Shady Grove Unitarian chapel, est. 1858.
I gave my final service of worship there this past Sunday, after 2 and a half happy years doing so every 1st Sunday of the month.
Susan and I married there, one of the happiest days of my life.
My dear friend Michael Hill had his daughter Alex formally named there.
Many happy memories. None more beloved than the time spent there, as at a monk's or hermit's hut, alone or in company, wrapped in the silence only the Australian bush can offer.
The chapel itself is made out of the very and rocks of the bush in which it has sailed its stationary voyage through lengths and breadths of time. Its simplicity is its charm--rough cut wood floors and beams, white plaster walls, and arched windows lending just a hint of the gothic. The acoustics are marvellous, built as it was by people who wanted to hear, wanted to communicate deeply with each other.
No minister can ever have a had an apprenticeship in such a perfect setting.
And so I am deeply grateful to have drunk deep of its particular magic these years.
I will miss it more than I can say.
Few initiatives in my one-and-only Ministry have been as risky and as necessary to the unfreezing of our faith tradition as offering Lectio ...
"Transformations" by Thomas Hardy Portion of this yew Is a man my grandsire knew. Bosomed here at its foot, This bran...
Mark David Chapman couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag, but he could pull a trigger. David "Son of Sam" Berkowitz ...