Wagon ring or wagon train?

Very interesting conversations today at our Board of Social Responsibility. Are the wagons on the trail, or circled round against real or imaginary foes? Is our onward mission driving and guiding ministry, or are attempts to sustain ministry as we have received it defining our sense of mission (purpose)?

How we can become the kind of missional community we long to be, in which the wagons move forward, not round and round in circles? We have vital work to do. To give one small example, someone had been round secondary schools and met children feeling deep seated despair about the future of the earth. They have enough information to know it’s questionable under present management, but no confidence, no framework of hope, in which this perception could galvanise them into action. The result was a pervasive spirit of “we can’t do anything about it anyway, so why does it matter?”

So why do so many of our powerful network of practitioners working in fields as diverse as criminal justice, environment, food futures, education and social care, feel so stymied so much of the time? Busyness, you may say, but what attitudes and assumptions are underlying that, and paralysing best intentions?

Some kind of internal distraction process seems to be pulling the wagons off the trail, dragging them into a defensive, inward looking circle. To change the metaphor, perhaps the body of Christ is subject to the kind of illness in which the body’s immune system turns on the body itself, producing illness, despair and frustration. If these both/ands become either/ors, they are symptoms of sickness:

1. Academy versus the Field
   In fact the only learning worth doing makes a difference to the ways we envision the world, or our response to it. Separating off academic theology from lived theology is bad news, either to despise it (in the UK) or venerate it (most of the rest of the world). Both need to inform each other.
   
2. Gathered versus Dispersed Church
   Human groups have a way of degenerating into self-serving cliques. One of God’s mechanisms for preventing this is to send along a healthy crop of alternative people to leaven and enliven them. Really strong cliques, however, have a way of making it pretty obvious up with what they will put in others. They can pray as hard as they want for growth. No responsible deity, however, would put more people into their sausage machine, until they grow up and become joinable.
   
3. Church versus World
   There are a few instances in the Scriptures of “world” meaning “everything organising itself over and against God.” Its prime use, however, the world is the place God created and loves so much he gave his only Son. He loves it that much. Why don’t we? Clique church can become a refusge for misnathropic people who are profoundly cynical or despairing about the real world, who try and whip the Church into grinding their axes. Unless God gives up entirely on the Church, it can’t oblige. As a result they can only become angrier and more frustrated.
   
4. Ministry versus Mission
   Rowan talks about mission as finding out what God’s doing and joining in. There is an essential continuity between serving God and serving all life. Serving is Ministry. Conflicted and Lost Cliques playing at Church appropriate Ministry to themselves as a consumer faciity to make them feel better; the irony is they end up losing any sense of what ministry is about, and, often as not, with no ministers.
   
5. Tradition versus Creativity
   Being part of the Church in time and space carries you back and forward as you identify with those who have trod this way before you, through places of great resourcefulness and learning. Real tradition is a powerful living force for change — revolution by tradition. Selfish cliques like you find in wagon rings appropriate “tradition” exclusively for themselves. Randy for antique, they sentimentalise their conception of tradition and bag it up into a totem which curses them and everyone else. The living faith of dead people is debased into dead works for living people.
   
6. Parish versus Workplace
   The point of participation in a gathered Christian community is to resource authentic living out in the world. Cliques don’t see it that way. For them, the point of life in the world is to resource their own Disneyland conception of Church. When people who wold be rally sensible at work start behaving like complete idiots in Church, you now you’ve got a problem here.
   
7. Leadership versus Democracy
   God gifts everybody distinctively for the work he calls them to do. When he does this across a whole community, there’s a sense among the faithful that can workshop and weigh individual passions and initiatives. When this function goes wrong, people collect into little cabals and play politics with religion. The key sign of this is exclusivism based on purity. In classic Christianity God does the throwing out at the end of the world. In this debased form, we give him a hand now.
   
8. Centre versus Cells (Universal versus Local?)
   In a healthy Church, each limb or organ rejoices to be doing what it’s for. In a sick one, people play the one off against the others, in various elaborate “them and us” games. St one extreme the local group becomes the only reality; at the other some fantasy or imperialistic conception of the whole tyranises the local. Corporate engagement grows mutual respect; sickness in this department grows resentment and suspicion.
   
