I’ve learnt, over the last few months, that the expected never happens. I’m used to the significant moment in the worship being when we light the candles, or when we’ve finally finished all the words, and after the blessing there’s a long period of silence. That’s the point at which peace seems to descend. But this time it was in the a’capella renditions of ‘Away in the manger’ and ‘Silent night’ – songs chosen in the hope that the men who can’t read would at least know the first verses, and could simply repeat them as often as the carols required. They did. And we stumbled through the verses with infinitely more enthusiasm than ability, stopping between them to listen to the loudspeaker announcements about medication, breakfast, and the morning program… Forget any cathedral children’s choir, in spite of it being hopelessly out of tune and out of time, I have a hunch this was as close to angels singing as you could ever hope to hear.

I still don’t think we could sing on any other day but christmas – but there’s something about christmas in the prison that makes everyone who’s at the service determined to make it work. And perhaps there’s something about being used to having no dignity that lets you sing as though no one is listening. In most of the events that I’m part of, I assume that my ‘audience’ is cynical – that i will have to break through that cynicism in order for people to engage. I think the cynicism is justified [though perhaps i'm justifying my own by saying that!] – we’ve been offered cheap cliches and hackneyed promises too often – but i’ve also realised it’s a luxury of those for whom faith is an option. In the prison, the men are on side from the moment we walk in the door. They want – need? – it to work much more than i do, which makes, as i’ve said before, an overwhelming responsibility. They’ll search out the moment of transcendence in the most awkward of liturgies. Just the fact that we’ve turned up means it’s christmas… People kept insinuating that i was doing something noble by going into the prison on christmas day, but in reality it’s hard to imagine anything more humbling, or any role more privileged. How very lucky i am.

The story tells us
that it’s those who wait in the world’s shadows
who are the first to know of the Christ-child,
born into darkness
bringing great light.

So we gather as those who carry the rumour of peace
and the truth of love
into a world longing for light.
We gather as those who pray for the justice
another is waiting for,
who speak the hope another needs to breathe.

This is a pdf of the handout for Christmas day in the prison… there’s a reflection in the middle which isn’t included in the handout, which is made up of questions – what do you need to hear from the story [that the birth of God is told first to those who the world would least trust and believe? that love can be born even when it seems impossible?], and what do you need to say yes to [the gift of peace? the promise of justice?].

And yes, we’re singing – which i suspect will be a monumental disaster! But the lovely thing about doing stuff in the prison is that the men are much more forgiving than any other group i’ve worked with…

In the next couple of weeks we’ll be delivering postcards to people at Kinglake and Marysville. They have a short introduction to the concept, a reflection, and then space for response – inviting people to finish the sentences ‘Waiting for…’ and ‘Grateful for…’. Their responses will be integrated into the next part of the space. This is different to how we imagined, but a few weeks ago we went to talk with people in the villages about our ideas for creating a waiting space, and they offered the same feedback in the two villages: they told us that a waiting space was important, but they also thought a space for gratefulness was just as important. So we’re integrating the two into the installation, in different ways.

I’ve been a bit anxious [i like to find things to worry about] that the added time for consultation and development has meant that we will miss the advent period… but of course, the waiting doesn’t finish just because christmas is over. In fact, the lack of resolution of the waiting becomes even more poignant after Christmas… living through all the build up to find that nothing much seems to have changed. But much as we sometimes think it does, the christian calendar doesn’t create the world’s reality – just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean the world has hope… but it seems this space fits quite beautifully within a post-christmas world: trying to honour the tension between promise and reality in a world that makes recognising either so desperately impossible.

I don’t know how much of what we do I will put up here. It’s not really my story to tell, and the space doesn’t need advertising [and the people living in the villages don't need to be the focus of anyone's attention!]. But we’re incredibly grateful to the Share Appeal for funding it, and to the different artists / designers / chaplains etc who have made it possible…

Jonny has posted a really lovely advent movie, using footage he made of sky lanterns at the Big Chill festival with words from a prayer I wrote a few years ago. I’d use it on christmas eve, i think. He’s made it available as a free download on vimeo – and proost subscribers can download from the Proost site. And let me put in a plug for Proost again – a subscription is extraordinary value, especially with the Australian dollar being so good at the moment…

Perhaps you are searching for the joy that Mary found -
the joy that came from knowing that such an unexpected, unwanted event in her life
could somehow be turned into a much greater story
which would speak love into a broken world
and bring justice to those who have been oppressed.

Perhaps you are searching for the courage that Mary found -
the courage to say to the world
‘I might know where God is to be found
and i might know how God can be made real’

Perhaps you are searching for the faith that Mary found –
to believe that God might want to bring something divine to life in you:
love, perhaps,
grace,
forgiveness.

