Month: January 2023 (page 1 of 1)

In June 2007, I retired as Dean and Assistant Bishop of Auckland. Archbishop David Moxon[1] celebrated a farewell eucharist in the presence of the cathedral congregation, parish representatives, the public, Maori and Pacific Island tikanga, family and friends. Prime Minister Helen Clark was one of the speakers. I listened to all the affirming comments with, I have to say, some mixed feelings. I would have liked to stay longer as dean, but at age 67 it was time to go, not just from the cathedral but from Auckland, the city where I had been born and bred.

Our three children, Rebecca, Joanna and Jeremy, had grown up and stayed in Wellington. With grandchildren now appearing it was obvious we had to join them there and it has been a joy sharing in their upbringing. We bought a 100-year-old house in Hataitai overlooking Evans Bay, Cook Strait and the airport. It needed much renovation and renewal, and our first six months were spent doing the final touches with new bookcases, curtains and the like. We feel very much at home in a snug suburban bungalow.

One of Jackie’s friends advised her that the job of a husband in retirement was ‘to do useful things under instruction’, and I hope I am proving a worthy helper. There has been too much happening to miss work and, as I have said to many, you are no less busy – they just take you off the payroll. But it’s not being busy with church services or committee meetings. I sometimes wake up in the morning thinking: ‘Thank God I don’t have to go to the archdeaconry meeting today, or the diocesan council.’

Rather it is being busy in the way one chooses, making time for family, grandchildren and friends, enjoying the rather illicit feeling of going to a mid-week movie, taking a short break somewhere, or sitting in a pew and being glad someone else is doing the driving. Eight years have run by already in this mode, but there have been plenty of ongoing church and community activities. The difference is that I get to choose the activities.

What do I enjoy? I enjoy preaching and speaking to different groups and still get a few invitations! It was stimulating serving three years each on two government committees – the ACART health ethics committee[2] and PACDAC[3], a peace and disarmament committee. Continuing on the Marsden Cross Trust Board became increasingly fulfilling as plans for the 2014 bicentennial project and commemoration came to fruition. And I enjoyed a half-time locum for 15 months back in my old parish of St Peter’s.

Unexpectedly I was invited in 2007 to a meeting in Singapore of the World Justice Forum (WJF). An initiative of the American Bar Association, the WJF seeks to extend the Rule of Law into communities where people lack citizenship rights, land rights, access to basic health and education facilities, or suffer such realities as gender discrimination, modern day slavery or human trafficking.

The Singapore forum led on to global forums in Vienna, Barcelona and The Hague. A significant WJF project[4] has been the development of a Rule of Law Index whereby respondents (some experts, others chosen randomly) rate their own country for factors such as an independent judiciary, absence of corruption, democratic law-making, freedom of thought and religion, access to the courts, or accountable police and military forces. New Zealand scored close to the top in overall global ratings but, like many Western nations, was marked down on access to the courts for migrants, the poor and non-English speakers, as well as on its excessively high rate of incarceration.[5]

Looking back over my years in ministry, how do I see the 21^st century Church? I have spent 24 of my 42 years as priest and bishop in parish ministry. The parish church is a centre for worship and preaching, study of Scripture and the Christian faith, pastoral care for the sick and needy, hospitality and friendship, a place where births, marriages and dying are suitably highlighted, and service to the community is offered. Parish ministry lies at the heart of the Church’s mission and my years in six different parishes have been satisfying and challenging.

But too often parish ministry becomes an end in itself. I have several times used the phrase ‘public square’ – the Church in the public square. No one studying for ordination today would pass a paper on mission without giving a thorough outline of the Church’s central role as salt, light and leaven in society. In a paper in 1992[6], Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey said:

I want to challenge a theology and a history which automatically assumes that the centre of Christianity is the Church rather than the world… I am calling for a suspension of all normal church activities to enable a start from a wholly new perspective: not to seek survival as an institution but to aim to be the Church of Jesus Christ in His world.

Sadly, passing a theology exam on mission seldom translates into robust engagement with the world. I well recall a long discussion on partnership between Maori and Pakeha at the 2002 General Synod in Dunedin. I was getting bored and frustrated as we were exhorted to listen carefully to the other partner, try to hear the nuances, note what was not being said, and to feel our way into another tikanga’s culture. It increasingly felt like an exercise in inter-tikanga navel-gazing. At length I got up and suggested the best way to build partnership was to work together on the issues of poverty and justice that surrounded us on every side. No comment was made until the tea break when a doyenne of the synod came up to me and said: ‘Richard, as soon as you mentioned the outside world you lost everybody.’

The Church makes forays into the outside world, sometimes brilliantly and persistently. Mark Beale, vicar of Clendon, a low decile South Auckland suburb, has done so over 20 years, establishing excellent programmes in housing, poverty, employment, youth activities and prison visiting. Community life has been strengthened and a thriving congregation has developed alongside. Government officials seek Mark out for advice on social and economic policy.

In New Plymouth Archbishop Philip Richardson convenes a group of leaders from different sectors – local body, business, unions, police, education, health, agriculture – who meet regularly around community issues in which all have a stake yet too often see them only from their own pigeon-hole. More widely in Taranaki he has helped declining small town and rural congregations to reach across parish and church boundaries to form partnerships with community groups, police and local schools to provide recreational activities for young people.

Overall, however, running a local congregation is the all-prevailing church activity, bolstered by proliferating committees and networks which meet at regional, diocesan, national and global levels to debate doctrine, liturgy, ministry training, church relationships and other ecclesiastical topics. Maybe the Church is no worse than other organisations, but such activities soak up huge amounts of time and money. The opportunity cost is enormous, not to mention the impact of all that travel on climate change. Those planning yet another conference would do well to recall the World War 2 poster in Great Britain: ‘Is your journey really necessary?’

The Church is well aware of this but seems powerless to change. In 2009 I sought the views of 100 Anglicans, ordained and lay, older and younger, on how they saw the current practice of mission. The results were striking[7]. One question asked if the Church had the right balance between church business and mission. Five per cent thought so, 44 per cent wanted more focus on mission, while 45 per cent called for a radical review. Another question asked if greater emphasis should be placed on linking parish ministries with social services. 21 per cent said ‘possibly’, while 77 per cent said ‘definitely’. Should there be more teamwork between parishes in outreach, such as in Taranaki? Forty per cent said it was worth exploring while 46 per cent believed it essential.

Since my eight years as an industrial chaplain, I have always regarded chaplains as a key part of the Church’s mission. Chaplains (along with laity) take the Church into prisons, hospitals, armed services, schools, universities, industry and business, into networks of society way beyond the reach of the local church. There are some great examples of chaplaincy. Warner Wilder has been an inspiration for 25 years as chaplain at King’s College in South Auckland. He not only attracts large numbers of students to voluntary sessions on faith and life, but also leads the school in working with refugees and the marginalised in neighbouring communities. There are many other chaplains who play key roles in large constituencies, and find great satisfaction in doing so.

Yet chaplaincy is generally not a good ‘career option’ in the Church. The main game is the parish and diocese and there is a perception that one might be forgotten if one spends too much time out in the world, regarded de facto as an ecclesiastical wilderness. This was reinforced by my survey. Asked if a chaplaincy was valued equally with parish ministry, 26 per cent said ‘Yes’, but 69 per cent said it was valued less. To a follow-up question, 89 per cent responded that much greater emphasis on chaplaincy was needed.

With regard to the Church’s laity there is a total inversion of mission theology. If the Church’s key task is to engage the community and its institutions on issues of faith, values, justice, compassion and service, then the laity should be the spearheads supported by the clergy, but exactly the opposite is usually the case. The regular courses available for lay training are exclusively focused on teaching lay people how to help run the local church, lead worship services, or care pastorally for the aged or sick. Here is the ecclesiastical inversion:  the laity are trained to help the clergy run the church, instead of the clergy working with the laity to change the world. I recall ruefully how many of my own Sunday conversations with parishioners were about church matters such as fixing the roof, parish finances or getting volunteers for the church fair.

There were two questions on this in my 2009 survey.  Asked how much emphasis the Church placed on the role of its members at work or in the community, 38 per cent said ‘some’, while 48 per cent said ‘little or none’.  When asked what training they had for such a role over the years, 46 per cent said ‘some’ while 37 per cent said ‘none’. A 1971 survey by the Lutheran Church in America on this topic said:

Lay people continue to see themselves in their expected role of servants of the institutional church. No one proposed that the church should see its major task to encourage and enable its lay people to function as crucial change agents in the various institutions in which they live and work…They worship God in their churches, and serve the churches as best they can both in their institutions and service projects… But they do not find, nor seem to expect, much inspiration or guidance from the church at the most crucial level of their lives – where they carry out their daily work and influence. So, as their despair about the world deepens, the church becomes increasingly irrelevant to what really matters to them.

The late William Diehl, who reports this survey in his 1976 book Christianity and Real Life, was sales manager for Bethlehem Steel in Philadelphia. He was a passionate advocate for lay ministry in the workplace and I had the privilege of staying in his home in the 1990s. He took me one morning to the monthly breakfast meeting of members of his church. Supplied with coffee and pancakes at a local café, the group acted as a sounding board (in total confidence) on ethical dilemmas tabled by group members. The issue that day concerned a manager up for senior appointment but wrestling with a life-threatening cancer known only to one or two. Was it right to invest company resources in making what might in fact only be a short-term move, or should he be sympathetically side-lined? Group members shared their reflections, and the church pastor offered biblical insights. The group’s view was that the promotion should go ahead, noting that the man was perfectly competent to do the job and that any number of life circumstances could shorten someone’s job tenure.

Over the years I have run a variety of training programmes for laity on workplace issues. A biblical theology is laid out, work dilemmas shared and a sense of workplace and community vocation renewed. Many who came said this was the first time any cleric had taken an interest in what they did outside of their church life. They came away feeling their work had been affirmed, and with a stronger sense of vocation as agents for compassion, ethical challenge and structural change. I believe many have left the Church because it fails to address the complex and challenging issues they face in daily life such as in economics, commerce, industry, education, health, government, science or law.

In 1973 an American, Wes Seeliger, wrote an article called Frontier Theology.[8] It contrasted settler theology with pioneer theology, and a settler church with a pioneer church. In settler theology the church is the court-house at the centre of town life, a stone structure, rather dark inside, easy to defend, where the settlers find law, order, stability and security. God is the mayor of the town, sin is breaking the rules and Jesus the sheriff sent by the mayor to enforce the rules.

In pioneer theology the church is a covered wagon, always on the move, creaking and scarred with arrows, bandaged with baling wire, always where the action is, and moving on into the future without glorifying its own ruts. God is the trail boss, and Jesus the pioneer, suffering hardships and showing what true pioneers look like. Sin is failing to take up the opportunities for serving others or righting wrong.

Today’s church needs to ask what kind of theology it lives, settler or pioneer? Being out on the trail is not an optional mission activity but the main game. Can we change? The final question in my survey asked how urgent was the need for change. Sixteen per cent said ‘urgent’, while 84 per cent said ‘extremely urgent’.

There are many lively and energetic congregations around, and it is great to see the historic parish of St Peter’s in Wellington rejuvenating with its new vicar, Brian Dawson. Jazz services, renewed links with the Downtown Community Ministry, free food distribution and leadership in the Living Wage campaign are just some of the new points of contact with the wider community.

But the Church at large has too many old buildings and not enough innovative personnel. In some places demographic change is leading to the sale of churches, halls and clergy houses, and the amalgamation of parishes. But these are reactive responses to decline rather than a proactive move towards more effective mission. Too often clergy work alone with small and ageing congregations, a reality which can be very depressing. Teamwork across parishes and with the community, such as in Taranaki, can revitalise the local church and build strong community links.

In 2014 I attended the launch in Wellington of the Centre for Christian Studies, an initiative to assist students and professionals to think more deeply about life and work in the light of the Gospel. In the capital city where national policies are hammered out, and major ethical issues confront public, corporate and professional leaders, what could be a more focused and appropriate enterprise for the Church? A university lecturer commented that for many students today religion is a totally blank page. There is a task to fill that void and connect faith with life.

Dr John Dennison, a young, visionary and imaginative leader, has been appointed as the first director of the centre, but tragically there are only funds to employ him for one day a week. The amalgamation of two parishes could free up enough capital to fund the centre on a full-time basis. The centre is ecumenical, so a joint churches approach would make funding even  easier. But the prevailing parish-focused paradigm and unimaginative institutional thinking makes such a move unlikely. Many other enterprising projects might be funded if the churches were bold enough to rearrange their assets.

In my 2009 survey I asked respondents to outline creative programmes of community engagement they or their congregations were involved in. I expected about 25 examples but was astonished to receive 125,[9] each an example of the stunning variety of things churches are doing locally today. Theology in the pub, housing for the homeless, coffee shop conversations, coffee clubs for young mums with kids, Mainly Music, programmes on marriage and relationships, men’s sheds, grief counselling (eg Seasons), foodbanks, support and housing for people leaving prison, budgeting advice, community building, environmental advocacy, opportunity shops, learning English, refugee support, weekend events for teenagers, early childhood centres, aged care and many more. Here are churches establishing bridgeheads with people they would never see on a Sunday. Sometimes the contact leads to people wanting to explore spirituality and faith, as Mark Beale has found in Clendon, but church membership is a by-product of programmes that have their own integrity and purpose. Caring for people is worthwhile in its own right.

Engagement 21[10] sold well and found a home in many congregations on both sides of the Tasman. But I was disappointed it was not taken up by theological colleges where clergy prepare for ministry. Ordinands need to be challenged with new ideas on church outreach and equipped with the tools necessary for change. Was Engagement 21 too close to the coal-face, and might have moved the Church outside its comfort zone?

Engagement 21 addressed the critical issue of climate change. Coastal properties in New Zealand are facing increased erosion from storms and rising sea levels. Our neighbours in low-lying South Pacific islands are finding water supplies contaminated and homes at risk of being over-run by tidal surges as the water creeps higher. In more distant nations like Bangladesh, millions will be affected, losing homes and food supplies.

The Genesis 1 story of creation is a clear call to care for the planet that provides life for ourselves, our children and grandchildren. Do we care enough for our descendants to break out of the self-centred, income-protecting policies of business, individuals and government? These policies placed New Zealand 25^th out of 26 nations in a 2014 World Bank review of emission trading schemes. On such shortsighted self-serving policies, Professor Gus Speth[11] has said:

I used to think the top environmental problems were biodiversity loss, ecosystem collapse and climate change. I thought that with 30 years of good science we could address those problems. But I was wrong. The top environmental problems are selfishness, greed and apathy…and to deal with those we need a spiritual and cultural transformation and we scientists don’t know how to do that.

And former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, has written[12]:

Our present ecological crisis, the biggest single, practical threat to our human existence in the middle to long term, has, religious people would say, a great deal to do with our failure to think of the world as existing in relation to the mystery of God, not just as a huge warehouse of stuff to be used for our convenience.

There is an unexpected church conflict on climate change. On the one hand the Church benefits financially from investments in companies involved in carbon-producing activities that contribute to climate change. Meanwhile church aid agencies struggle to raise money for communities devastated by floods and storms arising from climate change.  The benefit of the investment income is undermined by the extra funds required for overseas aid. Rod Oram, Richard Milne and Auckland’s Diocesan Climate Change Action Group are lobbying decision-makers to divest church funds from carbon-producing companies. Divestment campaigns take a while to make an impact but, as was found with the tobacco industry, they generate a groundswell for enlightened change.

All of us can take action on important issues in our own life and work.  Our daughter Rebecca has become an advocate on climate change issues through her work as a GP. With a colleague she created a Greening Your Practice[13] toolkit for health practices on issues of sustainability. To date 250 practices throughout NZ are using this resource to take action on energy efficiency, reduced wastage (including unused pharmaceuticals) and better insulated and heated homes for patients. And noting that many health professionals have a high-carbon footprint in both their work and personal lives, they have established a health-sector Carbon-Offset Forest and website to provide colleagues with better understanding of carbon reduction and an avenue for offsetting unavoidable carbon emissions.[14]

What disappoints me about today’s church is its absence from the public square. I smile wryly whenever I read the words from the Hebrew scriptures 3000 years ago: ‘The Word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.’[15] Could this be said of the Church today? Where are the prophets, the visionaries, those with the big picture of the Church transforming society?  There was a time when the media regularly covered church matters. Sometimes summaries of Sunday sermons were published, and in the 1960s a Herald reporter was assigned for five days to cover the annual Auckland diocesan synod. But such assignments were relics of the days of larger congregations and when the Church had a widely recognised role. Today the Church will be reported only if it has something of significance to say, and the courage to say it.

The public silence from church leaders on same-sex relationships for over a decade is very sad. Many bishops at Lambeth 1998 would have voted against the clause declaring homosexual relationships to be incompatible with scripture, believing that texts written 2000 years ago and more did not address the 21^st century context. But I am not aware of bishops subsequently setting this out publicly (with apologies to any who did).