9. Ecclesiology versus Evangelism
   maintaining effective order internally is part of the fitness for purpose of the Church. It’s infrastructural, and part of becoming an intentional and realistic delivery system for the kingdom. Turned in on, or as an end in itself, it soon becomes toxic and self-serving. People can marvel at what’s achieved, but what’s the point? For whom else is it good news? When Evangelism disconnects from Ecclesiology, abuse and non-accountability are never far behind. What are people being evangelised into, and what will they do when they get there? Or is it all just a pyramid selling scam?
   
10. Spiritual versus Physical
    We cannot live fruitfully by bread alone. But neither can we survive on a disconnected vapid spirituality, driven by narcissism and subjectivity. Christianity is a sacramental way of life, in which everything is charged with potential meaning, and the best ideas cannot be completed without finding some expression in real life. Every real philosophy demands action.
    

Woody Allen: Losing it or Finding it?

Cassandra’s Dream is Woody Allen’s third London movie, and his first with the toffs taken out.

The Blaine Brothers have ambitions, but are no hopers really. For all their borrowed Jaguars and 007 poker runs, one is essentially gormless and the other essentially basic. Whilst improving themselves they both land up in severe financial chokey, necessitating a bailout from rich Uncle Howard. Sadly this costs a spot of help with a job of his own, that carries its own moral and human price tag.

Family is family. Blood is thicker than water. Everybody, by trying to move their lives on and sort things out, ends up in worse chokey than ever. That’s tragedy, folks. This is an outing farther up and farther into classic Woody Allen country — Take the Money and Run, Small Time Crooks, Crimes and Misdemeanors, Match Point.

This film’s engine is Greek Tragedy, with a dash of Dostoevsky. Overwhelming psychological probabilities indicate that Oedipus could have, and you and I would have, married the nice girl next door, not mum. But imagine for a moment he did the terrible thing, and couldn’t help it. What would follow from that? Greek Tragedy isolates one strand of human behaviour, traps it in a deterministic web, then anatomizes, not psychologizes, it. Therefore, people who complain about some psychological flatness about motive and process in this movie are probably wasting their time.

This ain’t no ribtickler. The gawky conflicted Allen character is split and morphed onto two brothers, one gormless and one basic, rather than squirming in front of us as schlemiel. There is a very small amount of expository heavy handedness early on, but after that the script drives things forward as smoothly as Ian’s borrowed Jag. All the actors drew Lucy and me in avidly. As someone who lived in the East End as a kid, I bought the London stuff, though, of course, I could be snooty about it. Tragedy builds itself up inexorably, but the problem is always how to end it. Perhaps this one dissolves into cock-up, but for me the ending was a kind of “1-2-3, you’re back in the room” at the end of a thoroughly convincing stage hypnotist act.

I suspect this one will achieve a higher place in the Canon than most of the critics are willing to give it right now. It’s surely worth a shoofty.

How to Evacuate Phasmids

“Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye.
With a cheer, not a tear,make it gay.”

Really? Well, Gracie Fields and the Ovaltineys did it like that. Anyway our First consignment of excess stick insect eggs has gone off to South Wales. You’ll remember the Lord blessed Tinky the Stick Insect real good, and she produced seed as numerous as the sands of the sea. Faced with a plague of phasmids in a few weeks time, I panicked and various friends stepped in, including Richard Hall. Yesterday I loaded a couple of dozen little eggs, weighed and polished, into a tic-tac box for safety and packed it in bubblewrap. It’s over to the post office now. I hope they keep them warm at night. I’d like Richard to raise them as good Methodists, with a passion for social justice and appetite for committee work.

If you get stick insect eggs in the post, you put them in a dish within a tank or other contained space, out of direct sunlight. It’s important they don't dry out (watch that central heating) or go mouldy with damp. What seemed to trigger the hatching in ours was having fresh bramble leaves nearby, but that could be an old wives tale. These were laid between July and November 2007, and should hatch sometime between now and October.

What happens is the pot top pops out, followed by a coiled up nymph that looks a bit like a scorpion. The back unrolls, and they start exploring vigorously, usually with the little pot hanging off the back right leg. It will come off in due course, about an hour. Sometimes the leg comes with it (Isn’t nature marvellous?) but I'm assured legs can grow back. We have a pot of brambles with young shoots at the top nearby, sealed with kitchen roll at the bottom to prevent insects falling in and, er, that's it. Some websites report babies dying within a week or so through failure to latch onto feeding shoots or, more commonly pesticides on their brambles (Womble poison?) We’ve tried rose, eucalyptus, oak leaves and Raspberry cane, but Tinky was a Bramble girl for preference.
Finally, just to get the facts of life straight, these are female eggs produced asexually by females. The males have bigger wings and fly (ooh, scary). These have dinky little wing cases and chomp leaves all day. If you want males, you can mate these with petshop boys, but we don't allow that sort of thing round here. Play your cards right, and you could have, er, up to 3,600 females of your own around September 2009. A right old playboy mansion...

