On a warm Saturday afternoon in September 1986, I vividly recall my childhood memory of entering the family television room. It was a moment etched in time, a time when my small frame joined my family to witness the triumphant victory of the Parramatta Eels in their last rugby league grand final. The game was one of endurance, built on a foundation of staunch defense a battleground marked by mud, blood, and wearied players. Yet, amidst the grit, there shone an unyielding self-belief, a conviction that the seemingly impossible could be achieved. Gathered around the television, my siblings, parents, and I cheered fervently, a collective electric energy pulsating through the room. This shared experience was electric, a moment that imprinted the essence of the Parramatta Eels within me. From that day in 1986, I embarked on an ardent journey, fervently following each and every game, nurturing my passion for the team.
Now, the passage of 37 years stands as a testament to a drought unfathomed—a stretch where the Parramatta Eels have eluded the elusive grasp of a Rugby League Premiership once again. This prolonged absence of victory has cast us into the desert of anticipation, a parched expanse of time that holds the record for the longest-standing club drought without a premiership. Moving deeper. This experience draws parallel to the plight of the Jewish people, wandering the desert for 40 years after being cast out from Egypt, adrift without a homeland. A familiar narrative emerges as Abraham wanders through unfamiliar terrain after leaving Ur in 1900 bce, and Mary and Joseph seek refuge as refugees in Egypt in 4 bce, uprooted from their homeland. This recurring theme resurfaces with the destruction of the Jewish temple in 70 AD by the Romans, followed by a resurgence in 1947 AD when the modern state of Israel is formed. Even in Australia, the arrival of the first fleet in 1788 ushered in disease, death, and the erosion of the Aboriginal culture and spirit—a narrative steeped in loss and desolation. A common thread emerges, painting a portrait of being lost and adrift in the desert. Could there be a profound purpose underlying these shared experiences?
As a Christian and a religion teacher, my heart aches when my teenage son boldly declares, 'I do not believe in God.' This pronouncement cuts to the core, prompting my own personal reflection. Where have we, as parents, failed? Spirituality has been interwoven into our conversations since his birth. Prayer has been a constant presence. Or has it? A turmoil simmers within me as I grapple with the meaning of his declaration, 'I do not believe in God.' It is upon reflection that I comprehend his context and where he is at—he finds himself in the desert, a juncture in life where the path seems obscured, where peers at school might not embrace him fully. The words, beliefs, and conventions he once adhered to no longer hold the same efficacy, leaving him adrift.
And yet, within this wilderness, Jesus imparts his teaching: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven' (Matthew 5). Astonishingly, amid desolation, a paradox unfolds—the sense of being lost is, in itself, a blessing.
Jack Miles, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author and scholar, provocatively pens, 'I pray that you rid me of God.' This evocative statement emerges from his 1995 work 'God: A Biography,' wherein he scrutinizes the character of God within the pages of the Hebrew Bible. Here, God transcends theological confines to manifest as a literary figure, replete with complexities and contradictions that traverse the tapestry of religious texts.
The teachings of Meister Eckhart, a medieval Christian mystic and theologian, urges us to transcend the anthropomorphic trappings of conventional notions of God, embracing instead a transcendent and abstract understanding. He contends that tethering oneself to human-formed images of the divine stifles spiritual growth. Eckhart's doctrine underscores the need to relinquish ego-driven desires, attachments, and preconceptions—creating an internal void for God's transformative influence.
Matthew 7 continues the discourse with Jesus's proclamation: 'Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened.' This serves as a beacon of hope within the desert of our desolation.
Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, mystic, and writer, perceives every individual as embarked on a conscious or unconscious spiritual journey—an odyssey in search of deeper connections and meaning with the great mystery. This journey hinges on acknowledging and embracing the innate longing for the divine within. Merton's doctrine pivots on the pivotal premise that the ego, the deceptive false self, thwarts genuine encounters with God. This false self, ever eager to dominate and veil authenticity, obscures the path to divine communion. Merton's works unveil the enigma of spiritual existence, filled with paradoxes, contradictions, and tensions—ultimately weaving a tapestry that surpasses the rigidity of our egos.
In the crucible of struggle, amid the labyrinth of loss, we embark on a pilgrimage of self-discovery. Jesus says that “The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field†(Matthew 13). This parable evokes a resonance within the teachings of C.S. Lewis. Lewis’s exploration of “joy,†an ache that yearns for the eternal, aligns seamlessly with the notion of unearthing a hidden treasure—a quest for a realm beyond the temporal.
The next Parramatta Eels Rugby League premiership is hidden. Somehow, there is a goodness of being in the desert. Of longing. But we impulsively run away from the desert and the difficult parts of our lives. How can we accept the reality? Of longing. Of yearning. Of discomfort. Of being lost.
John O'Donohue's musings mirror this sentiment. His writings delves into the intricacies of longing, a journey within, into the uncharted depths of human experience. John O'Donohue dismantles the misconception that such emotions are to be shunned, revealing them as signposts to self-awareness and communion with the world around us. His philosophy advocates embracing discomfort, recognizing emotions for what they are, and allowing them to illuminate our paths.
Whilst, Brene Brown, a relational researcher and author, invites us to explore our emotions with an inquisitive heart. Longing and loss, these emotions that envelope us, hold keys to understanding our aspirations, needs, and avenues for growth. Brown's wisdom extends to resilience—a trait that emerges through confronting challenges, grappling with desolation, and emerging stronger and more adept.In my role as a religion teacher, I follow the CSYMA Youth ministry model of “connectionâ€, “proclamationâ€, and then “responseâ€. Yet, as parents, we sometimes omit the first element—of “connectionâ€. But, firstly, How do we build a deeper connection within ourselves? Maybe through stopping working. Maybe taking some greatly needed i-time. Personal growth time. In the wilderness. Maybe through writing. Maybe through meditation. Maybe over a cup of tea. Maybe being present in the living moment.
Secondly, how do we build connections with each other?
The path to spiritual growth is not paved by who is right and who is wrong. This is Proclamation. The answers come later. As adults, we must learn to let go of our preconceived ideas of how things were for us to discover the deeper truth. Thus, it is not only children who must grow. One day our children must fly out of the nest in order for them to learn to fly. But for now, we must learn to grow as adults. As a father of young children, I need to stop work early. I need to put my phone or electronic device down, and stop the mindlessly scrolling, in order to seek opportunities of connection with my children. It is not in being comfortable but rather uncomfortable that we learn new pathways of connections. It is not in doing things my way, but seeking a new way of doing. Kicking the ball. Playing chess. Drawing together. Playing music. Helping them with their homework. And, maybe discovering a little bit of fun along the way. With questions not like “How was your dayâ€, but rather “how are you feelingâ€. Maybe actively listening. If emotions are too stress filled, starting with being more fully present. Only after deeper connections can we discover the treasure hidden in the field.
I only hope the Parramatta Eels will win next year.
(Audio Available)