Some bishops have been brave in ordaining as priests some openly gay and lesbian candidates but most, in line with the Anglican Church globally, have kept their heads down, calling for listening, prayer, dialogue, respect, biblical study, and patient waiting for a word from the Lord. Such a word seems a long time coming. Thankfully, others in the Church have taken the lead. I was heartened when Clare Barrie[16] sponsored a petition to the 2014 General Synod calling for progress on same-sex blessings and ordinations. The petition attracted 771 signatures and was read formally to the synod at Waitangi. In the same week, the first of her new appointment[17], Helen Jacobi made a forthright statement on the need for progress and sparked wide media coverage.  Is it a case of where clergy and people lead, the bishops will follow when the path is clear?

It is not easy for bishops to speak out when they are under intense pressure from factional lobbies. I have not been a diocesan bishop but have felt the heat when going out on a limb. Bishops are usually elected because they are judged to be pastorally caring, spiritually inspiring and competent managers with the capacity to preserve unity in the Church. Unfortunately, once ordained, keeping the peace seems to become the all-consuming goal for many bishops.  

Yet at their ordination bishops are also given the role of prophet, one who discerns injustice and wrong and acts boldly to counter it. The prophets of ancient Israel were courageous men and women who ‘spoke truth to power’. They were forthright in their condemnation of poverty, injustice and allegiance to false gods (of which there are many in today’s society). The 7^th century BC prophet Jeremiah ended up at the bottom of a muddy cistern for ‘disloyalty’.[18]

Fear of modern day muddy cisterns can blunt the prophetic voice.

A good leader takes care to represent other viewpoints on a topic but should also express his or her personal view, even if this is unpopular and stirs opposition from those who disagree. Much heat was generated in both church and nation in the long campaigns against apartheid and for a nuclear-free New Zealand. Yet today many church and political leaders who kept silent in the heat of debate proudly proclaim our hard-won policies on these issues.

I would like to see our bishops taking a greater lead on issues of justice. Maintaining peace within the Church is highly desirable, but a peace that merely papers over the cracks, or works for unity at any price, is not a peace that reflects the way of Jesus or the prophets. What about the Church’s goal of unity with all of God’s people? The prophetic words of Isaiah (49.6) ring out compellingly:

It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.

Christ called us to stand in solidarity with the poor, the homeless, the marginalised, and those who suffer the discrimination of race, class, gender or sexual orientation. It is a defective theology that places the unity of the Church ahead of unity with the suffering of humankind.

But the two are not mutually exclusive. Over the years I have found that presenting a reasoned position on difficult topics, backed with good biblical exposition, is often successful in getting a good slice of the middle ground on board. Superficial populist opinions come to be seen as inadequate in the light of greater awareness of the facts and alternative perspectives. Bishops who take a reasoned stand on divisive issues can do much to lead both church and society forward.

But if clergy and people want bishops who will lead and not merely manage, they need to drink deeply at the well of diversity. Anglicanism is a broad church with agreement on the creeds but diversity on a variety of doctrinal and social issues. If a bishop is only allowed to express views with which all will agree, only bland utterances will come forth. The Church needs to allow its bishops to set out their views on key issues, while at the same time being assured that bishops respect the views of all under their oversight. Those in the Church who equate orthodoxy with their own beliefs drive cautious church leaders into silence.

On social justice issues the Church is also largely absent from the public square, although good local initiatives abound and church agencies work tirelessly to care for people in need. Wellington’s bishop, Justin Duckworth, well publicised as the 45-year-old bishop with dreadlocks, jeans and bare feet, and his wife Jenny, have worked for years in Urban Vision communities in Wellington, creating places of refuge and renewal for many of ‘the last, the lost and the least’.

Justin has also worked closely with prison inmates and in October 2013 imprisoned himself in a porta-cabin, surrounded by high wire, on the cathedral forecourt. He lived there for a week, emerging at lunchtime each day to celebrate a eucharist for supporters and passersby. During his long hours of solitude he prayed for each prison inmate in New Zealand by name. His witness was for penal reform to reduce the high rate of incarceration, reverse the punitive attitudes of many politicians and their constituents, and put more emphasis on restorative justice. Ridiculed at first by government leaders, Justin’s action sparked some useful dialogue to substitute rehabilitation for revenge.

For 35 years Anglican priest Charles Waldegrave has been a leader in a Maori, Pacific and European/Pakeha social service and community development team based at the Family Centre in Lower Hutt, Wellington. With its beginnings in family therapy, the team soon recognised that many family problems stemmed from poverty and cultural marginalisation. Adequate income played a key role in improving relationships and the Family Centre developed a social policy research and advocacy role in income and housing, leading to anti-poverty policy changes in New Zealand. They also recognised the need for cultural self-determination, this leading to the provision of Māori and Pacific services led from within their own cultures.

But in terms of a national voice on social issues the Church is MIA – Missing in Action. The only Christian body in New Zealand today with a credible national voice is the Salvation Army. For 40 years Major Campbell Roberts has led the way on social policy, developing a comprehensive expertise and building rapport with politicians of all parties. The Army’s Social Policy and Parliamentary Unit produces an annual State of the Nation report on poverty and other social indicators, developing policy recommendations based on reliable research.

The Anglican Church has funded such work in the past, and has the financial capacity to do so again, but cumbersome inter-tikanga decision-making procedures, along with a lack of urgency and vision, have pushed such a project off the agenda. Nationally, the Anglican Church is invisible in the public square. In my view the Anglican and Roman Catholic bishops, backed by solid cutting-edge research, could become a very effective advocacy group for social justice and for raising public awareness of the plight of many New Zealanders today.

And where is the voice of the Church in public debate on key issues of theology? That field is dominated by atheists, fundamentalists, extremists and stream-of-consciousness journalists who delight in taking potshots at the Church. It is 50 years now since the late Bishop John Robinson of Woolwich sparked a global debate with his book Honest to God.  A thoughtful layperson wrote to me on the need for good theological debate:

Where is the Anglican Church? Why are they keeping their commentaries in-house? Certainly at parish level the demand is not being satisfied.

In the ‘agnostic’ and related faith debates I have engaged in publicly over the years, and in preaching, I have always sought to lead people to a deeper understanding of articles of faith. Simple demolition of traditional views with nothing of substance to replace them is irresponsible. But as people are led beyond literal interpretations of biblical stories to an awareness of the truth those stories point to, roots in the faith are strengthened.

Would I sign up for the priesthood again? Church and society have changed out of sight since I started. It is 60 years since, when still at high school, I set my sights on ordination. It is 50 years since I was ordained as priest, and 20 years as bishop. I have been privileged to stand with people at significant life moments of birth, death and marriage, in times of pain as well as rejoicing, to unpack the richness of the Christian faith and biblical tradition, to preside at worship where traditional words still point powerfully to the divine mystery, to sit in silent reflection alone or as part of a small group. When I retired one person wrote to me:

A lifetime of ministry in the church is a powerful contribution to the spiritual, emotional and social wellbeing of the world. All those marriages and other relationship blessings, funerals and other rites of passage that you have celebrated. All those conversations over the big questions, the ordinary questions, the life crisis questions. The clear messages on social justice, ethics and understanding between faiths. Sermons, speeches, articles, interviews…an incredible witness to faith.

So Yes, I would do it again, but there have been times of darkness and doubt. As I outlined, my first three years of ordination had some very dark days as I wrestled with the stark contrast between the 1950s Christendom Church I had signed up for as a teenager, and the rapidly secularising society and post-Christendom Church I was ordained into in the 1960s. By my mid-twenties, the church tide was going out fast. Many of those who started out with me on the road to ordination as teenagers chose other careers. It was the three years in New York City and on Teesside that opened my eyes to the huge challenges, and excitement, of the outside world and to a ministry that was world-engaging rather than ecclesiastically bound.

I sometimes joke with my brother, Tony, that one of the great things about being a judge is that he doesn’t have to generate the business. Each morning the courthouse opens and the business simply walks through the door. The Christendom era was a bit like that for the Church. But today a church that simply waits for the business to arrive will be waiting for a long time. The Church today needs to go out and engage with people and community. Former Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey called for ‘a Copernican revolution’: instead of the Church seeing itself as the centre around which everything revolves, it should find an orbit along with other planets in the social order.

To do this the Church needs more outstanding clergy, such as those I worked with in Holy Trinity cathedral in Auckland. There is no shortage of Sunday priests, often very lightly trained, who can do Sunday church in traditional mode. But these will generally not be the drivers of the change we so urgently need. New modes of worship will be required in many places, with more robust music than the ‘mindless ditties’ one bishop referred to in an unguarded moment.

More ‘worker priests’ would be invaluable, clergy working in another discipline not primarily as an income source but because of the opportunity to work with an entirely different network of people. I remember from our Canberra days a priest who taught in a local high school. She was first and foremost a teacher, but around the edges of her teaching, students, staff and families would often approach her to explore personal, relationship or work-related issues.

I have never felt more alive than when engaged in community life. It beats church committees hands down. I have loved working with the media and, apart from the ‘agnostic’ Herald article, have always found journalists and interviewers skilled in catching not just the content but also the flavour of what is being said.

Someone said to me that once I was retired I would be free to speak out and say what I really thought. I have two problems with that: I have never felt constrained in speaking out, and in retirement I still feel part of the Church I have belonged to all my life. Loyalty to the Gospel and to the demands of truth and justice has always been there. But loyalty at its best includes the courage to critique religious and other institutions, including one’s own.

Over the years I have felt a strong sense of vocation, but not the sort of vocation that feels my life has been mapped out by God and I just need to follow the script. Rather, I have a strong sense of grace, a bit like the man who found treasure in a field[19], an unexpected but great gift.  Going to Union Seminary in New York 45 years ago was such a gift for me, a gift that changed everything. I had to make the choice, but opportunity and choice together made the gift.

And once I had taken that step, further steps followed. My own vocation was being shaped by choices already made.  Looking back over a lifetime of ministry, I can see a distinct pattern, a continuity in which each new step built on the ones taken before, so that a vocational path is discerned, as it were, in the rear-vision mirror. At times when I was uncertain what would come next, something came from an unexpected direction, like the call to Canberra. Openness and a willingness to go where vocation leads is a spiritual pattern. As Jesus said to Nicodemus[20]:

The wind (spirit) blows wherever it wishes; you hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it is going. It is the same way with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

I am immensely grateful for the gifts of life, health, family, friends, faith and calling. At 75 the end is closer than the beginning! I enjoy good energy and continuing life, and I pray the prayer: ‘God, give us work till our life shall end, and life till our work is done.’[21]

Jackie and I say morning prayer together each day, using the prayer book for ‘ordinary radicals’[22] given by Philip Richardson to the bishops present at his installation as archbishop in May 2013. We enjoy its fresh approach to daily prayer built around the saints and martyrs who have been ‘ordinary radicals’ past and present.

How do I see the end? Not too soon, I hope. I return annually the Certificate of Life required by the church pension board staff who kindly send me a birthday card expressing the hope there will be many more. Although what the actuary thinks of that, I’m not so sure. So, the end? Many years ago in New York I was greatly taken by the words of theologian Henry Nelson Wieman who talked about life beyond death in terms of ‘hope without prediction’ – the details unknown, the subject not open to prediction or speculation. But ‘hope’ in the sense of confidence in the presence of God, the divine Other who transcends the boundary between life and death. I say nightly as I drop off to sleep the words Jesus used on the Cross: ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’

Meanwhile I follow the practical advice of our daughter Jo who wrote a short story about the sinking in 2000 of the Russian submarine Kursk. She reflected on the last hours of those Russian sailors trapped in an air bubble at the bottom of the sea.  One of the sailors in the story, knowing it was only a matter of time, decided nonetheless that he would ‘run until he was touched on the shoulder’.

And I pray the prayer of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the twentieth-century French Jesuit theologian and philosopher:

Since once again, Lord, I have neither bread nor wine nor altar, I will raise myself above these symbols, up to the pure majesty of the real itself; I, your priest, will make the whole earth my altar and on it will offer you all the labours and sufferings of the world.

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[1] Now the Archbishop of Canterbury’s representative to the Holy See and Director of the Anglican Centre in Rome. David was knighted in 2014.

[2] See Chapter 8.

[3] Public Advisory Committee on Disarmament and Arms Control.

[4] www.worldjustice.project.org

[5] See Chapter 6.

[6] Empowering the Priesthood of all Believers.

[7] Reported in Engagement 21: a Wake-up Call to the 21^st century Church in Mission, Richard Randerson, 2010.

[8]  http://www.servant.org/writings/parables/pa_ft.php

[9] The projects are outlined in detail in Engagement 21.

[10] The book is now sold out but an electronic version is available free of charge from randersonjr@paradise.net.nz

[11] Yale School of Forestry and Environment Studies, on the BBC Shared Planet programme, 1 October 2013, http:/www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b03bqws7

[12]  See Footnote 22 for reference.

[13] DVDavailable from greeningyourpractice.com

[14] www.forestsforhealthnz.org 

[15] 1 Samuel 3.1.

[16] Vicar of St Luke’s, Mt Albert, Auckland.

[17] As Vicar of St Matthew-in-the-City, Auckland.

[18] Jeremiah, chapter 38.

[19] Matthew 13.44

[20] John 3.8.

[21] A New Zealand Prayer Book, p.125.

[22] Common Prayer: a Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, Enuma Okoro. Zondervan 2010.

John Paterson, Bishop of Auckland, had invited me to act as locum priest for a year at St Michael’s, Henderson as we considered longer-term ministry options. Henderson is a lower income suburb in West Auckland, and in January 2000 Jackie and I moved into the vicarage, a lovely old wooden house surrounded by trees, grass, and the nearby Henderson stream. Pukekos and ducks wandered over the lawn, barked at fiercely on occasions by Joshua, our dog, who always took care not to get too close.

Our year at St Michael’s was delightful with a warm and down-to-earth group of parishioners. We met up again with my first vicar from Papakura days, Herb Simmonds, now retired with his wife Margaret. As work on the Royal Commission[1] gathered speed from mid-year, my life was spent commuting during the week to Wellington while being on deck in the parish on Sundays.

The church fair one Saturday was a memorable occasion, and in marked contrast to a fair at an upmarket private school in Canberra. The Canberra fair traded holidays on the Gold Coast, cases of wine and ale, dinners at posh restaurants, bonsai plants, ski equipment and the like, and raised $60,000.

Henderson was quite different. One dad was buying sausages off the barbecue for his family for only $1 each. A Samoan bought up all the vicarage silver-beet to feed the family. Ordinary people worked hard to make cakes and marmalade, grow plants and make clothes, and ordinary people whose lives don’t revolve around restaurants and champagne were grateful to buy things that simply kept body and soul together. The proceeds amounted to $3000, but as one parishioner said: ‘We don’t do this to make money so much as to offer something to others.’

The monthly vestry meetings had some amusing moments. In a fit of energy Jackie had decided the borer-ridden internal doors of the vicarage needed treatment. She sent them off to be stripped of their varnish, after which we applied anti-borer solution and rehung them. At vestry next month the treasurer queried an invoice from Jack the Stripper. I suggested he put it down as vicarage entertainment.

West Auckland had its own unique system of time-measurement. In 1994 a time capsule was put down by the water wheel near the historic Mill Cottage. Installed by the Waitakere City Council, the brass plaque stated:

THIS STONE MARKS THE PLACE WHERE A TIME CAPSULE IS BURIED COMMEMORATING THE 150 ANNIVERSARY OF THE HENDERSON DISTRICT.

THIS CAPSULE IS TO BE OPENED AT THE HENDERSON DISTRICT BICENTENNIAL

 IN THE YEAR 2094

I pointed out the 50-year discrepancy to a volunteer at the historic Mill Cottage. Unaware of the error, she felt that with the plaque now set in stone change was unlikely.

In October 2000 the bishop invited me to accept appointment as Dean of Auckland at Holy Trinity Cathedral in Parnell. It was the third time of asking, the only position I had ever aspired to, and the first time I had been in a space to accept. I had turned the post down in 1990, being newly appointed as the Anglican social responsibility commissioner. Soon after we arrived in Canberra the post was vacant again, and Sir Paul Reeves visited to convey the invitation a second time from the bishop. Again the timing was not right. In 2000 the way was clear, and Jackie and I prepared to move to Parnell. We felt a special induction service was not called for and, in a five-minute ceremony at the start of the Advent Carol service, I was duly installed. Bishop John asked me to take on an additional role as assistant bishop in the diocese, and I was so elected in 2002. It was good to support John, but my main role was as dean.