Ascending Mount Improbable

I was very moved to give the blessing at Joan Arthur’s Requiem this week. She was a member of the High Wycombe Team. Joan lived in Downley for many years, and grew into formal ministry as her family grew up, serving as reader, deacon and priest. She was someone of great perception and intelligence, with a scientific background in industry, and a considerable capacity for helping people in practical ways and getting things done.

In later years Joan had suffered much ill health. Her own vocation to priesthood emerged in the face of deep personal misgivings about the whole idea of women’s ordination, and the battle to believe God really could value her in such a calling. Being who she was, Joan needed to be convinced within herself, which took some doing — Joan was a fighter! Once persuaded, priesthood fitted like an old glove, fruitfully and effectively.
Her husband of 46 years, Joe, writes:

We were on holiday several years ago in Tenerife and decided to climb Mount Teidi. On the way up Joan fell and broke a bone in her leg. Another couple helped get her to the hospital and we stayed an extra week before being able to return home. Months later, when we were discussing holidays once again, I said “you wont want to climb Mount Teidi ever again will you” “Oh yes I will,” she replied, “you have to learn to overcome a mountain before you can enjoy it...”

The service reflected other passions of Joan’s life, including formula 1 racing, and tigers. On her desk she kept these words:

Lord, you have made me,
And my life is in your safe hands.
I do not need to fear
because I am cradled in your love.
When I allow you to dwell within my heart
I live in perfect safety and
Your peace enters my being.
Therefore I give you
my minds, my emotions,
my body, my feelings.
Take them, Lord.
Bless them, transform them, heal them.
Go to the root of all my disorders.
Touch those parts of my which hurt,
my pains, my discomforts and my unease.
Touch me and make me whole.
Come to my weaknesses and bring your strength.
Come to my restlessness and bring your stillness.
Come and reveal to me
your goodness and your mercy,
and in Your coming reveal to me your nearness,
that I may know I am not alone
and that moment by moment
You bear my sorrows, share my joys,
and will never leave me or forsake me,
That You will pour out
the richness of your healing
upon me, this child,
You know so well and love so dearly.
Amen.

Confronting oppression in Brazil

More evidence that the local Church is the hope of the world, this time from Brazil. Francesco Silva reports on his blog an outrageous act of violence and intimidation this month, aimed at a poor community by powerful landowners in Carcavel, Parana:

In an act of extreme violence, employees of powerful landowners destroyed, among other buildings, the chapel of an Episcopal Church at the Primeiros Passos Camp, located road side of the BR 369, near the city of Cascavel.

The invasion occurred in the early morning hours of May 08, with the participation of tractors, excavators, retro-excavators and weapons of large caliber.

The intimidation occurred in a context of serious tensions between landowners and social organizations. The Episcopal Church and fellow Christian’s churches are firmly defending and supporting the Movement of Landless People in the west of the Paraná state. The Episcopal priest in the area is the Revd. Luiz Carlos Gabas, and he is supporting the families in build a school(also destroyed at the attack) for children and the chapel. The chapel was planned to be dedicated on May 18 and was built with great effort by the whole community.

The destruction of the chapel becomes even more symbolic because it represents a clear message from landowners against the Church.
The Rev. Luiz Carlos Gabas has been suffering intimidation from great landowners as a consequence of his pastoral position in favor of the landless people. settlers camp with which holds a pastoral work recognized by the whole community. A group of 150 families are living in a settlement waiting for legalization of the area. After clear evidences that the Rev. Gabas suffered intimidation the State Commission on Human Rights inserted him into a program of witnesses’s protection.

Today the west of the state of Parana is mapped as one of the regions of greatest tension with regard to conflict of land. The IEAB has been firm in defending the rights and dignity of small rural workers and especially the landless which lives in sub-human conditions along the roads and land occupied.
Bishop D. Naudal Gomes, the diocesan of the Diocese of Curitiba, has offered wide support to his clergy and received from the Provincial House of Bishops strong solidarity through a motion approved and forwarded to the Secretariat of Public Security of Parana.
Our prayers and support are required for our brothers and sisters in that region. The fear of impunity and violence must be faced with solidarity and practical support.

