but Jared did turn up for one session at the fight club.  He had potential, but no discipline.

Now I am lunching with the boy, or should I be thinking of him as a man now?  ‘I’ve got 200 hours community servi