Coming to the cathedral brought me full circle. On 13 June 1957, in my final year at Takapuna Grammar School, I had been present at the laying of the foundation stone of the new Holy Trinity Cathedral. The date marked the centenary of the signing of the Anglican Church’s[2] constitution at St Stephen’s chapel in nearby Judges Bay, under the leadership of the Bishop of New Zealand, George Augustus Selwyn. One hundred years later I was part of a large diocesan procession of bishops, clergy, lay-readers and altar servers, all robed and crossing Parnell Road from the original St Mary’s cathedral to the site of the new cathedral. The Bishop of Auckland, John Simkin, laid the foundation stone with several of his masonic brethren, each in full regalia and wielding trowel and cement.

Returning as dean 44 years later was special. I had been ordained both deacon and priest in St Mary’s on its original site. Construction of St Mary’s, a fine piece of Gothic architecture in wood, began in 1886 and St Mary’s was in use as Auckland’s cathedral church from 1888. In the 1960s construction of the chancel of the new cathedral commenced, a lofty Gothic structure in brick in use from 1973. Rae Monteith, cathedral dean from 1949 to 1969, had been the driving force in the building of the chancel.

Eighteen years passed before the construction of the nave began in 1991. During this time a visionary proposal was put forward that ‘Old St Mary’s’ be lifted from its foundations and rolled across Parnell Road, turned through 90 degrees and placed adjacent to the new cathedral. In the face of much opposition the shift took place in 1982, Parnell Road being closed one Saturday while this huge historic church inched its way to its new site. Today Old St Mary’s is a treasured part of the cathedral precinct. Many requests for weddings and funerals come from individuals and families with historic associations with the old cathedral.

In 1991 construction of the Holy Trinity nave commenced under the leadership of John Rymer. John had followed Rae Monteith as dean in 1970 and, retiring in 1990, took on oversight of the nave project. It had been decided not to continue the Gothic pattern of the chancel but rather to blend ancient and modern by building a nave in contemporary design with extensive use of stained glass and symbols appropriate to the 21^st century. Such a dramatic shift in design aroused much controversy but architect Professor Richard Toy’s plan was adopted and the nave completed in 1995.

The theme of God’s creation in the context of Aotearoa and the South Pacific is told in the great west window by Nigel Brown. On the nave’s Parnell Road side nine windows by Shane Cotton depict early parts of the biblical story with Maori imagery, while on the harbour side a further nine windows by Robert Ellis portray with Maori and Polynesian influences the coming of the Gospel to Aotearoa New Zealand. The baptismal font comprises four pieces of sculpted glass by Auckland artist Ann Robinson. Weighing a tonne, it softly reflects the ambient light, especially when refracted in the early morning through the brightly hued aroha (love) window.

The nave altar is of native kauri and was built for the celebration of a papal mass in the Auckland Domain during the 1986 visit of Pope John Paul II. In a moving ecumenical gesture, the Roman Catholic Church gifted the altar to the new Anglican cathedral. Today it symbolises the warm relationships between the cathedral churches of Holy Trinity and St Patrick. Father Bernard Kiely, the administrator from St Patrick’s, and Bishop Patrick Dunn, became close ecumenical colleagues, with the two congregations sharing in worship on Ash Wednesday each year, and at other times.

As dean I felt Holy Trinity was one of the great treasures still to be discovered in Auckland. Today it is heartening to see the increasing use of the cathedral not only for services of worship but for concerts, forums and school visits, as well as by pilgrims and visitors. The current dean, Jo Kelly-Moore, has energised and enthused the cathedral congregation around her. Together they have raised the funds for a major programme to reconstruct the two organs, build a new chapel beyond the high altar and form a covered connection between Holy Trinity and Old St Mary’s.

Jackie and I came to the cathedral following some very public in-house divisions. A clash between the dean and the director of music, along with a shortage of operating finances, caused a dispute that spilled over into the congregation, leading to the departure of the director of music in 1998, and the dean in 2000. The cathedral also had an accumulated operating deficit of $200,000.  Disputes between cathedral deans and music directors are legendary, so my first call after being appointed was to Peter de Blois, the new music director. We enjoyed a warm and collegial relationship throughout my time there. When Jackie and I moved into the deanery much healing work had been done through the pastoral skills of a priest couple, John McAlpine and the late Jenny Harrison. Congregational rapport was quickly rebuilt and the operating deficit cleared over a five-year period. 

I was greatly blessed with creative staff members Sarah Park, Catherine Thorn and Jayson Rhodes who came as newly ordained clergy to the cathedral. Sarah has great liturgical skills and working with her on the traditional three-hour service on Good Friday was always an inspiration. Jenny Chalmers and Michael Smart were senior members of the team, handling much of the pastoral work along with baptisms, weddings and funerals, of which there were many.

Michele Roberts joined our team as an assistant priest in 2006 and made a major contribution in establishing a Mainly Music group, a programme of music and dance for very young children which also provides a community meeting space for mothers and other caregivers. From my office on St Stephen’s Avenue I could see the steady trickle of young mums with pushchairs up and down the road to the shops. With a group of parishioners Michele gathered the equipment and seeding finance necessary to support the group. Within three months more than 55 families had signed up with, unheard of in church circles, a sizeable waiting list.

Officiating at funerals was a most significant ministry. When the deceased is of ripe old age there is sadness, but acceptance of the timeliness of the death, and a celebration of a life well lived. By contrast funerals for young people are poignant and challenging. I recall the funerals for three young adults who had died, one by suicide, one from a car accident and one who died inexplicably over night with no known symptoms. The impact on families and friends was huge. Alongside the trauma of deep grief are questions of ‘Why?’, and ‘Where do we look for consolation and hope?’

Sometimes a family plumbing the depths of spiritual searching gave an implied message that ‘we don’t want anything religious’. Of the hundreds who came to such funerals many were in the same space. The essential truths of Christian faith are not well known today, but there is no shortage of caricatures and Sunday School pictures literally interpreted. I was every bit as anxious to avoid those as were many in the congregation.

I sought to speak of God not as a divine miracle-worker or architect of illness, accident or natural disaster, but rather as a mystery of love that encompasses and upholds us. Vulnerable to the darkness and light of human living, we are yet surrounded by love in the midst of grief. The experience of the two disciples on the Emmaus Road[3] has always helped me in dealing with grief. Here were two people devastated by Jesus’ death who experienced a stranger walking with them along the way. They did not recognise who it was. There was no instant transformation from grief to joy. But as Jesus became known to them in the breaking of the bread, new hope and life appeared. Grief can last a long time but, sustained by a love which is both human and divine, its pain can diminish and be replaced by the flowering of a future with new meaning.

In July 2005 Prince William attended a service at the cathedral while on his first official visit to New Zealand. The All Blacks were playing the Lions at the time but I felt it wise not to refer to the rugby. Instead I reflected on the Treaty of Waitangi and the continuing bonds between the Queen and this country, while acknowledging the multi-cultural and multi-faith nation Aotearoa now was. It being just three days after the London Underground bombings in which 50 people had been killed, I expressed how our hearts went out to the families of the victims, the injured, and to British visitors to this country.

After the service I escorted the prince to the door where two lines of school-children fanned out in a V- shape. I wondered which line he would go down and noted the disappointment on the right when he headed to the left. The warmth towards him was palpable when from the end of the left flank he moved over to the right to greet all the young people there. We presented him with an inscribed copy of A New Zealand Prayer Book to mark the occasion.

My reference to a multi-faith and multi-cultural society fitted well with an inter-faith dialogue in Jogjakarta, Indonesia in December 2004. I was part of a New Zealand government delegation of twelve from different faith groups. Sponsored by the Indonesian and Australian governments, with support from New Zealand, the conference brought together 124 delegates from 10 religions and 13 nations in South-East Asia and the South Pacific.

‘Clerics vow action on terrorism’read the post-conference headline in the Jakarta Post. Growing concern over threats to peace and security in the region spurred the initiative for this event. In his opening address Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono stated the concern succinctly: ‘When ethnic and religious prejudice is compounded by economic and political rivalries, as well as by mutual grievances deemed unforgivable, the resulting situation can be explosive.’ Prime Minister Helen Clark was a driving force in the dialogue, believing that religious groups could play a leading role in building bridges between diverse communities in peace, development, security and education.

The global population today is made up of Christians (33 per cent), Muslims (22 per cent), Hindus (15 per cent), Buddhist (6 per cent), other religions (10 per cent) and no religion (14 per cent). While religion has often been claimed as the basis for crusades and holy wars, past and present, delegates were of the view that such claims could never be justified. That view had been strongly stated in 2003 by an international panel of experts on terrorism, meeting in Norway, which declared that suicide terrorism was not caused by religion, even although extremists might claim religion as a rationale.

Instead, said the panel, terrorism more often resulted from rapid social, political and economic changes, or other forces that left minorities with a sense of exclusion from access to power or economic opportunity. Oppression of religious or cultural minorities can also be a potent driver. It was the unanimous view of the conference that no religion could properly be used as a basis for terrorist activity. Religions share a belief in one God or spiritual reality, one human family on earth, and a commitment to unity, justice and peace for all, irrespective of country, culture or creed.

The conference schedule at Jogjakarta was tight and I had been invited to chair the final plenary session to produce a conference statement. With the clock ticking, and faced with 124 delegates from different nations and religions, some of whom had no English, this was a formidable task. Things were not helped by the Australian delegation which seemed intent on raising points of order about the process. Since the final draft statement had emerged from three days of intense consultation, I ruled process issues out of order, a move supported by the majority which allowed us to reach agreement.

The New Zealand delegation recommended to government that we develop a national statement on religious tolerance and harmony, along the lines of similar statements in Indonesia and Singapore. We also recommended programmes to inform and educate New Zealanders on religious and cultural diversity. In the 1950s, when Auckland was largely Pakeha and Christian, it seemed natural to see faith exclusively through the eyes of Western Christianity. But Maori urbanisation, the influx of Pacific Islanders, and recent waves of new citizens from Asia, Africa and Europe have led to a society where Pakeha now number less than 65% of the total. Different languages are heard in the streets. Mosques and temples are scattered among the churches, which themselves accommodate multi-lingual congregations.

We cannot be complacent. The desecration of Jewish graves in Wellington and Auckland, the rising influence of the religious right and the National Front, hate mail directed to Muslim leaders following the 11 September attacks in New York, and the anti-migrant attitudes that thread through much of our popular discourse are signs that prejudice and ignorance lie close to the surface. So while ‘clerics fighting terrorism’ makes a good headline, the role of healthy religion in peace-making is significant. A paper from the World Council of Churches at the time of the Yogjakarta dialogue said:

Contacts and relations of precious trust and friendship between people of different religions, built quietly by patient dialogue during peacetime, may in times of conflict prevent religion from being used as a weapon. In many cases such relations may pave the way for mediation and reconciliation initiatives.

Three weeks after the inter-faith dialogue in Indonesia, that nation and others nearby were devastated by the tsunami on Boxing Day 2004. As the shock waves continued into the new year, I thought New Zealand should make some national observance of this tragedy which affected not only the immediate victims of the tsunami but many of their families and friends in New Zealand. The recent inter-faith dialogue underlined for me our unity as human beings across faith and cultural boundaries.

I proposed that Holy Trinity Cathedral should host a multi-cultural and multi-faith memorial service. Having proposed the service I promptly left town and went on summer vacation cycling the Otago Rail Trail. I was very grateful for the organisation undertaken by my priest colleague, Catherine Thorn, keeping in touch with her by cell-phone as she made arrangements with Government, faith leaders and the community at large.

The service on 16 January 2005 took place under national flags hanging above the cathedral altar and in the presence of Prime Minister Helen Clark, Governor-General Dame Silvia Cartwright, 16 consular representatives from different nations, 23 members of Parliament and a congregation of 500 comprising many nations, races and faiths. Leaders from Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Christian faiths joined together in the service, each contributing a prayer or reading from their own tradition. Children from Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Malaysia and Thailand lit candles. One minute’s silence was observed at 1.59pm, three weeks to the day since the tsunami hit the Indonesian shore.

In her address the Prime Minister said that ‘this catastrophe has seen human beings reaching out to one another on an unprecedented scale. The common humanity of people has shone through at this time of great adversity for so many’. I addressed the tragedy of the tsunami, as well as the rationale for holding an inter-faith service in a Christian cathedral:

There is but one God, who is the God of all who inhabit this fragile planet on which our life depends. That God has been expressed in different cultures, different scriptures and different creeds. The insight from Indonesia was that good faith has a firm centre and open edges, enabling us to affirm the convictions that have given us life, while being open to the convictions and insights of others, and able to work together in a common cause.

Because God is one, all who walk the face of this earth are one, part of one global family. The images of the tsunami that have shocked us these last three weeks have shown us that in Aceh and Phuket, in India, Sri Lanka and Malaysia, the needs and aspirations of people, wherever they may be, are essentially the same : to cherish those closest to us, to be part of a family or whanau which gives us love, to find a place to live with food to eat, health and education for our children, to have work which gives meaning to our lives and offers service to others, to be free from conflict and war.

It is with that unity of belief, and this newfound unity with members of the human family of whom we knew little before the tsunami, that we gather today. We pay tribute to the unprecedented numbers of people from many nations who have lost their lives in this disaster. We remember those who are still missing, some of whom may never be found. To those of you who grieve for loved ones today we extend our love and compassion, and pray with you that you will know the strong presence of a God who cares.

We also at this time reflect upon the nature and presence of God. ‘Where was God in this disaster?’ many have pondered. It has been suggested that the tsunami was an act of God, but what sort of God would inflict such misery on untold thousands of innocent people? God does not cause natural disasters. Natural disasters are the result of forces that have ready scientific explanations, in this case the shifting of tectonic plates on the Earth’s surface.

God is found rather in the worldwide outpouring of compassion and generosity that has followed in the wake of the tsunami. God’s love is seen in the help which victims have offered one another, in the doctors and aid workers, police and armed services personnel who have poured in from all over the world, in the responses of governments, and most of all in the extraordinary generosity whereby ordinary people have offered financial assistance.

This love is part of all religious traditions, and indeed of all humanity at its best. A Muslim saying goes: ‘Prayer carries us halfway to God, fasting brings us to the door of his palace, and almsgiving procures us admission.’ Compassion for the poor lies also at the heart of Buddhism, Judaism, Sikhism and Hinduism. In today’s Gospel reading of the three travellers[4], it was the one who turned aside from his journey to assist the man beaten up on the side of the road who was commended for doing that which was pleasing in the eyes of God.

The service was well received but I received letters of concern from some who felt the Christian faith was compromised by worshipping alongside people of other religions. The point is an important one. Belief in Jesus as the Son of God is central to Christianity, but others are just as passionately committed to the faith and culture in which they have been raised.

My belief in the uniqueness of Jesus is in no way diminished by engagement with peoples of other faiths. The service in the cathedral was not one where elements from different religions were poured into a melting-pot and some bland lowest common denominator emerged. Each faith leader prayed or read from his own tradition which was not compromised. Binding us together was our shared humanity and compassion for people who are part of one human family, a compassion arising out of different religions. For me inter-faith encounters have enriched rather than diminished my own Christian faith. The Muslim insight quoted above is fully compatible with a Christian understanding of the divine love, but brings a fresh perspective to it.

The Jogjakarta recommendation to formulate a statement on religious diversity for New Zealand was followed up by Joris de Bres on behalf of the Human Rights Commission. I was part of an inter-faith working group that consulted widely, and Paul Morris[5]  produced successive drafts that led to the publication in 2007 of a statement Religious Diversity in New Zealand. The statement carried forewords by Dame Silvia Cartwright in her capacity as chair of the National Commission for Unesco, and by Prime Minister Helen Clark, who wrote: ‘It is my hope that the statement will help all New Zealanders, of whatever faith or ethical belief, to feel free to practise their beliefs in peace and within the law.’

During the consultation process, debate arose about whether or not New Zealand is a Christian nation. New Zealand has a 200-year history of Christian faith, and about half the population define themselves as Christian. But the ‘Christian nation’ tag ignores the religious perceptions of Maori who preceded European settlement by hundreds of years. Nor does it acknowledge the multitude of other faiths in New Zealand today, especially after a half century of multiple migrations.

New Zealand is also a secular state with no official religion but creates space for all religions to flourish in an atmosphere of freedom. The free expression of religion in the lives of citizens has the capacity to shape for good the values, attitudes and policies of society. Nonetheless the drafting group felt it important to acknowledge the historical contribution of Christianity without giving preference to any religion above another. The statement began:

Christianity has played and continues to play a formative role in the development of New Zealand in terms of the nation’s identity, culture, beliefs, institutions and values.

It went on to scope contemporary religious diversity and the positive roles played by other faith communities. Different faiths work together with government and other groups, including the non-religious, to achieve policies of non-discrimination, freedom of expression, multicultural awareness in workplaces and public services, and education in schools about different religious, spiritual and cultural traditions. Many programmes throughout New Zealand aim to foster positive awareness of our multi-faith and multi-cultural society.