For the people of the settlement and the Diocese of Curitiba is time to rebuild the Mission destroyed and to rebuild the self-confidence of the people.

Significantly, I feel, when I Googled “Parana land owners Brazil” Google will ask you “Did you mean Piranha landowners Brazil?” Let us not deceive ourselves: Those who oppress the poor insult their Maker (Proverbs 14:31)

Thus says the LORD of hosts: Render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another; do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another... (Zecharaiah 7:9-10)

Curitiba is moving towards a link diocese relationship with California (Reflections by Bishop Marc here). Messages of support can be sent to bishop Naudal Gomes at naudal@yahoo.com.br .

Tinky the phasmid rides again — x300!

Avid fans will remember Tinky the Stick Insect, who curled up her 48 toes last 4 October (St Francis of Assisi’s Day). Faced with a trip to Richfield Ohio to get her embalmed and safe in the arms of Jesus I fell back on my design background and photoshopped her there myself. Tasteful End of Story, you might think.

But you’d be wrong. Tinky and her nameless (female) mate were, in fact, closet uberdyke prolific asexual reproducers and left behind a throbbing plastic pot of shiny little eggs — almost 300 over 6 months. We gave a few away, but last week two of the little darlings hatched out. This morning another did — notice its eggshell still attached to its back leg, and the little pot cover hanging off:
Personally, my cup now runneth over — two out, three in. In fact, in spite of (because of?) her asexual mating skills, the Lord has Blessed Tinky Real Good. In OT terms, her seed are as numerous as, er, the sand of the seashore. Little pot tops are beginning to pop out of other eggs. Soon we’ll be slappin’ their little bottoms and harvesting brambles by the pound. Houston, We are facing a significant phasmid situation.We had 2. Then we had none. Now we’re looking at 200+. It’s a Wonderful Life. Watch this space. Anyone want their own special six legged friend...?

Swizzfigglingly Gloriumptious Madonna

or, Dial M for... Matilda. Whilst scouring Britain for Lovely Things to share with the world, I encountered this pottery madonna in a Leicestershire Church. It’s only a mobile phone shot, but she’s got lovely eyes, and I particularly like the “I surrender” posture of our Lord, along with the added spermatazoa in the background.

This could be the loveliest naïve devotional object in England... unless you know better.

It was certainly an interesting backdrop for discussions about female bishops.

Worship for the Me Generation

Do you wish worship at your church was more relevant and personal? As we all become more obsessed with ourselves, churches become self-selecting voluntary organisations for people who like all-day clubbing, or share particular views. Salvation becomes self-fulfillment, & Ego judges everything. Here’s the ultimate hi-relevance lo-tradition praise resource for the me generation... hi-impact worship that will always cheer you up.

The Local church, the hope of the world

The Myanmar authorities have been putting on a show for the Secretary General of the UN, to suggest they are through the aid phase of recovery from Cyclone Nargis. I was very moved to hear at Bishops’ Meeting from the Bishop of Winchester about the response of the local Church. +Michael, who is very well connected internationally, was out there recently to represent Rowan at the enthronement of Archbishop Stephen Than Myint Oo, Archbishop of Myanmar & Bishop of Yango.

It’s a terrible situation and much to be hoped that access to classic aid agencies can be opened up further a.s.a.p; but meanwhile somebody has to do something. 42 years after all foreign missionaries were thrown out of the country, it’s good to know the network is strong enough to respond in love to an emergency. In the vital first 72 hours the church, along with other faith bodies, raised instant scratch squads of paramedics, doctors and engineers to go down onto the delta and get stuck in. As often happens, the local church is there under the radar, and first on the scene — often “misunderestimated,” it really is the hope of the world.

Prayers, please, now for Mr Ban’s visit, and all that it could achieve.

Worth at least a thousand words

Dave Walker has been bringing clarity to the three options outlined in the Manchester Report — absolutely brilliantly. The one that caught my eye was his graphic depiction of option III (“3 non geographic dioceses”). Pretty much says it all, really.

So it’s over to the politicians of the General Synod now. To paraphrase the Prophet Amos (3:3), (as genteely as possible) the fact is that, er, two half bottoms do not a whole bottom make...