Whether you are searching for peace, joy, courage or faith,
Mary’s story lets us believe it might happen
in the most impossible places
and through the most unexpected people…

It means we can know with faith that God’s story,
brought to life once by a single pregnant teenager,
might be brought to life again by us here.

The challenge for anyone interested in asking these questions is the accusation of ”going soft on crime”. Those who are concerned about the welfare and human rights of prisoners are represented as ”do gooders” who ignore the ”fact” that many of these individuals are beyond rehabilitation and redemption; many have committed terrible crimes and there are victims who continue to suffer as a consequence of these crimes…

Women represent a notable case in point. Nationally women comprise the fastest-growing population in the prison community and between 2008 and 2009 the rate at which Victorian women are imprisoned has increased by 25 per cent, the highest level since the 19th century. The majority of women incarcerated in Victoria have been convicted for non-violent, drug-related offences, or are imprisoned as a consequence of fine default or welfare fraud. Many have committed crimes as a direct result of poverty and trauma. Women in prison are not generally violent or destructive individuals who present a threat to the community. Many have also been the subject of victimisation and are members of the most economically and socially marginalised communities in our state.

Women who come into contact with the criminal justice system are often homeless; have experienced familial dysfunction, childhood sexual abuse and/or domestic violence; experience problems with substance addiction and abuse; suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder or mental illness that is undiagnosed or untreated; have poor physical health and/or a disability; have been made wards of the state early in their lives; and are often sole parents and have experienced the removal of their own children whether by the state or as a result of violent intimate relationships…

It’s Christmas and How to make gravy, Paul Kelly’s imagining of a man’s letter from inside prison, resonates. It calls us to remember that while we celebrate the season and are distracted by short-term media cycles, there are practices of justice, sentencing and imprisonment that are becoming more firmly entrenched with each passing day, with consequences we have so far largely ignored.

and in the space
between the full stop
and the capital letter
lies the untold story of
the birth of a baby

of the first moment she guessed it was starting
an unfamiliar pain
the rush of fluid
the cramping force
halting and hesitant
then fierce and determined

in the space between the full stop
and the capital letter
lies the moment she told him
it’s time
and he realised he’d never believed
that it was real

in the space between the full stop
and the capital letter
lies hours of screaming
terrifying
heart-stopping
blood-curdling
pain
till her fingers dig into the dirt
of the floor
and the wood
of the wall
and the skin
of his hand
and she wondered
he wondered
how she would
survive

in the space between the full stop
and the capital letter
lies his breathless anticipation
the worry when it all begins
that it will never end
that it will all go wrong
when it’s taking too long
and then it’s happening too fast
and then suddenly the desperation of the last final
push
and the rush
of the blood
and the fluid
and the baby
oh – the baby
slippery and sweet
and screaming
thank god

in the space between the full stop
and the capital letter
lies the bloodied body of the new born christ
a boy
and did they wonder at his eyelashes
and his tiny lips
and did they breathe with relief
that the God born from her womb
was normal
with real tears
and a heartbeat

and did they wish the space
between the full stop
and the capital letter
were longer
that the story we know
ended there
and that the world lost interest
at the end of one sentence
so the next wouldn’t have to begin…

We’ll be laying out a different image of the balloon girl in the centre of the worship space – towards the end of the service we’ll invite the men to light tealights and place them on the balloons… i love this image, but couldn’t find it in high res so we’re going to print it out small to give to each of the men with the following meditation attached. The bible reading will be Luke 1:26-38

there are few things more fragile
than an embryo of hope

given its chance of life only by those who say ‘yes’
to its promise

like the prophets who said yes to God’s urging
Mary who said yes to an angel
and Joseph who said yes to his Mary

like the people of faith through all of time
who have said yes to the promise of love

and as we sit by the side of our wall
- whatever that wall might be –
surrounded by the rubble and rubbish
of broken dreams and lives

what faith does it take to imagine
an embryo of hope
being brought to life here?

what ‘yes’ are you able to say
for it to be born in our world?

perhaps, in prison anyway, the faithful question in advent is not ‘what are you waiting for?’ but ‘how do i need to live now for hope to have its birth?’

It’s just turned December
and the air is already thick with promises of love
and words of justice, hope and peace.

But promises can be made easily
by those who do not know the cost of their failure;
who do not know how cruel it is
to have love lie just out of our reach.

So if a promise of love would destroy you this advent
let having faith simply mean this:

we will let the idea of love be possible
and we will live so that one day it is.

The Christmas spirit
is simply having faith
that the story may be made real again:

That love will be born,
even here.

If you can, this Christmas
leave space for the miracle:
Let there be hope.
Let peace be real.
Let love be born in this place again.