In a joint statement in May 2007 the Anglican and Roman Catholic bishops affirmed the statement, saying they applauded the way it grappled with ‘our realities as a multicultural and diverse community in these islands’. They also said:

From our own faith position we cherish freedom of thought and freedom of religious expression, both for ourselves and others. This is inherent in our understanding of the Christian Gospel as a gift that is freely given, to be freely experienced and freely received in a climate of freedom itself.

The statement has no legislative force but is an aspirational expression of the kind of nation we can choose to be.

Early in 2000 Bishop John Paterson invited me to take on the chairmanship of the Selwyn Foundation, the Anglican aged care agency in Auckland with several residential facilities. It was a daunting prospect. The Foundation was in disarray with the director for the last 15 years about to retire, the chairman having resigned after only two years along with half the board, and the agency losing $2 million a year.

I had no ready solutions in mind but decided to start by interviewing personally all the board members (including those who had resigned) and key staff members. I felt we needed to establish a new clarity and unity in purpose, find new board members and a new director, and take steps to balance the books. We were fortunate to recruit as director the Rev’d Duncan Macdonald, an Anglican priest with a background in social services and in the Accident Compensation Commission. He brought skills which blended compassion and care with the management acumen required for a large corporate body.

Working with Duncan on the finance side was Fred Pau and under their leadership the situation was turned around. Selwyn was greatly overstaffed: through an incremental programme of voluntary redundancies a large loss was turned into a significant annual surplus. I made it clear that there was to be ‘no watering of the orange juice’: quality services were to be retained.

The surpluses have allowed the foundation as a not-for-profit body to develop new services of outreach in local communities. Board member Sally Naulls has worked with 40 Auckland churches to establish programmes for the elderly with social events, meals and contact with a community nurse. Funding has been made available for aged care partnerships with Maori and Pacific Islanders through the churches. New aged-care facilities have been built and other agencies blended into the Selwyn network.

In New Zealand today privately owned aged-care facilities are mushrooming and good profits are to be made by caring for those who can afford it. The Selwyn Foundation’s mission is to seek out the many who cannot afford adequate care in their older years and to provide for them on the basis of human need, a vision inherited from the founder, Canon Douglas Caswell, 60 years ago. An old black-and-white film is often screened at foundation events. Named Indictment, the film documents Canon Caswell’s work as city missioner in the 1950s and has graphic footage of people living in Ponsonby in run-down housing, without adequate water supply, heating or toilets, often hungry and socially isolated.

It was Caswell’s engagement with the community that motivated him to provide a better place for people in their older years. Sir Robert Kerridge showed the film in his chain of cinemas over several weeks and a concerted effort led to the building of the first accommodation, Selwyn Village, at Point Chevalier. Since then the foundation has grown into a highly successful organisation, but as chair Ialways asked how well we were addressing the needs of the 21^st century counterparts of the aged poor who figured in Indictment. That film is a dramatic reminder of the Church’s history and its ongoing challenge.

In 2003 I was approached at the cathedral by two women who wanted to see the beginnings of Christianity in New Zealand suitably commemorated. On Christmas Day 1814 the Rev’d Samuel Marsden of the Church Missionary Society preached at Oihi[6] in the Bay of Islands from the text: ‘Fear not! I bring you glad tidings of great joy.’[7] Marsden had come to Sydney in 1794 as a chaplain to the convict colony with a brief to establish a mission in New Zealand at a suitable time.

At Parramatta he established a small farm and invited Maori to come and spend time gaining skills in farming. One of those who crossed the Tasman was Ruatara, a Ngati Torehina chief whose home was the Rangihoua pa on the far northern shore of the Bay of Islands. It was Ruatara who in 1814 invited Marsden to ‘come to my place’ and it was there that the historic sermon was preached.

The two women who came to see me were the Rev’d Patricia Bawden, now in her 80s, who has had a vision for 50 years of Oihi as a place for pilgrimage. With her was a local landowner, Diane Paterson, equally committed to the project. Following that meeting Iwas invited by John Paterson to chair the Marsden Cross Trust Board, an ecumenical body set up to take the vision forward. Twenty hectares of land were acquired adjacent to the Cross and the Rangihoua Pa. It was very moving in January 2013 to see Hugh Rihari, a descendant of Ruatara, and John King, a descendant of the missionary John King who came with Marsden 200 years earlier, wielding shovels together as they turned the first sods for a commemorative project.

The project involves a semi-circular and open building of welcome, Rore Kahu[8], along with a series of historic panels stationed along a path leading down to the Cross. The Rangihoua Heritage Park was opened by the Governor-General, Sir Jerry Mateparae, on 21 December 2014. Four days later, on Christmas Day, an ecumenical bicentennial service of worship was held by the beach adjacent to the Cross.

Rangihoua is already a place of pilgrimage for young people and other church groups. This will increase, as visitors from New Zealand and around the world arrive by road or boat. Rangihoua commemorates the roots of Christianity in Aotearoa New Zealand, as well as the forming of an enduring partnership between Maori and Pakeha. It predates the Treaty of Waitangi by 25 years and is an important part of our history, and future.

Reflecting on my years as both bishop and dean, I have felt vocationally most at home as dean. Bishops have an important leadership task but administration, committee work and pastoral care of clergy and parishes can stand in the way of a community-facing ministry. Maintaining harmony too often precludes prophetic action. As dean I valued the freedom to develop a public profile through preaching, articles in the New Zealand Herald, and through radio and television. I based what I said in public around many of the themes I have outlined, aiming to address the underlying issues of faith, personal values, social ethics, justice and compassion.

---

[1] See Chapter 8.

[2] Known then as the Church of the Province of New Zealand.

[3] Luke 24. 13-35.

[4] Luke 10. 25-37.

[5]  Professor of Religious Studies at Victoria University of Wellington.

[6]  In 2014 the NZ Geographic Board recommended the earlier name of Hohi for the site.

[7] Luke 2.10.

[8] Rore Kahu means ‘soaring eagle’, the name of the hill on which the building stands.

Ethics are a way of thinking, a worldview, a set of goals which shape the things we value and the decisions we make. Just as we breathe the air as a natural process, so every action or decision we take is governed by a framework of ethics which we usually apply without conscious thought.

But what kind of ethical air do we breathe? Is it the ethical air of consumerism? Or success, prosperity and the good life? Or the ethics of corporate or political advantage? Is it Ayn Rand’s virtue of selfishness? Or the heady world of global finance? Or tribalism, or nationalism? We are surrounded by people or groups whose lives are shaped by one or more of such ethics. Which begs another question: what sort of ethic shapes our own life?

An invitation soon after returning to Auckland in 2000 took me right into this question. A Member of Parliament rang to ask if I would consider joining a Royal Commission on Genetic Modification (RCGM). The RCGM was to address questions such as whether genetically modified crops would enhance food production, or eliminate possums, or lead to more effective therapeutic outcomes in medicine, all without harm to human wellbeing or the environment.

Another phone call next day from a government official asked the same question. I replied that I was not a scientist, having abandoned such studies after scoring only 53 in School Certificate Chemistry 45 years earlier. ‘No problem,’ each replied, explaining that science was to be only one part of the commission’s work, other essential features including ethics, economics, environment and the Treaty of Waitangi.

I was stimulated by the challenge, and two months later joined three other commissioners in a large empty room in a Wellington high-rise office building. Our Chair was former Chief Justice Sir Thomas Eichelbaum. The other members were Dr Jacqueline Allan, a South Auckland GP with Maori heritage from Kati Mamoe in the South Island, Dr Jean Fleming, a senior scientist at the University of Otago specialising in reproductive biology and anatomy, and myself. The two women carried the science, Sir Thomas the legal and oversight concerns, while my brief was vaguely described as ethics, a topic that seemed equally vague to many who later made submissions.

Also at the first meeting was a government official with a guide-book on Royal Commissions, and the two-page mandate from the Government which asked us to recommend strategic options for New Zealand regarding the use of genetic modification (GM) in crops, food and medical applications.  We were charged to take into account such factors as risks and benefits, liability issues, intellectual property, the Treaty of Waitangi, opportunities for New Zealand, global developments, human health, environmental, economic, cultural and ethical issues, and regulatory processes in New Zealand.

We employed a manager and staff, and decided on five modes of consultation: meetings with the public and on maraes throughout New Zealand, formal submissions by Interested Persons (IPs)[1], written submissions from the public and a telephone survey. The public meetings began on a bleak winter’s afternoon in Invercargill. Only a handful of people showed up but Mayor Tim Shadbolt got us away to a cheery start.

The pace quickened as news of the process spread. The Nelson meeting was particularly lively with a large crowd and some very creative contributions by children and young people deeply concerned about the environment. A school class presented in Manukau with some well-prepared graphics. Public meetings were generally not attended by GM supporters, so the overall message was strongly green and in support of a GE[2]-free New Zealand.

At each of twelve meetings on marae around the country we were formally greeted, and Sir Thomas had asked me to reply. I am not a fluent Maori speaker but had learnt enough over the years to respond appropriately. Maori were concerned about changes that might affect native flora and fauna, such as the manuka tree or the tuatara lizard, but some Maori farmers saw benefits from GM in crops and animal farming. The final marae meeting was at Turangawaewae in Ngaruawahia. Some of us slept overnight on the marae, being woken for prayer on the mattresses at 5am.

The formal submissions from IPs were received over twelve weeks in a court-room setting in Wellington. About 300 groups applied for IP status, but status was strictly limited to those with a perceived background and expertise in the topic. We had decided that no political party could gain status, but the Greens argued successfully that they were an environment movement, of which the political party was merely one arm. We selected 117 groups for IP status including primary producer boards such as wool and meat, scientific research groups, medical groups, consumer groups, religious groups and environmentalists.

The hearings began with producer boards and scientific groups, followed by medical users, religious and green groups. Each IP had its day in court, during which it was open to cross-examination by any of the other 116 IPs. Careful management of time was required and Sir Thomas allocated a set time for each presentation, followed by a set time for questioning divided among those wanting to cross-examine.

Many of the green groups saw Monsanto as the bête noire because of its production of GM crops in North America. A flurry of opposition IPs put their hands up to cross-examine Monsanto and were allocated seven minutes each. However, the appearance of Green Party MP Sue Kedgley always had an electrifying effect on the hearing. Her delayed arrival on this occasion produced a chorus of voices to the Chair: ‘Ms Kedgley can have our seven minutes, Sir’, and her time for cross-examining was considerably extended.

The producer boards made well researched power-point presentations on the benefits of GM in farming and food production. Some proposed GM grasses to minimise the need for artificial fertilisers, thus reducing chemical runoff into rivers and waterways. They called for more funding for research into innovative technologies.

The interaction between supporters and opponents of GM had some amusing moments. On one occasion an IP advocating sustainable earth policies was cross-examining the CEO of a producer board, suggesting that current levels of resource use and pollution could mean that two earths might be needed to sustain our consumerist lifestyles. ‘Would you regard that,’ he asked, ‘as a viable world-view?’

‘Viable world-view’ was clearly not a category familiar to the CEO, who was somewhat stuck for an answer. ‘Ye-e-e-s, perhaps so,’ he cautiously responded. His cross-examiner then put to him another scenario that with careful stewardship of current resources, the one earth we had could adequately provide for all our needs. ‘Is that,’ he asked, ‘a viable world-view?’ Experienced now with the concept of viable world-views, the CEO agreed more confidently that it would be.

Sustainability came in for the kill. ‘Well, now,’ he asked, ‘how can there be two viable world-views completely opposite to each other?’ Totally flummoxed, the CEO sat head in hands for some long moments. At length his female deputy leaned across and whispered in his ear. His face brightened at once. ‘Our organisation,’ he beamed, ‘believes there can be more than one viable world-view.’

The medical groups presented evidence supporting GM therapies to deal with intractable illnesses. Mention was made of one family with a genetically transmitted cancer gene that had already claimed many lives. GM options to eliminate such a rogue gene were canvassed.

The week before Christmas 2000 turned out to be the most moving week of the hearings. Several parent groups spoke passionately of their experience caring for children with extremely rare diseases, many of which I had never heard of. Some of these diseases have a strike rate of only one in thousands of live births, so that in a small population there are only a handful of such sufferers. Most of the children had a shortened life expectancy but required 24/7 care from parents who were physically exhausted and lived daily with deep grief and emotional trauma. Could there be GM options to help?

A later week was set aside for religious groups, and I had a good time cross-examining colleagues on their biblical theology. Several presentations were based on the biblical story of Creation in Genesis 1 which balances the use of God-given talents and opportunities for human wellbeing with careful stewardship to preserve the earth’s life-giving capacity for future generations.

The green groups presented their concerns with passion. Possums and gorse were cited as examples of introduced species that run rampant and destroy other flora and fauna. Thalidomide and asbestos were named as products considered beneficial but which had tragic unforeseen consequences. That, they submitted, could be the case with GM.

Organic farmers feared crop contamination by GM seeds blown from neighbouring fields, or by bees transmitting GM characteristics from one plant to another. It was also emphasised that GM-free food would be of positive economic advantage in global trading in a world seeking safe and healthy foods. This could be New Zealand’s niche market, it was suggested, and part of our ‘clean green’ brand.

The telephone opinion survey came up with divided views on GM, while the call for written submissions from the public produced more than 10,000 responses. Around 92 per cent of these opposed GM, violently so in many cases. Many were of a form-letter variety with succinct two-word messages scrawled across the page. Each was read by staff and comments of substance noted.

By the end of March 2001 the consultation process was complete. There had been thousands of pages of data and a multitude of conclusions and opinions. We took a week off to let things settle.  The following week we four commissioners met by ourselves for a first review of our conclusions.  Impeccable jurist that he was, Sir Thomas had established a protocol that we would not discuss conclusions until we had heard all the evidence.

So it was that we ended up for a two-day retreat at a secluded guesthouse in the South Wairarapa. After morning coffee we sat around in comfy chairs and addressed a central proposition that had been made to us again and again during the consultation process: ‘New Zealand should declare a total ban on any use of GM.’ What did we think? It took only a few minutes to establish that none of us supported such a proposition. Human advancement proceeds by way of innovation in science and technology, and it was a Luddite approach to ban any technology out of hand.

But significant questions had been raised about GM, questions to which there were as yet no answers. We felt that GM usage should not be adopted in New Zealand until those answers were found. We saw the need to ‘preserve opportunities’ for the use of GM, but also to ‘proceed cautiously’ with further research of both field and medical GM options. We made 49 recommendations to strengthen existing environmental legislation, all but one of which were implemented by Government. Fourteen years down the track I am not aware of any GM usage of crops in the open field, or of GM uses in medicine.

We reached that overall conclusion in a short space of time, but it took another four months to  assemble a huge volume of material into a coherent report. We summarised the key issues under three headings: strategic and economic issues, health and environment, and cultural, ethical and spiritual concerns.

The latter heading raised questions about underlying values. I had suggested we develop a set of values as a measuring rod for any conclusions we reached. The others were not so sure about this. Who were we to decide what values were appropriate? And in a nation of great diversity could there be any consensus about underlying values?

I pointed out that a range of values was implicit in the 17 factors that were part of the RCGM mandate.  Values were also expressed, implicitly or explicitly, in many of the submissions. But the ethics box was often left empty in the template we produced for submitters, some IPs simply stating: ‘we always seek to act in an ethical manner.’ Others, especially in the medical area, tabled organisational codes of conduct which addressed important items such as patient confidentiality or transparency of information, but did not cover macro-questions such as whether it was ethical to use GM at all.

We decided to give the values question a go. One morning over coffee the four of us sat down in front of a blank whiteboard and brainstormed possible underlying values. Surprisingly, we quite quickly reached consensus on seven:

• Preserving the uniqueness of Aotearoa/New Zealand, finding our own tailor-made approach
• Preserving the uniqueness of our cultural heritage, enshrined in the Treaty of Waitangi
• Ensuring the sustainability of our environment for future generations
• Recognising that we are part of a global family, and hence cannot be isolationist
• Ensuring the well-being of all citizens, avoiding winners and losers
• Providing for maximum freedom of choice within established guidelines
• Ensuring effective participation in decision-making, as befits a democracy.

From there we developed a strategy for ethical decision-making whereby any decision or choice being considered was tested against the seven values. A proposal to genetically modify sheep, for example, or to release GM crops in the field, required not only all the relevant information but also had to be tested for congruence with the values. A diagrammatic outline of this process was included in our report.

The 14 months on the RCGM was a significant time in my life. I felt privileged to work as part of a team with three colleagues from other disciplines. Some of our views differed but we were able to debate and reach consensus without any final dissenting opinion. It was a privilege to visit many parts of New Zealand and absorb the wide range of submissions made. I was impressed by the integrity, expertise and commitment of those we met, whether scientists sharing their knowledge and research objectives, or green groups passionate about the environment, or young people expressing their hopes for the future.

The consultation process sparked some remarkable dialogue. In the early weeks of the hearings much of the interaction between IPs was adversarial. It would be naïve to suggest all differences were nicely overcome – they were not. But a mood of negotiation which showed listening was going on was apparent in later weeks. One IP might say, for example: ‘we know that … is very important to you, but could you live with … which is important to us?’

