THE SPIRIT OF GOD MOVED OVER THE WATERSFifty years ago, at the Eucharistic Congress held in Sydney, Australia was dedicated to the Holy Spirit. |
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Some centuries before that, Captain Quiros, the earliest Spanish explorer coming our way in his search for the great southern continent, called what he finally discovered—in fact modern day Vanuatu—Austrialia del Espiritu Santo, the South Land of the Holy Spirit. Well, how is our land the land of the Holy Spirit? How does it show?
Certainly, Australia is a place of wind and fire, eager for water, and drought-stricken for the love of God. Well, that’s how it looks even by early November. When the rain does eventually come, not only the bushies dance in it, we all delight to hear the pitter-pattering on the hard soil and brittle leaves. Maybe it’s like a baptism.
Some things that people almost give up on, like the land, can be transformed. There’s the anguished movement of dark clouds as they cover everything, the stabs of thunder, the rolling universe in torment and then there’s gust upon gust of thudding rain, and a sweetness palpable in the light breeze. Maybe this is what can happen to the human heart, as it undergoes baptism.
Recently, Australians have been wearing the wattle more frequently than solely on Australia Day. It is now also a sign of shared grief—used some years ago when all those young people were swept away in Switzerland; more recently when more young Australians were victims in Bali.
Wattle is a lovely delicate looking flower, utterly distinctive to our land, coming to bloom early in the fine season. It speaks of home, of freshness and high expectation—and now of loss. We are always shocked when there is blood on the wattle, for we know some violation to our community has occurred. Somehow, a flower like this can be a picture of the human heart.
In our skies at night, amongst all the scatter of stars and the unknown
constellations, there is one pattern we all know. Following the two small
pointers, our eyes seek out the Southern Cross. Once we have learnt to
make it out, the four stars look so obvious.
It’s a reassurance to see it there. It turns the southern skies into
the heavens. It tells us that the cross hovers above us all, so often
largely ignored or rarely adverted to, but there nonetheless. It conveys
its ancient message, from Calvary onwards, of loss beyond telling and
transformation beyond guessing or hoping.
Whatever one thinks of the Eureka Rebellion, whoever designed the Eureka
flag knew how to find a powerful symbol. As with the Australian flag,
the Southern Cross shines above us in the dark blue.
Thank goodness, we do have this heaven-given ability to see signs of God’s presence in the ordinary details and sudden patterns of our lives. We need the story of Jesus’ life, so that we can recognise the pattern of his death and resurrection in the myriad of shapes that skitter across our experience.
The Church community has always had this pattern in its tradition, indeed, the Church is the people who see this pattern in the world century after century, day after day. We celebrate it in the breaking of the bread (broken to be life-giving), in the cup of wine. Somehow we know that in Jesus’ death and resurrection, the love of Father, Son and Holy Spirit is revealed, as nowhere else.
As Australian Christians, we realise that many of our fellow Australians do not share fully in our belief, but we note that they too hunger for meaningful patterns of behaviour, for ritual. The front cover shows young Australians, at one of their more distinctive activities, creating a floating necklace of surfboards around the flag in remembrance of the Bali victims. This is a Hawaiian funeral circle; as surfing came originally from Hawaii but is now as Australian as can be, maybe this ritual will embed itself in our national tradition too.
Whatever of that, the surfers’ hearts are trying to say something, in a place that is rich in significance for them. It may not align itself easily with Christian symbolism, although a circle of joined hands is powerful among any group.
As in the sky, so in Australian culture and society we need pointers
to the cross. Maybe that’s what the Church in Australia can do.
The Church is always on the alert for hints of the Spirit: the Church
points to the movements of the Spirit in our world, rushes to greet the
Spirit. The Spirit that hovered over the apostles at Pentecost; the same
that hovered at the beginning over the first moments of creation, and
that now, to finish with Gerard Manley Hopkins’ famous words in ‘God’s
Grandeur’, ‘over the bent world broods with warm beast and with
ah! bright wings’.