As is only right, immense amounts of care have gone into trying to help out those opposed to women’s ordination. Various schemes, (such as TEA), were ingenious attempts to square the circle, but apparently did not help the people for whom they were designed. A strong code of practice alongside the legislation will help everyone engage with reality charitably. Because of the way this discussion has been almost entirely framed around the objections of opponents, people may forget other salient facts:

1. Everybody has a conscience, including those who believe that Galatians 3:28 does apply to the sociological setup of ordained ministry, and ecumenical partners who are scandalised by the C of E’s present practice.
   
2. Everybody is capable of feeling pain, including women whose ministries are rejected or marginalised within our present arrangements.
3. Gradualism has been the way until now — women preaching in the 60’s, deacons in the 80’s, priests in the 90’s... If, however, you are turning a turtle, the kindest way to do it is probably to pick up the shell and do it, not one leg at a time.
   

Kipling for profit and pleasure...

The late great Sir John Harvey-Jones, King of the Kipper Tie, used to remind lily-livered businessmen shivering on the brink of change, “Remember, you can only get shot once.” True, but our elders and betters in the General Synod seem to have devised a way of making getting shot take about thirty years. Fun it ain’t.

As elaborate plans are mooted for somehow simultaneously having female bishops and not having female bishops, I puzzle over about the whole notion of preventing schism by institutionalising it. Really?

Everybody knows it’s coming. The question is “how?” There’s a discussion Tuesday among my colleagues in funny hats, to be developed by the House of Bishops (of which I am not a member) another day, and taken to the General Synod to decide. Justice, operationally, to losers — of course; but it’s kindest and truest to make up our minds. Personally, I’ve been trying to stay my anxiety in the traditional way for frightened males of my father’s generation to calm their nerves: an evening’s anxious Kipling:

Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act...

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

Friends, shall we Kipple? probably not. The time for Kipling is over. However there is a line that runs from Duck-Rabbit integrative complexity to subtlety to ambiguity to fudge to hypocrisy. Now’s the time to decide where we place ourselves on that line, and the way to decide, after we have listened carefully, is by charity and higher logic, not the purest hobgoblins of small minds.

Gatehangers of Ashendon, unite!

I have sung the praises of John Boughton, of Ashendon before round here. He’s been a churchwarden 55 years, as have members of his family over several generations. John made my pastoral staff, having farmed sheep in these parts a while ago. Therefore I couldn’t refuse the offer of speaking at the annual Ashendon Gate Hangers Dinner. Back in the late fifties the village allotments needed a new gate. John made it, but it took a few years to hang, along the lines of this old story:

There was an important job to be done and Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.
Anybody could have done it,
but Nobody did it.
Somebody got angry about that
because it was Everybody's job.
Everybody thought that Anybody could do it,
but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn't do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody
when Nobody did what Anybody could have done...

Anyway, after much discussion in the pub over a few years, by 1962 the gate was hung. A celebration dinner was organised in the Red Lion. There hadn't been that much by way of village feasts since George VI’s coronation in 1937. That night, John made a gate to present to the person who had done the noble deed.

And every year since, a dinner has been held in the Red Lion, and a presentation made to the man who has done something special for the village, practically speaking, during the year. This tradition is now in its 46th year, and in the eighties the name of the pub was changed to the Gate Hangers — the only one in the country; and now you know where it got its unusual name. I was proud and delighted to turn up and tell a few jokes to the 50-ish people at this year’s dinner.

All very English, you may say. People talk about hi-concept ideas like social capital. This story demonstrates how churchwardens can bring people together in a village and, in the process, get a gate fixed for the allotments...

Everybody wants to be a Cat

On my way out the door to the Bishops’ meeting today, I came cross this little piece of fun that seemed slightly relevant. Don’t know quite why...

Ending Discrimination — Amen Brother!

A big sloppy wet enthusiastic “Amen, brother!” to Simon Barrow, from think-tank Ekklesia. Obviously there are jobs (like being a vicar) for which some faith commitment is part of the job. What is wrong is to pretend every role in a Christian organisation carries this occupational requirement, or to resort to abusive process. Reporting a recent employment tribunal judgment, he writes:

This judgement ought to make religious charities sit up and think - not just about their legal responsibilities and the morality of non-discrimination, but about the impact of their behaviour on their image with the public at large.

Leaders and entrepreneurs in many faith organisations seem reluctant to embrace a comprehensive equalities agenda, or to recognise their culpability in issues of discrimination. Yet they are often the first to seek exemptions from legislation accepted by others and to complain that they are being 'attacked' when criticisms are raised.