Ethical decision-making based on values is fundamental to public and private life. Operational values such as honesty and transparency are the glue for fairness and trust in any organisation. But ultimate values are to do with the overall purpose of any organisation, be it a business, trade, profession, government, church or community body.

This was clear in an all-day planning session a colleague and I ran for the Board and senior officers of Christchurch Hospital in the 1990s. Those were the days of ideological madness when the nation’s public hospitals had been renamed Crown Health Enterprises, demonstrating that the concept of public service had been replaced by that of profit-making enterprises.

During the day we sought to establish a set of goals for the hospital as a basis for policy-making. By day’s end we had listed twelve goals, two of which appeared to be in conflict. One was an operational target ‘to work within our allocated funding’, while the other identified the fundamental purpose of the hospital ‘to provide a health service for the people of Canterbury’. In a time of severe funding constraints and heavy pressure to live within their budget, hospital managers felt the tension keenly. They had already severely pruned expenditure, and further cuts would reduce services to those in need.

They could see clearly that service reduction would help them meet a financial goal, but would also undermine their basic raison d’etre. In the end they decided that when all avenues of fiscal prudence had been exhausted, their task was to become advocates for more funding to allow the hospital to continue to fulfil its purpose.

This illustrates what in my experience is one of today’s fundamental ethical issues. Core purposes and responsibilities can be undermined by a preoccupation with lesser operational objectives. Christchurch Hospital had not lost sight of its core purpose, but corporate bodies with profit as their de factoprimary objective can easily lose their focus on public service. I am not suggesting profit-making is inappropriate. Profit is essential for investment, growth and development, but profit should be pursued in a manner congruent with serving the public.

In recent years the concept of stakeholder responsibility has developed within the corporate and public sectors. Stakeholder groups include owners, staff, suppliers, customers, community and the environment. Groups such as the Sustainable Business Council emphasise such a holistic approach to business. Stakeholder responsibility is a measure of best practice in ethical investment which involves not just the avoidance of ‘sin stocks’ such as tobacco, military armaments or pornography, but works proactively to invest in companies committed to sustainability.

I have worked hard on such issues over many years, but progress can be slow in the face of prevailing attitudes that profit-making for the shareholder is the only ethical requirement. Milton Friedman, for example, has written[3]:

Few trends could so thoroughly undermine the foundations of our free society as the acceptance by corporate officials of a social responsibility other than to make as much money for the shareholders as possible.

Contrast the words of business leader Rodman Drake:

The advanced thinking on ethics is that a company is not just there to make money; it is there to make money as an end product of serving society well. Corporations which do this in an ethical manner are the ones that will succeed over time, and create wealth and pass wealth from one generation to another, and be living evidence of creativity and a contribution to society.

Too often a narrow focus on profit-making goes hand in hand with a view that addressing the needs of other stakeholders such as staff or the environment will reduce profits. The alternative view is that when staff and customers feel well treated by a company tangibly committed to environmental and community goals, there is a payoff in loyalty to the company as one that is good to do business with. Stock-market data over many years shows that companies operating with a broad stakeholder ethic perform just as well if not better than companies with a narrow focus on the bottom line.

Judge Mick Brown[4] of Auckland is another leader who distinguishes between operational and ultimate purposes. Addressing an Anglican synod one day he lamented the fact that each day in his court he faced a procession of petty offenders charged with theft, vandalism and other minor anti-social acts. He noted that they were mainly young, often brown-faced, and almost always poor and unemployed.

Waxing eloquent, he said: ‘I know there are many people who like to go home at night, draw the curtains, and settle down in front of TV with a nice meal and a glass of wine. I have some advice for them: DON’T SIT TOO CLOSE TO THE WINDOWS!’

Judge Brown stated that until the nation was prepared to address the underlying social and economic structures that gave rise to poverty, injustice and alienation, there would be no end to criminal activity. He did not say that such activity should be condoned, but rather that unless basic causes of crime were addressed the courts would forever be dealing with symptoms. Here was a man who was not satisfied simply to carry out his prescribed role in society, but was committed to explore and speak out about the deeper roots of a problem.

In 1991 in Auckland, Professor Karen Lebacqx[5] addressed a conference on Ethics at Work[6]. Her topic was Justice as a Norm for the Delivery of Health Care. Many of her audience expected an overview of complex ethical issues in western medicine, but Karen opened up a far wider perspective:

During the hour that I am speaking to you, 50 children will die in Africa of disease and malnutrition. Disease and malnutrition are the causes of these children’s deaths, but not the reasons for them. These children are dying because their governments are redirecting funds much needed for social services into the repayment of loans to wealthier nations….Their  health status has to do with the systemic factors of justice and injustice around the world.

It was the same message as Judge Brown’s: preoccupation with business as usual can blind us to the larger issues of justice. Karen introduced the parable spoken by the prophet Nathan to King David[7]. The parable tells of a rich man who, although he had many flocks and herds of his own, took a poor man’s only ewe lamb to provide food for a guest. Her reference to Hebrew scripture had no sense of religious preaching about it. Having painted starkly the realities of the gap between rich and poor nations, she drew on an ancient prophetic voice to illustrate precisely a major contemporary injustice.

In 2008 I was appointed to ACART[8], a government health ethics committee. Assisted reproductive technology (ART) is an area of great complexity with the potential for deep-felt and long-lasting trauma for those unable to conceive and carry a child in the normal way. Many have family members or friends who have gone through the pain of creating embryos artificially, having them implanted and then enduring the long wait to know the outcome. If unsuccessful they go through the process again, prolonging the trauma.

The care of the medical and counselling personnel at fertility clinics is impressive. Their approach is seldom narrowly clinical, but blended with a strong pastoral sense of each person’s need. One doctor said, for example, that the pain to a woman of not giving birth naturally was not eliminated by the eventual birth of a child via ART. Often there could be a sense of failure which endured for a long time.

ACART’s role is to develop guidelines for ART procedures in accordance with the government HART[9] Act 2004. The Act names seven principles to be followed, priority being given to the wellbeing of any child born as a result of an assisted procedure. Other principles include the wellbeing of women involved, the preservation of the health, safety and dignity of present and future generations and, in the case of donors of eggs, sperm or embryos, access by offspring to information about their genetic parents. Ethical and spiritual perspectives, including those of Maori and other cultures, are also highlighted.

The HART Act allows eggs, sperm and embryos to be frozen for future use. Sometimes genetic tissue is removed from very young people facing treatment for cancer and stored for later use. Similar procedures may be used for women wanting to defer child-bearing.

At times ethical principles clash. Should there, for example, be some upper age limit for a woman to carry an embryo sourced from a donor? There was a case in England where a woman in her late 50s gave birth to a child from a donor embryo. Before the child had started school the mother said she regretted her decision, citing her health and energy levels, her feeling of being a grand-mother alongside other parents, and the recognition that in her child’s teenage years she would be in her 70s with diminishing energy.

The HART Act lays down no guidelines for the age of a prospective birth mother. Avoiding age discrimination is often cited today, but the Act names the wellbeing of child and mother as over-riding principles. Age takes second place to wellbeing. This raises another question: who speaks for the unborn child? Prospective parents have the opportunity to demonstrate their suitability to a fertility counsellor, but the long-term wellbeing of a prospective child can only be guessed at.

Another ethical conundrum arises with the creation of what have been dubbed ‘saviour siblings’ or ‘spare parts babies’. Where parents have a child with some debilitating or life-threatening condition, it is now possible to select an IVF embryo which is a genetic match for the existing child and transfer stem cells at the birth of the new infant to ‘save’ its older sibling. The advantage for the existing child is clear, but could the younger one be left with feelings of ‘they only wanted me to help save my older brother or sister?’ The ethical principle of giving and saving life is a clear one. But it is also ethically desirable that any child born should be loved for its own sake. Ensuring this latter principle is fulfilled is a vital factor in ethical decision-making.

ACART decision-making processes are lengthy, causing great distress to parents who see their period of optimum fertility shrink and their hopes diminish. Much of the background work falls on a very competent but over-worked and under-resourced Ministry of Health secretariat. Draft guidelines go out for public consultation and might also be referred to other groups for comment, or sit on a Minister’s desk awaiting attention. There is little political pressure on governments to increase resources, but the delays are devastating on would-be parents.  I was greatly stimulated by my time on ACART and would like to see greater priority given to this work. 

Dwarfing all other ethical issues in recent times was the global financial crisis (GFC) of 2008. How did the US housing finance giants, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, get into such trouble? In retrospect we can see how it happened, both in America and in New Zealand. Many people wanting no more than a basic family home were pressured by rising house prices and tempting mortgage deals to buy properties at inflated values. Then when the housing bubble collapsed they were forced into mortgagee sales as their mortgage exceeded the reduced value of their home.

There’s a significant difference between a house and a home. A house provides a home where people live, grow up, raise children, and know the love and security of a family. But move along the spectrum a little and a house can become an investment, or a bit further and house-trading can become a way of life. Further along the spectrum again there develops a frenzied maelstrom of buying and selling characterised by greed and reckless dealing by banks and other financial institutions.

‘The misdemeanours of the bankers will be paid for by millions of people in the real economy losing their jobs. And in paper money the trillion will be repaid in higher tax on people who have no responsibility for its disappearance. And the little tossers in the investment banks who’ve put away their two and three and four million in bonuses each year over ten years…they’ll hang on to it all. And they of course will be the only ones who don’t pay back a coin. Which is bloody odd when you come to think of it. Because really they ought to be in prison.’ A Week in December, Sebastian Faulks. Vintage Books, 2009.

Wisdom often proceeds ‘out of the mouth of babes and sucklings’ as I experienced one evening driving our grand-daughter Julia home. Only seven years old at the time, she asked about a land agent’s sign. I explained how houses were bought and sold, how people made sealed offers to the land agent, and how when the offers were opened the house was sold to the person offering the most money. ‘Why,’ Julia asked, ‘would the house not be sold to the one who offered the least money, because that person would probably be the one who most needed the house and could least afford it?’

What we saw in the New Zealand property market was a minuscule version of what happened in America. Of the several films on the global financial crisis, the one that shook me most was Inside Job. It showed graphically how the poor were ripped off at each end of the money-train. At one end they were conned into unsustainable home purchases, the debts on which were re-packaged and on-sold through a variety of shonky schemes and eventually purchased by pensioner funds or local school boards. The shonky schemers are the true looters in society: they clip the ticket at each stage of the transition, but when their schemes imploded it was the struggling homeless or retirees who lost out.

A second stunning insight from the film came from interviews with academics from prestigious US universities, some of whom served as trustees of the very banks that collapsed. When asked if they saw any conflict between their supposedly objective role as academics and their life as bank trustees, they were totally unable to grasp the meaning of the question. They had lost their moral compass to such an extent they could no longer perceive the moral conflict in their lives.

The academics would doubtless be outraged to be described as amoral or immoral, yet their blindness to the corruption over which they presided fits that category. This inability to discern evil has been graphically described by a Muslim novelist, Kamel Hussein, of Egypt, in his book about Good Friday, City of Wrong. Hussein writes:

The day was a Friday. But it was quite unlike any other day. It was a day when people went very grievously astray, so far astray in fact that they involved themselves in the utmost iniquity. Evil overwhelmed them and they were blind to the truth, though it was as clear as the morning sky. Yet for all that they were people of religion and character and most careful about following the right. They were endeared to the good, tenderly affected towards their nation, sincere in their religious practice, and characterised by fervour, courage and integrity. Yet this thorough competence in their religion did not save them from wrong-doing, nor immunise their minds from error. Their sincerity did not guide them to the good. They were a people who took counsel among themselves, yet their counsels led them astray. The people of Jerusalem were caught that day in a vortex of seducing factors and, taken unaware amid them, they faltered. Lacking sound and valid criteria of action, they foundered utterly, as if they had been a people with neither reason nor religion.

The Occupy movement in late 2011 was an international outburst against global financial institutions that allow the 1 per cent of the world’s population to grow fat at the expense of the 99 per cent[10]. In Wellington the Occupy movement made the city’s Civic Square their base. I was at the time locum priest at St Peter’s, my previous parish, and Occupy asked if they could hold their opening event in the church in the event of wet weather. The parish council agreed, but the weather was fine and the event held outdoors as planned. I went along to Civic Square and sat on the paving stones for a while, listening to the voices of many of the marginalised in Wellington. A few from government and business also attended and listened in.

It is not always easy to see how such movements contribute to positive change.  Two years later the Wellington City Council agreed to pay a Living Wage[11] to all its employees, and to expect the same from its contract service providers. One could not prove a direct connection between Occupy and the Living Wage but I believe movements like Occupy and the Hikoi of Hope help to make people aware of the realities of deprivation and hence are effective engines of change.

‘Looking down the table at her guests now, Sophie tried to calculate their worth…but apart from Farooq al-Rashhid, who’d shifted tons of limes from the groves of Mexico and Iran via the steaming vats of Renfrew down the gullets of the masses…, none of them had engaged with anything that actually existed’. A Week in December, Sebastian Faulks. Vintage Books, 2009.

A must-read novel with a global finance theme is Sebastian Faulk’s A Week in December[12], of which Literary Review writes:

The dark conclusion on which everything converges is that there are two types of terrorist in this country: one type universally reviled and against whom no measure is unjustified, and the other, one who arguably does more damage, who gets invited to dinner with the Tory party leader.

In August 2014 Nicky Hager launched Dirty Politics, a book which went viral overnight and dominated the period leading up to the September General Election. The book was based on a large number of hacked emails between Prime Minister John Key’s office and Whale Oil blogger Cameron Slater. Further emails showed a very cosy relationship between Slater and Justice Minister Judith Collins, who was forced to resign her ministerial portfolio prior to the election.

Hager’s theme was that the Government was using the Whale Oil blog to promote its right wing policies by leaking information to discredit other political parties, individuals or community groups, or even members of their own Party thought to be less than loyal.

No one looks to politics for a model of sweetness and light, but what shocked many New Zealanders was the extent and vitriolic nature of what Dirty Politics outlined as going on behind the scenes. Public Relations extend along a spectrum from providing information, to promotion of a point of view, to outright manipulation. Many felt Whale Oil was at the latter end of the spectrum.

Four basic ethical principles are undermined in the process. Truth becomes the victim of lies or misrepresentation. Personal attacks discredit individuals rather than debate the merits of what they are saying. Promotion of an ideology overrides any consideration of what that ideology might be delivering for the most needy and vulnerable members of society. And finally, democracy is undermined when misinformation deprives citizens of their informed decision-making role while political manipulators skew the playing field to their own advantage.

But while many were shocked by Hager’s revelations, others just shrugged their shoulders and said: ‘Well, that’s politics, what would you expect?’ Many media commentators took a similar approach, either ignoring or failing to understand the ethical significance of what was plainly before their eyes. It is a sad comment on a nation’s ethics when many of its politicians, journalists and the public at large have lost the capacity to see the difference between right and wrong.

In this chapter I have focused on the ethical air we breathe, and have linked it to organisational purpose. If the operating ethos of any company, government, church, public sector body or community service organisation is de facto narrow, institutional, profit-centred and self-serving, corporate practice will reflect that goal. I say ‘de facto’ because most organisations profess a mission statement claiming their aim to be of service to others, but that aim is too often over-ridden or ignored.

Some corporate leaders do so intentionally. Others go along with a prevailing self-serving ethic because they feel powerless to change it, and there are some for whom any wider purpose is not even envisioned. In many situations operational concerns such as cost-cutting or profit-maximisation take precedence over core values. I remember from my days as an industrial chaplain visiting a large company where everyone from the managing director down felt that, much as they would like to change, it was not in their power to do so. All too often lesser and meaner values become so embedded in a corporate ethos that any wider purpose vanishes from the radar.

The Chief Rabbi, Sir Jonathan Sacks, wrote in 2012[13]:

A moral revolution is needed when capitalism is no longer a system for the common good but an end in itself…Instead of the market being framed by wider moral principles, it comes to substitute for moral principle. If you can buy it, negotiate it, earn it and afford it, then you are entitled to it – as the advertisers say – because you’re worth it.

Ultimately financial failure is the result of moral failure: a failure of long-term responsibility to the societies of which we are a part, and to future generations who will bear the cost of our mistakes. It is a symptom of a wider failure: to see the market as a means not an end.

Over the years I have been privileged to work with many people in the public and private sector who share that vision and have the courage and will to work to achieve it. They are people who breathe an ethical air that works for the common good and the wellbeing of planet earth. We need many more of them.

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[1] ‘Interested Person’ is the legislative term but submissions were all from groups or organisations.

[2] The RCGM regarded the term ‘Genetic Engineering’ (GE) as synonymous with GM.

[3] In Capitalism and Freedom.

[4] Mick Brown of Auckland was a District Court Judge who later became the Principal Youth Court Judge.

[5] Theologian and teacher of social justice and ethics at the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, California.

[6] Organised by Dr John Hinchcliff of the Auckland Institute (now University) of Technology.

[7] 2 Samuel 12.

[8] Advisory Committee on Assisted Reproductive Technology.

[9] Human Assisted Reproductive Technology.

[10] ‘We are the 99%’ was one of the slogans of the Occupy movement.

[11] The Living Wage campaign is global. In New Zealand a living wage (in 2014) was calculated to be $18.40 per hour, about $5 per hour higher than the legislated minimum wage.

[12] Vintage Books, 2009.

[13] Has Europe lost its soul to the markets?, The Times, 31 January 2012.

In 1992, Stephen Hall[1] invited me to Perth to run a series of seminars based on my poverty and justice work in New Zealand. My recently published book, Hearts and Minds, had been well received across the Tasman. I was impressed to see the partnership Stephen had developed with Aboriginal people around the Swan River. It was my first contact with such work and would turn out to be an important first step in my introduction to Australia.

Travelling home, I had been invited to make whistle-stop calls in Adelaide, Melbourne, Canberra and Sydney. The stop in Canberra was to prove especially significant. I had been invited to give a brief address on social responsibility issues in New Zealand at an end-of-year function at St Mark’s Theological Library.

The library had been founded by Ernest Burgmann, arguably the diocese’s most influential bishop in church and nation. Elected bishop of Goulburn in 1934, he retired as Bishop of Canberra & Goulburn in 1960, the diocese having changed its name in 1950 to include Australia’s fast-growing capital city. Burgmann had a love for theological education, and wanted theology to inform key issues of the day. Psychology was part of his studies and he was committed to social justice and workers’ rights.

As president of the Australia-Soviet Friendship League, he opposed legislation to ban the Communist Party in 1951, this earning him the title ‘the red bishop’. A prolific writer and public speaker, Burgmann was described once by Prime Minister Robert Menzies as ‘that most meddlesome priest’. Bishop for 26 years, he retired at age 75. The library he founded was opened in 1957 and now operates as St Mark’s National Theological Centre within the School of Theology of Charles Sturt University.

So it was to this place with its rich history that I came on a very wet evening in December 1992. My plane was late and, as I arrived, plates and glasses from the end-of-year function were being cleared away, many party-goers having already departed. An extended address at that stage was clearly not wanted, so I spoke briefly on socio-economic issues in New Zealand and the churches’ response, followed by a brief discussion. Next day I went on to Sydney and then home, where Jackie and I celebrated our silver wedding anniversary with family and friends just before Christmas.

I had stayed in Canberra with a retired priest, Ted Arblaster, and his wife, Mary. We had much in common and Ted, along with Ken Batterham, Geoffrey Brennan and others, was behind an invitation that came out of the blue shortly after. The diocese was looking for a new bishop: would I be prepared to be nominated? After discussion with Jackie and the family, I felt I should allow my name to go forward, and in January 1993 found myself on another whistle-stop tour, this time around the diocese meeting small groups of Anglicans in town and countryside.

There was something vaguely hush-hush about all this as twenty years ago it was considered not done to be ‘canvassing’. However, I was consoled by the fact that it was not my idea and, having bumped into one of the other candidates by accident, felt satisfied this was not some brash Kiwi initiative. Things are much more open today and it makes a lot of sense for people to have a Q&A with someone who might be their leader for years to come.

George Browning, an assistant bishop from Brisbane, was elected as bishop, but I was surprised some months later to be asked if I would consider coming to Canberra as assistant bishop with responsibility for the Church in the wider community. Vocationally this built squarely on my social responsibility role in New Zealand and it seemed right to Jackie and me to accept.

‘Crossing the ditch’ to New Zealand’s ‘west island’ had some family implications. It was not a case of the ‘chickens leaving the nest’ but rather ‘the nest leaving the chickens’. As a family we had enjoyed 16 settled years in Wellington, during which time Rebecca completed high school and was about to graduate from the University of Otago medical school and marry David. Jo had moved from school entrant to university graduate in the same period, completing her BA in English, arts and drama.

Jeremy had just finished high school and came with us to Canberra at one point to consider university enrolment there. He preferred to be with his Wellington friends, however, and we agreed to help with accommodation in Wellington as well as travel to Canberra in vacations. Jo spent much of 1995 with us in Canberra, pursuing her reading and writing, and undertaking voluntary work as a ‘diversional therapist’ at Brindabella, an Anglican aged care facility in Canberra. We greatly enjoyed her company as we settled into a new environment.

Jackie faced the biggest challenge of finding work in a new city. It is a mark of our largely male-dominated culture that wives and families generally follow along where ‘the man’ goes. There are some changes in the next generation, but I readily concede that Jackie is the one who has said ‘whither thou goest I will go’, at some cost to herself and her own counselling gifts. For that I am grateful and somewhat chagrined.

With the help of Canberra friends, Jackie explored options for counselling positions in the Canberra state school system as well as the Catholic one, all to no avail.  But a position was advertised for school counsellor at Canberra Grammar, the Anglican boys’ school. She was flown over for interview and we were delighted when she was offered the position. CGS was a far cry culturally from Viard College in Porirua, but the challenge of individual, relationship and school dilemmas no less deep.

At the end of 1994 we moved from Wellington to Canberra. I went six weeks ahead of Jackie, gallantly leaving her with much of the burden of packing up. Friends were very supportive as we got ready to go. Two sent a card with Moses, having parted the waters, saying to some disgruntled followers: ‘What do you mean it’s a bit muddy?’ Others prepared us culturally with the CD My Home Amongst the Gum Trees, and another entitled Great Australian Trucking Songs, the latter including such all-time Aussie favourites as The Lass on Goulburn Hill and A Light Shines for Me in Tarcutta.

Radical from New Zealand for Canberra was the headline in the English Church Times[2] over an article by its Australian correspondent, Muriel Porter, noting that I had been a ‘marked figure in New Zealand for (my) criticism of economic rationalism, and of the purchase of Australian-made naval frigates’.

St Thomas’ Day, 21 December 1994, was chosen for my consecration service in St Saviour’s cathedral at Goulburn. The early summer temperature was over 40C degrees, with iced water being handed out at the door. Many from the diocese were present, along with bishops from different parts of Australia. I was greatly moved to see a contingent from New Zealand including parishioners from St Peter’s, our old Wellington parish, church colleagues, the New Zealand high commissioner in Canberra, Graham Fortune, and a solid team of clan Randerson. My good friend, Bruce Gilberd, was the preacher that night, and it was special to have our daughter Jo as my chaplain.

My pastoral staff had a special history. A St Peter’s parishioner, Nola Bayliss, had brought back from Australia a simple unadorned shepherd’s crook made from Australian wood. When my appointment was announced she felt she should pass the crook to me so that it might be taken ‘home’ and used pastorally in my new role. In no way did it match the standard episcopal crook, elaborately carved with silver encrusted ornamentation, but I was honoured to receive it and use it during our years in Australia.

Preaching in a country parish one Sunday, I asked the children what they thought the crook was. They were totally mystified but at length the silence was broken by a retired sheep farmer who told us about his life running sheep and how they didn’t use wooden crooks anymore because they now used metal ones if they used one at all. It was a long step from there to why a bishop should be carrying one today, but hopefully the connection of ‘tending the sheep’ was made.

The Canberra & Goulburn diocese, with some 60 parishes, occupies the south-eastern part of New South Wales. It is a delightful part of Australia, although drought is at times a harsh reality for farmers. From its centre in Canberra, the diocese extends east via the Great Dividing Range to the coast at Batemans Bay. The Snowy Mountains lie across the southern boundary with Wagga Wagga marking the western end.

Sundays for a bishop are generally spent leading worship in one or other of the parishes. In and around Canberra this would usually mean a morning visit to lead worship and preach. During the second part of the year such visits often included a confirmation service when younger people (and sometimes older) would confirm their baptismal promises and receive the laying on of hands by the bishop. It was always very moving to see the commitment of candidates, learn of their backgrounds and hopes for the future, and experience the heightened sense of faith in the life of clergy and people.

No parish was more than a three-hour drive from Canberra, but for the more distant ones Jackie and I would often drive out together on the Saturday for a social event, dinner and address before staying over for the Sunday service. On one occasion we were at Tumbarumba where the parish was holding a parish gala. Jackie was asked to judge the baby show and, knowing the potential such events can have for inter-parental friction, I quickly moved off to try my hand at the coconut shies. Baby shows, in my experience, can only be successful when the number of prizes and categories exactly match the number of babies entered. Whether it be the darkest, blondest, cutest, curliest, sweetest or whatever, make sure no one goes home without a prize. I didn’t score a coconut but Jackie managed the baby show without any outbreak of hostilities.

At Eden, an old whaling and forestry town on the south coast, and on another occasion at Boorowa, I was asked to receive the debs at a debutante ball. The last such ball I had attended was 30 years earlier when Bishop Eric Gowing had received the debs in the Auckland town hall. So it felt like a time warp to be receiving the debs myself on the other side of the Tasman. I felt a little conflicted at Eden insofar as the All Blacks were playing the Springboks and I had to sneak out to an adjoining bar between fox-trots to catch the score. The social ethos surrounding debutante balls may have changed out of sight over recent decades, but it was moving to experience the warmth of a local community and to celebrate the gifts and grace that young people bring to it.

It was always a great gift to have Jackie with me on parish visits. I was usually the designated preacher or speaker but Jackie, a talented and indefatigable conversationalist, always sparked lively discussions. Often, having finished greeting parishioners after church, I would look across and see Jackie surrounded by a dozen or so women, all leaning in and hanging on to every word as she shared ideas on life, faith, church, families, young people, counselling, relationships, politics and most topics in between.

The All Saints’ parish church at Ainslie in Canberra had an intriguing history as a mortuary station on the railway line from Sydney to the Rookwood cemetery. Trains operated daily carrying mourners and coffins to the cemetery, discharging passengers (both living and departed) within the beautifully pillared brown stone station at Rookwood. Two angels with trumpets, one of Death, the other of Life, adorned the station archway, warning or assuring all visitors. Only the living required tickets for the train, the fare schedule noting ‘corpses free’.

The mortuary train was discontinued in 1948 as motorised traffic grew, and in 1957 the Rookwood station was put up for sale ‘as is where is’. It was a time when Canberra was rapidly expanding with clergy scrambling to build churches in newly-established parishes. The first priest at Ainslie was Ted Buckle, well known to many in New Zealand as priest and subsequently assistant bishop in the diocese of Auckland. Ted, with his wife Mona, had lived in the Snowy Mountains where Ted had been the Anglican chaplain to the Snowy Mountain Scheme. As the huge hydro construction came to an end, Ted was appointed to Ainslie, his photo on the church wall showing a determined young man with both vision and glint in his eyes.

Ted and the parish purchased the mortuary chapel for 100 pounds, had it dismantled stone by stone and moved by rail to Canberra where it was painstakingly re-erected with stained glass windows from England, and a new roof following a fire at Rookwood. The two ends were closed in, leaving an interior space with impressive pillars each side of the centre aisle marking the path of the single rail track into the station. The two angels with trumpets were strikingly repositioned at the entrance to the choir, although the angel of Death leaked badly in heavy rain. The overall impression was superb and I found the church had a beauty and gravitas which made it an inspiring place in which to worship.

Dennis Vanderwolf, the very colourful rector of the parish during our time, had a strong sense of ministry within the wider community. More than once I preached at the annual AIDS Day service, led musically with rousing songs from the Gay and Lesbian Quire, and with the more risqué Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, gay men dressed in nuns’ habits, in attendance. Another event at All Saints was the Police Association service recalling the lives of members lost on active duty, and affirming the service provided by police to the community.

As part of my role as bishop in wider society, I was able to adapt the poverty and justice seminar format from New Zealand to the Australian scene.  I also chaired the diocesan social services and aged care boards. Aged care was expanding fast with new facilities under construction in Canberra and at Merimbula on the south coast. Diocesan Careforce had a voluntary funding base which expanded during my time to make possible the appointment of a full-time staff person soon after I left.

There was a general interest in trans-Tasman approaches to poverty and I was several times invited to address conferences locally and nationally. I wrote opinion pieces for The Canberra Times, including one on the Goods and Services Tax being proposed at the time for Australia. The proposal led to a hot public debate with a demand from social service groups that essential basic food items should be exempt, an exemption that does not exist in New Zealand. My own view has been that provided adequate income compensation is made to those on low incomes, they need not be disadvantaged, the critical word being ‘provided’. The GST was subsequently introduced in Australia, including the exemption.

During our time in Australia two official delegations were dispatched from Australia to review the economic restructuring in New Zealand. Both returned with similar conclusions that while there might be a few things to be learned, the Australian government would not want to consign 25 per cent of its population to the extremes of poverty being experienced across the Tasman. I reflected that Australia was adhering to a far higher standard of social morality than could be said for New Zealand.

A controversial public statement I made concerned the 1998 national waterfront dispute. The waterfront employers’ group, the Patrick Corporation, had introduced major changes to improve productivity by reducing worker entitlements and introducing non-union workers to counteract the influence of the Maritime Union of Australia. In April 1998 when the union took industrial action, Patrick moved to lock out its whole waterfront workforce and replace them with non-union labour. In this they had the support of the Liberal-National Government of the day.

Addressing the Canberra May Day rally two weeks later, I affirmed the importance of trade unions as a means to achieve just wages and conditions for working people. But I also noted that the Canberra & Goulburn diocese had many rural parishes and that the capacity for farmers to get their produce across the docks in a reliable and cost-effective manner was vital to their survival. I deplored the fact that the Federal Government, having put much emphasis on fair dealing between employer and employee free of outside influence, had weighed in heavily in support of Patrick’s move in locking out the workers. I suggested the Government was sowing the seeds of a bitter harvest: it might win the waterfront battle but lose the more significant goal of long-term industrial harmony.  I called for the abandonment of partisan power in the dispute in favour of a mediated settlement that would benefit all Australians.

The statement was even-handed and carefully worded. Nonetheless it stirred up a hornet’s nest among farmers in the diocese, many of whom had bitter memories of union action over many years. To them any supportive reference to unions was anathema. Some threatened to withdraw their financial contributions to the church. Here is a challenge for any bishop: does one keep silent on key issues to avoid alienating parts of one’s constituency? Too often bishops keep silent or make bland utterances to keep the peace and maintain church revenue and membership.

Yet here was a major issue that was splitting the nation. What does it say if the Church says nothing in the face of major issues of social justice and conflict? The Archbishop of Melbourne, Keith Rayner, affirmed the Church’s role in speaking out on contentious issues. ‘We have no axe to grind, no need to impress an electorate at the next election, to maximise profits, or maintain inherited work practices. We cannot enforce a solution: but we can at least call for principles of justice and honesty.’

A less controversial local issue involved the seizure of a working couple’s home by the ACT Supreme Court sheriff to recover an unpaid debt. The action arose when a boy had been throwing stones at a couple’s house. The husband, an Eastern European migrant, had taken the boy inside and called on the boy’s parents to intervene. The parents laid a charge of kidnapping and the husband was brought before the court. The magistrate, sensing the reality of the situation, fined the man some paltry amount which he refused to pay ‘on principle’.

The situation escalated, further fines and charges inflating the amount owed, until eventually their house worth $295,000 was seized and sold for $80,000. The reason for the pathetically low sale price was that the sheriff could sell property to recover a debt with no reserve price. No effort to market the property was made other than a minimalist public notice. A government insider was able to pick up a valuable property for a fraction of its price, resulting in this case in a $200,000 loss to the couple.

I was outraged by such institutional injustice, especially in a comparatively small jurisdiction such as the ACT where one might expect a better chance of sorting things out. I said that clearly this was a case where the law had not delivered justice, and that ‘it was not enough for officials merely to follow the rules. They must ask whether or not the rules deliver a just outcome’. I also suggested that the ACT Government had a moral responsibility to make good the huge amount of money lost by the couple. There was a lengthy television interview and the case was a news feature in The Canberra Times, its billboard for the day trumpeting: BISHOP TO GOVT – PAY UP. I don’t think they ever did, but action was taken to repair what really amounted to insider trading at the expense of the powerless.

An ally and friend on the social justice front was Bishop Pat Power, my opposite number in the Roman Catholic diocese. Pat was born in Cooma, south of Canberra, and grew up in Queanbeyan on the outskirts of the ACT. He had a fine sense of justice and a special affinity with working people and those on the margins. Together we appeared at several events, one of them being a public rally on the parliamentary lawn in Canberra at a time when newly elected federal MP Pauline Hanson was making a huge impact. Pauline had won the Brisbane seat of Oxley in 1996, describing herself as a mother of four, sole parent and successful proprietor of a fish and chip shop.

She placed great emphasis on her opposition to multi-culturalism, immigration and federal assistance to Aborigines. Against that background Bishop Pat and I, along with others, spoke on the importance of national policies that were inclusive of indigenous peoples and ethnic minorities, and welcomed newcomers to Australia. Pauline won great acclaim from many but her parliamentary time was short-lived, lasting only until the next election.