The Christian message of love and justice is undermined by poor employment and equalities practices in the Christian organisations. This is an opportunity for the churches to get their house in order.

This encapsulates precisely what I was trying to say here last week about raising our game in Church employment practice, to create a safer less abusive working environment. I see this as one key weapon against bullying cultures and practice after appointment. Talking this through with people over the past few days, it seems our diocesan appointment practice is basically sound, but there’s a challenge to prove it. Out in the world of parochial appointments, practice varies from state of the art to completely potty. Time for the tough to get going...

PS — full and detailed account of the original case by Ruth Gledhill here.

Abortion — real choice? real life?

Acting on a tip-off from John Allister’s blog, I found this BBC documentary, following five women through the process of seeking an abortion at a West London clinic. It’s available in the BBC’s Bare Facts series, until next Tuesday on the BBC iPlayer. It’s severely realistic and down to earth, reflective rather than preachy. Ursula MacFarlane’s programme doesn’t take an ideological position, but simply records the voices of the people concerned. If you have feelings for human beings, you’ll probably have to look away at times. Conscience, insecurity, hope, the logic of life itself, desperation to be loved and to be somebody, all bring their own burdens. It is unhelpful to turn these into slogans.

Absolutising “Choice” generalises in an impersonal way and piles a ton of potential intolerables on individuals, whilst stripping them of the context in which to choose. So does abstract moralising. The instinct for “Life” is powerful. People have consciences more than they know. No easy answers, then. The lesser of two evils remains evil.

I've talked about the public debate, but there’s a big personal dimension to this. Perhaps the terminology needs reclaiming from the possession of zealots. Ordinary people need to live and choose in real terms, as much as bang on about “Life” or “Choice.” Christianity is not based on “what you do,” but the infinite value God sets on persons, and the hope of redemption. Christians would do well to maximise their capacity to be there for people (including themselves?), and keep it real — Is that what the Good Samaritan did for the other guy? — and, perhaps, leave the hufflepuff to the zealots...

How to give a Castlemaine Four-X

The Church of England Calendar today commemorates Caroline Chisholm — the original Victorian lady with a brick in her handbag, whose 200th anniversary falls this year. Born in Northampton in 1808 she died in London in 1877. Mrs Chisholm engaged in social work to improve the lives of women in India, where her husband was an army officer, and (principally) Australia. She worked tirelessly for the protection of the poor women who flooded the goldfields, providing hostels and education, confronting human trafficking, working for the welfare of immigrants.

She was actually RC (required to convert on marriage) — one of the few significant Victorian God-botherers not to be a paid-up Evangelical. She robustly took the line “I promise to know neither country nor creed, but to serve all justly and impartially.” It didn’t get her brownie points with the hierarchy, but she walked through all the bitter denominational cowboys and indians of her age, very pronounced in colonial Australia, ignoring the lot. Her integrity and energy won the respect of all, principally Lord Shaftesbury and Florence Nightingale. Mrs Jellyby in Dickens’ Bleak House is said to be a hostile portrait.
The White Hat guide gives a refreshingly honest, characteristically Antipodean view:

Caroline Chisholm is one of those remarkable women that most Australians admire but are probably secretly pleased is no longer with us.

Why do we admire her? Australia is a practical country. We admire people who roll up their sleeves and do things. rather than those who make a big fuss saying "'they ought to do something about it". When Caroline Chisholm arrived in your office or workplace it wasn't to say "You must do something about this!", it was to say "I have already done such and such and if you were to do so and so we could achieve even more."

Why are we a little relieved that she is no longer around? We realise that if we came within her sphere we would probably be bullied or charmed or shamed into doing something for 'the cause'. What excuse could we put up? We could hardly claim lack of time or resources because in front of us was a mother of five (later six) children without a lot of money in a rough and ready colony already doing significant things. Even her husband, who is buried with her, is probably a little relieved. He was a competent army officer, and spent much of his life and energy in the services of the colonies and with Caroline's causes. His name doesn't even appear on their tombstone, and he probably died of exhaustion just trying to keep up with her. He is still possibly resting uneasily in case he hears the words "Archie, what are we going to do about this?"

She has given her name to suburbs of Melbourne and Canberra, and appeared on stamps and five dollar bills. Her life is an inspiration to all good Christian women to stick a brick in their handbags and change the world. If you aren’t doing anything else about it, click here, join up, for Caroline’s sake, do something!