On another occasion Pat and I travelled to Cooma to oppose government plans to close the local jail. We were not greatly in favour of jails, but the closure of the Cooma jail would entail long journeys for family members wishing to visit inmates, with all the cost of time and travel. The jail was closed for three years but reopened in 2001 because of an increased prison population.

Bishop Pat and I also made a joint appearance before the ACT housing committee to advocate for better housing for the poor. The date was 17 March, St Patrick’s Day, and Pat felt it appropriate that we should honour his patron saint with some liquid sustenance before making our appearance. In good ecumenical spirit I concurred without demur.

My public critiques of policy-makers notwithstanding, I was invited in 1998 by the ACT government to chair an enquiry into the nature and extent of poverty in Canberra. This was a significant opportunity to lead a committee comprising representatives of community groups as well as of various departments of the ACT public service. Teamwork between those working at the grassroots and public policy-makers was a visionary and constructive opportunity which I was excited to lead. I was able to oversee foundations for the enquiry before leaving Canberra, and I was pleased Bishop Pat was able to take on the leadership of the group.

I spent three days behind the ancient barb-wired grey stone walls of the state-run prison at Goulburn. With others from local churches, including the Roman Catholic archbishop Francis Carroll from Canberra, we ran a voluntary programme on life issues and relationships for inmates. The programme had a faith dimension and around 30 people opted in. Those three days gave me an insight into the basic humanity of people whose path in life seldom crosses that of the comfortable middle class. These men had a genuine desire to make a new start but I could see just how hard that would be, going back into the same social milieu from which they had come, and with the added stigma of being a ‘convict’.

A new prison under construction in Junee was opened during my time. It was the first privately run correctional facility in New South Wales and, compared with Goulburn jail, had all the advantages of a new complex with innovative and attractive features. As arrangements for the new prison were being made, I received a call one morning from the human resources manager at Junee. He wanted to know how many church services he could purchase for $5000 per year.

His contract with the state government required the provision of spiritual and religious services to inmates. I wondered if he was thinking that a Sunday church service might cost around $100, and if he purchased 50 we might throw in the other two for the year as part of a bulk deal. I explained that the provision of spiritual care was not based on the purchase of church services, but that our local priest in Junee, along with other clergy and church visitors in the area, would be very willing to act as chaplain to the new correctional centre. I helped him make the contacts with our clergy.

Work within church schools had a particular challenge. I loved the exchange with students on key issues of religion and society. On one occasion at Radford College, a co-educational Anglican high school, the topic for the day was religion and science, and we quickly got into a debate about the creation of the world. Many see this as a simple polarity: either you believe in Stephen Hawking and the Big Bang, and Charles Darwin and evolution, or you believe in the biblical account in Genesis. The two options are mutually exclusive in the popular mind, the choice not being helped by biblical literalists.

I explained that to see the biblical account of creation in scientific terms was a category mistake. The question of how the universe was created is essentially a scientific one. Religion has a totally different role to paint a picture of how humans should understand the world and live in it. The creation stories in Genesis offer a vision of life which is essentially relational – a relationship with God and with all people, seeing all humanity as family. From this concept of family stem all our endeavours for reconciliation, justice, peace and the well-being of all. We live also in relationship with the universe, planet earth and all living creatures, seeing these as gifts to be nourished and sustained to provide life for future generations.

All civilisations have their stories of origin of the earth and its species, and the biblical one has parallels with the dreamtime in Australian aboriginal mythology, and the Maori story of Rangi and Papa. I have never heard either of those two mythologies portrayed as scientific accounts of the world’s creation, but they share with the Genesis story themes of the connectedness of all human life and creation, and the mandate of stewardship and care for all life. To explore such issues with lively young minds is a great privilege.

A different challenge awaited me at an open forum for the senior classes at Canberra Girls’ Grammar School (CGGS). About 120 students gathered in the school’s auditorium for an ‘ask the bishop’ session. Written questions had been submitted in advance, and 75 per cent were about sex. Now you could say there’s another category mistake with an ageing male cleric giving advice to a large crowd of young women on sexual relationships. A wide variety of views was doubtless present, and it wasn’t much use just trotting out the Church’s traditional teaching of ‘no sex outside of marriage’.

Instead I suggested there is a broad spectrum of types of sexual relationship, from promiscuous and abusive relationships at one end of the spectrum to a relationship at the other end arising from a deep love and ongoing commitment to another person. And that what mattered was not so much where we might currently be on the spectrum, but what we aspired to in terms of a committed relationship grounded in love. Again a lively discussion ensued and I found it both enriching and enlightening to engage with the thinking of students 40 years my junior. Staff members sitting in on the session said they felt it had been constructive.

Some time later I was invited to chair the CGGS Board. It cannot be assumed that being a bishop automatically equips one for chairing a large school board. For me it was a steep learning curve, and I am greatly indebted to the mentoring I received from Lynette Glendinning. Lynette, an Anglican, is a management consultant with great skills in helping groups listen to each other, set new goals and develop team relationships. She consults with large government departments and in business, and gives much time voluntarily to church and community groups.

I invited Lynette to lead a planning day for the board and from that changes began to take place. The board was hard-working and committed, and it was impressive to see many projects in new building and curricula development under way. But several board members had been there for 15-20 years, and likewise among the teaching staff there was a need for rejuvenation. Lynette assisted us to reflect on the future challenges in education and to set in place strategies for change.

When I became chair the official name of the school was Canberra Church of England Girls’ Grammar School. This was an anachronism since the title ‘Church of England in Australia’ had been changed to ‘The Anglican Church in Australia’ in 1981. ‘Church of England’ smacked of colonial days, whereas the new title asserted the independence of the Australian Church within the worldwide Anglican Communion. I consulted the board who felt we should explore with parents, ex-pupils, staff and students the option of removing ‘Church of England’ from the school’s name.

I anticipated stiff opposition, but was pleasantly surprised to find widespread acceptance of the change. I did, however, have a long series of email exchanges with a parent working in the armed services who was quite certain the move was a covert step down the road to republicanism. The change was agreed to and the school is now known as Canberra Girls’ Grammar School.

I especially appreciated invitations to address gatherings of people outside the Church – opportunities to engage in dialogue with people from other walks of life, listen to their issues, and reflect on the deeper purposes and values of human endeavour. I spoke at conferences of judges and magistrates, the medical profession, educators, business leaders and social service agencies.

In August 1998 I delivered the Langford Oration to the Royal Australian College of Medical Administrators. I entitled the address Corpus Sanum cum Spiritu Sano and asked questions about the over-arching purpose of health organisations. The World Health Organisation in 1946 defined health as ‘a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being, and not merely the absence of infirmity or disease’. Maori have a similarly broad definition, defining the four pillars of health as te tinana (physical health), te wairua (spiritual health), te hinengaro (mental or emotional health) and te whanau (family or community well-being).

In dealing withte wairua or spiritus sanus I described spirituality as that background of beliefs and values that gives meaning, purpose and direction to our lives. Peter Berger[3] used the term ‘sacred canopy’, and spirituality is a life lived mindful of that canopy. It is a wider term than religion, although many people express their spirituality in theistic terms in a religious context.

In an address at a service in Goulburn cathedral in March 1995 to mark the opening of the legal year of the Supreme Court of New South Wales, I affirmed that the ultimate purpose of any profession is to serve individuals and the community. A lawyer had said to me that the great danger for the legal profession today was that professionalism in a narrow sense might obscure the wider purpose of justice.

That narrow sense of professionalism has been described by Sir Gerard Brennan[4]:

It has now been clearly recognised that legal knowledge, like lawyers’ time, is a valuable commodity. It can be turned to financial account… Note, however, the significant change in attitude that that approach engenders…The meaning of the profession is (no longer) the pursuit of justice according to the law for the community, but the provision of opportunities for each individual member to turn his or her expert knowledge to financial account.

Complementing Sir Gerard’s warning, Sir Owen Dixon[5], outlined a higher view of professionalism:

Members of a profession master and practise an art which is indispensable to the progress of society, and the skill and knowledge of the profession must be available to the service of the state or the community.

The question we must always ask, in any profession, I suggested, was ‘Whom do we serve?’

After the service I walked out with Supreme Court judge, Justice John Dowd. A local reporter wanted a photograph of the two of us in our colourful robes, sitting on a large rock outside the Cathedral with our backs to each other. Neither of us felt this was a great message to be sending, and the outcome instead was a very nice photo of the two us standing side by side.

Another initiative I took in public values was to establish the Canberra Forum. The forum was designed to create a space where leaders in their respective professions might share some of the background to their work, and the ethical challenges they faced. Forum events began with a sit-down meal in one of Canberra’s social clubs and were then followed by the invited speaker and discussion.

The Hon Michael Kirby[6] attracted a capacity crowd the night he addressed the forum. Justice Kirby is a significant Australian jurist who recently led the UN Human Rights Council Inquiry into abuses in North Korea, his report being published in February 2014. He has given strong support to gay and lesbian rights, having declared in 1999 in Who’s Who in Australia his 30-year relationship with Johan van Vloten. As a lifelong Anglican who had grown up in the suburb of Concord in Sydney, he said he had always felt singled out for God’s blessing by the Anglican prayer that begins ‘O God, who art the author of peace and lover of concord’.

Justice Kirby presented a stimulating background that night to many contemporary issues of justice and law. One questioner asked how one made a judicial decision in the absence of precedent. He replied that when there was no previous case law one needed to refer to higher principles, such as in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Laws that fail to reflect higher purpose cannot deliver justice.

The bishops of the seven dioceses in New South Wales[7] met regularly at the home of the Archbishop of Sydney. The Sydney diocese swamps all the others in terms of numbers and finance, and is well known for its conservative and often fundamentalist viewpoints. A current example of that in my time was a debate in the Sydney synod about lay presidency at the Eucharist, or Holy Communion. It is universal Anglican practice that only a priest may preside at such services, so for Sydney to be contemplating lay presidency was a major departure from long-standing tradition.

The issue surfaced from time to time at meetings of the New South Wales bishops which were graciously hosted by the Archbishop of Sydney, Harry Goodhew, and his wife Pam. Harry was the glue that held together the diverse views of the bishops. An evangelical himself, an essential qualification for being Archbishop of Sydney, he was mindful that Anglicanism was a broad church and reflected this in his inclusive approach to those with differing theological views.

The lay presidency issue put him under intense pressure. A large majority of the clergy and laity in the Sydney synod supported it, but without his vote it could not proceed. ‘Help me, fellas,’ he said to the bishops one day. ‘I don’t want to step out of line with the worldwide Anglican consensus, but standing against the majority of one’s own synod is not easy either.’ Harry withstood the pressure and the Sydney diocese has not yet gone down that track.

Nationally, Australia’s 40 or more bishops met annually in conference at Gilbulla, a Sydney diocesan conference and retreat centre with basic facilities, situated next to a large pig farm. An unfavourable wind brings a pungent reminder of Jesus and the Gadarene swine[8]. Since my departure the bishops’ meeting has moved to more salubrious locations such as the Barossa Valley, the Gold Coast or Western Australia.

Differences of theological opinion were evident at these meetings. From time to time the Sydney bishops would table an agenda item on the uniqueness of Christ. None of us had any doubt on the subject, but it was important to Sydney to check we were all doctrinally orthodox. One year the bishop of Wangaratta, Paul Richardson, shared that in his previous post in Papua New Guinea he had found certain parallels between Christianity and indigenous religions. Temperatures rose as the potential for ‘pagan influences’ raised its head and the primate[9], Keith Rayner, well-honed in managing such situations in the national church, gently moved the agenda on to the next item.

My first national meeting of the Australian bishops was attended also by the newly elected Anglo-Catholic bishop of Ballarat, David Silk, who had migrated from England a few months earlier. Work on the revision of An Australian Prayer Book had been going on for several years and the bishops were now being asked to approve the final draft to go to the forthcoming General Synod. David had a background in matters liturgical and was sitting in the meeting with a huge pile of papers beside him.

When the topic of prayer book revision came up he intervened to say he had reviewed the various forms for the Holy Communion service and found them inadequate in several respects. The papers he had brought contained major revisions or substitutions for those services. This news stunned the meeting, its members, including the primate, expecting more of a consensus assent to a document worked over and revised many times. In the silence David asked the Primate: ‘Shall I distribute my documents first, Your Grace, or would you like me to speak to them before passing them around?’

His Grace clearly wished to have them neither distributed nor spoken to but, bowing to the inevitable, agreed it was better to have them passed around and then discussed. David proceeded to summon several of the bishops to hand out the papers. ‘Harry,’ he said, nodding to the Archbishop of Sydney, ‘would you kindly pass this lot around?’ It was the most astonishing ecclesiastical coup I have ever experienced. David was successful in getting much material of an Anglo-Catholic nature incorporated into the new prayer book, even although this made it much less attractive to Sydney.

The new Australian prayer book was further debated at the General Synod in Melbourne in 1995 and finally adopted. The communion services display many contemporary features, but none of them captures the quintessentially Australian flavour of a prayer by an Aboriginal woman, Lenore Parker. It includes evocative images:

God of holy dreaming, Great Creator Spirit, from the dawn of creation you have given your children the good things of Mother Earth. You spoke and the gum tree grew. In the vast desert and dense forest, and in cities at the water’s edge, creation sings your praise. Your presence endures as the rock at the heart of our Land.[10]

The prayer appears as a separate prayer of thanksgiving but, turning a blind eye to constitutional niceties, I would on occasions use it in lieu of the first part of the eucharistic prayer. An earlier proposal had been that the prayer in fact be part of one of the eucharistic prayers, but sadly it had been relegated from that more prominent spot as the liturgical commission wrestled with the proposals brought by David Silk. It was a sad triumph of neo-colonial partisan churchmanship over indigenous tradition.

At the same General Synod I was stunned by one of the opening procedural motions dealing with such matters as hours of sitting and order of business. The motion that shocked me accorded to the sole Aboriginal bishop, Arthur Malcolm, the right to speak ‘if called upon by the President but not to propose motions or to vote’. The Aboriginal bishop was not a member of his own national synod!

I could hardly believe this but found on enquiry how it came about. Australia is divided into separate dioceses with synod representation based on diocesan delegations. Diocesan bishops are members of synod as of right, but clergy and laity are elected by each diocese in numbers proportional to size of diocese. Anachronistically, assistant bishops are not members of the House of Bishops, even though many of them oversee large metropolitan regions that numerically dwarf small rural dioceses.

Assistant bishops have to be elected to General Synod as one of the clergy delegates for their diocese, this displacing a clergy person from election. Arthur Malcolm held the office of assistant bishop in the diocese of North Queensland, a very small diocese which qualified for only a few seats. Bishop Arthur had not been elected to one of them and was thus a stranger in the General Synod in the country where his people had lived for 40,000 years.

I was appalled, and described it as a situation of ecclesiastical terra nullius, the doctrine of European colonisers that Australia was terra nullius, ‘belonging to no one’, and hence could be freely occupied. It was clear to me that the Anglican Church was operating on the same principle. With Australia divided into geographical dioceses, and synod representation arising exclusively from that base, there was no land whereby indigenous Australians could gain representation. Only within the colonisers’ system of church governance could an Aboriginal stand part of his own synod. In this case he had been excluded.

I shared my sense of outrage with a senior colleague who advised me that as a newcomer to Australia I should keep silence. Keeping silence has never been one of my better developed skills and in August that year I put my thoughts on paper for the Samaritans Foundation in Newcastle, speaking on The Year of Tolerance, Social Justice and the Church. In my paper I said:

The Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders are the host peoples of Australia, but the history of Australia, as in most colonial nations, has not been one of reciprocity. As the settlers have gained in numbers and power, they have taken over the land. Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders have been killed, driven from their traditional lands, impoverished in terms of culture, spirituality, socio-economic well-being and political representation. Large numbers of indigenous people are in prison and may die in custody. Adequate income, housing, education and employment are not available to many of Australia’s indigenous people today.

On the question of indigenous church representation, I quoted Article 19 of the United Nations Draft Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples:

Indigenous peoples have the right to participate fully, if they so choose, at all levels of decision-making in matters which may affect their rights, lives and destinies through representatives chosen by themselves in accordance with their own procedures, as well as to maintain and develop their own indigenous decision-making institutions.

I suggested that the Church’s constitution should be varied to allow for General Synod representation other than on the current exclusive basis of diocesan land areas and that a case should be made for indigenous representation in its own right. I said that the current church structures were assimilationist, subsuming indigenous peoples into a settler structure where their own cultures were not affirmed. I continued:

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander representation on General Synod should not be seen as a granting of some concession by the Settler Church to indigenous Australians. Rather it would be a step into a new relationship which would be mutually enriching. God’s gifts have been given to all peoples, and the bringing of gifts previously neglected into a full and rightful partnership would enhance both the life and the mission of the Church as a whole.

In 1997 Ted Mosby became a bishop for Torres Strait Islanders, based on Thursday Island. His appointment was on the same subordinate basis as Arthur Malcolm’s, as an assistant bishop in the diocese of North Queensland. Writing in a NATSIAC[11] publication, Ted said:

The system and understanding of the time when the Anglican Church was established in Australia erased any chance of equality and rights in all levels of decision-making. Our indigenous leadership system was not given due dignity and respect by those who had come to be Australians. We did not ask them to come, and they did not ask us if they could come and share this life in this land. Our leadership system was humiliated, making it weak. Still today the General Synod speaks for the body of Anglicans who came from other countries to Australia, and not the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Anglicans.

Ted and NATSIAC were likewise pushing for indigenous representation in its own right.

In August 1995 I circulated my paper around the church leadership and received an appreciative response from the primate, Keith Rayner, who felt the suggestion should be furthered by the Constitution Review Commission. Bishop Bruce Wilson from Bathurst sent a longer letter which was both supportive and reflective. The issue was not a new one, and Bruce had been addressing it ecumenically in his role as chair of the National Council of Churches’ Task Force for Reconciliation. One of the issues the council had faced was that indigenous representation was often experienced by Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders as tokenism. The membership was predominantly white and decisions reflected the majority white view. Indigenous members were being described by some as coconuts – brown outside but white inside. In Bruce’s view, only an equally weighted membership system could succeed.

This was precisely the problem experienced by Maori Anglicans in New Zealand. There had been a Maori bishop with subordinate status until 1978 when the incumbent took on episcopal status in his own right. Maori quickly recognised, however, that independence was one thing, but being a continuing minority another. Further constitutional review led in 1991 to a system whereby agreement between Maori and the dioceses was required before any decision could be made by the General Synod.[12]

To further the discussions within the Australian Church, the primate called a two-day conference in Brisbane where those of us present explored the issue and discussed ways of making progress. I was not part of the formal constitutional review process but at the next General Synod in Adelaide in 1998 a proposal was brought to establish six indigenous places in the synod – a bishop, priest and lay member for each of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island groupings within the Church. Furthermore, the two bishops were to sit as members of the House of Bishops. The motion was passed unanimously amidst much singing, shedding of tears, and prayers of thanksgiving.

The Cootamundra Aboriginal Girls’ Training Home was located in our diocese. The ‘Coota girls’ belonged to Australia’s stolen children generation. Opened as a hospital in 1897, the Cootamundra Home housed 1200 young Aboriginal girls from 1911-1969. These girls were ‘stolen’ from their families under the 1909 Aborigines Protection Act, part of a policy of forced assimilation whereby young Aborigines could be removed from their families and communities so that they might be ‘saved’ into European society.[13]

In places like the Cootamundra Home they were trained for a life of servitude in European homes, separated from family and culture. Any trace of Aboriginal thinking had to be erased if they were to have any future in a white society. Their vocational assignment as domestic servants was an indication of the prevailing view that they were of inferior intelligence. Children who were less black than others were particularly targeted as it was thought that being brown rather than black would enhance the chances of assimilation.

I visited the home on one occasion and found that memories of the Coota girls and their sufferings lingered. The home had later been taken over by the Aboriginal Evangelical Fellowship as the Bimbadeen Christian Training and Conference Centre, which trains Aborigines for ministries in church, community, workplace and family.

In 1995 the Federal Government established a National Inquiry into the Stolen Children, jointly chaired by Sir Ronald Wilson[14] and Mick Dodson[15] and aided by an indigenous commissioner in each region. In less than a year the Inquiry heard from 777 groups and individuals all over Australia, 535 of whom had been stolen children or families affected by the forced removal policy. A formal report[16] was produced in April 1997 and tabled in federal parliament the following month.

Michael Horsburgh[17] and I made submissions to the Inquiry in Canberra on behalf of the national Anglican Social Responsibilities Commission, stating:

The Social Responsibilities Commission joins with other parts of the Anglican Church in offering its unreserved apology for the involvement of Anglicans, both individually and corporately, in the policies and practices that allowed the separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island children from their families…It may be that many of those involved believed that they were acting in the best interests of the children concerned. The SRC does not wish to impute any particular motives to those involved. It simply states that no amount of explanation can detract from the now observable consequences of those misguided policies and practices.

The Inquiry recommended a variety of proposals including counselling, formal apology to the Stolen Children generations, family tracing and reunion services, and monetary compensation under such headings as racial discrimination, arbitrary deprivation of freedom, physical, sexual and emotional abuse, disruption of family life and loss of cultural and native title rights. The churches were charged with making available personal records that might assist family reunions, providing culturally appropriate services, and returning mission and institutional land to indigenous peoples.

A formal apology was never contemplated by the federal government, Prime Minister John Howard insisting ‘we must not have a black armband view of history’, although ‘personally he was very sorry’. The Inquiry asked us if this generation could be guilty for the sins of our ancestors. I replied that while we cannot be personally guilty for the wrongs of others yet our generation is responsible for putting right the wrongs that had been done.

In May 1998, as chair of the ACT Churches Council, I tendered an apology to the stolen children on behalf of the ACT churches at an ‘Honour the Grief’ ceremony in Parliament House. We passed over a ‘Sorry Book’ which was a heartfelt expression of our grief and sorrow, along with a commitment to do what we could to put things right. As part of my address, I said:

An apology that incorporates both an acknowledgment of wrong and a commitment to rectify the wrong has the spiritual capacity to evoke from those who have been wronged a spirit of forgiveness which lays the path for reconciliation and future partnership. Such forgiveness is not something that we, the descendants of the wrong-doers, are entitled to,   but if forgiveness is offered we should accept it humbly as an act of grace.

It was not until 13 February 2008 that Prime Minister Kevin Rudd offered a formal apology to the Stolen Generations, an apology endorsed almost unanimously by the federal parliament.

At Christmas 1997, following the issue of Bringing Them Home, I was preaching at the midnight Eucharist at St John’s, Reid in Canberra. I drew a parallel between Jesus, Mary and Joseph as outcasts in the manger and the stolen children as outcasts in their native land. Many saw the link but there were complaints from a few who believed I should be preaching about Christmas, not politics.

Diocesan life had some lighter moments. In the late 1990s there was a proposal to introduce a faster rail service between Canberra and Sydney. The existing train took four hours to cover the 300 kilometres and there were two proposals to accelerate the schedule. One was a tilt train which would use the existing track and trim an hour from the schedule. The other, Speedrail, would revolutionise the service, cutting the time in half with a German mag-lev train on completely new track.

It must have been a slow day at the diocesan office when, pursuing my lifelong interest in rail, I decided to issue a media release in support of Speedrail. Since opinions on rail technology lie outside the normal expertise of a bishop, I based my support on socio-economic benefits such as new jobs and enhanced family incomes. It must have been an equally slow day at the Canberra TV studios for, within an hour, a camera crew came by to do an interview. Dressed in my purple gear outside St John’s church I spoke solemnly about jobs and income.

The TV crew, however, could not keep off the rail technology dimension and asked me what I thought about the tilt train, my reply being that it was not fast enough to bring the benefits of Speedrail. In what has gone down in family annals as a great hoot, the interview was introduced with the words: ‘In a surprise move today the Anglican Church has come out in support of Speedrail,’ and concluded with the statement: ‘Bishop Randerson has ruled out the tilt train as being too slow for the route.’ Fifteen years later, no change to the service has been made.

In July 1998 Jackie and I set off for the 10-yearly Lambeth conference of bishops and spouses in Canterbury, UK. In chapter 3 I wrote of my experience at the 1988 conference as a staff member, and the significant insights I gained. Perhaps I was at a different stage ten years later as I found the 1998 event less exciting. There were good times sharing with colleagues from around the world in prayer and biblical studies, but fewer speakers of substance, and the main agenda topics somewhat institutional.

The question of same-sex relationships dominated the 1998 conference with heated divisions between African bishops and the more liberal West. Jackie and I had some close encounters with two African bishops and their wives with whom we shared accommodation. At the conference venue at the University of Kent, six bed-sitter student units had been re-arranged to accommodate three episcopal couples. This was our base for three weeks, the other two couples being from Uganda and Nigeria.

Breakfast was self-serve after the early morning Eucharist, with all food delivered to the unit. A huge commercial carton of loose cornflakes sat on the floor (we only got through half of it), and there were daily deliveries of milk, eggs, bacon, yoghurt, bread, butter and jam. While Jackie and I busied about organising our own breakfasts, the two African bishops sat down at table awaiting service by their wives. Each morning as the meal ended I would jump up to clear dishes and start the washing-up. But I had scarcely got the dishes in the water before one of the African wives would appear by my side saying: ‘No, no, my Lord, you must not go near the sink’, and taking me by the elbow she would steer me back to my seat at table. I could see I was living in the wrong culture.

The Ugandan bishop had become a de factospokesman for the anti-gay African bloc at Lambeth and was often quoted in the morning newspapers. While waiting for his breakfast he would study the papers and share snippets with us. The atmosphere was not very conducive to contrary opinions but I did on the last day express the view that any anti-gay outcome from the conference would make it much more difficult for us in western nations. This thought was too much for him and he leapt up, slamming his hand on the table and saying: ‘THERE ARE NO GAYS IN AFRICA’. His dear wife, Faith, sitting next to Jackie, leaned across and whispered: ‘There are gays in Africa’.

During my time in Canberra, and later back in Auckland, I had to handle cases of sexual misconduct by clergy. Prior to the mid-1990s the Church, along with other institutions, did not have an effective system to deal with such situations. Too often reported cases had been swept under the carpet, or the cleric concerned moved on to another diocese. Local bishops acted at their own discretion, leading to a variety of practices which were inconsistent, often ineffective, treated complainants unfairly and did not protect church members from further abuse.

By the 1990s, however, dioceses on both sides of the Tasman were scrambling to put precise protocols in place for dealing with sexual misconduct. The protocols typically require of offenders a period of stand-down, repentance and reparation, and counselling to ensure a priest may only return to ministry if it is judged safe to do so. In some cases clergy may never resume ministry if it is felt they would be an ongoing threat to those under their pastoral care. As a bishop I was greatly relieved when the protocols came into place. It is both easier and more effective for a bishop and the priest concerned to follow a detailed process which ensures the safety of parishioners as well as providing an opportunity for the rehabilitation of the priest where this is possible.

Our five years in Canberra concluded at the end of 1999, but there were two pleasant occasions at Canberra Grammar School before we left. The first was the school’s end-of-year Speech Day where I had been invited as guest speaker. My theme was A Spirituality for Australia, which I illustrated with examples of lifestyle and vocational choices.[18]

At the same event I knew confidentially that the Ian Powell award for outstanding staff member of the year was to be awarded to Jackie. As different elements of the winner’s background were described it gradually became clear who it was. I watched Jackie’s stunned reaction to the personal lead-up, and others also who were clearly delighted with the choice. As school counsellor for five years, Jackie had given everything to the hundreds of boys she counselled, as well as to the wider fabric of school life. She had a special bond with the headmaster, Tim Murray, and would meet him at the end of each week to review overall trends or issues within the school. Receiving the Ian Powell award was a great affirmation of Jackie’s work and a warm conclusion to her time at the school.

A few nights later Canberra Grammar held its senior prize-giving in the school hall. This was a formal occasion when all the graduating students came with their parents for speeches, dinner and the awarding of prizes. The guest speaker was former Prime Minister, the late Gough Whitlam, a pupil of the school in the 1930s. Mr Whitlam, with his wife Margaret, had got lost in the leafy circular roads around the school and the entrée was already being served when they arrived.

I attended the prize-giving on behalf of the diocese and was sitting opposite the chairman of the board, Dale Budd. Margaret Whitlam was to my left, with Gough next to the chairman and Jackie on his right. The speech was to follow the entrée and Margaret whispered to me: ‘make sure he knows how long he has to speak for, or he’ll go on for ever.’  I felt this was an assignment for the chairman, with whom I could not discreetly speak because of the seating arrangements.

The speech got off to a good start with Mr Whitlam recounting how he had got top marks in religion at school but the headmaster decided to award the prize to Francis James[19], who came second. When Gough asked for an explanation the headmaster said: ‘You know it all, Whitlam, but James actually believes it.’ Gough said he became an agnostic from that day.

This opening story was well received, and the speaker moved on to discuss church statistics and the declining numbers in mainline Australian churches. He had a sheaf of notes and after each page would dramatically thrust it behind him for me to field. At the 20-minute mark Margaret again whispered urgently in my ear that I had to do something to stop him. I leaned across and conveyed this information to the chairman who said: ‘Oh, I think you should tell him, you’re the bishop.’

I didn’t feel up to the task either but at the 40-minute mark came another urgent communication from Margaret to do something. By this time Gough was canvassing an obscure point of Church-State relations in Europe in 1866 (‘or was it 1867?  No, I think 1866’). I wrote a note that it was time to serve the meal and placed it on the podium. Gough stopped in mid-sentence to read it and said: ‘Huh! The bishop says it’s time for me to stop and I haven’t even got to my second point yet.’ He carried on, the serving staff by now standing at the doors with hot food trolleys. As the hour came up they started to serve the food and in a clatter of crockery and cutlery the speech came to an end.

After the meal came the prize-giving. I was sitting on the stage next to Gough, who presented the Whitlam Prize early in the piece. We settled back to observe the procession of prize-winners across the stage, punctuated by small rounds of applause. Gough started a conversation: ‘SO WHERE ARE YOU FROM, THEN?’ he asked in a voice that could have been heard halfway down the hall. ‘New Zealand,’ I whispered. ‘HA! NEW ZEALAND. I WENT THERE ONCE. MET YOUR PRIME MINISTER. NOW WHO WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN?’  ‘Umm…Norman Kirk, perhaps?’ ‘KIRK, YES, THAT’S THE MAN. GREAT MAN, KIRK.’

But there was no doubt who was the star of the show. As the formalities concluded, Gough Whitlam was mobbed on stage by students wanting his autograph on their programme. It was after midnight when people were taking their leave, and I commented to the Headmaster that this must be the first occasion on which the school prize-giving had extended over two days.

Our five years in Australia had been enriching. Australia has much in common with New Zealand but is different enough to offer new experiences. I had a sense of being at home and yet also challenged by a new environment. A larger population has a greater range of people to reflect on issues of the day. I felt this in the General Synod where the depth of wisdom went far beyond the merely pragmatic. I was a smaller fish in a bigger pond, but the stimulus of the larger body was enlivening.

I felt well received by my fellow bishops, local churches and the community at large, although as a newcomer I lacked the background knowledge of clergy or the flavour of parishes. Professionally, chairing the boards of social services and a significant grammar school was a steep learning curve, but one I enjoyed. Opportunities to address professional groups and social service gatherings I always valued. Jackie and I both loved moving around very diverse urban and rural parishes where we experienced Australian life at a personal level.

I had been invited to bring something to Australia from across the Tasman, but also gained much in new challenges and insights. For Jackie too it had been a high point professionally. We were inspired by amazing places such as the Snowy Mountains, Kakadu and Uluru. We had each been engaged in a variety of challenging personal and national situations. We came away with good friendships that have lasted. We came home to a new millennium with the next step in ministry still in the melting-pot.  

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[1]  Anglican Social Responsibility Officer in the Diocese of Perth.

[2] 18 February 1994.

[3]  Berger is an American sociologist, one of his books being entitled The Sacred Canopy – Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (1967).

[4] Chief Justice of Australia, 1995-98.

[5] Chief Justice of Australia, 1952-64.

[6] Justice of the High Court of Australia, 1996-2009.

[7] Sydney, Newcastle, Grafton, Armidale, Bathurst , the Riverina and Canberra-Goulburn.

[8] Matthew 8.28.

[9] In ecclesiastical circles, a primate is the archbishop who heads a national church. Not to be confused with primates of the animal species, there was nonetheless an interesting exchange when a research primatologist  accidentally sent a letter to the Anglican Primate of Canada. The latter’s secretary completed the questionnaire noting similarities between the species. His boss, he said, had a penchant for eating bananas at lunch-time, and had once been found on all fours searching for his spectacles under his desk. He pointed out, however, a significant difference between the species, which was that the Anglican primates were the only known all-male species on earth at that time able to reproduce themselves without female agency.

[10] A Prayer Book for Australia, shorter edition, p. 218.

[11] National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Anglican Council

[12] See chapter 4.

[13] Films like The Rabbit-Proof Fence graphically portray the pain and heartbreak for both parents and children as they were torn away from each other, in some cases never to be reunited even decades later.

[14] President of the Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission.

[15] Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner.

[16] Bringing Them Home:  The Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families.

[17] An associate professor at the University of Sydney where he taught social policy from 1972-1999.

[18]  Chapter 1 in my book A Word in Season.

[19] Francis James was a professional journalist and lifelong Anglican.